The Mermaid Garden (26 page)

ting her shoulder. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of it myself.”

Now she stood looking out as Rafa taught the old ladies how to

paint. She remembered painting at school, a class she had hated be-

cause she was so bad at it. She hadn’t a creative bone in her body. Still, she would give it another go if he asked her to. She pulled away and

began to tidy his room. It smelled of sandalwood. As she bustled about, she picked up his things and sniffed them one by one, savoring the

scent of this exotic stranger from a distant land.

She wasn’t even sure where Argentina was on the map, but she

remembered Diego Maradona and “the hand of God” goal that had

sent everyone into a frenzy during the 1986 World Cup. There had

been something rather sexy about him, too. She didn’t need to make

Mr. Santoro’s bed, as it had been done that morning by the housemaids.

In fact, she had no business to be in there at all. But since she had been given the task of looking after him, she felt it was only right to come up and check that everything had been done properly. Which it had, she

could see. But in future she would be the one to do it. Every morning.

Every evening.

Mr. Santoro was very untidy. She hooked his suede jacket on the

back of the chair and folded the shirt he had worn the day before. It

excited her to feel so close to him, and she went hot with nerves at the thought that he might come in at any moment and discover her smelling his clothes. She noticed his suitcase still sat on the rack where Tom had undoubtedly placed it on arrival. It didn’t look heavy. She’d store it under the bed where it would be out of the way. As she went to lift it off, she saw that it was unzipped. She pulled up the top to make sure that

there was nothing inside. She peered in. The case lay empty but for an

important-looking folder. She glanced about the room, as if checking

that she was, indeed, alone. Then she picked it up.

It looked old and faded but official, like the files they brought out on those American television dramas like
Law & Order
. Now, trembling with curiosity, she lifted the flap. Inside were papers, lots of papers, all 30067 The Mermaid Garden.indd 157

1/21/11 2:21 PM

158

Santa Montefiore

in a language that she didn’t understand. What did they speak in Ar-

gentina? Italian? That was it, then. Italian. At the back was a big pile of letters written in a very tidy hand, tied with an elastic band.

She pulled it out, frustrated that she couldn’t understand what they

said, and ran her eyes over the first one. A name leapt out. She had

just read the words
ti amo
, which she knew meant “I love you” from the Laura Branagan song she used to listen to in her teens, when she

thought she heard footsteps on the stairs. Hastily, she put the letters back in the file and placed the file back in the case.

She shot to the bed and began to smooth the quilt so it would look

like she was cleaning. Her heart raced, and sweat gathered on her nose.

When she was sure no one was there, she took a deep breath and re-

laxed a little. She was now anxious to leave the room as quickly as possible. As she tiptoed down the stairs the name somehow stuck in her

head. It was a funny name, because, surely there should have been an-

other
n
in there. But perhaps they didn’t use the
n
in Argentina.

Costanza. Surely it should be C
on
stanza?

30067 The Mermaid Garden.indd 158

1/21/11 2:21 PM

15.

Clementine was not surprised when Joe walked into her office. She

had been avoiding him by not returning his calls, but she knew it

would be only a matter of time before he came in person to find her. As he stood before her she felt the sinking feeling of waking from a dream and facing the dull reality of true life. As much as she could fantasize about Rafa, the truth was that he was out of her league. She looked at

Joe, coarse and regular, like so many other men found in bars and pubs

across England, and wondered whether this was the best she could ex-

pect. Was it healthy to reach for the stars when she was never going to touch one?

“Hi, Joe,” she said, masking her guilt behind an artificial smile.

“Where have you been? Haven’t you noticed I’ve been trying to

call you?”

“I’m sorry. It’s been really busy up at the hotel. The new artist has arrived, and Submarine needed my help. It’s been full on.”

Joe didn’t look convinced. “The least you could have done is called.”

“I know. I thought you’d understand.” She delved into her bag for

her lip gloss. “I obviously overestimated you. My mistake.”

