The Mermaid Garden

by Santa Montefiore

  “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 smolder beneath his gaze.

  “Me? I’m single and very lonesome.”

  Clementine returned home after work and packed her suitcase. Marina 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 backseat. 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. They have similar pieces in Nadia Goodman on the high street. Perhaps 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 reception 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.”

  “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 remained 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.

  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?”

  “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 handsome young man who teaches guests to paint. It’s just not going to happen,” said Grey. “I’m sorry.”

  Marina stood up and began to pace the room. “You’re giving up too easily, Grey. If that man is going to come into our home, size us up like a prize cow, and think he can buy us because he has pots of money to throw around, then I won’t have him. I won’t.”

  Grey could see she was getting worked up. “Calm down, darling.”

  “Calm down! You’re telling me to calm down? This is my home, Grey. This is where I belong. I’ve sweated blood into every piece of fabric and every piece of furniture. I’ve poured my love into every inch of it. It’s not just a home, it’s a person
.” She turned on him, eyes welling with tears, and in a small, pleading voice, she said, “It’s not just a person, it’s my child.” She clutched her belly as the unspeakable word escaped into the air. Grey and Jake stared in astonishment, as if seeing it materialize. For a long while no one said anything.

  Marina blinked in surprise as it echoed in her ears. My child … my child … my child.

  She wiped her cheeks and returned to her chair. “I’m not going to give up,” she stated firmly, sitting down. She raised her eyes to her husband. He saw the determination in them and knew that the battle was far from over. “I will explore every avenue, turn over every rock, and beg if I have to. I will not sell this place. You will have to bury me first.”

  Jake coughed, embarrassed. “So, are they coming or not?”

  Grey looked to his wife. “Let them come,” she replied. “Let them offer all the money in the world. And watch me say ‘no,’ for ‘no’ is the only answer I will give them.”

  Grey and Jake left the office. “I need a stiff drink after that,” said Grey to his son.

  “Me, too. Christ, she’s emotional.”

  “Yes, very hot-blooded sometimes.” They walked across to the stable block.

  “Isn’t she very exhausting?” asked Jake, following him into the sitting room.

  “Not all the time. Right now, she’s going through a difficult patch. As you can see, she loves this place. It’s the child she can’t have.”

  “That blew me away. I’ve never heard her mention her childlessness.”

  Grey went to the drinks cabinet and poured them each a gin and tonic. “She never talks about it. It’s just something that’s always there, simmering beneath the surface. She’s a contradiction—on one hand very open and fiery, and on the other extremely secretive. I was as surprised as you when she articulated it.”

  “I feel sorry for her. You already have two children. She has none.”

  Grey handed his son a glass and smiled at him affectionately. “I appreciate that, Jake.”

  “I can see why Clemmie’s a disappointment to her.”

  “Marina loves you both. You don’t belong to her, but she’s watched you grow up. It’s a cause of great unhappiness that Clemmie and she don’t get along.”

  Jake took a sip and went to sit on the sofa. “Clemmie’s just confused.”

  “Have you met this Joe?”

  “No.”

  “I wonder if he’s any good.”

  “I doubt it. She doesn’t seem that inspired by him. Saying she’s in love is bollocks.”

  “When you get to my age, you realize that you can’t live people’s lives for them. If it doesn’t work out, she’ll come back.”

  “No, she won’t. She’s too proud for that. She’ll earn her money and scoot back to India at the first opportunity.”

  * * *

  Marina remained at her desk. When she reached out to pick up her Biro, she saw that her hand was trembling. She rubbed it as if nursing an injury. While she rubbed, she considered her options. There weren’t many. But there was one. She bit her lip and turned her eyes to the window. Outside the sea was calm. The sky was clear. A few gulls hovered like gliders on the wind. If pushed, there was one card in her deck that she could still play. One person she could turn to for help. But did she dare go back and open the door she had so firmly shut years ago? Her eyes welled with tears and she put her head in her hands; she now realized that there was simply no other way.

  The following morning Clementine awoke to the shrill ringing of the alarm clock. At first she wondered where she was. She opened her eyes to the unfamiliar surroundings: the beige curtains, the white walls, the unremarkable pictures hanging there. Then she inhaled the very masculine smell and remembered. Fighting a wave of homesickness, she propped herself up on her elbows. Joe lay groaning beside her. She watched him throw his arm over his face to shield it from sunshine breaking through the curtains and felt nothing but her sinking heart. She didn’t love Joe, and right now, as he moaned like a dying dog, she found him intensely irritating.

  She climbed out of bed and staggered into the bathroom. Her legs felt heavier than ever. She washed her face and tied her hair up. She was only twenty-three, but she looked old and tired. She thought of Rafa and the way she had rebuffed him. Her behavior hadn’t been very mature. He had apologized, and she had made it very clear that in spite of her words, she hadn’t forgiven him. Well, she’d put it right.

