“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, suddenly embarrassed.
“The light is golden tonight.”
“Yes, it is.”
“I’d like to paint you.”
“Oh, really, Rafa, I’m not sure that even you could turn me into Botticelli’s Venus.”
“I wouldn’t have to. You’re perfect just the way you are.” She frowned at him. Marina had said the same thing. Could it be possible that he was beginning to believe it? “I mean it. I want to paint you before the sun goes down.” He threw the rug onto the lawn and insisted she sit down. Biscuit lay beside her and rolled onto his back, hoping she was going to take the hint and stroke his tummy. Pat, Veronica, and Grace walked on up the lawn, leaving them alone.
Rafa opened his box of oils and found a fresh sheet of paper.
“What do you want me to do?” she asked.
“Talk to me,” he replied, looking at her intently.
She sighed. “I think he’s really going to draw us,” she said to Biscuit.
“I’m going to draw you,” he corrected. Then he grinned as he swept the oil pastel across the page. “You know, you’re a very beautiful girl, Clementine. But you’re typically British in that you cannot accept a compliment. In my country girls thank a man when he flatters her.”
“All right, thank you.”
“My pleasure. Now talk to me.”
The sun seemed to hover above the tree line just for Rafa. The light was soft and mellow, the air infused with the scents of cut grass and honeysuckle, and in the tallest branches the birds settled down to roost.
“I did as you advised and talked to Marina,” said Clementine. “You know, you’re the only person who has ever given me proper advice.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“You’re the only person who has ever suggested I talk to her. My friends loved hearing my stories, and I’m ashamed to admit that I enjoyed telling them, and exaggerated wildly to get attention. My mother was always petty and small-minded, preferring that I ganged up with her rather than persuading me to build bridges. She’s never been magnanimous, and I suppose it must have given her pleasure that I never bonded with the woman Dad had fallen in love with. The truth is that no one ever told me to make friends with her. It had never occurred to me. And I never thought to listen to what she had to say.”
“But you did.”
“Yes, and you were right. There are always two sides to every story. She isn’t a wicked stepmother after all, so I shan’t call her Submarine ever again.” She dropped her gaze and rubbed Biscuit’s stomach. “I think I understand a little more about love.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Love is like a bright light that burns away all negativity. You know, like sunshine on mist. I felt my heart open when I listened to Marina, and all the heavy, unhappy fog simply evaporated. It was extraordinary. So, it got me thinking: happy people are full of love; unhappy people have very little, perhaps none at all. That’s all there is to the world—those who love and those who don’t. It’s really very simple. If everyone loved there’d be no wars. Everyone would live in peace.”
“I think you should run for prime minister.”
She laughed. “But how do you teach people about love?”
“There have been many teachers, like Jesus, Mohammed, Buddha, Gandhi, to name but a few. Now we can add Clementine Turner to the list.”
She watched him sketch, his hand moving confidently across the paper, and thought how attractive it was to be so talented. “Rafa, have you ever been in love?”
“I’ve been in love many times,” he said, grinning at her. “There’s a very big difference between being ‘in love’ and ‘loving.’ ‘In love’ is infatuation. Loving begins when the infatuation passes and you really know the person. Otherwise, how can you love them if you don’t know them?”
“So, have you ever loved?”
“Once.”
“What was she like?”
He thought for a moment. “She was very sweet.”
“Blond, brunette?”
“Brunette.”
“What happened?”
“I wasn’t ready to commit.”
“Did she want to marry you?”
He shrugged. “She was Argentine: that’s all she thought about.”
“Did that put you off?”
“Not really, but I was restless. The timing was wrong.”
“So what happened?”
“She finished with me, found someone else, and married him.”
“Were you very sad?”
“Of course, but what could I do?”
“Do you ever think about her?”
“Sometimes.”
“Do you regret that you never married her?”
“Never.”
“Do you keep in touch?”
“No.” He narrowed his eyes and his lips curled at one corner. “Any more questions, or is the inquisition over?”
“You’re very shady.”
“Shady?”
“Yes, you don’t give away much about yourself. Sure, you talk about your parents and Argentina, but you don’t talk about you.”
He sighed dramatically. “All right. I’m a spy working undercover for the Argentine government. But that is all I can tell you; otherwise, I have to kill you.”
She stared at him pensively. He looked steadily back at her. For a moment neither spoke. Everything stilled. The sun finally dipped behind the trees, leaving them in shadow. They both felt the energy build between them. But Clementine was used to the warm feeling of desire and the anticipation of the kiss that never came. It took all her willpower to tear her eyes away. “Are you nearly done now?” she asked, breaking the spell. “I’m getting rather stiff.”
“The light has changed.”
“Shall we go in?”
He sighed regretfully. “If you want to.”
She got to her feet. Biscuit rolled over and stretched. She could feel Rafa’s disappointment as the energy drained away and the wind picked up.
“Can I see it?”
Rafa handed her the sketchbook. She looked at his picture and gasped in surprise. The girl in the golden light was beautiful. He gathered his paints and crayons and stood up. “Do I really look like that?” she asked, staring at it.
“You do to me, Clementine.”