He suddenly looked lost and scratched his head. How had she man-

aged to make
him
feel guilty in such a short exchange? “Can I see you tonight?”

“I’m afraid not. We’re going out on Dad’s boat. I don’t know what

time we’ll be back.”

“Come and stay over?”

“No, Joe. I told you, I’m needed up at the hotel at the moment.”

He looked exasperated. “Then when? We’re meant to be having a

relationship.”

“All right, then. Tomorrow night.” But she regretted it just as soon

as she had said it.

30067 The Mermaid Garden.indd 159

1/21/11 2:21 PM

160

Santa Montefiore

Sylvia sat at her desk listening to every word. Once Joe had gone she

put down her nail file and turned on Clementine. “He’s a good lad, Joe

is. I don’t know what’s got into you!”

Clementine put her elbows on the desk and sank her chin into her

hands. “He’s so ordinary compared to Rafa.”

“When the scales fall from your eyes, Rafa will be just as ordinary.

Men are men whichever way you look at them.”

“No, Rafa is different.”

“That’s what I thought about Richard, and Jeremy, and Benjamin . . .

and countless others. It always ends in disappointment because your

superman is just a man in underpants after all. Just as needy, just as

demanding, just as selfish as every other man in the world.”

“You’re so cynical.”

“I’ve lived longer than you, lovely.”

“I’m holding on to the dream.”

“It’s made of soap, silly.”

Clementine sighed. “So what do I do? I don’t love Joe.”

“Do you like him?”

“After a couple of vodkas in the Dizzy Mariner he’s quite charming.”

“A bird in hand is better than two in the bush.”

Clementine screwed up her nose. “What’s that got to do with Joe?”

“You don’t want to end up alone. I’ve taken Freddie back, only be-

cause his whining was so boring.”

“But that’s such a tragic compromise.”

“Look who’s talking? If you don’t love Joe, bin him.” She shrugged.

“You’re the one holding on to him. Ask yourself why?”

The telephone rang, and Sylvia picked it up. Clementine took her

tray of correspondence to the filing cabinets. As she slipped each let-

ter into the proper place she considered what Sylvia had said. She was

right, of course. If she didn’t love Joe, why was she still with him? Was she so insecure that she would rather be with a decidedly average man

than alone? Yet, her spirit aspired to greater heights. Her thoughts

soared among the planets, and her heart longed for the burning white

fire of the greatest love.

When she had finished, she realized that for the first time she had

30067 The Mermaid Garden.indd 160

1/21/11 2:21 PM

The Mermaid Garden

161

filed each letter correctly. Fueled by something she was unable to identify, she decided to tidy all the files, one by one, until everything was where it should be. It was a big job, for she had spent the last month

shoving things wherever they fit, without a single thought to ever finding them again.

Mr. Atwood returned from a viewing to find the floor littered with

paper. His jaw dropped at the mess. “What on earth is going on?”

“I know,” Clementine replied coolly. “I’m a little shocked myself.

Ask Sylvia, I don’t know what’s got into me. But I’ll admit I’ve been

putting things in the wrong files for weeks.”

Mr. Atwood didn’t know whether to be cross or grateful. He cleared

his throat. “Well, I suppose I should be pleased you’re putting it right now, before you leave your chaos for Polly to find.” He stepped carefully over the islands of documents. “When you’ve finished, I have an errand

for you.”

“Another present for Mrs. Atwood?”

He looked embarrassed. “Come into my office and don’t take all day

about it.” He disappeared inside and closed the door behind him.

Clementine caught Sylvia’s eye and grinned. “Why doesn’t he just

come out with it and say it’s for his lover?”

“A good secretary turns a blind eye.”

“Who is she?”

“Someone with very bad taste and no sense of smell.”

Clementine laughed. “He doesn’t smell, does he?”

“What do you think?” She pulled a face. “That kind of skin always

smells, well, eggy.”

“Yuck!”

“I’ve had my fair share of eggy, and it’s not pleasant. Still, he’s rich and probably spoils her with presents. Some women will do anything

for presents.” She pulled out her nail file and sighed heavily. “Oh, the things I’ve done for presents.”

