The Mermaid Garden(9)

“He scratched his chin. “A dog?”

“You know I don’t allow dogs on the premises.”

“You’d feel a lot safer if you had one. Cats like Macavity don’t like to rob places with dogs.”

She turned away and folded her arms. “I couldn’t bear a dog. I just couldn’t …”

“Dogs are very friendly animals.”

“I know … but I really couldn’t …”

“Then we’ll think of something else,” he said soothingly.

She smiled with relief. “Yes, please. Anything but a dog.”


Marina’s third and final candidate arrived late. A bumbling, university graduate in jeans and beige corduroy jacket, he was foppish, with long blond hair and a baby face that barely looked old enough to be out of school. They had tea in the conservatory, for the wind had picked up, and he told her about himself while she tried to concentrate and look interested. Harvey caught her eye as he wandered out to the terrace to fix a wobbling table, and pulled a face. She didn’t need his confirmation, but it was nice to know that he agreed; George Quigley would not be staying the summer, either.

It was hard to get rid of him. He drank endless cups of tea and ate four slices of cake and whole handfuls of little egg sandwiches. Marina listened patiently while he chatted on about Exeter University, his girlfriend, and his somewhat optimistic plans for his future, exhibiting all over the world. His work was abstract, as she expected it would be. She laughed away her disappointment, imagining what her old ladies would make of it.

Marina explained that his work was simply too modern for her guests and cut him off briskly when he tried to tell her that he could paint anything she wanted. He could have painted like David Hockney for all she cared; she simply did not like him. Just as he was on the point of leaving, Clementine strode into the hall. She took one look at him, and her face flowered into a smile. They exchanged glances and he returned her smile, looking her up and down appreciatively. Clementine watched him leave then turned to her stepmother excitedly.

“Is he coming to stay the summer?”

“I’m afraid not. He’s highly unsuitable.”

Clementine’s face snapped shut. “What’s unsuitable about him? If you ask me, he’s just what you want.”

“Which is why I’m not asking you.”

“You’re very hard to please. Anyway, your fusty old ladies would love a handsome young man like him.”

“His paintings are much too modern.”

“If he’s talented, he can probably paint boring landscapes to your heart’s content.”

“I didn’t warm to him.”

“I did.”

“Then go out and talk to him. Look, he’s hanging around his car. He clearly fancies you.”

“No,” she retorted sharply.

“Not interested?”

Clementine clicked her tongue crossly and stalked off. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Marina sighed. “I’m going out,” she said to Jennifer. “I need some air. This has been a very trying day. Have you seen Jake?”

“Not back yet.”

“How long does it take to see a dentist? Well, I’m off. Grey is around, should you need him.”


Marina walked purposefully along the cliff top, arms folded, shoulders hunched against the blustering wind. She could never gaze upon the ocean without her heart aching with longing, especially on a clear day such as this, when the setting sun pulled at her soul until it hurt.

She hurried down the well-trodden path to the beach, where the last rays of sun were gradually being swallowed into shadow, and kicked off her shoes to tread barefoot over the sand. The fresh air filled her lungs, and her chest expanded with the beauty of the dying day. She had held it together for so long, burying her sorrow down deep where she believed she wouldn’t find it. But now, as she approached her mid-fifties, it had found her, bubbling up through the cracks in her aging body, and she could no longer ignore it.

The disappointment of the day and her worries about their business overwhelmed her, and she began to sob. Why hadn’t one of those artists been suitable? Why had they all been so totally inappropriate? Why did she feel her life was suddenly without purpose or direction? Why now, after nearly forty years, did her past suddenly open behind her like a dam and flood her with painful memories? She was overcome and sank to her knees. Hugging her belly, she rocked back and forth in an effort to assuage the ache inside.

It was there that Grey found her. He ran down the beach and gathered her into his arms. She yielded without resistance, burying her face in his chest and blocking out the sea. Neither said a word. For what was there to say? No amount of carefully chosen words could soothe the agony of childlessness.