The Mermaid Garden

by Santa Montefiore

  “No, you won’t.”

  “You don’t think?”

  “So long as you don’t lead the old ladies astray.”

  “Old ladies?”

  “Your pupils.”

  “Ah, por supuesto, my pupils.” He rubbed his chin. “How old are they?”

  “Very old.” Clementine laughed. “But apparently very entertaining. They’re wildly eccentric. They were here last year, and Marina’s still talking about them.”

  “You weren’t here last year?”

  “Of course not!”

  He shook his head. “No, silly me. You were somewhere, anywhere, but not here.”

  12.

  Clementine and Rafa burst into the hotel like a pair of wet dogs. Rose and Jennifer watched them run upstairs, their laughter filling the stairwell and bouncing off the walls like sparks.

  Rose looked at Jennifer and raised her eyebrows. “What do you think they’ve been doing?”

  “Whatever it is, I wish I had done it, too,” Jennifer replied longingly.

  “Do you think they’ve been swimming in the sea?”

  “Well, unless they’ve fallen into a giant puddle I’d say the sea is a strong possibility.”

  “To think he’s going to be here all summer.”

  “Hearts are going to be broken.”

  “I wouldn’t care,” Rose sighed. “I’d happily have him break my heart.”

  Lunch was in the dining room at a long table by the window. Marina placed Rafa between herself and Clementine. She noticed their wet hair and that both of them had changed their clothes. They were exhilarated, exchanging banter like intimate friends. Clementine’s face was lit up like a Chinese lantern, her habitual dark presence infused with light. Marina marveled at the sudden change in her. Her stepdaughter even smiled at her, and Marina was ashamed that she felt so pathetically grateful for such a small crumb of kindness.

  “What have you two been up to?” asked Grey.

  “We went for a swim in the sea,” Clementine replied nonchalantly, as if it were something she was in the habit of doing every Sunday morning.

  Rafa grinned mischievously. “I take the blame.”

  “That’s very gallant of you,” Jake commented.

  “I find the allure of the sea irresistible.”

  “No, it was my suggestion,” Clementine admitted, the breadth of her smile leaving no one in any doubt that she had not the slightest regret.

  “Wasn’t it very cold?” asked Marina.

  “Freezing,” Rafa replied. “But it made us very hungry.” He looked down at the plate of seared tuna, cucumber nori rolls in toasted sesame, honey and chilli dressing, and his mouth watered. “This looks delicious.”

  “We have an excellent French chef,” said Marina.

  “Fresh tuna,” Grey added, picking up his knife and fork. “I would like to say that I caught it myself, but I had work to do in the office this morning.”

  “What have you been doing?” asked Marina.

  “Jake and I are putting together our plan for the first literary dinner.”

  “We’re going to ask William Shawcross to come and talk,” Jake added.

  “I’ve met him once or twice in London and heard him speak at the Royal Geographic Society,” Grey explained. “I think we could get him to come. After all, his wife owns a hotel on the edge of Dartmoor.”

  “I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Marina enthused. Sitting there in the sunlight, which flooded the dining room, with her new artist at her side and the prospect of a literary dinner with William Shawcross, she felt optimistic about the future. There were only a few other tables of guests, but once word got around that an artist had set up residence for the summer, she had no doubt that the place would fill up and feel busy again.

  “Darling, where’s Harvey? I need him to do one or two things this afternoon,” said Grey.

  “He’s gone to visit his mother again,” Marina replied.

  “He’s the most devoted son.”

  “His mother must be ancient,” said Jake. “He’s already on borrowed time.”

  “That’s not kind, Jake,” Marina chided. “He’s young in spirit.”

  “Longevity is all about how you think,” said Rafa, tapping his temple. “I think most illness is in the mind.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Jake retorted. “Are you saying that people who are dying of cancer are only sick because of the way they think?”

  Marina was embarrassed that Jake had spoken out in such an aggressive manner, but Rafa had not taken offense.