“Let’s not go there, Sylvia.”

“You’re right. Let’s not.”

Once all the documents and letters were filed in their correct places,

in order of date, and all the old, redundant ones shredded, Clementine

30067 The Mermaid Garden.indd 161

1/21/11 2:21 PM

162

Santa Montefiore

stood back to admire her work. She felt an unfamiliar sense of pride.

“There, all done,” she announced, walking back to her desk with a

bounce in her step.

“Good for you,” said Sylvia. “I’m surprised. I didn’t think you were

capable of doing a proper day’s work.”

“Neither did I.”

“Now you’d better go and find out what Casanova wants you to buy

his mistress.”

“Can’t wait to spend his money for him. Whatever budget he gives

me, I’ll spend double!”

Clementine was disappointed to find that her errand involved ac-

companying Mr. Atwood to a jewelry shop to choose a bracelet. “It’s

our wedding anniversary,” he explained a little awkwardly.

“How many years have you been married?” she asked as they entered

the quiet enclosure of Nadia Goodman, situated on the high street.

“Too many to count,” he replied tightly. “When you’re my age, you

stop counting.” A pretty salesgirl brought out a tray of gold bracelets and smiled at Clementine. “Now, which one do you like?” Mr. Atwood

asked. Clementine picked up a gold chain with emerald cabochons.

“Let me help you,” said the salesgirl. “There, such a pretty color

against your skin.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Clementine agreed. “Daddy’s so generous.” She

grinned at Mr. Atwood.

“Not sure about green,” he said crossly.

“But I love it.”

He ignored her theatrical doe eyes. She was clearly enjoying herself

at his expense. “Take it off,” he snapped.

The salesgirl unclipped it, looking confused. “What about blue?” she

suggested cheerfully.

“I love blue,” Clementine gushed.

Mr. Atwood asked to see another tray. When the salesgirl went to

the back of the shop, he rounded on Clementine. “Quit the monkey

business. I’ve got a reputation in this town, you know.”

“I’m only teasing!”

“Well, stop it.”

“Anyway, what color suits your wife?”

30067 The Mermaid Garden.indd 162

1/21/11 2:21 PM

The Mermaid Garden

163

He hesitated. “Red.”

“So, let’s have a look at rubies. You’re very generous.”

“I know. Have to keep the little lady sweet.”

“Oh, she’ll be sweet all right.”

Clementine managed to restrain herself while they looked at gold

bracelets with ruby cabochons. They were very pretty. Still, she didn’t think she could sleep with an eggy-smelling man, however many gold

bracelets he bought her. She thought of Joe and imagined him buying

her jewelry, but the emptiness of that thought convinced her that no

amount of jewelry could take the place of true love.

Finally, they chose the gift and waited while the salesgirl wrapped it

in a red and gold box and tied it with ribbon.

“Lucky Mrs. Atwood,” said Clementine, thinking how very
un
lucky she was.

“Indeed,” Mr. Atwood agreed, shiftily.

“That will be fifteen hundred pounds, please sir,” said the salesgirl,

smiling again at Clementine. “Is it your birthday?”

“No,” Clementine replied. “He’s just pleased with me.”

“Oh,” said the salesgirl. Mr. Atwood handed her his credit card.

“Thank you.”

“And thank
you
, Daddy,” said Clementine, taking the bag off the counter. She gave her sweetest smile, which the salesgirl mistook for

genuine affection.

Mr. Atwood inhaled through dilated nostrils, punched in his PIN,

then tapped his fingers on the glass impatiently, eager to leave the shop as quickly as possible.

Clementine laughed all the way back to the office, which infuriated

Mr. Atwood even more. “I’m teasing,” she repeated. “If you weren’t so

serious, I wouldn’t find it all so funny.”

“If I didn’t owe your father for all the clients he’d sent my way, I’d fire you for insubordination.”

“You love me, really. I know you do. You just don’t want to admit how

funny you think I am.”