The Mermaid Garden (10 page)

threatened to break her. She had poured all her love into its conception and birth. Without it, she would be lost. She began to scribble until

the roar of the ocean and the squawking of gulls faded into a dull la-

ment.

She was interrupted by a light tapping at the window. She looked up.

There, with his woolly face pressed against the glass, was Mr. Potter, the gardener. When he saw that she had noticed him, he pulled off his cap

and grinned toothlessly, signaling with his hand that she come out and

talk to him. With a sigh she got up and went to the window.

30067 The Mermaid Garden.indd 54

1/21/11 2:21 PM

The Mermaid Garden

55

“I’m so sorry, I completely forgot,” she said, leaning out. “The sweet

peas.”

“That’s right, Mrs. Turner.”

“Give me a minute to put on my boots and I’ll come out.”

“Sorry to bother you. You looked busy in there.”

“It’s okay. The gardens are as important as the house.”

His gray eyes twinkled beneath white candyfloss eyebrows. “They

most certainly are.”

“I’ll meet you at the greenhouse.” She withdrew from the window

and watched with a surge of affection as the old man replaced his cap

and plodded off, his stiff hip causing him to limp slightly.

Just as she was about to go out, Marina remembered the postcard

from Katherine Bridges and pulled it out of her pocket. She read it

again, smiling fondly to herself as she remembered her old friend, now

in her late sixties and living on the edge of Lake Windermere in Brit-

ish Columbia. Love had taken her to the other side of the world, and

she couldn’t blame her for that, but she missed the only woman she had

ever truly depended on. She pulled a floral box file down from the shelf and opened it. Inside were dozens of items of correspondence from

Katherine, which she had kept over the years. She placed the postcard

inside and put the box back. Then she went out into the garden to find

Mr. Potter.

“Well, she’s found her artist,” said Bertha, sitting at the kitchen table with Heather. Lunch was over; the few guests had left; the three chefs

taken off their aprons and retired for the afternoon.

“He’s lovely,” sighed Heather, her broad Devon accent curling

around the words like the steam swirling up from her hot chocolate.

“Do you think it’s true what they say about foreigners?”

“What do they say, then?”

“That they make good lovers.”

Heather giggled. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Why would they be better? What do they do that Englishmen

don’t do?”

“Last longer?”

Bertha grunted. “Nothing good about that.”

30067 The Mermaid Garden.indd 55

1/21/11 2:21 PM

56

Santa Montefiore

Heather hugged her mug of hot chocolate. “Do you think she’ll calm

down now she’s found her artist?”

“Hope so. She’s very tense. I think she’s having a midlife crisis.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. She’s over fifty, and she’s got no kids. I bet that hurts.”

“Poor love. Every woman deserves to have kids.”

“It can drive you mad, you know, not having kids. Something to do

with the womb drying up.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. It dries up, and that drying-up does something to the

brain.”

“So, what will happen?”

“Don’t know.” Bertha shook her head, her face full of doom. “Per-

haps her artist will cheer her up.” Her bosoms jiggled with laughter.

“Sure as hell will cheer me up!”

Clementine insisted on paying half the lunch bill. It wasn’t very much

and Joe was determined to treat her, but she placed twelve quid on the

plate and refused to take it back. “You’ve bought me a bunch of roses.

I can’t allow you to pay for lunch as well.”

“I’m glad you liked them.”

“I do. They brighten up the office.”

“You’ve brightened up my day.”

“Good.” She felt the tightness in her voice and smiled stiffly.

“Last night was fantastic.”

“Great. Good.” She frantically searched for the waiter.

“You don’t sound very convinced. Wasn’t it good for you?”

She tossed her gaze at the little fishing boats that bobbed about on

the sea and wished she could just sail away in one. “I don’t remem-

ber much,” she mumbled. “I drank too much vodka. Felt terrible this

morning. So, no, it wasn’t so great for me.”

