The Mermaid Garden

by Santa Montefiore

  Just as Clementine was enjoying the romance of their impending excursion, Marina leaned across the table. “Did I hear the word crabbing?”

  “Yes,” Grey replied. “I thought I’d take Rafa out to sea. Show him Smuggler’s Cove and a few crabs.”

  “Why don’t you take my ladies with you? There’s room in the boat.”

  Clementine was scarcely able to conceal her horror. Astonished, she watched her stepmother sabotage her plan. “Mrs. Leppley, would you like to go out in Grey’s boat this evening?”

  Veronica’s eyes opened wide. “I’d love to,” she said, clapping her small hands. “How delightful.”

  “Did I hear the mention of a boat?” Pat interjected.

  “You certainly did,” said Grey. “I’m taking Rafa crabbing.”

  “Then count me in. Nothing like a bit of crabbing to work up an appetite for dinner. I was going to take a route march along the cliff, but this sounds much more fun.”

  Clementine’s heart sank. Rafa didn’t seem at all put out. “I’ve never caught a crab before,” he said, at which the ladies roared with laughter, and Pat volunteered to show him how it was done. At least the other two bowed out. Grace declared that she would like to have a long, hot bath and read her book, while Jane said that she’d prefer to wander around the gardens, suffering as she did from seasickness. Clementine scowled at her stepmother, sure that she had kiboshed her evening on purpose. She can’t have him, so she doesn’t want me to have him, she thought crossly. Well, I have all summer. One setback is not going to deter me.

  Marina offered to give Jane Meister a tour of the garden, which the old lady gratefully accepted, disappearing up to her bedroom to get a headscarf. Marina watched Rafa leave with Clementine, Grey, Mrs. Leppley, and Mrs. Pitman, and knew that she had infuriated her stepdaughter—but what alternative did she have? If the girl hadn’t learned by now that leaping into bed with a man was not the cleverest way to win him, she’d have to be forced to hold herself back. Marina knew men like Rafa—before meeting Grey she had had her fair share of love affairs. They were used to girls rolling over for them, sleeping with them, then they discarded them when they ceased to pose a challenge. But she couldn’t talk to her; Clementine thought she knew better. Marina had to watch it all from the sidelines, powerless to help.

  Clementine sat between the two old ladies as they drove down to the quay. Mrs. Leppley smelled of roses and talcum powder. Mrs. Pitman was extremely hearty, holding forth about her own adventures on the sea. Rafa sat in the front with Grey, listening to her stories with interest. Clementine wondered whether he really was interested, or whether he was just being polite. If it was the latter, he was a very good actor.

  They reached the harbor and Grey parked the car. Shelton was a quiet village, but this evening it had spilled out onto the waterfront. There were children eating ice creams and young women chatting beside their pushchairs. A few old people sat on the benches enjoying the sunshine and the view of the ocean. Seagulls swooped down to scavenge for food, brawling over scraps left behind by careless grownups and mischievous children. Craggy-faced sailors fussed about their boats while fishermen returned with their small hauls. Clementine cheered up in spite of herself and led the way to her father’s boat, tied securely to a bollard.

  Mrs. Pitman was overjoyed to see the boat, aptly named Marina. It wasn’t anything special, but by the fruitiness of her voice and her ecstatic exclamations, one could have been mistaken for thinking she had just clapped eyes on the Lady Moura. “Oh, I say. What a stunning boat!” She put her hands on her sturdy hips and smiled appreciatively. “What luck with the weather and the sea’s calm. We’re in for a jolly ride.”

  “It’s lovely,” Veronica agreed, tying her silk scarf at her throat. “I shall sit by the cabin, out of the wind.”

  “If you want to stay out of the wind, Veronica, you’d better sit inside.”

  “And miss all the fun? No, I’ll huddle. I’m good at making myself small.”

  “All aboard, then,” said Grey.

