The Mermaid Garden (6 page)

agony of childlessness.

They clung to each other. Marina unburdened her sadness and

stopped crying. She closed her eyes, soothed by his hand gently strok-

ing her hair and his lips tenderly kissing her temple, and inhaled deeply until she felt a calm wash over her, like warm honey poured onto the

wounds in her heart. The sorrow was slowly replaced with gratitude

that she had found in Grey a man who loved her unconditionally, in

spite of all her faults.

“I came down to tell you that you have another candidate for your

artist-in-residence. A man called Rafael Santoro just called and asked

whether the position has been filled. He sounded very pleased when

I told him it hadn’t.”

“I don’t think I have the energy to see anyone else,” she sniffed.

“You will tomorrow. You’re exhausted right now, so don’t think

about it.”

“Where’s he from? Italy?”

“Argentina.”

“Did he sound . . . normal?”

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Grey laughed into her hairline. “What’s normal?”

“He’s not a mad tango dancer, or a fancy polo player?” She lifted her

head and wiped her eyes, smiling tentatively.

“I don’t know. But as far as I can tell he sounded normal enough.”

“What time is he coming?”

“Ten.”

She sighed heavily, regaining her strength. “Okay. So all is not

lost.”

“It’s not lost until you say it’s lost, darling.”

“I wish Paul would come back.”

“We’ll find another Paul. This Rafa, as he likes to be called, might

even be better than Paul.”

“You’re as optimistic as Harvey.” She laughed, the sparkle restored

in her eyes. “If you ask me, Rafa Santoro sounds like a brand of dog

biscuits.”

Clementine met Sylvia, her lover, Freddie, and Freddie’s friend Joe in

the Dizzy Mariner pub in Shelton, surrounded by model boats and

what looked like rusted relics of the
Mary Rose
.

“Shelton must be the sleepiest village in Devon,” said Clementine,

looking around at the empty tables. A couple of old people sat in the

corner, tucking into steak-and-kidney pie, without saying a word to

each other. An elderly man, in a tatty tweed suit and cap, perched on a stool chatting up the barmaid, who leaned on the counter, grateful for

the company.

“Most people go to the Wayfarer in Dawcomb, but I like it here. It’s

cozy and less noisy,” said Sylvia.

“I like it quiet,” said Freddie, putting his arm around Sylvia’s waist.

“I don’t have to share you.”

“Or risk bumping into your wife,” Sylvia added, raising a plucked

eyebrow.

“I bet it’s a culture shock coming down here from London,” said Joe,

gazing on Clementine admiringly.

“It is. I didn’t want to come. I don’t get on with my father’s wife.”

“So, why did you?”

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“Because I have to earn some money.”

“I thought the likes of you would have a trust fund or something.”

Clementine laughed bitterly. “There was a time when Dad threw

money at us. You know, the classic father trying to win his children’s

affection with treats to make up for the divorce. But he’s not so rich

anymore. Submarine—that’s his wife—is
very
high maintenance, and I know they’ve been hit by the financial crisis as I pick up fag ends

when they don’t know I’m listening. Then there’s Mum, married again

to Michael, hopeless with money. They’ve had to sell their house in

London and move up to Edinburgh so that he can join the family busi-

ness. He’s lost loads in the credit crunch. I think I’d rather be poor, living in London, than rich, living in Edinburgh.”

“Edinburgh’s more happening than Dawcomb and Shelton put to-

gether!” said Sylvia.

“Perhaps, but it’s cold. At least it’s sunny down here.”

“Sometimes. You’ve just had it lucky.” Sylvia arranged her dress,

pulling the neckline lower to expose her cleavage. Freddie lost himself there a moment. “I couldn’t live in a city for all the world. Much too

noisy, and the people, oh, I couldn’t bear having to fight for space on the pavement. It’s bad enough in Dawcomb during the summer when all

the tourists come down and fill the place to bursting. I like it now, when it’s quiet. Just us, the locals, empty beaches, empty sea, long, empty

days.” She giggled as Freddie put his hand on her upper thigh. “And

you, dear Freddie, with your empty head!”

“Not empty. Full of you, Sylvia.”

She wriggled with pleasure. “Fancy coming out for a ciggie?”

Sylvia wandered slowly through the pub, her hourglass figure

squeezed into a tight blue dress, causing the man in tweed to spill his beer as he swiveled around to follow her with lusty eyes. “Close your

mouth, dear, you’re much too old,” said the barmaid with a cackle,

reaching for the cloth to wipe the counter.

“She’s quite something,” said Joe, shaking his head. “A real vixen.”

“How long have they been together?”

“Together isn’t a word I’d use. They’re lovers, plain and simple. He’s

married with kids. She’s divorced. It’s going to get messy. About six

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months, to answer your question. Snatched moments and I’m the

beard.”

“You’re very good to put up with it.”

“He’s my mate. I’d do anything for Freddie. Trouble is, he’s in love. A man don’t use his head when he’s in love.”

“I was very little when my parents divorced, but I know it’s dam-

aged me. I mean, how could it not? Anyone who thinks children escape

unscathed when their parents divorce is kidding himself. All through

my childhood I dreamed of them getting back together. Even when

Dad had married Submarine and moved down here, I still wished.”

She leaned across the table and lowered her voice. “I wished Submarine

would meet with an accident.”

“Naughty girl.”

“Very.”

“Sounds like she’s still alive and kicking.”

“Unfortunately. At least she hasn’t given Dad any children. There’s

some justice, after all.” She knocked back her vodka tonic. “I’m still

Dad’s only daughter. There’s consolation in that.”

Joe laughed. “You’re funny.”

“Gallows humor.”

“Can I get you another drink?”

