The Mermaid Garden (21 page)

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 un-

tangle 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

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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 hap-

pily, 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

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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 con-form 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, Clem-

entine, even if it doesn’t happen to be the way your family have envis-

aged for you.”

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

anywhere.”

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“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 appreci-

ate 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 be-

neath 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.”

“No, you won’t.”

“You don’t think?”

“So long as you don’t lead the old ladies astray.”

“Old ladies?”

“Your pupils.”

“Ah,
por supuesto
, my pupils.” He rubbed his chin. “How old are they?”

“Very old.” Clementine laughed. “But apparently very entertaining.

They’re wildly eccentric. They were here last year, and Marina’s still

talking about them.”

“You weren’t here last year?”

“Of course not!”

He shook his head. “No, silly me. You were somewhere, anywhere,

but not here.”

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12.

Clementine and Rafa burst into the hotel like a pair of wet dogs.

Rose and Jennifer watched them run upstairs, their laughter filling

the stairwell and bouncing off the walls like sparks.

Rose looked at Jennifer and raised her eyebrows. “What do you

think they’ve been doing?”

“Whatever it is, I wish I had done it, too,” Jennifer replied longingly.

“Do you think they’ve been swimming in the sea?”

“Well, unless they’ve fallen into a giant puddle I’d say the sea is a

strong possibility.”

“To think he’s going to be here all summer.”

“Hearts are going to be broken.”

“I wouldn’t care,” Rose sighed. “I’d happily have him break my heart.”

Lunch was in the dining room at a long table by the window. Marina

placed Rafa between herself and Clementine. She noticed their wet

hair and that both of them had changed their clothes. They were exhil-

arated, exchanging banter like intimate friends. Clementine’s face was

lit up like a Chinese lantern, her habitual dark presence infused with

light. Marina marveled at the sudden change in her. Her stepdaughter

even smiled at her, and Marina was ashamed that she felt so patheti-

cally grateful for such a small crumb of kindness.

“What have you two been up to?” asked Grey.

“We went for a swim in the sea,” Clementine replied nonchalantly,

as if it were something she was in the habit of doing every Sunday

morning.

Rafa grinned mischievously. “I take the blame.”

“That’s very gallant of you,” Jake commented.

“I find the allure of the sea irresistible.”

“No, it was my suggestion,” Clementine admitted, the breadth of

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her smile leaving no one in any doubt that she had not the slightest regret.

“Wasn’t it very cold?” asked Marina.

“Freezing,” Rafa replied. “But it made us very hungry.” He looked

down at the plate of seared tuna, cucumber nori rolls in toasted sesame, honey and chilli dressing, and his mouth watered. “This looks delicious.”

“We have an excellent French chef,” said Marina.

“Fresh tuna,” Grey added, picking up his knife and fork. “I would

like to say that I caught it myself, but I had work to do in the office this morning.”

“What have you been doing?” asked Marina.

“Jake and I are putting together our plan for the first literary dinner.”

“We’re going to ask William Shawcross to come and talk,” Jake

added.

“I’ve met him once or twice in London and heard him speak at the

Royal Geographic Society,” Grey explained. “I think we could get him

to come. After all, his wife owns a hotel on the edge of Dartmoor.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Marina enthused. Sitting there in

the sunlight, which flooded the dining room, with her new artist at her side and the prospect of a literary dinner with William Shawcross, she

felt optimistic about the future. There were only a few other tables of guests, but once word got around that an artist had set up residence for the summer, she had no doubt that the place would fill up and feel busy again.

“Darling, where’s Harvey? I need him to do one or two things this

afternoon,” said Grey.

“He’s gone to visit his mother again,” Marina replied.

“He’s the most devoted son.”

“His mother must be ancient,” said Jake. “He’s already on borrowed

time.”

“That’s not kind, Jake,” Marina chided. “He’s young in spirit.”

“Longevity is all about how you think,” said Rafa, tapping his tem-

ple. “I think most illness is in the mind.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jake retorted. “Are you saying that people who

are dying of cancer are only sick because of the way they think?”

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Marina was embarrassed that Jake had spoken out in such an ag-

gressive manner, but Rafa had not taken offense.

“I think our emotions affect our bodies in ways we are still learning

about. Doctors who prescribe drugs are treating the symptoms, not the

cause. I believe there is a direct relationship between our heads and our health. We’d all feel better if we thought positively.” Jake pulled a face.

Rafa smiled. “Imagine lying in bed at night. You are warm and safe, and you are drifting off to sleep. Then, a thought pops into your head that frightens you. Perhaps you imagine that someone is prowling about

outside. Your heart begins to race, your breathing grows shallow, your

skin grows cold and damp. The stress that fear induces disrupts the

energy flow through your body. But it is just a thought, nothing more.”

“You’re right, of course, Rafa. Most illness is psychosomatic,” said

Grey.

“I agree,” Clementine added.

Jake frowned at his sister and took a swig of wine. “You would,

Clemmie. You know, Rafa, Clemmie hasn’t swum in the sea for what?

Twenty years?”

“What’s that got to do with the mind’s impact on health?” Clemen-

tine snapped.

“Just illustrating the link between your mind and your mood.” He

raised his eyebrows suggestively as Clementine scowled back at him.

“Well, thank you for stating the obvious.”

“My old ladies arrive tomorrow,” interjected Marina, sensing her

civilized lunch was unraveling.

“Clementine tells me they are wildly eccentric,” said Rafa. “I can’t

wait to meet them.”

“They’re very English. Oh, except for Mrs. Delennor, who is Amer-

ican.”

“I love Americans,” Rafa enthused. “I spent three years in New York

working for an advertising firm.”

“That’s why you speak such good English,” said Grey.

“With a slight American twang,” Jake added, unable to resist a little

jibe. “If I had such an accent, I’d have a lot more success with the girls.”

“You’d need a lot more than a foreign accent, Jake,” said Clementine.

“Tell me, Rafa, have you left a girlfriend back in Buenos Aires?”