The Mermaid Garden (22 page)

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Clementine looked down at her plate, hoping Rafa wasn’t about to de-

clare that he was already married with children.

“No,” he said with a smile. “I am not attached.”

“We’d better not advertise that fact,” said Grey. “Or we’ll have all the girls from Dawcomb suddenly wanting to learn how to paint.”

“So long as they fill my rooms, I don’t care,” said Marina.

“Did you take Rafa into Dawcomb?” asked Grey.

“No,” Clementine replied. “Anyway, he already knows Dawcomb.”

“I suggest you give him a tour this afternoon. It’s important he gets

his bearings.”

“Oh, really, Dad. What’s so important about bearings?”

“Trust me, darling, a man needs to know where he is.”

Rafa laughed and turned to Clementine. “You owe me a scone with

clotted cream,” he said. “You haven’t forgotten, have you?”

Clementine beamed with pleasure that he had remembered. “Devil’s

for scones and jam it is then, so you can get your bearings.” She grinned at her father, and Grey felt his heart inflate with gratitude.

After lunch Clementine and Rafa disappeared into Dawcomb. Grey

went down to the quay to tinker with his boat, and Marina went back

to the stable block. She was surprised at Jake’s behavior at lunch. He

had been uncharacteristically aggressive. Did he feel threatened by

Rafa? Was he jealous of all the attention the new artist was receiving?

After all, no one in the hotel could talk of anything else. He hadn’t

been very enthusiastic about having an artist in the first place; perhaps he was put out that the man was obviously going to be a great success.

What Jake didn’t realize was that they
all
depended on Rafa, regardless of whose idea it had been to invite him. This was no time for petty jealousies. This
had
to work.

Marina was in her kitchen reading the papers when Jake burst in, his

face pink with excitement.

“Baffles has struck again!” he declared. Marina stared at him in shock.

“The Greville-Joneses were robbed in the early hours of the morning.”

“Good God, are you sure?” It frightened her that the thief was tar-

geting people she knew personally. It brought him closer to
her
.

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“My mole on the police force called me just now. He says they’re try-

ing to contain it so that people don’t get scared.”

“We’ll all be reading about it tomorrow, then.”

“They won’t hear about it from me.”

Marina sighed anxiously. “Poor John and Caroline. It’s just horren-

dous.” Jake grinned, clearly enjoying the drama. “You shouldn’t look so pleased, Jake. We could be next.”

“I doubt it. It’s not as if we have any goodies to steal.”

“He doesn’t know that.”

“Of course he does. It’s clear he knows the houses very well before

he robs them. He goes straight for the loot and leaves everything else

untouched.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“John Greville-Jones heard a noise in the hall and crept down with

his rifle. Apparently, he keeps it under his bed.”

“He should be careful Caroline doesn’t use it on him.”

Jake chuckled. “I don’t think she’d know how to unlock it.”

“Did he see him?”

“No. He was very quick. In and out like a mouse.”

“What did he take?”

“All the silver from the dining room.”

“Nothing else?”

“My mole says he must have known it was there because he went

straight for it. He didn’t bother going into any of the other rooms, and you know the Greville-Joneses have a drawing room full of valuable

paintings.”

“Any clues?”

“Just a note saying ‘
Thank you
.’ ”

“Really, that’s absurd.”

“Signed Raffles.”

“He’s loving the attention, obviously. Whoever heard of a polite rob-

ber? It’s a contradiction in terms.”

“Robbers always like to leave their mark.”

“Poor John and Caroline. I was going to suggest that Rafa take my

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and Harvey sat in the kitchen all afternoon, flirting with their cook.”

She sighed. “They might be less keen to invite strangers into their

property now.”

Rafa and Clementine sat in Devil’s, staring at a three-tiered silver tray of scones, a big bowl of clotted cream, and a dish of jam. Penny and

Tamara, two pretty young waitresses, hovered around the table hoping

for the handsome foreigner to toss them another dashing smile.

“So these are scones,” said Rafa, helping himself to the biggest one.

“I’ll show you how it’s done.” Clementine cut open his scone and

spread a large dollop of cream onto each half, placing a spoonful of

strawberry jam on top. “Now tuck in! It’s more than a taste, it’s an experience.”

Knowing he had an audience, for by now not only the waitresses

but the table of middle-aged women beside them had suspended their

conversation to listen in, he lifted one half and took a somewhat theatrical bite. There was so much cream and jam he couldn’t help but catch

some on his lips. Instead of using his napkin, he licked it off with relish, his crow’s-feet deepening as he grinned with comical delight. Penny

and Tamara giggled, and the middle-aged women smiled at his readi-

ness to laugh at himself. It wasn’t long before Sugar Wilcox, christened the less tasty name of Susan, came out of her office at the back of the café to see what all the commotion was about.

Sugar’s was a heart as soft as her scones and as ready to be devoured

as the jam and cream. When she laid eyes on the charismatic stranger

sitting with Clementine Turner by the window, she adjusted her

sherbet-pink dress and took full advantage of her position as propri-

etor to sweep across the room and introduce herself.

“Clemmie, who is your charming guest?”

Rafa wiped his mouth with the napkin, jumped politely to his feet,

and extended his hand to the petite blond woman who now stood be-

fore him. “Rafa Santoro,” he said. The strength of his handshake star-

tled her, and she withdrew hers hastily, nursing her fragile fingers with her other hand.

“Italian,” Sugar gushed. “I love Italy.”

“Argentine,” he replied. “You’d love Argentina.”

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“Goodness me, you are funny. Please, enjoy your scones.”

