least.”
“Wow, well done, Dad.”
“Fancy coming out with me this weekend?”
Clementine pulled a face. “Why?”
“Just thought you might like to come out in the boat. How are those
sea legs of yours?”
“I’ve never had sea legs, Dad. I hate boats and the sea makes me sick,
if you remember.”
“That was years ago.”
“I don’t think growing up changes either of those things.”
“It does change attitude,” interjected Marina coolly. “Why don’t you
spend some time with your father?”
“Okay, so you’re bristling for another lecture. Is that it? I can’t run off in the middle of the sea.”
“No lecture, just haven’t seen much of you.”
“That’s because I’m working, Dad. Welcome to the real world.”
Marina’s good mood evaporated as Clementine sucked the air out
of the room, replacing it with her dark presence. She glanced at her
husband and felt nothing but contempt for her stepdaughter, who con-
stantly rebuffed him.
“Another day, then,” said Grey, trying not to look disappointed.
30067 The Mermaid Garden.indd 66
1/21/11 2:21 PM
6.
The following morning Mr. Atwood strode into the office, his natu-
ral good humor overshadowed by a thunderous look. Clementine,
who felt a great deal better after a good night’s sleep, was already at her desk, looking at pictures of Buenos Aires on the Internet. Sylvia was
late. “If my wife hadn’t been so delighted with her pink mixer, I would sack you for the card you chose.”
Clementine hastily clicked out and pulled her most innocent face.
“I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Atwood.”
“Don’t try that with me. You know exactly what I mean. The card
was inappropriate, not to mention insulting.”
“Not to your wife, surely.”
“Of course not, you silly girl.”
“I thought it was funny.”
“So did she—at my expense.”
“Well, at least she had a laugh on her birthday.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re lippy this morning.”
“I had porridge for breakfast. It tends to make me a little feisty.”
“Well, have an egg tomorrow, instead. I don’t expect my secretary to
answer back.”
“You could have read the card when you signed it.”
“I pay you to do that.”
She shrugged. “Did you have a nice dinner?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good.”
He huffed irritably and strode across the reception area to his of-
fice, straightening the magazines on the way. Clementine wondered
whether he was the sort of man who folded his clothes before making
love. She suspected he was.
30067 The Mermaid Garden.indd 67
1/21/11 2:21 PM
68
Santa Montefiore
Sylvia arrived looking uncharacteristically tousled.
“You look like you’ve got out of bed backwards,” Clementine re-
marked.
“I did,” she replied, grinning mischievously. “Freddie stopped by for
breakfast, that’s why I’m late.”
“That’s the best excuse I’ve ever heard.” Clementine clicked into
Buenos Aires again. “I think I’m going to go to South America instead
of India.”
“You’re not still thinking of that Argentine, are you?”
“Dreams are cheap.”
“You get what you pay for.” Sylvia shot into the loos to tidy up.
When she came out, her hair was neatly brushed into her usual updo,
her makeup flawlessly applied, her floral dress without a crease. Clem-
entine wondered how it was possible to do all that in the lavatory.
“I’m meeting some friends for dinner tonight. D’you want to come?”
Sylvia asked her.
“Sure.”
“Why don’t you bring Joe?”
Clementine’s shoulders slumped. “Well, I kind of gave him the idea
that I’d hook up with him tonight, so I suppose I should.”
“Give him a chance. I don’t know what you want—heart flutters and
stomach cramps, I expect—but life isn’t like that. The point is, does he make you laugh and is he a good lover? Anything more than that is a
bonus, or restricted to romantic novels. You wait around for that sort of hero, and
“Wow, well done, Dad.”
“Fancy coming out with me this weekend?”
Clementine pulled a face. “Why?”
“Just thought you might like to come out in the boat. How are those
sea legs of yours?”
“I’ve never had sea legs, Dad. I hate boats and the sea makes me sick,
if you remember.”
“That was years ago.”
“I don’t think growing up changes either of those things.”
“It does change attitude,” interjected Marina coolly. “Why don’t you
spend some time with your father?”
“Okay, so you’re bristling for another lecture. Is that it? I can’t run off in the middle of the sea.”
“No lecture, just haven’t seen much of you.”
“That’s because I’m working, Dad. Welcome to the real world.”
Marina’s good mood evaporated as Clementine sucked the air out
of the room, replacing it with her dark presence. She glanced at her
husband and felt nothing but contempt for her stepdaughter, who con-
stantly rebuffed him.
“Another day, then,” said Grey, trying not to look disappointed.
30067 The Mermaid Garden.indd 66
1/21/11 2:21 PM
6.
The following morning Mr. Atwood strode into the office, his natu-
ral good humor overshadowed by a thunderous look. Clementine,
who felt a great deal better after a good night’s sleep, was already at her desk, looking at pictures of Buenos Aires on the Internet. Sylvia was
late. “If my wife hadn’t been so delighted with her pink mixer, I would sack you for the card you chose.”
Clementine hastily clicked out and pulled her most innocent face.
“I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Atwood.”
“Don’t try that with me. You know exactly what I mean. The card
was inappropriate, not to mention insulting.”
“Not to your wife, surely.”
“Of course not, you silly girl.”
“I thought it was funny.”
“So did she—at my expense.”
“Well, at least she had a laugh on her birthday.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re lippy this morning.”
“I had porridge for breakfast. It tends to make me a little feisty.”
“Well, have an egg tomorrow, instead. I don’t expect my secretary to
answer back.”
“You could have read the card when you signed it.”
“I pay you to do that.”
She shrugged. “Did you have a nice dinner?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good.”
He huffed irritably and strode across the reception area to his of-
fice, straightening the magazines on the way. Clementine wondered
whether he was the sort of man who folded his clothes before making
love. She suspected he was.
30067 The Mermaid Garden.indd 67
1/21/11 2:21 PM
68
Santa Montefiore
Sylvia arrived looking uncharacteristically tousled.
“You look like you’ve got out of bed backwards,” Clementine re-
marked.
“I did,” she replied, grinning mischievously. “Freddie stopped by for
breakfast, that’s why I’m late.”
“That’s the best excuse I’ve ever heard.” Clementine clicked into
Buenos Aires again. “I think I’m going to go to South America instead
of India.”
“You’re not still thinking of that Argentine, are you?”
“Dreams are cheap.”
“You get what you pay for.” Sylvia shot into the loos to tidy up.
When she came out, her hair was neatly brushed into her usual updo,
her makeup flawlessly applied, her floral dress without a crease. Clem-
entine wondered how it was possible to do all that in the lavatory.
“I’m meeting some friends for dinner tonight. D’you want to come?”
Sylvia asked her.
“Sure.”
“Why don’t you bring Joe?”
Clementine’s shoulders slumped. “Well, I kind of gave him the idea
that I’d hook up with him tonight, so I suppose I should.”
“Give him a chance. I don’t know what you want—heart flutters and
stomach cramps, I expect—but life isn’t like that. The point is, does he make you laugh and is he a good lover? Anything more than that is a
bonus, or restricted to romantic novels. You wait around for that sort of hero, and
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