“I suggest you take some time to look around,” said Grey. “There are beautiful places here to paint, and Harvey knows all the private houses and hotels nearby if you need to take your students off to paint elsewhere. Last year Paul spent a lot of time in neighboring homes where the gardens are quite spectacular. He relished the diversity, and I’m sure they’d be very happy to have you.”
“Yes, you must take the opportunity to see as much of England as you can. This part of the country is so beautiful, and we know lots of people who have really pretty houses.”
“I will take your advice and see all that I can.”
“Harvey will be your guide,” said Marina decisively. “There’s no one better than Harvey.”
At that moment Clementine appeared in a turquoise kaftan hanging loosely over skinny white jeans. Her hair was scrunched messily onto the top of her head, and she wore no makeup, as if determined not to look like she’d made an effort for the artist who seemed to have already whipped the female members of staff into a froth of excitement.
“Ah, Clementine darling, come and meet Rafa Santoro,” said Grey, giving his daughter an enthusiastic welcome in a subconscious attempt to lift her mood.
Rafa turned round to see the girl he had met a few weeks before in the Black Bean Coffee Shop. Clementine recognized him at once and blushed. Suddenly, she wished she had put on mascara, brushed her hair, sprayed herself with perfume, not worn white trousers or the kaftan, for that matter, and she imploded with anxiety. She didn’t know where to put herself for embarrassment.
Rafa stood up, ignored her outstretched hand, and kissed her coolly on the cheek, as was custom in his own country. “Hello again.”
“You’ve met before?” Marina asked in surprise.
“Yes, after I came here to meet you I went into the town to have a look around. I met your daughter in the Black Bean Coffee Shop.”
“You never told us,” said Grey.
“I didn’t know who he was, Dad,” Clementine explained, her embarrassment translating into defensiveness. She didn’t mean to sound so unfriendly. She wanted to smile but felt gauche. How could she not have bothered to ask more about the artist who was coming to spend the summer? Why had she willfully shown no interest? Now she just looked foolish.
“You made me buy a brownie,” he said. “A naughty brownie.”
“Sounds good,” said Jake.
“It was good.”
“Come and join us,” said Marina as the waiter brought over another chair. Clementine wanted to rewind the scene and start again, but she was left no option but to sit down and continue as she had begun, awkward and self-conscious. She folded her arms and wished everyone would talk among themselves.
“I don’t believe you already know each other,” Marina continued.
“We hardly know each other,” said Clementine. “I told him to buy a brownie and that was it.” She shrugged carelessly, but she hadn’t forgotten her dash back to the office to tell Sylvia she was in love and her certainty that she would never see him again. Well, here he was, and all she could do was scowl at him.
Marina was confounded by her stepdaughter’s sulkiness in the face of possibly the most attractive man ever to set foot in their corner of Devon, and she tried to cajole her out of herself.
“Clemmie loves to travel, don’t you, Clemmie? She’s been all over India. That’s why she’s down here, working to earn the money she needs to go back.”
“I think the best education is traveling the world,” said Rafa. “I admit, though, that I have never been to India.”
That should have been Clementine’s cue to engage in conversation, but she sat back, leaving her stepmother to fill the silence for her.
“Neither have I, though the way Clementine talks about it, when she talks about it, fills me with the desire to go.” She smiled at Clementine kindly, but all the girl could muster was a mumble.
She watched her stepmother chat on effusively, and sighed. Yet another man caught in her silky web.
“I admire people who speak languages,” said Grey. “I tried to encourage Jake and Clementine to learn French, but neither has a particularly good ear for it.”
“That’s because French is a useless language,” interjected Jake. “Only spoken in France and a few small islands far away.”
“I bet you speak French,” said Marina to Rafa.
“Once you know one Latin-based language the others come very easily. I grew up speaking Italian to my parents, Spanish to my friends, and we learned English in school. I’ve picked up a little French along the way but it’s not very good. I’m an excellent bluffer.”