  In a flurry of enthusiasm she washed and blow-dried her hair, leaving it loose to fall onto her shoulders. She applied her makeup with care, masking the shadows beneath her eyes with concealer and accentuating her lashes with mascara. You never know, she thought hopefully. He might come looking for me in the office. She chose an Emporio Armani navy suit that she had never worn, primarily because she felt too grown up in it, and a pair of heels. Rafa would appreciate those. If he did come looking for her, she was determined he’d find a woman in the place of the child he had rowed with. She didn’t bother to kiss her lover goodbye; he had fallen back to sleep anyway.

  She popped into the Black Bean Coffee Shop on the way to work. Standing in the queue she remembered the first time she had seen Rafa. She even remembered his smell of sandalwood. She cast her eyes around the café, hoping that by some miracle he had decided to have his morning coffee in town. But it was full of the usual young mothers with toddlers and businessmen on their way to the office. She noticed a couple of men raise their eyes above their newspapers and glance at her appreciatively. She felt good in her suit.

  Remembering that Mr. Atwood had an important meeting that morning, she arrived at Atwood and Fisher laden with coffees, muffins, and a hot chocolate for Sylvia. Mr. Atwood was sitting in the lounge area with a couple who had come in search of a house to buy. He glanced at her, then did a double take, losing his train of thought and stammering.

  Clementine smiled. “Good morning, Mr. Atwood. I’ve brought you coffee and muffins.” She placed them on the table in front of them.

  “Muffins! My favorite,” said the husband, picking one up and taking a bite.

  “Very efficient secretary,” said his wife, eyeing her suit enviously.

  “I only employ the very best,” said Mr. Atwood, puzzled.

  Clementine left them and returned to her desk. “Thanks for the hot chockie,” said Sylvia, taking in the transformation. “I’m loving the suit. That look is really working for you.”

  “I’ve decided I no longer want to be me,” Clementine declared, sitting down and switching on her computer.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Everything.”

  “Not anymore. It’s good to see a woman in heels. It shows you mean business.”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  “I gather you’ve moved in with Joe.”

  “Yes.”

  “It must be love.”

  “Whatever it is, it’s very convenient.”

  “Having trouble at home, are you?”

  “When aren’t I?”

  “Joe’s a good lad. He’ll look after you.”

  “He was buried beneath the duvet this morning.”

  “I didn’t feel like getting up myself. The trouble with having an affair with a married man is that you never get a cuddle in the morning.”

  “I didn’t get so much as a ‘good morning.’”

  “But at least he was there. I think I should trade Freddie in for a single man. A man who can give me all of his time and all of his attention.”

  “Quite,” Clementine agreed, not really listening. Her mind was being pulled back to the hotel. She wondered whether Rafa was on the lawn giving lessons.

  “I might go up for a drink at your hotel this evening.”

  Clementine frowned. “Really? Why?”

  “Everyone’s talking about your Argentine.”

  “He’s not my Argentine.”

  “Good. So the way is clear, then?”

  “For you?”

>   “Of course. Latin men like curvaceous women, don’t they?”

  “I don’t know. I know nothing about them.”

  “Well, everyone’s talking about him. Sugar was up there last night, and now she’s absolutely smitten.”

  “I know. I saw her. Flaunting herself like an old tart.”

  “That’s not kind,” Sylvia chided. “She’s just playful.”

  “Don’t misunderstand me. He was loving it.”

  “I’m sure he was. She says he’s delicious. She’s going to ask your stepmother whether they can have painting lessons on the weekend.” Sylvia giggled. “Maybe I should learn how to paint.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively. “I’m very happy to pose nude if he wants to paint me.”

  Clementine tried not to feel jealous. It was always inevitable that Rafa would eventually sink into the perfumed posse of Dawcomb girls. With his good looks and charm he was like a honeypot to bees. She wished she hadn’t provoked a row. They had been getting along so well. Now she had blown it; they weren’t even friends.

  Mr. Atwood finished his meeting and called Clementine into his office. He dictated a couple of letters, then gave her a tray of papers to file and a list of documents he needed for the afternoon.

  “Good look,” he said with a nod.

  “Oh, thank you,” she replied, glancing down at her suit in surprise.

  “I like my secretary to look professional.”

  “Well, I feel professional today. It’s a novelty.” She laughed joylessly. “Did your wife like the bracelet?”

  “The bracelet? My wife? Oh, yes.” He coughed. “She was very pleased. Yes. Well chosen, Clementine.”

  Clementine grinned as she went to the filing cabinet. Now she knew who his mistress was she could have fun with him. If she hadn’t been in such a grumpy mood, she’d have confided in Sylvia. For the time being, she decided to keep the information to herself.

  Having organized the files so efficiently, she found the documents he required with ease. She swiftly typed the letters and envelopes and took them through to his office. “That was quick,” he said, taking the documents and looking them over to check they were the right ones. He murmured his approval. She placed the letters in front of him for his signature. He read them for errors, surprised to find none. He signed his name in his tight little writing at the bottom of each. “Well done, Clementine. You’re becoming quite a good secretary all of a sudden.”