The Mermaid Garden

by Santa Montefiore

  She exchanged her white jeans for a pair in blue denim and chose a blue Jack Wills check shirt which she wore over a white T-shirt. She hadn’t yet painted her toenails for flip-flops, so she wore blue Nike trainers instead, which were very casual. She didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard, so she left her hair as it was. However, when she appeared in the hall, Marina wasn’t fooled and she smiled at her knowingly. Clementine noticed that her stepmother’s cheeks were also glowing with the same brand of pink, and she pitied her for her delusion. If Rafa was a little higher than Clementine on the food chain, he was on a totally different food chain from Marina, being so much younger. She didn’t mean to feel smug, but smugness crept upon her all the same.

  Both Jennifer and Rose were also in the hall, trying to look like they had something official to do there, but deceiving no one. They resembled a pair of curious cows with their long eyelashes and dumb expressions, jostling each other as they moved slowly around the display of lilies.

  “Right, ready. Let’s go,” Clementine announced, holding up the car keys.

  “I’m looking forward to this,” said Rafa, following her outside.

  She stood in front of her red Mini Cooper, excited that it was just the two of them. “Are you sure you don’t mind my car?” she asked, unlocking it with the remote.

  “It’s a charming little car. Why would I mind?”

  “Dad’s too long-legged for it.”

  “Your father is very tall. I am not.”

  “Well, isn’t that lucky, then?”

  “For today, yes.”

  Clementine climbed in, hastily gathering up the empty coffee cartons, Cadbury’s Flake wrappers, and magazines that had collected on the passenger seat. She tossed them into the back and adjusted Rafa’s seat to give him more leg room. He sat down, and she felt a sudden prickle of electricity for their arms almost touched across the hand brake.

  “Now for the fun part,” she said, turning the key and pressing a button on the dashboard. Slowly the roof folded away, leaving them drenched in sunshine, the breeze gently sweeping through the car to carry away the smell of warm leather and any residue of Clementine’s irritation. Without her family to hamper her, she felt her confidence grow. “Isn’t this a joy?”

  “It certainly is. So, where to first?”

  “I’m going to take you on a magical mystery tour.”

  “That sounds exciting.”

  “It is. Marina can take you to the beach, and Dad can drive you around so you get your bearings. Jake can take you to the Wayfarer. But I’m not going to take you there. No, I’m going to take you to a secret little place of mine that holds no interest to anyone else in the county but me.”

  “They said you didn’t like Devon.”

  “They’re right,” she replied, driving up the avenue of pink rhododendrons. “I don’t like their brand of Devon, but I have my own secret Devon that I like very much, and I’m going to show it to you if you promise not to tell anyone.”

  “I promise.”

  She glanced at him and he grinned back. “You might even like to paint it sometime.”

  They drove up the windy lanes lined with phosphorescent green leaves and delicate white cow parsley. The air was rich with the scent of regeneration and the hedgerows alive with young blue tits and goldfinches. With the wind in their hair and a sense of elation from the sight and smell of the sea, they chatted away with the ease of old friends. He told her of his love of horses and the rides he enjoyed across the Argentine pampa; of the vast, flat horizon that glows like amber in the dying light at the end of the day and the dawn in early spring, when the land is veiled with mist. He told her of the prairie hares that play in the long grasses, and the smell of gardenia that would always remind him of home. And he told her of his mother, who worried about him constantly, even though he was in his thirties, and his dead father whom he still mourned, and his siblings who were so very much older than he that he barely knew them at all.

  By the time they reached their destination Clementine felt like a different person. Her usual defensiveness had been carried off by his enthusiasm, and in its place there remained a growing sense of confidence. Rafa had lifted her out of herself with stories of his life in Argentina, and she had listened intently, her heart swelling with compassion—and surprise that he had chosen to confide in her.

  She parked the car by the gate at the top of a field and got out. Below them, on the top of the cliff, stood a pretty little church with a turreted tower and gray slate roof.

  “Here we are,” she announced. “It doesn’t look like much …”

  “Oh, but it does. It’s the house that God forgot.”

  She smiled, pleased he liked it. “You’re so right. That’s exactly what it is, the house that God forgot, and doesn’t it look sad and forlorn?”

  They climbed over the gate and walked down the hill. The grass was long and lush, scattered with bright yellow buttercups that gleamed in the sun. Fat bees buzzed around the flowers, and a pair of butterflies fluttered about them in a flirtatious dance. As they got closer Rafa could see that the windows were boarded up. The church did indeed look sad and forlorn.

  “No one comes here. Everyone’s forgotten it. You can’t even see it from the lane. I spotted it from the sea when I went out fishing with Dad as a child, and it pulled at me somehow. As soon as I could drive I found it. I’ll show you inside.”

  “You can get inside?”

  “Where there’s a will, there’s a way, as they say. Come on.”

  She hurried round to the back of the church where a few steps led down to a little wooden door carved into the stone. “Must have been a back entrance for dwarfs,” she said with a chuckle. “Or maybe people were very small all those hundreds of years ago.”

  “How old do you think it is?”

  “Well, inside, there are tombs of people who died in the thirteenth century.”

