The Mermaid Garden(6)
“Then if the right person doesn’t appear, we’ll hunt him down.”
She knitted her fingers. “Clementine thinks it’s in poor taste.”
“She’s young.”
“She’s rude.”
“Ignore her. She wants to get a rise out of you.”
“Then I am not going to be a soufflé. She should show me some respect. I’m her stepmother.” She turned away sharply, the word “mother” lingering on her lips like an affront.
“Do you want me to talk to her?”
“No. Leave her alone. Perhaps I’m just not very good at it.”
“You have tried, darling. I know how hard you’ve tried, and I’m very grateful. It’s an impossible situation.” The air was suddenly heavy with words too painful to articulate.
When she spoke, Marina’s voice was quiet. “Let’s not talk about it, Grey. Elizabeth whatever-she’s-called will be here any minute, and I don’t want to look strained.”
“You look beautiful.”
“Only to you.”
“Who else matters?”
Her expression softened. “You’re my champion, Grey.”
“Always, my darling.”
Shane shuffled awkwardly by the door, pretending not to hear. He wiped his large nose with the back of his hand, then stood to attention as he heard a car draw up on the gravel outside. Jennifer left Rose at the reception desk and pressed her nose to the window to see what this candidate was like.
2.
Elizabeth Pembridge-Hughes was extremely presentable. Tall and willowy, with fine, aristocratic features, porcelain skin, and sensitive blue eyes, she was the epitome of what an artist of refinement should look like. Marina shook her hand and noticed at once how cold it was.
She led her through the hotel to the terrace, stopping in the conservatory on the way to admire the lemon trees in urns and the grapevines that climbed the trellising, spreading their tentacles across the glass ceiling like pretty octopuses. Elizabeth was highly complimentary, missing nothing, and Marina’s heart swelled with relief that she had found her artist-in-residence at last.
They sat outside at one of the small round tables, surrounded by big terra-cotta pots of rosemary and lavender yet to flower. Elizabeth crossed her legs, wrapping her pale lilac pashmina around her shoulders, for there was a cold edge to the wind. Her naturally blond hair was streaked with gray, and the wisps that had escaped her ponytail were caught by the breeze and blew about playfully. She was not blessed with beauty, but her face possessed a certain haughtiness that was arresting.
“Do you mind if I smoke?”
Marina hated cigarettes and was a little disappointed. But Elizabeth had asked so politely, her educated accent clipping the words so efficiently, that Marina decided not to hold it against her. No one was perfect.
Elizabeth reached into her bag and burrowed about in search of cigarettes and lighter. This took a while, during which time Marina ordered herbal tea for her guest and a fruit juice for herself. At last Elizabeth’s long fingers appeared with a packet of Marlboro Lights, and she popped one between her thin lips and lit it, turning her back to the wind.
“You have a beautiful place, Marina,” she said, blowing smoke out of the corner of her mouth. “It’s jolly inspiring to see the sea.”
“I have to be near the sea,” Marina replied, resting her heavy gaze on the glittering water. “It has always been the most consistent thing in my life.”
“I agree with you. It’s good for the soul. I once traveled with a famous actor—who discretion prevents me from naming—who meditates by the sea. I suppose I was his artist-on-tour. He was an inspiration to me. I’ve tried to meditate, but my mind is too busy. I can’t shut it up.”
“Do you travel a lot with your work?”
“All the time. I’ve accompanied kings, queens, and princes all over the world. Jolly lucky, really.”
Marina felt uneasy. Even she was realistic enough to appreciate that the position of artist-in-residence at the Polzanze was not a highly covetable one. Surely, if Elizabeth Pembridge-Hughes was used to painting for kings, she would not consider spending the summer in Dawcomb-Devlish, teaching old ladies for her board and lodging. “How fascinating, Elizabeth. Tell me, which kings and queens and princes? I would love to hear your stories.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Well, that’s the thing. You see, if one is privileged enough to be invited on their foreign tours, one has to keep shtoom. I’m sure you understand.” She laughed a smoky little snort through her nostrils. “Perhaps when we know each other better I’ll share some gems.”