She frowned at him, wondering why, if he saw her like that, he didn’t take her in his arms and kiss her. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Yes, you do,” he replied.
“Thank you.” She handed back the book. “Are you coming in?”
“In a minute. I want to make a telephone call.”
“Good night, then. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Clementine marched up the lawn with Biscuit. She could feel Rafa’s eyes on her back, but she didn’t turn around. It had taken as much will as she could muster to walk away; she wouldn’t have enough to do it a second time.
Rafa watched her disappear around the hotel, a frown rumpling his brow. He felt dissatisfied. He didn’t know how much longer he could continue like this. Clementine was beginning to consume him. Whenever he tried to think of something else, she popped back into his head. He thought he could control his feelings, but it was becoming increasingly clear that he could not.
He pulled out his BlackBerry and called his mother. At times like this he missed her dreadfully. He missed the sound of her voice and all that it represented. “Mamá.”
“Rafa, mi amor. Is everything okay?”
“Mamá, I’m in love.”
There was a moment’s silence. Then she spoke with surprising calmness. “Is she very special?”
“She’s unique.”
Maria Carmela might not have understood his motives for being there, but when it came to love, she understood very clearly indeed. “So, why do you sound so sad?”
“I’m confused. I came here for one thing and one thing only. I didn’t come here to fall in love.”
“Fo
llow your heart, Rafa.”
“I want to. But I can’t if I’m unable to be honest with her.”
“Then you have to come clean, Rafa. You have to tell her why you’re there. You have to tell all of them the truth.”
“It could go horribly wrong.” Another moment of silence ensued. Maria Carmela did not know what to advise. This was beyond her. “They know nothing. Nothing. And I’m still not sure. I need more time.” He sighed heavily. “Am I being selfish? They’re a happy family, and I like them all so much. Then there’s you. You’re the most important person in my life—if you doubt me, then I cannot do it.”
“I’ve been thinking, if this is really so important to you, then you must do it and I will support you. Your father wouldn’t be happy, but I’ll deal with him when I see him in the next life. Leave him to me. Right now, you have to find peace. That is all that matters. It is your right, and I am beside you all the way.”
He was almost too choked to speak. “Thank you.”
“It is love that gives me the courage to let you go.”
“You’re not afraid anymore?”
“No. I am resigned, and I am content. I don’t know why I ever doubted you.”
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”
“Oh, yes, I do. Now, do you want to hear what that silly parrot did today?”
He laughed and wiped the damp from his eye. “Yes, tell me.”
When Clementine arrived at work on Monday morning, Sylvia was at the filing cabinet, her face hidden by a cascading wall of wavy hair. On close inspection Clementine could see that she was crying.
Mr. Atwood wasn’t in yet, neither was Mr. Fisher. Clementine ignored the telephone, put the coffees on her desk, and approached her.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Sylvia sniffed and nodded. “I hear you’ve broken up with Joe.”
“Yes, I’m afraid I have. It wasn’t going anywhere. It was unfair of me to lead him on.”
“And you’re in love with Rafa, aren’t you?”
Clementine frowned. “Is that why you’re crying?”
Sylvia looked up from the drawer and pulled a sorry smile. She nodded. “I don’t love Freddie,” she confided. “I never have. To be honest, I’ve never loved anyone, really. But the other day …”
“Come and sit down.” Clementine put her arm around her. Sylvia allowed herself to be led to her chair. Clementine gave her a cup of coffee, which she began to sip halfheartedly.
“I saw you and Rafa together, and, well, I could feel it.”
“Feel what?”
“Feel this incredible thing you have together. I’ve never had that. I’ve never believed in it.” She gazed at Clementine helplessly. “I want it.”
Clementine felt relief. It wouldn’t be fun chasing the same man. “So, you’re not in love with Rafa?”
“Oh, I could be—he’s very sexy—but no, I’m not in love. I just want to be.”
“Then stop being so cynical and wait for someone to rock your boat hard!”
Sylva’s scarlet lips curled into a small smile. “I doubt Freddie was ever going to leave his wife.”
“I don’t know, but you shouldn’t break up a marriage if you can help it.”
“I’m a bad person.”
“Misguided, that’s all.”
She sighed. “What must I look like! Have I got mascara halfway down my face?”
“You’d better hit the loo before Mr. Fisher gets in. Hasn’t he got a nine thirty meeting?”
“Oh Lord, I forgot. Do me a favor, lovely, go and get some buns? And if you bump into another handsome foreigner, for goodness’ sake bring him back for me!”
Clementine hurried out into the street. It was a warm, sunny day, pigeons dropped onto the pavements to scrounge for scraps, and gulls circled high above like gliders. She sighed happily, filling her lungs with fresh sea air. Today she felt lighter inside, as if she had been relieved of a heavy burden. She walked with her shoulders back and her chin held high, and noticed the interested glances of the men she passed in the street. It had little to do with her clothes or high heels, and everything to do with her attitude. She liked herself, and that confidence radiated around her like sunshine. As she stepped into the Black Bean Coffee Shop she resolved to follow Marina’s advice and just be herself. Rafa thought she was beautiful—that was a good start—and hadn’t he said it was impossible to love someone without knowing them properly. They had the whole summer to get to know each other—and she looked forward to lying on her stepmother’s bed and confiding her progress.