  “Increíble!” he exclaimed under his breath.

  She pushed, and the door opened with a deep groan. Inside, the air was cold and dank. They left the door wide open to let in the light and proceeded up a windy stone staircase into the main body of the church. It would have been dark were it not for the holes in the roof and where some of the boards blocking the windows had rotted in the damp and come away from their frames. They stood in silence and looked around.

  In spite of the cold the place felt strangely warm, as if the air itself were made of something soft. The altar was draped in the habitual white cloth with a mildewed vase sitting empty on the top. The pews were in their neat rows, made of oak, blackened over the years, and on the stone beneath them remained a few cross-stitched hassocks for prayer. On a table by the front door was a pile of green hymn books, and opposite, a crimson velvet curtain separated the nave from a little annex where the stone font was dry.

  “It’s as if they finished a service and left, locking the door behind them forever,” said Clementine.

  Rafa sat on the organ stool and began to play a few notes. The inharmonious sound echoed off the walls, unsettling a couple of pigeons that had made their nest underneath the eaves.

  “Good Lord, that organ’s out of tune!” Clementine exclaimed, putting her hands over her ears. She stood in the choir stall that consisted of two rows of pews facing each other in front of the altar. “Do you play?” she asked.

  “No. Can’t you tell?”

  “I thought it was the organ that sounded dreadful, not you.”

  He got up. “So what do you do when you come here on your own?”

  “Nothing.” She shrugged. “I wander around and read the inscriptions on the tombstones. The names are wonderful. I stand above them and wonder whether all that remains of them is beneath my feet, or whether their spirits are in some other dimension beyond our senses. I’d like to believe there’s a Heaven.”

  Rafa wandered over to a large slab that stood out from the rest by virtue of its size and the clarity of the words engraved onto it. “Archibald
Henry Treelock,” he read.

  “Great name, Archibald.”

  “What do you think Archibald might be doing now?”

  “My head tells me that dear old Archie is nothing but dust. But my heart tells me he’s in Heaven dancing a branle with his wife, Gunilda.”

  “I think your heart is right. At least, that’s what my heart tells me, too. I don’t believe my father is dust and earth. I believe his old body is buried in the pampa but his spirit is somewhere else.” He ran his eyes around the church and lowered his voice. “Perhaps he is here with us now, in the house that God forgot.”

  “I haven’t yet encountered death. Both sets of grandparents are alive, unfortunately. My mother’s parents are very tiresome, but thankfully they live far away so I never see them.”

  “Where do they live?”

  “In Scotland with my mother.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, frowning. “Sorry, I don’t understand. Your mother lives here with you, no?”

  “No, Marina’s not my mother. God forbid! No, my mother lives in Edinburgh with her second husband, Martin, who’s a fool. Marina is my stepmother.”

  “I thought she was …”

  “Most people do. But I don’t know why. We don’t look at all alike.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “I look like my mother, which is a pity as she’s no beauty. I was taught that beauty comes from within, and I choose to believe it.” She gave a hollow laugh.

  Rafa wandered up the steps to the pulpit. “Does Marina have any children of her own?”

  “No. She’s unable to have children. It’s a very sore point, so don’t ever bring it up.”

  “I see.” He put his hands on the edge of the pulpit as if he were a vicar about to give a sermon. His face looked grave.

  “Jake and I are the closest to children she’s ever going to get.”

  “You don’t seem very sympathetic.”

  “Am I so transparent?” She gave a little sniff. “We’re very different, she and I.”

  “How old were you when she became your stepmother?”

  “Three—and I believed she came to steal my father away.”

  Rafa descended the little staircase and stood before her. His expression was so full of compassion she felt a gentle tug somewhere in the middle of her chest. She hadn’t meant to disclose so much about herself.

  “I understand,” he said, and touched her arm. The way that he touched her and the dark shadow that made his face look so serious convinced her that he did, indeed, understand.

  “Thank you,” was all she could think of to say.

  He smiled gently. “Come, let us go back out into the sunshine. Is there a beach below? I’d love to see the sea.”

  He put his hand in the small of her back and led her past the altar to the narrow stone staircase by which they had entered. The church was her secret place and she was his tour guide, and yet, in that brief moment, she felt as if he was looking after her. She basked in the new sensation, feeling feminine in a way she had never felt before. Why she had opened up to a total stranger, she didn’t know. Perhaps because he was a stranger with no preconceptions about her or her family. Or perhaps because there was something intimate in his soft brown eyes that drew her out of herself and won her trust.

  They emerged into the sunshine like a pair of vampires, blinking in the glare. The buttercups shone brightly like small sparks of fire, and the air smelled thick with life after the stale smell of decay inside the church. They inhaled with satisfaction and let the warm sun caress their faces. Below, the sea was calm, lapping the rocks in a lazy rhythm as if its mind were lost in daydreams. They walked down to the beach. Once there had been a path, but now it was overgrown with ferns and brambles. Clementine was relieved she had worn jeans as the thorns tore the material instead of her flesh.

  They laughed and chatted all the way down. Rafa helped her untangle herself once or twice when the brambles became too greedy and wrapped their thorny tentacles around her ankles.