  Rafa jumped down and turned to help the ladies. Clementine noticed the way he looked at them as they took his hand and stepped onto the deck. His smile was as seductive, his eyes as intense, as when he looked at her. She awaited her turn, then gave him her hand. She felt the warmth of his skin and the way his touch made her tingle all over. She laughed, embarrassed, as if the tingle showed through her clothing.

  “Your brother told me that you don’t like boats,” he said.

  “I don’t know what he’s talking about,” she replied coolly, not wanting him to know that he was the only reason she was going anywhere near a boat. “What’s there not to like?”

  He shrugged. “Seasickness?”

  “I find if I keep my eyes on the horizon, I tend to be all right.” She took her place on the bench at the back, next to Pat. Veronica sat as near to the cabin as possible. Clementine hoped that Rafa would come and sit beside her, but he jumped back onto the quay to help untie the ropes. She watched him crouch down and pull them free, appreciating the vigorous energy of his movements. He looked accustomed to physical labor, and Clementine imagined his working with his father on the pampa. Grey started the engine, and Rafa pushed the boat away from the side, then leapt back in.

  “You girls look comfortable,” he commented cheerfully as the boat chugged slowly out of the harbor.

  “Haven’t been called a girl for a very long time,” said Pat with a chuckle. “Hurrah, off we go! Isn’t this jolly!”

  “He’s very naughty,” said Veronica.

  “Sue McCain would like him,” added Pat, watching him join Grey at the helm. “Her Argentine was a terrifically good lover.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Veronica agreed. “The difference between Latin men and Englishmen is the way they feel about women. Latin men love women. Englishmen prefer to be with other men, which is why we have so many men-only clubs in this country.”

  “Is that true?” Clementine cut in, suddenly interested.

  “My husband prefers sport to women. That’s not to say he doesn’t like women, but if he had the choice, he’d be on the golf course with his chums,” said Pat.

  “Rafa’s a terrible flirt,” said Clementine, longing to talk about him if she couldn’t talk to him.

  “They’re all like that,” said Veronica.

  “Oh, yes. Sue McCain told me that chatting up women is an Argentine national sport.”

  Clementine felt her spirits sink. “Do you think Rafa is like that?”

  “No, I don’t,” said Veronica, sensitive to the blush that had just expanded onto Clementine’s cheeks. “I think he’s very kind. Why otherwise would he bother with silly old bags like us?”

  “That’s true,” Pat agreed. “He takes trouble with everybody. I think he’s just one of those rather unusual men who likes people.”

  “Really? Do you think so?” Clementine cheered up again.

  “You can see it in his eyes: he empathizes. He’s an old soul; wouldn’t you agree, Veronica?”

  “Most certainly.”

  Once the boat sailed out into open sea it picked up speed. Grey left Rafa at the helm and disappeared inside, returning with blankets. “It can get pretty cold,” he said, handing them to the women. “Right, do you want to see how fast this lady can go?” Pat whooped with joy while Veronica cowered against the cabin, holding her headscarf in place.

  “Oh, yes, this is the way to go,” Pat shouted over the roar of the engine. “I love the wind in my face. Reminds me of the time I crossed the Atlantic in my little Angel. Gosh, that was a rocky ride, I can tell you. No fooling around in those seas.” Her enthusiasm was infectious, and Clementine laughed with her.

  “Tell her about the time you nearly got eaten by a shark,” Veronica asked, and Pat needed no further encouragement.

  At last they turned inland, motoring slowly into Smuggler’s Cove. It was dark there in shadow, and quiet out of the wind. The sun had sunk low, turning the sky a pale, flami
ngo pink.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?” sighed Veronica, emerging from her sheltered corner.

  “You can just imagine the smugglers bringing their loot here to hide in those caves,” said Rafa, edging around to join them.

  “Enough of loot, young man, you’re going to catch a crab,” said Pat.

  “What do we do after we’ve caught it?”

  “Put it back,” said Clementine knowledgeably. “Unless it’s big and tasty, in which case, we’ll eat it for supper.”

  “Run away, crabs! Run away!” he pretended to shout into the water.

  “That’ll do no good. They’re suckers for bacon,” said Grey.