  “I think our emotions affect our bodies in ways we are still learning about. Doctors who prescribe drugs are treating the symptoms, not the cause. I believe there is a direct relationship between our heads and our health. We’d all feel better if we thought positively.” Jake pulled a face. Rafa smiled. “Imagine lying in bed at night. You are warm and safe, and you are drifting off to sleep. Then, a thought pops into your head that frightens you. Perhaps you imagine that someone is prowling about outside. Your heart begins to race, your breathing grows shallow, your skin grows cold and damp. The stress that fear induces disrupts the energy flow through your body. But it is just a thought, nothing more.”

  “You’re right, of course, Rafa. Most illness is psychosomatic,” said Grey.

  “I agree,” Clementine added.

  Jake frowned at his sister and took a swig of wine. “You would, Clemmie. You know, Rafa, Clemmie hasn’t swum in the sea for what? Twenty years?”

  “What’s that got to do with the mind’s impact on health?” Clementine snapped.

  “Just illustrating the link between your mind and your mood.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively as Clementine scowled back at him.

  “Well, thank you for stating the obvious.”

  “My old ladies arrive tomorrow,” interjected Marina, sensing her civilized lunch was unraveling.

  “Clementine tells me they are wildly eccentric,” said Rafa. “I can’t wait to meet them.”

  “They’re very English. Oh, except for Mrs. Delennor, who is American.”

  “I love Americans,” Rafa enthused. “I spent three years in New York working for an advertising firm.”

  “That’s why you speak such good English,” said Grey.

  “With a slight American twang,” Jake added, unable to resist a little jibe. “If I had such an accent, I’d have a lot more success with the girls.”

  “You’d need a lot more than a foreign accent, Jake,” said Clementine.

  “Tell me, Rafa, have you left a girlfriend back in Buenos Aires?” Clementine looked down at her plate, hoping Rafa wasn’t about to declare that he was already married with children.

  “No,” he said with a smile. “I am not attached.”

  “We’d better not advertise that fact,” said Grey, “or we’ll have all the girls from Dawcomb suddenly wanting to learn how to paint.”

  “So long as they fill my rooms, I don’t care,” said Marina.

  “Did you take Rafa into Dawcomb?” asked Grey.

  “No,” Clementine replied. “Anyway, he already knows Dawcomb.”

  “I suggest you give him a tour this afternoon. It’s important he gets his bearings.”

  “Oh, really, Dad. What’s so important about bearings?”

  “Trust me, darling, a man needs to know where he is.”

  Rafa laughed and turned to Clementine. “You owe me a scone with clotted cream,” he said. “You haven’t forgotten, have you?”

  Clementine beamed with pleasure that he had remembered. “Devil’s for scones and jam it is then, so you can get your bearings.” She grinned at her father, and Grey felt his heart inflate with gratitude.

  After lunch Clementine and Rafa disappeared into Dawcomb. Grey went down to the quay to tinker with his boat, and Marina went back to the stable block. She was surprised at Jake’s behavior at lunch. He had been uncharacteristically aggressive. Did he feel threatened by Rafa? Was he jealous of all the attention the new
artist was receiving? After all, no one in the hotel could talk of anything else. He hadn’t been very enthusiastic about having an artist in the first place; perhaps he was put out that the man was obviously going to be a great success. What Jake didn’t realize was that they all depended on Rafa, regardless of whose idea it had been to invite him. This was no time for petty jealousies. This had to work.

  Marina was in her kitchen reading the papers when Jake burst in, his face pink with excitement.

  “Baffles has struck again!” he declared. Marina stared at him in shock. “The Greville-Joneses were robbed in the early hours of the morning.”

  “Good God, are you sure?” It frightened her that the thief was targeting people she knew personally. It brought him closer to her.

  “My mole on the police force called me just now. He says they’re trying to contain it so that people don’t get scared.”

  “We’ll all be reading about it tomorrow, then.”

  “They won’t hear about it from me.”

  Marina sighed anxiously. “Poor John and Caroline. It’s just horrendous.” Jake grinned, clearly enjoying the drama. “You shouldn’t look so pleased, Jake. We could be next.”

