Jane flushed with pleasure. “Do you mean it or are you just being polite?”
“I’m not frightfully good at being polite,” he reassured her.
“Then I’ll thank you for the compliment.”
“You’re a bit of a dark horse, aren’t you, Jane?”
“Sue McCain always says it’s the quiet ones you should look out for,” said Pat. “And she should know because she was as quiet as a dormant volcano, just waiting for the right man to set her on fire.”
“That’s rather good, Pat,” said Veronica. “You should be a writer.”
“And I suppose that’s just what the Argentine did?” said Grace. “Never trust an Argentine.” She sucked in her cheeks as Rafa moved behind her to appraise her work.
“Are you flirting with me, Mrs. Delennor?” Rafa teased.
“Good Lord, no, I’m much too old.”
“I think your painting needs a little more depth,” he said. “Here, let me show you.” He took her brush and dipped it in paint. She watched with admiration as he swept it over the paper.
“It’s so terribly easy for you, isn’t it?” she gushed.
“It’s what I do.”
“Like shopping for me. That’s what I do. What can I say? I’m terribly good at spending money.” Pat and Veronica laughed like a Greek chorus. Jane was too busy talking to the brigadier to hear.
“You smell of roses,” he said, catching another whiff. “Roses with a hint of something sweet … I know, it’s honey.”
“You have a very keen sense of smell.”
“It’s one of the few pleasures I have left,” he replied.
Jane paused her painting. “That’s not true, surely. There must be lots of things you enjoy. Like good company, good food, beautiful views.”
“I don’t know.”
She lost her gaze in the branches of the tree. “When my husband died, I thought there’d be nothing left for me to love. He took such a big part of me with him, you see. But now I realize that I’m still me, continuing along the path of life but in a different way. It’s up to me to make that way special; otherwise, what’s the point of going on?”
“My wife died, too. I can’t pretend I’m not lonely.”
She looked at him, her expression softening as her heart filled with empathy. “I know how you feel,” she said kindly. “I’m lonely, too.”
Later that afternoon Sugar Wilcox came to the hotel for a drink with four girlfriends. She wore a baby-blue dress unbuttoned to her solar plexus and a coy smile intended to lure the mysterious artist-in-residence. They sat on the terrace in a cloud of perfume, revealing tanned legs and painted toenails, sipping cocktails out of pretty purple glasses. Rafa had finished giving lessons and was looking for Clementine. She had been very much on his mind all day, and he was anxious to apologize and make friends again. As he strode onto the terrace, expecting her to be taking tea in the sunshine, he found Sugar grinning up at him invitingly.
“Well, hello there, stranger,” she gushed.
“Sugar,” he replied, taken aback.
“Do join us for a cocktail.”
“Well, I was just—”
“I won’t accept any excuses. Let me introduce you to my friends: Jo, Becca, Hailey, and Flo.” Rafa was left no means of escape. Sugar clicked her fingers to summon a waiter. “What will you have?”
“A martini,” he replied politely, sitting down.
“I’ve been telling my friends about you,” she continued. “We all want to have painting lessons.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged.” He swept his eyes over the grinning, sun-baked girls and knew none of them had the slightest interest in art.
“Good. It’s not every day that a handsome stranger saunters into our town. We’d be crazy not to take advantage of your services.” The girls giggled. Rafa couldn’t help but laugh, too, at their silliness. He sat back as the waiter put his cocktail in front of him. He could play their game far better than they could.
“So, girls, how many of you have boyfriends who don’t know you’re here?” They glanced at each other guiltily.
“Flo, Becca, and Hailey,” said Sugar, giggling into her glass.
Hailey pulled a face. “Brian’s not a boyfriend, he’s a friend with privileges.”
“And you, Sugar?” He took a sip and watched her smolder beneath his gaze.
“Me? I’m single and very lonesome.”
Clementine returned home after work and packed her suitcase. Marina wasn’t there for her to torment. Her father and Jake must have been still over at the hotel. The house was empty. Suddenly, moving out didn’t seem such a good idea. She slumped on the bed and bit her nails. As much as she resented her stepmother, the stable block had begun to feel like home. Her bedroom had always been a place she could escape to. Now where would she go when she wanted to be alone? Would Joe be constantly making demands? Would she get any peace?