Rafa sat down again. “I am enjoying them. They’re delicious. If

I lived here, I’d grow fat on them, happily.”

“You know, I’m a little familiar with Argentina. I had my Eva Peron

moment, scraping my hair back into a chignon, wearing nineteen-

forties dresses, and painting my lips crimson.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t more of a Madonna moment?”

“Well, I suppose it was really. I liked the way she looked in the movie.

So, how long are you staying?”

“The summer,” interrupted Clementine, just to remind Sugar that

she was still there. “He’s my stepmother’s artist-in-residence.”

“Really? How delightful. I’d love to learn how to paint.”

“You have to be a hotel guest, I’m afraid,” said Clementine.

“Does lunch count?”

“No.”

Sugar sighed and opened her blue eyes as wide as they would go.

“Will you be giving lessons after hours?”

“I’ve only just arrived, so I don’t know what I’ll be doing.”

“I warn you, Marina will keep you very busy at the hotel.”

Rafa shrugged, feigning helplessness. “I have to earn my board and

lodging.”

“The rent at my place is less demanding,” Sugar breathed sugges-

tively. “Come and have a scone or two any time you like. On the house.

You’ll be good for business.” She smiled sweetly and wafted away.

Clementine laughed quietly. “Is it your aftershave?”

“What do you mean?” But he knew what she meant, for the corners

of his mouth twitched mischievously. “I don’t suppose they’re used to

foreigners down here.”

“Rubbish, of course they are. They’re just not used to handsome

ones.”

“They’ll get over it. Looks can carry a person only so far.”

“At least you’ve got personality. Most beautiful people have never

had to develop one.”

His brown eyes appraised her thoughtfully. “I think that less obvious

beauty is more attractive. When it’s leaping out at you, there’s nothing to look for.”

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Clementine began to feel hot. Was he referring to her? “Everyone

has something,” she said lamely.

“Your stepmother has a very beautiful face.”

“You don’t think it leaps out at you?”

“No. She has mysterious eyes.”

“Then you’re seeing something that I don’t see.”

“Of course, because I am not blinded by prejudice. When a woman

is her age, the face reflects the person she is, whether she likes it or not.

She cannot hide her nature. Marina has a sensual, generous face, but

there is something guarded and sad about her eyes.”

“Men!” Clementine rolled her eyes. “You’re no different from all the

rest.”

“Why did you imagine I would be?”

“I don’t know. I hoped . . .”

He shrugged and took a sip of tea. “The problem you have with your

stepmother is
your
problem, not hers. Don’t let what happened in the past control who you are
now
.”

Clementine was taken aback by his comment. She had thought he

understood. But when all was said and done, he was a man like every

other man, he just had a more beautiful face. In one morning, Marina

had managed to wrap her tentacles around him like Medusa. Clemen-

tine had lost him as an ally.

That night, after dinner, Rafa went into the garden to call his mother.

He sat on the ground beneath the cedar tree and pulled out his Black-

Berry.

Maria Carmela seemed to sense when it was her favourite son and

hurried to pick it up before it had the chance to ring.

“
Hijo
.”

“Mamá. Are you well?”

“I am, Rafa. Thank the Lord, I am in good health. A little tired, but

what can one expect when you are as old as I am.”

“You’re not old.”

“I feel old. I’m full of worry.”

“I’ve told you not to worry.”

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“I wish your father were alive.”

“If he was, I wouldn’t be here, and I’m glad I’m here.”

“So tell me. What do you do with yourself all day?”

Rafa told her about his excursion to the forgotten church with

Clementine and their swim in the sea. “I had a proper English tea this

afternoon in a place called Devil’s. I had scones.”

“What are they?”

“Like
alfajores de maizena
, more or less. I’ll bring you some when I come home.”

“Have you said anything?”

“Not yet. The time isn’t right.”

“If you leave it too long, you might miss the moment.”

“I have to be sure, though I’m pretty certain this is the right place.

All the clues lead to here.”

“If you’re not sure, come home and forget the whole silly venture.”

“I’ve come this far; I’m not giving up now.”

“No one can say you’re not a man of courage. For that I’m proud

of you.”

“So be proud and stop worrying.” There was a long pause and a

crackle over the airwaves. “Mama, are you still there?”

“I feel guilty, Rafa.” Her voice was quieter now.

“Why?”

“If I hadn’t told you, you’d never have set off on this mad quest. It’s all my fault. Your father and I promised we’d keep it all secret. While he was alive he gave me the strength to hold my tongue. He took it to

the grave, as he always said he would. But I . . . it is because I love you that I couldn’t hold it in any longer. You had a right to know the truth.

But now I have told you, I’m frightened of what you might dig up. I’m

afraid I have given you the key to Pandora’s box.”

“Nothing’s going to happen.”

“You don’t know the people you are dealing with. They are dan-

gerous.”

“That was many years ago. Times have changed.”

“I worry that I have put you in danger again.”

“Let me worry about that.”

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“Oh, Rafa, you give me such strength. I will try not to worry.”

“I’m going to come home at the end of the summer, and everything

is going to be just the same as it always has been. Trust me.”

“I trust you,
hijo
. I just don’t trust . . .
them
.”

Rafa distracted her with questions about the farm, his siblings and

their children. Little by little, her voice grew less strained and she

sounded more herself. When he hung up, he felt a little better. He

hated to think of her sitting alone in the middle of the pampa, wor-

rying about him. He knew how precious he was to her, and that since

the death of his father he had become even more so. He stood up and

put his hands on his hips, staring out into the eternal blackness of the night, lost in thought. He wasn’t ready to go back inside, there were so many knots to unravel in his head. So he took a walk.