Free The Mermaid Garden by Santa Montefiore Page A

left.”
    “I’m no voyeur, Clemmie. Besides, me and Freddie had business of
    our own to see to. Mmm, now there’s a man who knows how to plea-
    sure a woman without having to use satellite navigation.”
    The door swung open, and Mr. Atwood walked in. “Morning, girls,”
    he said cheerfully. Then he saw Clementine hunched on her chair, with
    her handbag on her knee. “You leaving us already, Clementine?”
    “Just going to get you a skinny latte and a muffin,” she replied, get-
    ting up.
    “Good girl. Will you get me the Gazette and Telegraph ? Oh, and while you’re there, it’s my wife’s birthday tomorrow—see if you can
    find something appropriate.”
    “Appropriate?”
    30067 The Mermaid Garden.indd 48
    1/21/11 2:21 PM

    The Mermaid Garden
    49
    “A scented candle or something. You’re a woman, you know what
    women like. I haven’t a clue, and I always get it wrong.”
    “I don’t know what your wife likes.”
    “I do,” said Sylvia, screwing the top onto the varnish. “Go into
    Kitchen Delights and get her something in there. It’s her favorite shop.”
    “What if she has it already?”
    “It’s the thought that counts,” said Mr. Atwood. “The thought will
    be enough to keep the little lady happy.”
    “I’ll do my best.” Clementine rather relished the idea of spending
    time outside the office.
    “Be a love and bring me a chocolate brownie and a cup of tea, milk
    no sugar,” Sylvia added. “And a black coffee for Mr. Fisher.” The tele-
    phone rang. She picked it up, careful to avoid ruining her nails, and answered in a singsong voice. “Atwood and Fisher, Sylvia speaking. How
    can I help you?”
    Mr. Atwood strode into his office, straightening the magazines on
    the coffee table in the reception area on the way, and closed the door
    behind him. Clementine squinted in the sun as she stepped into the
    street. She wanted to keep walking until she lost herself.
    She went to Kitchen Delights first, deliberately spending as much
    time as possible browsing for a suitable present. She envisaged poor
    Mrs. Atwood in an apron, slaving away at the oven for a man who
    couldn’t even be bothered to choose her birthday present himself.
    What sort of husband was that? She couldn’t imagine the woman
    being happy with a few cooking bowls. What was wrong with a pretty
    necklace or handbag? Mr. Atwood had no idea, and nor, for that matter,
    had Sylvia. Provincial people, she sniffed disdainfully, picking up a set of jelly molds. After a good fifteen minutes, she settled on a shiny pink food mixer.
    Very fetching , she thought, pleased with her choice. She looked at the price tag and winced. Expensive, but it costs to be lazy .
    She wandered around to the Black Bean Coffee Shop with her bag,
    buying the newspapers, a birthday card, and wrapping paper on the
    way—she lingered a good ten minutes over the cards, finding the most
    in appropriate card possible to cheer herself up.
    By the time she reached the coffee shop she was feeling a lot better.
    30067 The Mermaid Garden.indd 49
    1/21/11 2:21 PM
    50
    Santa Montefiore
    She flopped into one of the velvet sofas with a latte and a bun, and
    read the latest on the robberies in the Gazette . Another twenty minutes was wasted in the most satisfactory fashion. She took a luxurious deep
    breath and watched the other customers: a couple of mothers with tod-
    dlers, a trio of businessmen having a meeting, schoolgirls playing tru-
    ant. But she couldn’t stay away all morning. Reluctantly, she drained her cup and joined the queue to buy the long list of requests to take back
    to the office. She thought of Joe, and her fears returned to churn her
    stomach to butter. The door swung open, and a man in a suede jacket
    and denim jeans walked in. She glanced at him. But instead of turn-
    ing back, she remained agog, unable to tear her eyes away. He looked
    around the coffee shop, then took his place in the queue behind her.
    Clementine wrenched her eyes off him