The Mermaid Garden (31 page)

her brush into green paint.

The brigadier ran his eyes over the four women positioned in front

of their easels and decided that they were rather good company for an

old fellow tired of being on his own.

“You’d better behave, Pat,” said Grace. “Teacher’s coming.” Pat

chuckled into her chins as Rafa wandered behind her to look at her

progress.

“Not bad,” he said, scratching his bristles. “I can feel the happiness

and nostalgia in your tree.”

“Can you?” she asked, surprised.

“Yes, I can.”

“Reminds me of my girlhood,” Pat said wistfully. “The only differ-

ence now that separates me from who I once was is my cranky old body.

I still feel exactly the same inside.”

“I try not to look in the mirror,” said Veronica.

“You’re very quiet, Jane,” said the brigadier.

“I’m concentrating,” she replied.

“Can I have a look? I need to stretch my legs.”

“If you must. It’s not very good.”

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The brigadier stood up and lumbered over. As he stood beside her he

caught a warm whiff of roses. He dilated his nostrils to catch another, but the breeze swept it away before he was able to savor it. He peered at her painting. “It’s more than good,” he murmured, recognizing something melancholy in the misty pinks and greys she had used. Unlike

his painting, however, there was a hopeful feeling in the way she had

painted the sky. “I think it’s
jolly
good, Jane.”

Jane flushed with pleasure. “Do you mean it or are you just being

polite?”

“I’m not frightfully good at being polite,” he reassured her.

“Then I’ll thank you for the compliment.”

“You’re a bit of a dark horse, aren’t you, Jane?”

“Sue McCain always says it’s the quiet ones you should look out for,”

said Pat. “And she should know because she was as quiet as a dormant

volcano, just waiting for the right man to set her on fire.”

“That’s rather good, Pat,” said Veronica. “You should be a writer.”

“And I suppose that’s just what the Argentine did?” said Grace.

“Never trust an Argentine.” She sucked in her cheeks as Rafa moved

behind her to appraise her work.

“Are you flirting with me, Mrs. Delennor?” he teased.

“Good Lord, no, I’m much too old.”

“I think your painting needs a little more depth,” he said. “Here, let

me show you.” He took her brush and dipped it in paint. She watched

with admiration as he swept it over the paper.

“It’s so terribly easy for you, isn’t it?” she gushed.

“It’s what I do.”

“Like shopping for me. That’s what
I
do. What can I say? I’m terribly good at spending money.” Pat and Veronica laughed like a Greek

chorus. Jane was too busy talking to the brigadier to hear.

“You smell of roses,” he said, catching another whiff. “Roses with a

hint of something sweet . . . I know, it’s honey.”

“You have a very keen sense of smell.”

“It’s one of the few pleasures I have left,” he replied.

Jane paused her painting. “That’s not true, surely. There must be lots

of things you enjoy. Like good company, good food, beautiful views.”

“I don’t know.”

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Santa Montefiore

She lost her gaze in the branches of the tree. “When my husband

died, I thought there’d be nothing left for me to love. He took such

a big part of me with him, you see. But now I realize that I’m still
me
, continuing along the path of life but in a different way. It’s up to me to make that way special; otherwise, what’s the point of going on?”

“My wife died, too. I can’t pretend I’m not lonely.”

She looked at him, her expression softening as her heart filled with

empathy. “I know how you feel,” she said kindly. “I’m lonely, too.”

Later that afternoon Sugar Wilcox came to the hotel for a drink

with four girlfriends. She wore a baby-blue dress unbuttoned to her

solar plexus and a coy smile intended to lure the mysterious artist-

in- residence. They sat on the terrace in a cloud of perfume, revealing tanned legs and painted toenails, sipping cocktails out of pretty purple glasses. Rafa had finished giving lessons and was looking for Clementine. She had been very much on his mind all day, and he was anxious

to apologize and make friends again. As he strode onto the terrace,

expecting her to be taking tea in the sunshine, he found Sugar grinning up at him invitingly.

“Well, hello there, stranger,” she gushed.

“Sugar,” he replied, taken aback.

“Do join us for a cocktail.”

“Well, I was just—”

“I won’t accept any excuses. Let me introduce you to my friends: Jo,

Becca, Hailey, and Flo.” Rafa was left no means of escape. Sugar clicked her fingers to summon a waiter. “What will you have?”

“A martini,” he replied politely, sitting down.

“I’ve been telling my friends about you,” she continued. “We all want

to have painting lessons.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged.” He swept his eyes over the grinning,

sun-baked girls and knew none of them had the slightest interest in art.

“Good. It’s not every day that a handsome stranger saunters into our

town. We’d be crazy not to take advantage of your services.” The girls

giggled. Rafa couldn’t help but laugh, too, at their silliness. He sat back as the waiter put his cocktail in front of him. He could play their game far better than they could.

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“So, girls, how many of you have boyfriends who don’t know you’re

here?” They glanced at each other guiltily.

“Flo, Becca and Hailey,” said Sugar, giggling into her glass.

Hailey pulled a face. “Brian’s not a boyfriend, he’s a friend with privileges.”

“And you, Sugar?” He took a sip and watched her smoulder beneath

his gaze.

“Me? I’m single and
very
lonesome.”

Clementine returned home after work and packed her suitcase. Ma-

rina wasn’t there for her to torment. Her father and Jake must have

been still over at the hotel. The house was empty. Suddenly, moving out didn’t seem such a good idea. She slumped on the bed and bit her nails.

As much as she resented her stepmother, the stable block had begun to

feel like home. Her bedroom had always been a place she could escape

to. Now where would she go when she wanted to be alone? Would Joe

be constantly making demands? Would she get any peace?