Joe shrank in disappointment. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

“I shouldn’t have let you drink so much.”

“I’m not used to it,” she lied.

“You were fun, though.”

30067 The Mermaid Garden.indd 56

1/21/11 2:21 PM

The Mermaid Garden

57

“I’m sure I was.” She glared at him. “I don’t usually sleep with some-

one on the first date.”

Joe looked astonished. “You think you slept with me?”

“Didn’t I?” It was her turn to shrink.

“What sort of man do you take me for? You think I’d ply you with

drink and take advantage of you?”

“You didn’t?”

“Of course not.”

“So, we just fooled around?”

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that. You didn’t mind at the time. In fact, you mewed with enjoyment.”

“Steady with the details.”

He grinned. “Feel better now?”

“Yes, much. I awoke feeling ashamed. I’m not that sort of girl.”

“I know that. That’s why I like you.”

It wasn’t going to be so easy to extricate herself while she felt this

grateful. “Thank you.”

“You’re quirky. I like that.”

“Am I?”

“I like your overbite; it’s sexy.”

“My overbite?”

“Yes, the way your top teeth—”

“You make me sound like Goofy.”

“When can I see you again? Tonight?”

“Not tonight, Joe.”

“Tomorrow then?”

“Maybe.”

He grinned at her. “I like a woman who’s hard to get.”

Clementine returned to the office deflated in spite of discovering

that she had remained chaste after all. She had hoped to finish it with Joe, but it seemed to be starting all on its own, without any regard

for her.

30067 The Mermaid Garden.indd 57

1/21/11 2:21 PM

30067 The Mermaid Garden.indd 58

1/21/11 2:21 PM

5.

Grey anchored his fishing boat in Captain’s Cove and cast his line.

The sea gently swelled beneath him, and gulls dropped out of the

sky to swim about his boat, greedy for the bread he tossed them. With

the sun on his back and the breeze sweeping across his face, he took

pleasure from the peace. Green velvet meadows plunged sharply into

precipitous cliffs, where birds nested in the rocks and only one or two white houses stood to brave the winds that whipped off the water. A

yellow beach nestled secretively in the bay. He’d never seen anyone

walk there, in spite of a narrow path leading down through the rocks. It looked enticing, and he imagined setting down the picnic rug and lying

there with Marina, enjoying the tranquillity undisturbed.

His thoughts turned to his wife as they always did, for she was grow-

ing increasingly anxious. He understood her concern. No one loved the

Polzanze more than she. When they had first met, it was her dream to

create a beautiful home. Had he had the money, he would have bought

her one without hesitation, but his barrister’s pay wouldn’t have af-

forded so much as a wing of the kind of house he’d have liked to give

her. So he had bought a run-down mansion instead and watched with

pleasure as she had slowly and laboriously created the palace of her

fantasy. At first he had left it to her, returning at weekends on the train from London to see what she had done during the week. She’d had

Harvey to help, and together they had painted and decorated while

Mr. Potter had toiled in the gardens with his sons, Ted and Daniel. It

had been a labor of love for all of them—Marina with her vision, and

Harvey and Mr. Potter with their memories of the glory days when the

house had been a magnificent family home.

Grey left London when they opened the Polzanze. Being an hotelier

was a full-time job, and Marina was keen to give it a family feel, as if she were opening her own home to paying guests, welcoming every

30067 The Mermaid Garden.indd 59

1/21/11 2:21 PM

60

Santa Montefiore

one at the door as a hostess would. They were soon written up in pres-

tigious magazines, and people poured in to admire her flamboyant

decoration and splendid gardens. There was plenty to do. A golf course

was conveniently situated near the hotel, and a six-court tennis club

boasted the Shelton Tournament for the young every summer. Grey

organized fishing expeditions, supplying the hotel with fresh mussels,

lobster, and crab, as well as a large variety of fish. A narrow path took guests along the cliff tops into Dawcomb-Devlish, where they were

entertained with classy boutiques and restaurants. Children queued

beneath the plane trees in the square for hair braids and spray-on tat-

toos, while their mothers shopped and their fathers arranged speed

boating and day trips to Salcombe.

