The Mermaid Garden(145)
“Let me show you to your room,” said Grey.
Marina watched them leave the hall and bristled like a territorial tigress. Celeste’s heavy floral perfume lingered in the air, and Marina insisted that the door remain open until the smell had gone. She looked at the magnificent display of white lilies and roses, none of them anywhere near wilting, and thought Celeste Rueben the rudest woman she had ever met.
The telephone rang and Jennifer, back at her post after her embarrassing episode with Mr. Atwood, answered it in her most professional voice.
“It’s for you, Mrs. Turner. It’s Clementine.”
Marina took it at the desk. “Clemmie.”
“Are they there yet?”
“Yes, they’ve just arrived.”
“What are they like?”
“Ghastly.”
“If she was an animal, what would she be?”
Marina laughed. “An albino hyena in diamonds.”
“Lovely. And him?”
“A toad in suede and cashmere.”
She lowered her voice. “Do you need any moral support? I can leave at any time. After Mr. Atwood’s robbery charade I can do whatever I want.”
Marina glanced at Jennifer, busy with the diary, and suppressed a smile. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry. It’s nothing I can’t handle. Grey has insisted we entertain them royally, so I’m going to kill them with kindness.”
“Can’t you just leave them to get on with it?”
“Trust me, these are the sort of people who demand to be entertained.”
“Okay, but call me if you need support. I’m dying to leave the office; it’s a miserable day and nothing’s happening.”
“Come home early and join us for tea. If the situation wasn’t so tragic, we could have a good laugh about this.”
“We’re all in this together, Marina. One for all and all for one. Don’t forget that.”
“I won’t, darling. And thank you for calling. Your concern means a lot to me.”
She wandered into the sitting room where the fire was lit to keep out the damp. It was cozy and warm, and the air smelled pleasantly of woodsmoke. She perched on the club fender and thought about Clementine and how much she had changed. She had almost forgotten the dark shadow that had once accompanied her stepdaughter everywhere. The girl was transformed. Marina looked through to the conservatory, where Rafa was teaching a group of young women from London, and knew that she had him to thank. Somehow, his presence there at the hotel had changed everything.
It wasn’t long before the tranquillity of the sitting room was disturbed by the whining tones of Celeste. “It’s jolly cold for June,” she complained, making her way towards one of the sofas. When she saw Biscuit lying comfortably on the armchair, she screwed up her nose in horror. “Goodness me, a dog. Do you allow animals into the hotel?” She directed her question at Marina.
“Of course. But Biscuit lives here. He’s part of the place.”
“So, he’s yours?”
“Well, he belongs to all of us and none of us.”
“Lucky I didn’t wear my smart trousers.” She brushed a hand over the sofa before sitting down.
“You needn’t worry—he’s only taken a liking to the armchair.”
Celeste swept her eyes over the room. “The Somerlands had very good taste in decoration, didn’t they?” she said. Marina didn’t bother to tell her that the taste was all hers. “What’s the name of that beautiful flower?” She pointed to the display of purple orchids on the coffee table at the other end of the room.
“Orchid,” said Marina.
“No, my dear, I mean the grown-up name.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Marina replied, biting her tongue. “I have yet to grow up.”
At that moment Grey appeared with Charles, who was ruddy-faced with excitement. “Grey’s going to give me a tour of the garden,” he declared.
Marina panicked. The idea of being stuck here with Celeste was more than she could bear. “Would you like to go, too?” she asked hopefully.
But Celeste settled back into the sofa and folded her arms. “I’m not going out in the rain,” she replied, appalled. “You go and be boys, but we girls are going to stay by the fire, aren’t we, Marina?” Heather entered with tea. “Good timing. I could murder a cup of tea. Is it Earl Grey?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Heather, placing it on the coffee table.
“Oh, biscuits. I won’t be touching those.”
“They’re homemade shortbread,” said Marina.
“I’m sure they are. Typical of these provincial little places. Delightful, I’m sure, but I’ll pass. I didn’t get to be as slim as I am by gorging on shortbread.”