“You most certainly can, Joe. Thank you.”

He walked over to the bar. Clementine sat back on the bench and

watched him sleepily. He was easy on the eye. A little coarse, perhaps, but she liked the way he laughed at her jokes and looked at her so appreciatively. When he returned with her vodka, he was grinning.

“What are you smiling about?”

“Us.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, Sylvia and Freddie, they’ve set us up.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

“I thought they’d just gone out for a cigarette.”

“No. They’ve gone out for a shag. But they’ve left us together on

purpose.”

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“She wouldn’t set me up without warning me.”

“Of course she would. That’s Sylvia. She has a big heart. She wants

everyone to be as happy as she is.”

“So Joe, if you’re my date, we might as well order something to eat.

I’m ravenous.”

He stared at her eagerly, mouth twisting at one corner with anticipa-

tion. “There are less stars in the sky tonight.”

“There are?”

“Yes, because the brightest star is sitting here at this table with me.”

Perhaps it was the alcohol, or her lonely heart, which was ready to

open for the first man with a key, but she laughed heartily at his lame line and took another gulp of vodka.

When Sylvia and Freddie came back, Sylvia smoothing down her dress

and patting her updo, Clementine and Joe were enjoying cottage pie

and laughing inanely at everything they said.

“So, looks like you two have hit it off,” said Sylvia, shuffling onto the bench and filling the air with the overpowering smell of tuberose.

“Where have you been?” Clementine demanded.

“For a ciggie, lovely.”

“Long ciggie.”

“Yes, we made it last.” She laughed huskily.

“Let’s order,” Freddie suggested. “Smells good.”

“It
is
good,” enthused Joe, his mouth full.

“Sylvia, are you setting us up?”

“I’d never do such a thing without telling you, Clemmie,” she re-

plied, looking appalled.

“Just that Joe said—”

“Don’t listen to a word Joe says. He’s a terrible old rogue. Why, have

you really hit it off?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “If you have, I’ll happily take the credit.”

“You won’t find a better man than Joe.”

“Freddie’s right. Thirty-two, unmarried, no kids, good job—and

that’s saying something these days.”

“What do you do, Joe?” Clementine asked.

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“Anything you want.” He laughed at his own joke.

“No, real y.”

“Yes, really. I’m a handyman.”

“Like Harvey,” she muttered, giggling at the thought of him in a

blue boiler suit and cap.

“I can do anything.” He raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Anything

at all.”

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3.

The following morning Marina sat at the breakfast table with Grey

in the private house they had converted from the old stables across

from the hotel.

“I’m glad to see that Jake is back this morning,” she said tightly.

“Long dentist appointment. What was the man doing? Taking out all

his teeth and putting them back in again?”

“He went to Thurlestone.”

“Why? He’s the manager here, not in Thurlestone.”

“He’s interested in that robber.”

“So he went to do a little detective work?”

“Exactly.”

“Good. Now we can all sleep better at night.” She sipped her coffee.

“I don’t think Jake’s presence there is going to be of much help in

finding the burglar.”

“He obviously thinks he can make a difference.”

“Amateur detective.”

“He should put his energy into his job here or I’ll give it to someone

else.”

Grey glanced at the clock on the wall. “I think you should wake

Clementine or she might find herself begging you for a job as well.”

“That girl needs to learn to be responsible.”

“Necessity is the mother of invention.”

“A bit late to teach her to stand on her own two feet. She knows

you’ll always bail her out.”

“If she wants to go back to India, she has to earn the money herself.”

“Grey darling, she shouldn’t be going back to India. She should be

getting a proper job. India is simply a way of avoiding the rest of her life.”

“She loves travel.”

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“I had to fend for myself when I was her age. I didn’t have rich par-

ents to support me.”

“So, isn’t it lucky that Clementine does?”

“
Did
. We don’t have any more beans to share.”

“I don’t see anything wrong in traveling and seeing the world while

she’s young and free.”

“Of course, there’s nothing wrong in that. But she’s doing it for the

wrong reasons. She won’t grow up until she takes responsibility for her life. You’re too soft. You always have been.”

“I’m a guilty father.”

“You have no reason to feel guilty. You’ve given those children every-

thing they’ve ever wanted. Jake lives and works here, Clementine has

spent every holiday traveling the world. She didn’t even have to work

to pay for her university fees. They’ve both had it good and as a result are highly spoiled. But they are not my children so”—she shrugged—

“I shouldn’t criticize.”

“But you do.” He looked at her indulgently.

“Because I care.”

He smiled. “I know.”

“
They
don’t. They think I’m the enemy.”

“That’s not true. Deep down they like you.”

“Then they don’t show it.”

“Neither do you.”

She sighed. “Stalemate.”

“Have a croissant.”

“You’re changing the subject.”

He grinned. “Yes, I am.”

“Very well, I’ll have a croissant. Soon it will be time to meet ‘the Dog Biscuit.’ ”

“And wake my daughter.”

“I won’t be thanked.”

“But you’ll have done good.”

Marina drained her coffee cup. “I suppose you’re out fishing this

morning.”

“It’s a good day for it.”

“Beautiful. Sometimes I wish I could come with you.”

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“I wish you would. It would do you good to get away and think about

something else.”

“I wouldn’t know what to think about. This place is all-consuming.”

“That’s what I mean.” He got up. “I’ll be back for lunch. Good luck

with the Biscuit.”

She pulled an anxious face and sighed helplessly. As he passed her

chair, Grey bent down to kiss her head. He lingered there a moment,

absorbing her apprehension, aching to carry her burden for her. He

closed his eyes and inhaled her warm vanilla scent. “No matter what,

darling, we’re in this together.”