  “I doubt it. It’s not as if we have any goodies to steal.”

  “He doesn’t know that.”

  “Of course he does. It’s clear he knows the houses very well before he robs them. He goes straight for the loot and leaves everything else untouched.”

  “Was anyone hurt?”

  “John Greville-Jones heard a noise in the hall and crept down with his rifle. Apparently, he keeps it under his bed.”

  “He should be careful Caroline doesn’t use it on him.”

  Jake chuckled. “I don’t think she’d know how to unlock it.”

  “Did he see him?”

  “No. He was very quick. In and out like a mouse.”

  “What did he take?”

  “All the silver from the dining room.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “My mole says he must have known it was there because he went straight for it. He didn’t bother going into any of the other rooms, and you know the Greville-Joneses have a drawing room full of valuable paintings.”

  “Any clues?”

  “Just a note saying ‘Thank you.’”

  “Really, that’s absurd.”

  “Signed Raffles.”

  “He’s loving the attention, obviously. Whoever heard of a polite robber? It’s a contradiction in terms.”

  “Robbers always like to leave their mark.”

  “Poor John and Caroline. I was going to suggest that Rafa take my ladies to paint their folly. Last year Caroline put on a picnic for them, and Harvey sat in the kitchen all afternoon, flirting with their cook.” She sighed. “They might be less keen to invite strangers into their property now.”

  Rafa and Clementine sat in Devil’s, staring at a three-tiered silver tray of scones, a big bowl of clotted cream, and a dish of jam. Penny and Tamara, two pretty young waitresses, hovered around the table hoping for the handsome foreigner to toss them another dashing smile.

  “So these are scones,” said Rafa, helping himself to the biggest one.

  “I’ll show you how it’s done.” Clementine cut open his scone and spread a large dollop of cream onto each half, placing a spoonful of strawberry jam on top. “Now tuck in! It’s more than a taste, it’s an experience.”

  Knowing he had an audience, for by now not only the waitresses but the table of middle-aged women beside them had suspended their conversation to listen in, he lifted one half and took a somewhat theatrical bite. There was so much cream and jam he couldn’t help but catch some on his lips. Instead of using his napkin, he licked it off with relish, his crow’s-feet deepening as he grinned with comical delight. Penny and Tamara giggled, and the middle-aged women smiled at his readiness to laugh at himself. It wasn’t long before Sugar Wilcox, christened the less tasty name of Susan, came out of her office at the back of the café to see what all the commotion was about.

  Sugar’s was a heart as soft as her scones and as ready to be devoured as the jam and cream. When she laid eyes on the charismatic stranger sitting with Clementine Turner by the window, she adjusted her sherbet-pink dress and took full advantage of her position as proprietor to sweep across the room and introduce herself.

  “Clemmie, who is your charming guest?”

  Rafa wiped his mouth with the napkin, jumped politely to his feet, and extended his hand to the petite blond woman who now stood before him. “Rafa Santoro,” he said. The strength of his handshake startled her, and she withdrew hers hastily, nursing her fragile fingers with her other hand.

  “Italian,” Sugar gushed. “I love Italy.”

  “Argentine,” he replied. “You’d love Argentina.”

  “Goodness me, you are funny. Please, enjoy your scones.”

  Rafa sat down again. “I am enjoying them. They’re delicious. If I lived here, I’d grow fat on them, happily.”

  “You know, I’m a little familiar with Argentina. I had my Eva Perón moment, scraping my hair back into a chignon, wearing nineteen-forties dresses, and painting my lips crimson.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t more of a Madonna moment?”

  “Well, I suppose it was really. I liked the way she looked in the movie. So, how long are you staying?”

  “The summer,” interrupted Clementine, just to remind Sugar that she was still there. “He’s my stepmother’s artist-in-residence.”

  “Really? How delightful. I’d love to learn how to paint.”

  “You have to be a hotel guest, I’m afraid,” said Clementine.

  “Does lunch count?”

  “No.”

