The Mermaid Garden (34 page)

Sylvia shook her head. “Clemmie’s never met them. I think Marina

keeps them well hidden, don’t you?”

“You mean, she’s ashamed of them?”

“Perhaps.” She laughed. “I don’t think they even attended their wed-

ding. Clemmie once remarked that they married in the local registry

office as soon as the divorce came through. For two people in love,

that’s not very romantic, is it?”

“Some people don’t like to make a big noise.”

“Clemmie says Marina loves a big noise, if she’s in the middle of it.”

She lowered her voice, aware that she might be overheard. “I bet she

didn’t want her family there to let her down. She presents quite posh,

doesn’t she? I mean, her accent, it’s rather pretentious, isn’t it, like she’s trying too hard?”

It was now twilight. The tea lights glowed in their purple glasses, the roosting birds were silent against the sleepy murmur of the sea. Rafa

drained his glass, Sylvia lit another cigarette. He felt anxious about

Clementine—every time he thought about her the knot tightened in

his chest.

“Do you have Clementine’s mobile number?” he asked.

“Yes.” Sylvia squirmed uncomfortably.

“Give it to me.”

With a groan she burrowed in her bag for her mobile and scrolled

down for the number. She read it out and watched nervously as he

punched it into his BlackBerry.

“Are you going to call her?”

“Why not? She can be busy up here.”

“I don’t think Joe will like it. He’s very possessive.”

“Then I will ask them both.”

“Why don’t you text?”

“You think that would be more appropriate?”

“Absolutely, otherwise you might get her into trouble.”

C, where are you? I was hoping you would come up with Sylvia for a

drink. Are you really too busy? I want to tell you I’m sorry . . . Rafa
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Clementine read the text. Her stomach flipped like a pancake. She read

it again, blushing deeply. Her first thought was that Rafa wanted to see her. Her second was that Sylvia had deliberately failed to include her.

She glanced at Joe, sitting in the armchair watching sport on Sky, and

knew that she couldn’t possibly get away right now. She wished Joe

would disappear in a puff of smoke.

Can’t now. Can you come to the house that God forgot tomorrow

evening, after work? C

Rafa’s BlackBerry bleeped with an incoming message. Sylvia reddened.

“Is that Clemmie? Is she coming?”

He read her text and narrowed his eyes. The house that God forgot,

would he remember how to get there?

“Well? What does she say?”

“She’s busy,” he replied.

Sylvia’s shoulders relaxed. “You see? I told you.”

“I’ll see her tomorrow. What time do you finish work?”

“Five thirty.”

“Okay.” He typed with his thumbs:
I’ll come by your office and we can
go together
.

“Who are you texting?” Joe asked.

“Jake,” Clementine lied. “I’m going to go up to the hotel after work

tomorrow. There’s something he wants to tell me.”

“Probably wants to persuade you to move back.”

“Maybe.” The only thing standing between her and going home was

her pride. Joe turned his attention back to the television. She watched him as he sipped beer out of the can, feet up on a stool, eyes glued to the screen, and thought how very coarse he was. Just as she was wondering

what on earth had possessed her to move in with him, her telephone

bleeped with a text. She read it eagerly. So, Rafa would pick her up

tomorrow and they’d drive out to the old church, their secret place. At once her spirits soared.

She remembered walking down the little path to the beach, the way

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he had disentangled her from the brambles, the moment they had

stripped off to their underwear and ran into the sea. She remembered

the way they had laughed, shared stories, and returned to the Polzanze

like schoolchildren trying not to be caught breaking the rules. She

smiled wistfully and hoped that tomorrow would be just as special.

Sylvia noticed Rafa’s glance at his watch. She could sense when a man

wasn’t interested in her and wasn’t about to make a fool of herself. She looked at hers and gasped. “Good Lord, is that the time. I should go.

Freddie will be wondering where I am.”

“Freddie?”

“My lover. He’ll be wanting dinner.”

“I should go, too.”

“Do you have a dinner date?”

“I’ll join my students.” He grinned. “That sounds odd as none of

them is under seventy.”

She looked around. “This place is really rocking.”

“It’s a beautiful hotel.”

“Rumors indicate that it’s struggling.”

“It doesn’t look like it’s struggling to me.”

“No, you’re right. The air has changed—it feels happy. Makes me

want to stay and soak it up.”

“You’ll have to come again.”

“I’ll drag Clemmie here next time.”

“You do that.”

She wondered why his face lit up. Clemmie was a peculiar creature,

not a great beauty like
her
, and Rafa was clearly a man who could have any woman he wanted. “It’s been fun. Is it presumptuous to thank you

for the drink?”

“Not at all, it’s my pleasure.” He escorted her to the hall, glancing at his ladies as they walked through the drawing room, pleased to see that they were still heavily absorbed in conversation. The brigadier’s loud

guffaws shot into the air like gunfire, filling the room with mirth.

“They’re having a good time,” Sylvia commented.

“My dinner companions,” he laughed.

“Dinner won’t be dull, then.”

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“Neither will yours.”

“No, Freddie’s a laugh a minute.” But as she left the hotel she was

stuck by a sudden stab of loneliness. There was no dinner with Freddie; he was at home with his family. There was no one at home for her.

Jake stood in the hall and watched her walk across the gravel to her

car. He had said “good night,” but she had responded glumly, without

even looking at him. Her evening with Rafa had clearly not gone well.

He wished she had stopped to talk to
him
. He was sure he could have cheered her up.

The following morning Harvey drew up in front of the hotel in a

gleaming Jaguar. With the roof down, he sat at the wheel, his arm rest-

ing casually on the window frame, a roguish grin carved into his happy

face.

“Go and find Marina,” he called to Tom, who gave a low whistle

before rushing off to get her.

