The Mermaid Garden (63 page)

Rafa put down the telephone and pulled the little pouch out of his

pocket. He tipped the ring and the bracelet into his hand. He had al-

ways wondered about the woman to whom these had once belonged.

He lifted his eyes to the window and saw Marina and Clementine be-

neath the cedar tree with Biscuit. He had arrived with a sense of dislocation, as if the truth about his birth had cut him off by the roots. Now 30067 The Mermaid Garden.indd 406

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he realized that those roots had never really been severed, for Maria

Carmela and Lorenzo would always be his parents.

What changed now was his future. In his search for his mother he

had found Clementine, and she had altered everything. Suddenly, he

felt the desire to commit, to settle down and raise a family of his own.

Floriana and Dante had not enjoyed a happy ending together, but he

and Clementine could. He clenched his fingers around the jewelry.

With Marina’s blessing, he’d give the jewelry that had once meant so

much to Floriana, to Clementine.

That night, in order to distract herself from Harvey’s hoard of stolen

treasure, Marina sat on the bench at the bottom of the garden with

Costanza’s letters and the half-written letter Father Ascanio had never sent. The sea murmured gently below her, and the moon lit a silver

river across the water to Jesus’ marble kingdom, where he had finally

answered her prayer. She pulled her shawl around her shoulders and

opened Father Ascanio’s first. She switched on the torch and read his

tidy, looped writing.

My dear Floriana,

I trust this finds you well in your body and healing in your heart.

You are a very brave girl, and I am immensely proud of you. You have
conducted yourself throughout your ordeal with great dignity and

strength.

I would have given anything for you to have remained in Herba

where I could keep a fatherly eye on you, but as I explained at the
convent, your life and the life of your son are in grave danger. This
was the only way. Beppe Bonfanti is a very powerful man, capable of
silencing his enemies in the most brutal manner. Therefore, I’m afraid
I cannot forward any of your letters to Costanza—as her father now

works for Beppe, it is too dangerous. No one must ever know where

you are.

It grieves me greatly to inform you that Father Severo, who I have

trusted for over fifteen years, overheard my conversation with Dante
and let slip our secret to your father. He has confessed and is full of
remorse. I felt it only right that he should leave Herba.

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Santa Montefiore

Trust me, my dear child, when I tell you that your little boy has

been given to the most loving couple and will be brought up in the

Catholic faith by an Italian family. You have given him the best

possible start in life by your sacrifice. God knows what it has cost you,
and I pray that He comforts you as you settle into your new home.

I gather Beach Compton is on the sea. I hope you are able to make

a fresh start there. Miss Bridges is a kind and godly woman, who I’m
sure is taking good care of you. You have great inner strength and a
strong, solid faith. Keep God in your sight and in your heart, and you
will put this all behind you.

As for me

He had stopped there. Only now did she understand the lengths that

Father Ascanio had gone to in order to save her. He had sent her son to his own brother in Argentina, the only person he trusted to look after

him properly. He couldn’t have found a better home had he scoured the

earth for one. He had put his own life at risk. Now she knew why: for

love.

She closed the letter and replaced it in the envelope, saddened that

Father Ascanio was no longer alive so that she could thank him. Then

she took the bundle of letters Costanza had written and read them one

by one, surprised by the extent to which her heart ached for her old

friend.

The following morning Harvey appeared at the Polzanze. While Dante

breakfasted in the dining room with Grey, Clementine, and Rafa, Ma-

rina summoned him into her office.

“I need to talk to you, Harvey,” she said solemnly.

“Is everything all right?”

“I think you should sit down.” She perched on the armchair and

watched him sink into the sofa, her old friend and confidant, the man

who had been almost a father to her. She couldn’t believe he was ca-

pable of lying. She wanted him to explain it all away. She was ready to believe any excuse he tossed her.

“I tried to call you yesterday at the nursing home.”

He looked surprised. “You did?”

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“They said they had never heard of a Mrs. Dovecote.”

“You must have got the wrong home.”

“No, Harvey. I
know
.” She gazed at him sadly.

He averted his eyes. “What do you know?” But she could tell from

his grave features that he realized he had been found out.

“I know about your shed.” She lowered her voice. “You’re Baffles, or

Raffles, or whatever you call yourself. Harvey, how could you lie to me?”

He turned to her, his face full of remorse. “I did it for you, Ma-

rina, for the Polzanze. When I saw you were in real danger of losing it, I decided I had to do something to help. I know how much this place

means to you. I feared if you lost it, you’d lose your mind.”

“Oh, Harvey.”

He shrugged. “So, I got a little carried away.”

“A little?”

“The Jag was secondhand. I got it for peanuts.”

“Do you even have a nephew?”

He shook his head.

“Or a mother?”

“No, she died years ago.”

“But, Harvey, you could go to prison for this.”

“I thought I’d only do it once. But it was too easy. So I did it again . . .

and again. I admit it was fun. Macavity the Mystery Cat. I defied them

all.” He grinned roguishly. “It gave me a buzz to think of buying you

out of your problems. Old Harvey, creeping into people’s properties

like James Bond.”

“Or Raffles.”

“I’ve always loved those novels. It began as a game.”

“But the game has gone too far.”

He looked at her wretchedly. “What are you going to do, Marina?”

“I should call the police.”

“But you wouldn’t turn in an old codger, would you? I’ll die in there.”

Marina stiffened her jaw and lifted her chin. The thought of being

without Harvey caused something to twist painfully inside her chest.

