“He’s called Biscuit. Clementine and I rescued him from the rocks last night.”
“Has Marina seen him?” Harvey looked concerned.
“She says we can keep him.”
“She does?”
“Yes. She wasn’t too happy about it, but his owner tried to murder him.” Rafa shrugged. “I guess she felt sorry for him.”
“I’d keep him away from her as much as possible, all the same,” Harvey advised. “I think she’s afraid of dogs.”
“A bad experience in the past perhaps.”
“Perhaps.” He bent down to stroke him. “Affectionate dog, isn’t he? I don’t think it’ll be long before he wins her over.” Then he spoke to Biscuit. “You’re not going to frighten anyone, are you?”
“I don’t think he’ll see off Baffles, do you?”
Harvey chuckled. “You’re right about that. He’s no rottweiler. Still, a dog is better than none. He may surprise us and bring the thief in by the collar.” Rafa watched him straighten his tweed cap then walk slowly up the garden. Biscuit ran off in the opposite direction, and Rafa was left no alternative than to follow him.
As he walked down the path to the beach his BlackBerry bleeped with a message. He knew it was from Clementine before he pulled it out of his pocket, and his heart swelled with joy.
Good morning indeed! You’re out early. We’ll have to train Biscuit to sleep in. Pick me up after work and we’ll go together. Don’t forget to bring the client. He might be choosy. C
He returned to the hotel with a spring in his step. Jennifer informed him that a group of six girls were arriving on the train from London for a hen weekend and might be keen to do some painting. She added that a couple of bird-watchers from Holland were due that evening and might be interested, too. Rafa shrugged nonchalantly. If there were enough paintbrushes, he was happy to tutor them all.
He breakfasted with the brigadier, Pat, Jane, and Veronica, while Grace had hers in her bedroom. Biscuit lay obediently at his feet, oblivious that he was the subject of their conversation.
“How could anyone be so cruel?” asked Veronica when she heard how Biscuit had been left in the cave to drown.
“There are some very nasty people in the world,” Pat added. “Sue McCain says you can’t trust a person who doesn’t like dogs, and I think she’s right. Anyone who ill-treats a dog has a heart of stone.”
“Hear, hear!” exclaimed the brigadier, winking at Jane, who hid her blush behind her cup of coffee.
The brigadier and Jane had much in common. Rafa noticed the enthusiasm with which she told him about her childhood in an army garrison in Germany, and how the brigadier listened with great interest, nodding his agreement and reminiscing about his own army days. It was as if they were at a table of their own. He wasn’t surprised when they declared they’d pass on their painting lesson and walk to Salcombe instead. The look that passed between them was at once tender and mischievous. Pat was on the point of suggesting she go, too, when Veronica interrupted briskly, proposing another outing in Grey’s boat. Nothing could tempt Pat as surely as the sea, and the brigadier breathed a heavy sigh of relief and smiled gratefully at Veronica.
The morning passed slowly. Rafa took his students down to the beach, and they positioned themselves on the rocks to paint the sea. The six girls on their hen weekend giggled and flirted with him so brazenly that they barely touched their paints, while Grace scowled from the other end of the beach and complained about their lack of refinement to Veronica and Pat.
After lunch, Rafa retreated to his bedroom. He looked out of the window, at the magnificent view of the ocean, which never ceased to capture his attention, when he was suddenly distracted by the unexpected sight of Marina wandering across the lawn towards Biscuit, who lay asleep in the shade of the cedar tree. He remained staring as she trod slowly, hands in pockets, shoulders a little hunched, then stood a while gazing down at him, alone with her thoughts. He wondered what she was thinking—and if it wasn’t fear that made her recoil last night, what was it?
After a long while, she sat beside him and rested her hand on his head. Rafa could feel the weight of her sorrow as if it fell on his shoulders, too. The dog slept on, but Marina gently stroked his fur, never taking her eyes off him. Rafa could barely take his eyes off her. He wanted to go down and sit with her. He wanted to ask her why the dog made her feel so sad. But he knew it would be intrusive. He didn’t know her well enough—and he didn’t want to break the moment. Eventually, he dragged himself away and went into the bathroom to freshen up for his afternoon lesson.