The Mermaid Garden(54)
“So these are scones,” said Rafa, helping himself to the biggest one.
“I’ll show you how it’s done.” Clementine cut open his scone and spread a large dollop of cream onto each half, placing a spoonful of strawberry jam on top. “Now tuck in! It’s more than a taste, it’s an experience.”
Knowing he had an audience, for by now not only the waitresses but the table of middle-aged women beside them had suspended their conversation to listen in, he lifted one half and took a somewhat theatrical bite. There was so much cream and jam he couldn’t help but catch some on his lips. Instead of using his napkin, he licked it off with relish, his crow’s-feet deepening as he grinned with comical delight. Penny and Tamara giggled, and the middle-aged women smiled at his readiness to laugh at himself. It wasn’t long before Sugar Wilcox, christened the less tasty name of Susan, came out of her office at the back of the café to see what all the commotion was about.
Sugar’s was a heart as soft as her scones and as ready to be devoured as the jam and cream. When she laid eyes on the charismatic stranger sitting with Clementine Turner by the window, she adjusted her sherbet-pink dress and took full advantage of her position as proprietor to sweep across the room and introduce herself.
“Clemmie, who is your charming guest?”
Rafa wiped his mouth with the napkin, jumped politely to his feet, and extended his hand to the petite blond woman who now stood before him. “Rafa Santoro,” he said. The strength of his handshake startled her, and she withdrew hers hastily, nursing her fragile fingers with her other hand.
“Italian,” Sugar gushed. “I love Italy.”
“Argentine,” he replied. “You’d love Argentina.”
“Goodness me, you are funny. Please, enjoy your scones.”
Rafa sat down again. “I am enjoying them. They’re delicious. If I lived here, I’d grow fat on them, happily.”
“You know, I’m a little familiar with Argentina. I had my Eva Perón moment, scraping my hair back into a chignon, wearing nineteen-forties dresses, and painting my lips crimson.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t more of a Madonna moment?”
“Well, I suppose it was really. I liked the way she looked in the movie. So, how long are you staying?”
“The summer,” interrupted Clementine, just to remind Sugar that she was still there. “He’s my stepmother’s artist-in-residence.”
“Really? How delightful. I’d love to learn how to paint.”
“You have to be a hotel guest, I’m afraid,” said Clementine.
“Does lunch count?”
“No.”
Sugar sighed and opened her blue eyes as wide as they would go. “Will you be giving lessons after hours?”
“I’ve only just arrived, so I don’t know what I’ll be doing.”
“I warn you, Marina will keep you very busy at the hotel.”
Rafa shrugged, feigning helplessness. “I have to earn my board and lodging.”
“The rent at my place is less demanding,” Sugar breathed suggestively. “Come and have a scone or two any time you like. On the house. You’ll be good for business.” She smiled sweetly and wafted away.
Clementine laughed quietly. “Is it your aftershave?”
“What do you mean?” But he knew what she meant, for the corners of his mouth twitched mischievously. “I don’t suppose they’re used to foreigners down here.”
“Rubbish, of course they are. They’re just not used to handsome ones.”
“They’ll get over it. Looks can carry a person only so far.”
“At least you’ve got personality. Most beautiful people have never had to develop one.”
His brown eyes appraised her thoughtfully. “I think that less obvious beauty is more attractive. When it’s leaping out at you, there’s nothing to look for.”
Clementine began to feel hot. Was he referring to her? “Everyone has something,” she said lamely.
“Your stepmother has a very beautiful face.”
“You don’t think it leaps out at you?”
“No. She has mysterious eyes.”
“Then you’re seeing something that I don’t see.”
“Of course, because I am not blinded by prejudice. When a woman is her age, the face reflects the person she is, whether she likes it or not. She cannot hide her nature. Marina has a sensual, generous face, but there is something guarded and sad about her eyes.”
“Men!” Clementine rolled her eyes. “You’re no different from all the rest.”
“Why did you imagine I would be?”