She stood up and walked over to the window. She had lost too much

in her life to suffer losing him. “I won’t turn you in, Harvey. But on one condition.”

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“What’s that? I’ll do anything.”

“You have to give it all back.” His mouth opened in a silent gasp. “If

it was so easy, you can do it again. It has to go back, all of it.”

“But what about the Polzanze?”

“Ah, yes, you don’t know, do you?” She sat down again. “A lot has

happened since you’ve been away. Goodness, where do I start?”

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37.

Sylvia sat at her desk and gazed forlornly at the empty chair beside

her. Clementine had come into the office on August 31 to pack up

her things and say good-bye, which had been the arrangement from

the beginning, as Polly was due back from maternity leave on the Sep-

tember 1. Only now, none of them wanted her to go. She had turned

out to be the most efficient secretary—and a good friend to Sylvia.

Mr. Atwood had offered her an obscene amount of money to stay on,

but she had declined. After all, what sort of woman would put money

above a six-month trip around South America with the man of her

dreams?

Sylvia was surprised that Mrs. Atwood hadn’t issued her husband

with divorce papers. She wondered what sort of deal they had struck.

Perhaps he had promised to don his robber suit for
her
. Maybe his wife was more game than he had thought. How many other guises did he

assume? Those thoughts made Sylvia smile through those days when

she missed Clementine.

Autumn had crept upon them without the slightest warning, be-

cause frankly, it had felt like autumn for the whole of July and Au-

gust with the dampest skies and persistent drizzle. Polly had returned, unable to say a single sentence without squeezing her little girl into

it somewhere. It was Doodlums this and Doodlums that, and Sylvia

couldn’t understand why she couldn’t use her daughter’s proper name,

Esme, which was really very nice.

Clementine had looked radiantly happy. Sylvia hadn’t felt jealous,

because jealous implies resentment and Sylvia couldn’t ever feel resentful towards Clementine, but she felt something close to envy. Not only

did love make Clementine look prettier, it also gave her an air of in-

souciance, as if nothing in the world mattered as long as she was with

the man she loved. The shadow had lifted and taken her defensiveness

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with it. No more unhappiness, no more bitterness, no more wallowing

in self-pity.

Sylvia now booked in for lunch at the Polzanze on weekends. Be-

fore, no one had ever needed to book, but the hotel was very busy, and

the only way to get a table was to reserve one in advance, or call Jake on his mobile telephone, which he gave out only to very special clients, of which Sylvia was one. The artist-in-residence had gone, but the place

now buzzed with Devon’s most fashionable, and the rooms were al-

ways full. Marina had put an advert in the
Dawcomb-Devlish Gazette

for another artist, and William Shawcross had entertained everyone at

the first literary dinner, which had been a sellout. Not only was he an articulate and engaging speaker, but he was devilishly handsome, too.

Sylvia had managed to corner him for the longest while, and he had

politely indulged her as she told him her favorite subject at school had always been history.

She chewed the end of her Biro and considered how life had so sud-

denly changed for Clementine. After South America they were going

to get married and settle down in Italy. They had thought long and hard about where to lay down their roots, as Rafa was anxious to remain

close to Maria Carmela, but his father, Dante, was very keen for them

to live with him at La Magdalena. In the end they had decided to divide their time between Argentina and La Magdalena, flying Rafa’s mother

over to Italy every summer. Sylvia thought how fabulous it must be to

discover one’s real father is one of the richest men in Italy. She glanced at Polly, who was busily scrolling down the Mothercare Web site, and

scowled. Clementine was so lucky. Now Sylvia didn’t even have Freddie

to snuggle up to. She had never felt lonelier.

Just then the door opened and in walked Jake from the Polzanze. It

was funny to see him out of context, in a pair of jeans and casual shirt.

She was struck by how dashing he looked with his fair hair flopping

over his forehead and his blue eyes as clear as a lagoon.

“Well, hello, Jake,” she said brightly. “What are you doing here?”

He looked around a little nervously. “I came to see you, actually.”

Sylvia straightened. “Really?”

“I was wondering whether you’d let me take you out for tea?”

She was surprised. “Now?”

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“If you’re not too busy.”

She turned to Polly. “Be a lovely and man the phones for me. I’m

going to take a break. It’s not healthy to sit inside all day.”

Jake grinned at her boyishly. “Is Devil’s good for you?”

“My favorite place.”

“I hear they do very good scones with clotted cream and jam.”

“They most certainly do. Haven’t you ever been there?”

“I’m ashamed to admit that I haven’t.”

“Oh, Jake, you have a treat in store.” She shrugged on her coat and

grabbed her handbag.

They left the office and set off down the pavement. “I’ve been want-

ing to ask you out for a long time,” Jake confessed.

Sylvia bristled with pleasure. “Really?”

“Yes, ever since you first came up to the Polzanze. I thought you were

the most sensual woman I’d ever laid eyes on.”

“Goodness, Jake, I’m flattered. No one’s ever called me sensual be-

fore.”

Her smile encouraged him to go a little further. “It’s the truth. I was just working up the courage to ask you out.”

“But what took you so long?”

“You’re a beautiful woman, Sylvia. I wasn’t sure you’d say ‘yes.’ ”

She laughed incredulously. “In that case, Jake, let’s consider Devil’s

to be our first date.”

Devil’s was warm and smelled of freshly baked cake. They sat at a