Shane sauntered out to admire the car. “It’s a real beauty,” he gushed.

“Jaguar XK, with all the trimmings.”

“Nice. Whose is it?”

“My nephew’s. He’s lent it to me. I want to see Marina’s face when

she sees me in it.”

“Nice nephew!”

“He’s done well for himself.”

“Will you take me for a spin later?”

“You bet. It’ll take more than a few odd jobs to get me out of this

today.”

Marina stepped onto the gravel, and her mouth opened in a silent

gasp as she saw Harvey at the wheel of a sleek racing-green Jaguar.

“I don’t believe it!” she exclaimed, shaking her head in wonder. “I never thought I’d see you in a sports car, Harvey. It’s stunning!”

“Get in!”

“Are you going to take me for a drive?”

“I have a little time before I’m due to take Rafa and his painters to

the Powells’ for lunch. Mrs. Powell is putting on a picnic for them so

they can paint the old dovecote.”

“What a good idea. So, where shall we go?”

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“Wherever you want, m’lady.” Shane opened the passenger door and

watched Marina climb in.

“How exciting.” She laughed like a young girl going out on a date.

“We’ll be gone for some time,” she told Shane. “Tell Jake to hold the

fort.” With a purr the car crept smoothly into the drive. Shane and

Tom watched it go.

“I’d like a car like that,” said Tom enviously.

“The only way you’re going to get one of those is by stealing it, or

robbing a bank,” said Shane.

“Or finding a rich bird to buy me one.”

“You won’t find her here, lad. Rich birds go to the South of France

not Dawcomb-Devlish.”

“What a beauty, Harvey. How long have you got it for?” Marina shouted

over the roar of the wind.

“As long as I want,” he replied carelessly. “My nephew won’t be need-

ing it. He’s gone abroad for a few weeks.”

“It must have cost a bomb.”

“Sixty-three grand, new.”

“You’ve got to be joking?”

“Nope. Well, that’s the retail price, but this is secondhand. Still, it’s got all the trimmings; leather seats, touch-screen sat nav, alloy wheels, and she moves like a big, beautiful cat.”

“She certainly does. You’d better keep it in the garage while that rob-

ber is on the loose.”

“I’m more worried about the boys running off with it.”

“Shane and Tom?”

“Yes, wouldn’t trust them as far as I can throw them.” He winked.

“When it comes to those two, they’re just a pair of schoolboys.”

They drove down the country lanes, the sun on their faces, the wind

tossing Marina’s long hair playfully. After a while they ceased to talk.

Occasionally, she smiled at him and he grinned back at her fondly,

and in those moments she was able to forget about Clementine, the

hotel, their mounting debt, and the imminent arrival of Charles Rue-

ben. When she was with Harvey, she felt the weight of responsibility

lighten, as if he was there to carry it all for her.

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* * *

Clementine was furious with Sylvia for having deliberately excluded

her from her evening with Rafa, but for once she decided not to create

a scene. She was disappointed in her, having believed they were friends, but in her heart she was not surprised. Sylvia was a man’s woman, and

their friendship counted for nothing when she set her sights on a new

conquest.

She got to work early, having not wanted to spend more time than

necessary lying beside Joe, who seemed to have nothing to get up for,

and drank a latte at her desk. She wore her hair up and her navy suit, but had packed a Jack Wills sundress, cardigan and flip-flops in a bag for

later. The very thought of spending the evening with Rafa had turned

her stomach upside down. She had no appetite for breakfast and could

barely sit still.

Sylvia arrived, looking guilty. Instead of flouncing confidently to her desk she shuffled in sheepishly.

“I feel dreadful,” she stated, coming straight to the point. “I didn’t

sleep a wink last night.”

“Why?” Clementine asked breezily.

“Why? Because I’ve been a bitch, that’s why. I didn’t like who I was

last night, and I want to say I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Sylvia. I understand why you did it.”

Sylvia was surprised. “You do, and you’re not upset with me?”

“Not at all.” Clementine’s happiness made her unusually forgiving.

“I was with Joe anyway, so I wouldn’t have been able to come.”

“Well, I should have told you. He’s
your
friend, not mine.”

“He’s everyone’s friend, Sylvia.”

“No, I think he likes you more than anyone else. His face lit up when

he spoke about you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“He’s like that with everyone, don’t be under any illusions.” But she

allowed herself a
frisson
of excitement even though she was certain Sylvia was wrong.

Mr. Atwood arrived in the early afternoon after a meeting in Exeter.

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neatly typed up beside them. Clementine came in with a cup of coffee.

He sat back in his chair and chewed on the end of his pencil, observing her through narrowed eyes.

“You’re becoming a rather good secretary, Clementine. I’m im-

pressed!”

“Thank you, Mr. Atwood.”

“Let me ask you, why the sudden leaf turning?”

“No reason. I’m actually enjoying myself.”

“Good. That suit becomes you.”

Clementine noticed the lascivious glint in his eyes and recoiled.

“Thank you.”

“You’re a pretty girl, Clementine.”

“Is there anything else, Mr. Atwood? Because if there isn’t, I’d like to get back to my desk.”

“Yes, yes. Of course. Don’t let me detain you.” He gave a cheerful

chuckle to show that he meant nothing by the compliments. “I like a

secretary who’s keen to be at her desk.”

Back at the hotel, Bertha sat at the kitchen table with Heather, hugging a mug of coffee.

“I think the brigadier is keen on Mrs. Meister,” said Heather. “I’ve

been watching them closely. They always sit together, and he’s asked

her to take a walk with him this evening. I’m ashamed to have eaves-

dropped, but it’s gripping, I can’t help it.”

“Love is in the air,” Bertha sang tunelessly.

“I’ve always felt sorry for him. You know, coming up for breakfast