The Mermaid Garden(52)

“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 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 temple. “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?”

Marina was embarrassed that Jake had spoken out in such an aggressive 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?” Clementine 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 American.”

“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.