She left some clothes in the wardrobe and a few winter sweaters

in the chest of drawers. She wouldn’t be needing them until autumn.

With one final look she closed the door and pulled her case down the

stairs. She hoped Marina would come back and beg her not to leave.

Perhaps if both Marina
and
her father implored her to stay, she might be persuaded to change her mind. But no one came.

She dragged the case across to her car and heaved it onto the back-

seat. Still not a sign of anyone. Not even Rafa, who had bobbed about

all day at the top of her mind like a stubborn cork. Curious to know

where they all were, she wandered into the hotel and approached the

reception desk where Jennifer was busy behind the computer.

“Hi, have you seen Marina and Dad?”

Jennifer looked up. “Hi, Clementine. They’re around. Rafa is in the

conservatory.”

Clementine caught sight of the bracelet hanging on her wrist. It was

very familiar. Jennifer noticed her drop her eyes, but she was too slow to hide it with her sleeve. “Pretty,” Clementine commented wryly.

“Yes, a present from my father.”

Clementine raised an eyebrow. “Wish my father was that generous.

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They have similar pieces in Nadia Goodman on the high street. Per-

haps I should drag him in there one of these days.” Jennifer smiled

awkwardly. Clementine smiled back knowingly.
Naughty Mr. Atwood
, she thought to herself as she crossed the hall.
Or should I say
, stupid
Mr. Atwood?

For a moment her discovery lifted her spirits, and she couldn’t wait

to tell Sylvia. Who would have thought that quiet Jennifer on recep-

tion was Mr. Atwood’s mistress? But as she walked through the sitting

rooms to the conservatory, her thoughts returned to her departure and

her spirits flagged once more. What was the point of leaving if she

wasn’t going to provoke a reaction? At the very least she deserved an

apology from Rafa.

She ran her eyes over the tables. Her attention was drawn to a party

of giggling girls in short, flimsy dresses and heavily applied makeup.

She recognized Sugar from Devil’s. Then she saw Rafa in their midst,

like a peacock among peahens. Her resentment seethed as she watched

him sip his cocktail and laugh at their comments, while Sugar wiggled

her breasts in front of him with shameless exhibition. There was no

doubt that he was enjoying the attention.

Suddenly, he raised his eyes, drawn by the magnetism of her fury.

He stopped laughing and put down his glass. Clementine was appalled

that he had caught her watching him, and turned and fled. With a

racing heart she stormed through the hotel and out into the evening

sunshine. She sensed he was right behind her.

“Clementine, stop,” he called. But she ignored him and climbed into

her car. She fumbled for the key. “Where are you going?”

“I’m moving in with Joe.” She tried to sound nonchalant.

“Not because of what I said last night?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Just forget it.”

He put his hand on the roof. “I want to apologize, I was out of line.”

“Apology accepted.”

“You’re still angry.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Then come and have a drink with me?”

“You seem a little busy.”

“I have all the time in the world for you.”

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“Well, I haven’t.”

“We can go to the house that God forgot. Come on, Clementine.

Don’t be cross with me anymore. Life is too short.”

“You seem to know a lot about life.”

“I’ve picked up a thing or two.” He grinned at her, but her heart re-

mained firmly shut.

“Look, another time perhaps. I’ve got to go.” He took his hand off

the car and stepped back. She started the engine.

“Another time, then.”

She roared out of sight. Rafa watched her go, perplexed. He couldn’t

help but feel sad. When he had planned his journey, he hadn’t imagined

he’d meet a girl like Clementine.

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18.

Marina, Jake, and Grey sat in Marina’s office. The atmosphere was

heavy with an ominous sense of inevitability. Only Jake seemed

impervious to it.

“So, Charles Rueben is coming to check us out, is he?” said Grey,

rubbing his chin. He stood by the window and gazed anxiously out to

sea. He barely dared to look at his wife.

Marina sat at her desk chewing the end of a Biro. “It’s not a big deal.

He makes us an offer, we refuse it.”

“It’s not quite that simple, darling.”

“It never is,” said Jake.

“The truth is, we’re losing money,” Grey continued. “Our outgoings

are vast. We have a heavy loan that I don’t think we can sustain for

much longer. The interest is beyond us.”

“We could lay off a few people,” Jake suggested.

“Like who?” Marina asked.

“I don’t know,” Jake mumbled. “Mr. Potter, for a start.”

“Mr. Potter?” Marina was indignant. “That man has been in these

gardens longer than you’ve walked the earth.”

“But he should have retired years ago.”

“He’s not going anywhere. The day we say good-bye to him will be

the day we bury him, probably beneath the roses, which is where his

heart is. Get rid of Mr. Potter? I’ve never heard anything so callous,

after all the work he’s done for us.”

“Bertha?” Jake ventured, knowing Marina didn’t much like her.

“That won’t save much. She’s on a minimum wage, and besides, she’s

a character.”

“Jake’s on the right lines, darling. Unless we start making money . . .”

“What?” Marina felt her stomach turn to liquid. “Unless we start

making money, what?”

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“Well, we’ll have to rethink our options.”

“What are you saying, Grey?”

“That if Charles Rueben makes us a good offer, I think we should

consider it.”

“Dad’s right,” said Jake. “It’s just a hotel.”

“It’s
more
than a hotel, it’s our home,” Marina protested, ignoring Jake.

“I know, darling. But fundamentally it’s a business. I love it like you do, but I won’t let it pull us under. If Charles Rueben wants to buy it and offers decent money for it, I think we should accept. We can set up more modestly somewhere else.”

Marina was horrified. “We just need more time. If we could get our

literary dinners off the ground and Rafa . . .”

“We’re not going to suddenly start making a profit because of one