The Mermaid Garden by Santa Montefiore Read Free Book Online

beach and gath-
    ered her into his arms. She yielded without resistance, burying her face in his chest and blocking out the sea. Neither said a word. For what was there to say? No amount of carefully chosen words could soothe the
    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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    Santa Montefiore
    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