sparks off the water I blink away the shadow of a headache, curse those tricksy cocktail cups, and force myself to concentrate. ‘Sorry?’
Behind the desk, George Trenowden lets out a sigh. We only managed to wave at each other last night, but in the office, he’s way bigger than he looked across the gallery. This big blond bear of a guy apparently handles so much business for Sophie they’re on bestie terms. Even though Trenowden, Trenowden and Trenowden have been managing the tenanted flat since it was left to me all those years ago, the only other time I came to their office, the Trenowden I saw was a generation older and in Penzance. Although I’d say wrenching our hands off with his hand shake when we arrived came across as more painful than friendly. Despite my fingers still being in recovery, I’m crossing them tightly, hoping he was out on the deck when I lost my netting last night.
Even worse, what if he’s looking across the desk, and doing that thing where he can’t help seeing last night’s mermaid outfit superimposed on top of the flowery cotton dress I put on earlier, mistakenly thinking it was spring? This is why fancy dress should be banned. And why I make sure I move often enough to leave the embarrassing stuff behind. With any luck, in a minute he’ll say something I can understand.
‘The flat your grandmother left you, which is finally vacant? The reason you’re here?’ He cocks a pale eyebrow at me, checking I’m back in the room. ‘I understand Laura chose to pass it on to you rather than her grandsons.’
I shrug, fix my gaze on the toe of my suede ankle boot and spot what looks a lot like a soggy rice crispie cluster. Hurrah to Sophie’s kid’s and their overflowing cereal bowls, although organic and soaked in almond milk doesn’t help me here. As for the shoes, I know mine will be the only feet in St Aidan not in flip flops or baseball boots, but I had heels welded to my feet when I was fourteen so I’d look less dumpy. Even if St Aidan is a heel wearer’s minefield of granite steps and sand piles, for the short time I’m here I’ll work with them. And where do I put a piece of stray breakfast in a solicitor’s office? As I pick it off and close my hand around it, I’m wishing I’d kept my I’d rather be shoe shopping sleep shirt on, if only to express how much I’d rather be anywhere else than here.
It sounds ridiculous to say that me and my late grandmother weren’t related, but that’s how it is in my head. Mostly I know Laura from her neat pointy handwriting on parcels that arrived on every significant day throughout my childhood. She must have been one of those people who are great at buying presents because the contents were usually spot on. But the excitement was mostly eclipsed by how tetchy they made my otherwise happy mum. When Laura died and the flat unexpectedly came to me, I was too busy partying to take much notice. The rent covered the maintenance, the solicitors handled everything, and up until now I’ve managed to pretty much dodge the reality of being a property owner. As for the rest of Laura’s family details, I’m deliberately in the dark. For my whole life, I’ve made it my business to know as little about the Marlows as I can.
‘I’m not sure about her other grandchildren, she wasn’t my actual …’ I tail off, then as Sophie sends me a smile, I try again. ‘Apart from when I was small I never really knew her.’
My biological dad chose to jump the channel rather than be with my mum and me, but as the old saying goes, I didn’t miss what I never had. My mum was the best. With the two of us in our little cottage there really wasn’t space for a dad. And that’s why my extended mermaid family have always been so important to me. Then when I was five my mum fell in love with a man called Harry who was worth the trouble, so Harry’s the one I count as my real father. When someone has your back every moment while you’re growing up and beyond, that top trumps absent DNA a thousand times. Which is probably why I feel like a fraud sitting here now, claiming something that doesn’t feel as if it should be mine.
George clears his throat and smiles at me. ‘By the way, no ill effects after yesterday, I hope, Clementine?’
I smile back, cringing inside, hoping I don’t have the foggiest what he’s talking about. ‘Ill effects?’
His face cracks into a grin. ‘St Aidan Sirens’ Charter, rule sixty-seven, stealing tails is strictly forbidden.’
Shit. So, he is looking at me and seeing a mermaid. And he must have seen my ‘worst moment’ too. I grit my teeth, but before I can mumble a reply, Sophie jumps in.
‘No sea life was harmed during the launch party. You know how stringent our wildlife and nature policies are, you drafted the damn things. Shall we move on now?’
‘Sure.’ George sounds reluctant. ‘They were fabulous costumes though. I’ll pass that on to Charlie Hobson too. He’ll be very relieved to hear you survived and won’t be suing.’
Oh my days. I could have done without a name check for my grumpy accidental tail stealer. I can’t blame George for letting his mind wander off his legal job first thing on a Thursday morning, but someone needs to get this man back on task before I expire with embarrassment. ‘Weren’t we talking about matriarchy?’ Maybe I was listening after all.
‘Right. Thanks for the reminder, Clementine. Passing property down the female line is well documented, but the point in your case is, whatever her son’s actions, Laura didn’t want you to be short changed. Looking through the papers, it’s obvious she wanted the best for you. And she was also wise enough to let the flat on a long tenancy, so you only took possession and had the deeds transferred into your name when you were mature enough to handle it.’ He sends a glance Sophie’s way to check she’s approving. Although, if she wasn’t, realistically she’d have butted in by now and shut him up. ‘So now the tenant has finally moved out, I assume you’re here to pick up the keys before we finalise the legal side?’
Sophie’s nodding enthusiastically enough for both of us.
Although I’ve known about this for the best part of fifteen years, it’s as if I’m staring the enormity of it in the face for the first time. And being called Clementine is so rare it actually makes me feel like he’s talking to someone else rather than me. Not that I mean to behave like a spoiled, ungrateful bitch, but there’s something holding me back. I frown and drag in a breath. ‘I wasn’t ready for a key. Not quite today.’ Although realistically, if not a key, what was I expecting? ‘Actually, I’m not sure I want the flat at all. Now it comes to it, I don’t even want to go there.’
George’s forehead furrows as he takes in the level of my reluctance. But then he smiles the kind of smile that stretches all the way through to his voice. ‘Don’t worry, knowing the background I completely understand. If you’d rather sell, the market’s strong. We could arrange for the contents to be cleared, and handle the sale for you?’
Better and better. ‘Okay …’ I’d got my head round spending a couple of weeks in blustery old Cornwall, but this way I can head straight back to Paris and ease my itchy feet.
George picks up a picture from the desk and starts to rub some invisible dust off. ‘The flat’s a little tired, or as the agents say, “ripe for restoration”. But with those open vistas across the bay, no doubt buyers will be queueing up.’
‘It has sea views?’ The mention of restoration had Sophie quivering, but her last lurch of excitement is so large she almost launches Maisie over the desk. ‘Where is it exactly?’ She whips round and fixes me with the same ‘ravenous wolf’ look that took her cosmetics from her kitchen table to John Lewis best-sellers in under ten years.
I give a clueless shrug. ‘Somewhere between the harbour and the sea front. The last time I was there I probably wasn’t tall enough to see out of the window.’ I went there as a child, before Laura moved to be closer to her son.