“They’re on to him,” Jake told his father as Grey prepared to take some guests out in his boat.
“Your mole in the police force?”
Jake nodded importantly. “Apparently, they have a lead.”
“Do they now? Well, that’s good.”
“He’s getting a little complacent.”
“Complacency will be his downfall in the end.”
“He should quit while he’s ahead.”
“They never do. It’s like a drug. They can’t stop.”
“It shouldn’t be long before they catch him, but keep it to yourself. They don’t want him going to ground.”
At that moment Marina appeared at the boot room door. “I’ve got good news for you, darling.” Grey raised his eyebrows. “William Shaw-cross has just telephoned.”
Grey’s eyes lit up. “And?”
“He’ll be very happy to come and give a talk at our first literary dinner.”
“Well, that’s just fantastic news.”
“I’ve got his number so you can call him back.”
Grey patted his son firmly on the back. “Great idea, son.”
“Thanks, Dad.” They watched Marina walk off down the corridor.
“Though I’m not sure it’s going to be enough to save us,” Grey added in a low voice.
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m trying hard not to think at the moment, but it’s not looking good. The bank is hot on my tail. It’s only a matter of time before we have to make a tough decision.”
“You could retire.”
“I’m not rich enough to retire.”
“Buy a lottery ticket.”
“We need more than luck,” said Grey darkly. “We need a miracle.”
31.
Ican’t believe it’s come to an end,” said Pat mournfully. “It’s gone too fast!”
“I wish we were staying another week, don’t you, Grace?” added Veronica, leaning over to take one last sniff of the lilies. “Oh, I do love the smell of this place.”
“You’ll have to come again next year,” said Marina.
“I’ve had a lovely time,” Jane said, trying to sound jolly when inside she felt full of concrete. “Thank you so much, Marina.”
Marina sensed her heavy heart and wondered whether it had anything to do with the brigadier. They had been joined at the hip for the past few days, but she had noticed his absence at breakfast.
“You can come any time you like,” she replied in a low voice so the others wouldn’t hear. “You can stay as my guest.”
Jane’s cheeks reddened at Marina’s implication, and she hastily brushed it off. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to be a burden. I’m sure we’ll all come again next summer.”
“If we’re still around,” Grace interjected drily.
Marina accompanied them out onto the gravel, where the people carrier waited to take them home.
“It’s an oasis here. One forgets oneself,” said Pat, sweeping her eyes over the house one final time.
“I know. Heaven, isn’t it?” agreed Veronica. “Now I’m beginning to remember myself again.”
“What hell,” quipped Grace.
“Not so bad. I feel like a different person,” Veronica retorted. “I shall miss my lovely room, though.”
“And I shall miss the maestro,” said Grace as Rafa appeared up the track, followed by an exube
rant Biscuit.
“I’m sorry you’re all leaving,” he said to the departing ladies. He tried not to look at Marina, who was staring pensively at the dog.
“Biscuit looks a lot better than he did the night you rescued him,” said Pat, whistling heartily and slapping her thighs. Biscuit trotted over eagerly.
“So, you’re going to keep him,” said Veronica.
“Of course,” Rafa replied. “He has nowhere to go.”
Pat bent down and gave his curly back a vigorous rub. “What a good dog you are. Yes, you are, a very good dog.”
Grace rolled her eyes. “Why is it the English all think their dogs understand what they’re saying?”
“Oh, but he does,” Pat insisted.
Grace tutted. “It’s all in the tone of the voice. Look, Pat.” She approached the dog, and in the same excitable voice as Pat, she gushed, “You’re a very bad dog, yes, you are, a very bad dog.” Biscuit wagged his tail so hard he nearly took off like a helicopter. “See, said with the same intonation, the silly animal doesn’t know the difference.”
“You’re an old cynic,” said Pat. “Or should I say in my most jolly voice: You’re a silly old bag, Grace.”
They said their good-byes and climbed into the vehicle. The driver started the engine. Marina, Rafa, and Biscuit stood back to wave them off. Just as they were drawing out of the drive, the brigadier’s old Mercedes swept round the corner, tooting the horn, demanding that they stop. “He’s late for breakfast,” observed Marina, glancing at her watch.
“I don’t think he’s come for breakfast,” said Rafa.
The brigadier leapt out of the car like a young officer, reached into the backseat, and extracted an enormous bouquet of white roses. The door of the people carrier slowly opened, and a blushing Jane stepped lightly down.
“I want to ask you to stay,” said the brigadier, presenting her with the flowers.
Jane pressed them to her nose, not knowing how to reply. She felt foolish in her awkwardness. “They smell wonderful,” she said. “How very sweet of you to think of me.”
“I went to a lot of trouble to find smelly ones,” he said. “I chose them because they smell like you.” A warm glow spread across her face, and she smiled self-consciously.
The brigadier rocked back and forth on his heels as he worked up the courage to deliver the short speech he had been rehearsing all night. He cleared his throat. “It’s been a long time since I’ve asked a girl out.”
The Mermaid Garden Page 37