Marina wanted children from the moment she married. At twenty-

three she was so much younger than Grey, who was forty-two with a

broken marriage and two small children of three and five, who came to

stay at odd weekends and during the holidays. As much as she adored

Clementine and Jake, she longed for a baby of her own. Grey was

happy to oblige, not that he desperately wanted more offspring, but

he desperately wanted to make her happy. He was aware of the age

gap and compensated by indulging her every whim as a father might

indulge a beloved daughter. She began going to church, praying to

God to bless her with a child, but none came. He either didn’t hear

her, or did not consider her deserving. Marina agonized over which it

might be.

Now Marina did not go to church. She no longer prayed, and her

eyes would water at the smallest mention of children. God had de-

serted her, and she felt the chill of His rejection with an overwhelm-

ing sense of shame. The Polzanze had sustained her for so many years,

but now a curtain had come down on her dreams of motherhood. She

spent more time on the beach, gazing out to sea as if she was expect-

ing a child to come across the water. Grey knew she saw her future as a bleak, empty void, when it should be bright with the laughter of children and eventually grandchildren. They were in dire financial trouble, having borrowed heavily to build their business. She knew she was on

the verge of losing the Polzanze, although she couldn’t bear to articu-

late it. In those soul-searching hours on the beach Grey knew she must

30067 The Mermaid Garden.indd 60

1/21/11 2:21 PM

The Mermaid Garden

61

ask herself what she had besides him and her precious hotel; and he

knew she believed she had nothing.

He felt a tug on the line and wrenched his thoughts back to the task

at hand. Slowly, with great patience and skill, he drew it in. He sensed the fish was a big one. Shame they didn’t have a full dining room to

enjoy it. He was proud of supplying the kitchen with fresh catch every

day. Sometimes he’d go out with Dan Boyle and Bill Hedley, two local

fishermen who’d been fishing these waters for over fifty years. Then

he’d bring in enough fruits of the ocean to last a week.

Finally, the fish rose above the water. It was a large, slippery Cornish bass, wriggling to free itself. Grey forgot about Marina and her grief

for the child they couldn’t have, and dropped the fish into the boat. He opened its tender mouth and released the hook. A wave of excitement

washed over him as he admired it—must be at least four pounds.

He replaced the bait and cast his line again. He’d spend all morn-

ing out there, detached from the world and its worries. While he was

in his boat, the Polzanze seemed a very long way away. He didn’t dare

wonder how Marina had got on with Rafa Santoro—if he’d believed in

the power of prayer, he’d have shot one up on her behalf. He knew how

much this mattered to her—and if it mattered to her, it mattered even

more to him.

Rafa Santoro returned to his hotel and took a table outside, against the wall. The sun was warm, and he was sheltered from the wind. An audacious seagull landed on his table, but he had nothing to give it so the bird turned up its beak and flew off to harass someone else for treats.

He noticed a couple of girls at another table, giggling into their lunch, and averted his eyes. He didn’t want to encourage them. The waiter

took his order—cola, steak and chips—and he settled into the
Gazette
, the surest way to find out the local gossip.

So, he had arrived. He wasn’t sure how he was meant to feel. Part

of him felt elated, another saddened—saddened perhaps because the

most vital part of him felt nothing at all. He tried not to think about it.

The waiter brought his food, and he took a sip of cola, feeling the girls’

eyes boring into him with the cumbersome weight of their admira-

tion. Any other day he would have invited them to join him. He might

30067 The Mermaid Garden.indd 61

1/21/11 2:21 PM

62

Santa Montefiore

even have taken them up to his hotel room and made love to them.

Any other day that thought alone would have been enough to raise his