  Sugar sighed and opened her blue eyes as wide as they would go. “Will you be giving lessons after hours?”

  “I’ve only just arrived, so I don’t know what I’ll be doing.”

  “I warn you, Marina will keep you very busy at the hotel.”

  Rafa shrugged, feigning helplessness. “I have to earn my board and lodging.”

  “The rent at my place is less demanding,” Sugar breathed suggestively. “Come and have a scone or two any time you like. On the house. You’ll be good for business.” She smiled sweetly and wafted away.

  Clementine laughed quietly. “Is it your aftershave?”

  “What do you mean?” But he knew what she meant, for the corners of his mouth twitched mischievously. “I don’t suppose they’re used to foreigners down here.”

  “Rubbish, of course they are. They’re just not used to handsome ones.”

  “They’ll get over it. Looks can carry a person only so far.”

  “At least you’ve got personality. Most beautiful people have never had to develop one.”

  His brown eyes appraised her thoughtfully. “I think that less obvious beauty is more attractive. When it’s leaping out at you, there’s nothing to look for.”

  Clementine began to feel hot. Was he referring to her? “Everyone has something,” she said lamely.

  “Your stepmother has a very beautiful face.”

  “You don’t think it leaps out at you?”

  “No. She has mysterious eyes.”

  “Then you’re seeing something that I don’t see.”

  “Of course, because I am not blinded by prejudice. When a woman is her age, the face reflects the person she is, whether she likes it or not. She cannot hide her nature. Marina has a sensual, generous face, but there is something guarded and sad about her eyes.”

  “Men!” Clementine rolled her eyes. “You’re no different from all the rest.”

  “Why did you imagine I would be?”

  “I don’t know. I hoped …”

  He shrugged and took a sip of tea. “The problem you have with your stepmother is your problem, not hers. Don’t let what happened in the past control who you are now.”

  Clementine was taken aback by his comment. She had thought he understood. But when all was said and don
e, he was a man like every other man, he just had a more beautiful face. In one morning, Marina had managed to wrap her tentacles around him like Medusa. Clementine had lost him as an ally.

  That night, after dinner, Rafa went into the garden to call his mother. He sat on the ground beneath the cedar tree and pulled out his BlackBerry.

  Maria Carmela seemed to sense when it was her favorite son and hurried to pick it up before it had the chance to ring.

  “Hijo.”

  “Mamá. Are you well?”

  “I am, Rafa. Thank the Lord, I am in good health. A little tired, but what can one expect when you are as old as I am.”

  “You’re not old.”

  “I feel old. I’m full of worry.”

  “I’ve told you not to worry.”

  “I wish your father were alive.”

  “If he was, I wouldn’t be here, and I’m glad I’m here.”

  “So tell me. What do you do with yourself all day?”

  Rafa told her about his excursion to the forgotten church with Clementine and their swim in the sea. “I had a proper English tea this afternoon in a place called Devil’s. I had scones.”

  “What are they?”

  “Like alfajores de maizena, more or less. I’ll bring you some when I come home.”

  “Have you said anything?”

  “Not yet. The time isn’t right.”

  “If you leave it too long, you might miss the moment.”

  “I have to be sure, though I’m pretty certain this is the right place. All the clues lead to here.”

  “If you’re not sure, come home and forget the whole silly venture.”

  “I’ve come this far; I’m not giving up now.”

  “No one can say you’re not a man of courage. For that I’m proud of you.”

  “So be proud and stop worrying.” There was a long pause and a crackle over the airwaves. “Mamá, are you still there?”

  “I feel guilty, Rafa.” Her voice was quieter now.

  “Why?”

  “If I hadn’t told you, you’d never have set off on this mad quest. It’s all my fault. Your father and I promised we’d keep it all secret. While he was alive he gave me the strength to hold my tongue. He took it to the grave, as he always said he would. But I … it is because I love you that I couldn’t hold it in any longer. You had a right to know the truth. But now I have told you, I’m frightened of what you might dig up. I’m afraid I have given you the key to Pandora’s box.”