  “Undone by their own greed,” said Pat.

  Grey sailed as near to the pebble beach as he was able, then turned off the engine and dropped anchor. Rafa wasted no time in taking off his shoes, rolling up his jeans, and jumping in. The water reached midcalf. “You coming, Clementine?”

  “What is it about you and water? You just can’t resist, can you?”

  He laughed. “Perhaps it’s got something to do with you.”

  “I can’t pretend I enjoy getting wet. But here goes.” She tossed the blanket aside and pulled off her trainers.

  “I’ll carry you,” he offered, holding out his arms.

  “I’m much too heavy,” she protested.

  “Trust me, I’ve carried calves far heavier than you.”

  “Well, all right then. But if I am heavy, don’t let it show on your face.” She fell into his arms. He pretended to stagger, his face twisted into a grimace. “Oh, stop, you fool!” she laughed.

  “I … think … I’m … going … to … have … to … drop … you.” He stumbled towards the beach where he put her down. “Any other takers?” he asked, grinning at Pat and Veronica.

  “I think I’ll make my own way,” Pat replied. “Bit of water won’t hurt!”

  “I’ll stay on the boat and watch,” said Veronica.

  Grey poured Veronica a glass of wine. “I have smoked-salmon sandwiches,” he said. “We’ll celebrate once we’ve caught a few crabs. Now, Clemmie, are you going to show them how it’s done?”

  Clementine forgot her aversion to crabs and tied a piece of bacon to the string as if she had done it all her life. Rafa stood beside her as she tossed it into the water. “It’s a bit like fishing,” she told him. “You wait until you feel a tug and then slowly pull it in.”

  He got the bucket ready, and sure enough, after only a minute or two, there was a tug on the line.

  Clementine’s heart leapt. “Oh my God, we’ve got one. Dad, we’ve got one!”

  “Well done, you!”

  “I think it’s a big one.” She pulled the line, lifting a large black crab out of the water. “It’s huge!”

  “Wow! My first crab,” said Rafa.

  Mine, too, thought Clementine. “Not so fast, pirate! This is my crab.” She dropped it into the bucket of water. “Now, you take a piece of string and some bacon, and see if you can catch one as big as mine. It’s a competition.”

  “And the winner?” He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

  “Gets to eat it,” said Clementine.

  “I was thinking of something much more fun.”

  “What?”

  “Not telling you now.”

  “Go on!”

  “Let’s see who wins. If I do, I might just take my prize without asking.”

  16.

  As the sun sank slowly towards the sea Rafa and Clementine stood side by side on the pebbles, tossing their bacon strings into the water. Their laughter ricocheted off the cliffs with the cries of gulls, who circled greedily in the hope of food. Pat was a crabbing veteran, having spent her childhood holidays in Cornwall. When the bacon didn’t lure the crabs fast enough, she just thrust her hand into the sea and caught them with her fingers, holding them up triumphantly for everyone to see. Veronica watched from the boat, her glass of wine almost down to the last drop. Wrapped in a blanket, enjoying the rough beauty of the little cove and the merry banter of her companions, she applauded each catch with a whoop of delight.

  Grey watched his daughter. It had been many years since he had been able to entice her onto his boat. She had always loathed crabbing and fishing, and had found the sea a dull place to be. But now, watching her with Rafa, one would have thought she had been raised on it. She was deft at handling the lines, confident at bringing them in, and unruffled at disentangling the crabs from the string. He noticed that she was showing off to Rafa. So, it had taken the allure of a handsome foreigner to get her to come out in the boat, but that didn’t matter. The fact was that she was out, enjoying the best of Devon, sharing the beach with her father.

  Clementine sensed the pull of Grey’s stare and turned. When she caught his eye, he smiled. Not his usual jolly smile, but a wistful one, tinged with pride. She grinned back, surprised by his affection. Then she averted her gaze and settled it on her line, which had just begun to quiver. However, she wasn’t thinking of the crab she was about to catch, but her father’s gentle face. She couldn’t remember the last time he had looked at her like that.