  “All this for a beach,” he exclaimed, setting her free.

  “But it’s not just any beach. It’s really lovely.”

  “It doesn’t look like anyone’s been here for a long time.”

  “They haven’t—I haven’t. I saw it from the boat, but I’ve never attempted to reach it by foot.”

  “Then we shall make a path so we can come here whenever we like and not get eaten by plants.”

  The thought of coming here often with Rafa caused her spirits to rise even higher. They had the whole summer ahead, and she would enjoy showing him every corner of Devon.

  Finally, the path opened onto a sandy bank that expanded into a secluded yellow beach. It had looked beautiful from the sea, but now she was there, Clementine saw to her delight that it was even lovelier than she had imagined. The fact that neither Marina nor her father had claimed it for themselves gave her a heightened sense of joy. This would be her beach, beneath her church, and she wouldn’t share it with anyone but Rafa.

  “You won’t tell the others about our find, will you? We don’t want the whole county joining us here.”

  He put his hands on his hips and gazed out across the ocean. “I won’t tell anyone. It’s spectacular.” He breathed deeply, flaring his nostrils. “I’m finally here,” he added, and the way he said it made Clementine suspect he was talking to himself.

  They walked down to the sea. Rafa took off his shoes and rolled up his jeans. Inspired by his enthusiasm, she did the same. The water was cold, but he insisted they walk the entire length of the cove. Small waves rolled in, each wrapping their ankles in white foam before retreating to make way for the next. Rafa’s denim grew dark where it was wet until finally he was soaked up to his knees. He laughed it off with a genial shrug.

  “If I had swimming shorts, I’d dive in.”

  “Let’s do that,” she suggested. He looked at her in surprise. “Let’s dive into the sea.”

  “If you do, I will, too.”

  She giggled nervously. “Okay.” With her heart beating wildly she ran a little up the beach and wriggled out of her jeans and shirt, standing before him in only her T-shirt and pink floral knickers.

  He threw his head back and laughed at her daring. “Qué coraje, nena!” “I hope that’s a compliment.”

  “It is. You have courage!”

  “Well, don’t leave me standing here like this. Come on!”

  He joined her on dry sand and gamely stepped out of his jeans, jacket, and shirt, tossing them beside hers. “You ready?”

  She barely had time to admire his athletic body, clothed in nothing but a pair of Calvin Klein undershorts, before he was running into the water making loud huffing noises at the cold. She followed him happily, marveling at the incredible twist of Fate that had brought them together in this extraordinary way.

  They frolicked about, laughing and splashing each other. Once they got used to the water it ceased to feel so cold. They swam out a little so that the waves lifted them up and down like buoys.

  “You’re very brave,” he said admiringly.

  “Only because you put the idea into my head.”

  “But you didn’t hesitate. You thought nothing of leaping into the water.”

  “Well, what can I say? That’s just the sort of girl I am.” She grinned at him playfully.

  “I like that sort of girl.”

  “We haven’t got any towels but it’s sunny. We can dry on the beach. I bet you’ve never been in such a cold sea.”

  “There you are wrong. The sea in Chile is much colder than this. It’s impossible to stay in for very long—that is, if you’re willing to go in at all.”

  “I’d like to see South America.”

  “Marina said you are planning on going back to India.”

  “I love India, but it doesn’t have to be India. I just want to get away from here.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know what I want to do. I’m afraid of starting the
rest of my life. If I travel, I can avoid it.”

  “Traveling is life.”

  “But it’s not responsibility. I’m supposed to be starting a career and becoming ‘grown up.’ The trouble is, I don’t want to.”

  “Then you mustn’t.”

  “That’s not what my father says.”

  “You have to do what you want to do. If traveling is what you love, then you should see the world. I don’t think it is so important to conform to other people’s expectations. It’s your life, after all, and you don’t know how long you’ve got to enjoy it.”

  “Now, that’s a morbid thought.”

  “Perhaps, but it focuses the mind. You have to find your way, Clementine, even if it doesn’t happen to be the way your family have envisaged for you.”

  “I’m working in Dawcomb to save up so I can go off somewhere, anywhere.”

  “Anywhere but here.” He grinned at her.

  “I know, I sound so ungrateful.”

  “I don’t know you well enough to know if you’re being ungrateful. But I know human nature enough to know that you will never be happy living your life for other people. You have to go your own way and work it all out for yourself.”

  “You’re very wise, Rafa.”

  “Thank you, Clementine. Now I think we should get out because I can no longer feel my toes.”

  They sat on the sand to dry, and Clementine was able to appreciate how fit he was and how handsome, with his wet hair falling over his forehead. It seemed unbelievable that she was there beside him, as wet as a fish, laughing as if they had always been friends. Finally, even though they were not yet dry, they dressed and walked back up to the car. Clementine felt uncomfortable with her wet bra and knickers beneath her clothes, but she wouldn’t have missed that swim for anything in the world.

  They drove back to the Polzanze, discussing the reactions they were going to get when they told everyone that they had been swimming.

  “I’ll be sacked as your guide,” said Clementine.

  “I’ll be sacked as the artist.”