  When their buckets were full, they drank wine and ate the smoked-salmon sandwiches in celebration. “So, who wins?” asked Clementine, holding up her bucket.

  “You do,” Rafa replied.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Why let her win so easily?” Pat asked, munching heartily on her sandwich.

  “Because I’m a gentleman.”

  “So, you won’t be taking your prize without asking?” said Clementine, a little disappointed.

  “Because I’m a gentleman,” he repeated with a grin that made her stomach lurch.

  “So what is my prize?”

  “Admiration.” He wound his arm around her waist, pulled her against him, and kissed her cheek. Pat roared with laughter while Veronica watched with interest at the blossoming of young love.

  Grey raised his glass in a toast. “To a wonderful evening with friends,” he said. “But now we must be getting back. It’ll be dark soon.”

  Rafa stood once more at the helm, but Clementine didn’t mind. Veronica and Pat were a hilarious duo and the three of them laughed all the way back to the harbor.

  “Oh dear, I think I’m a little tipsy,” said Veronica, taking Rafa’s hand and stepping onto the quay.

  “It’s good for you, Veronica,” said Pat. “That’s why the French live so long. It’s all the wine they drink.”

  “It feels as if the ground is going up and down, don’t you think?” Veronica added, grabbing hold of Rafa’s arm to steady herself.

  “Let me escort you back to the car,” he suggested, placing his hand on hers.

  “You are a very dear man.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Not many young people would be so considerate. You know, when you’re young you don’t ever imagine you’re going to be old. But it falls upon you quite unexpectedly and then, there you are, one of the old people you rather despised.”

  “I’ve never despised old people,” he said, walking her gently along the quay. “I love old people. They have lived many lives and experiences, and are full of wisdom.”

  “You seem much older than you are, Rafa.”

  “I know. I’m an old man in the body of a young man. One day the body will catch up with the mind, and then I will feel complete.”

  “Don’t you feel complete?”

  “I feel dislocated, actually,” he confided.

  “That’s got nothing to do with you being too old for your skin. So, why is it, do you think?”

  “Because I am rootless, Mrs. Leppley.”

  “Please call me Veronica. We are all rootless, Rafa, until we find our soul mate. I don’t imagine you have found yours yet?”

  “No, I am still looking.”

  She smiled tenderly. “You will find her, and when you do, the world will shift into place and you will no longer feel dislocated.”

  “I’m sure you ar
e right.”

  “I’m an old bird who’s seen a lot.”

  “Did you find your soul mate?”

  “Yes. My husband fell in love when he saw me dance.”

  “I bet you were a beautiful dancer.”

  “I was never Margot Fonteyn, but I was good. That’s the sadness of growing old: one has to concede that there are things one can no longer do. But I love my husband and I have lots of grandchildren, and those are the things that I value now. Not my ballet shoes.”

  “Family is everything,” he agreed firmly.

  “Oh, yes, it is.” She sighed. “I am very blessed.”

  They returned to the Polzanze in high spirits. Pat recited limericks while the car wound up the lane. It was nearly dark. The lights twinkled in the windows of passing houses and in the sky, which was studded with stars, but none was as welcoming as the lights of the Polzanze.

  Tom and Shane marched out to open the doors.

  “I’m still feeling a little light-headed,” said Veronica happily. “It’s been a lovely day.”

  “I’m so pleased,” said Grey, letting her slip her hand around his arm.

  “I’m feeling very old, but very happy.”

  “I feel revitalized,” said Pat, striding past them. “Nothing like the sea wind to sweep away the years.”

  Clementine opened the boot and lifted out the bucket. Inside were five fat crabs. “These will do for dinner,” she said.

  “Here, let me help you.” Rafa took the bucket off her. “Where do you want them?”

  “In our kitchen. Come, I’ll show you.”

  “So, this is where you live,” he said, looking up at the pretty, gray stone building with its white clock tower and weathercock.

  “It’s the old stables. Submarine converted it for her private use.”

  “Submarine?”