The Butterfly Box (22 page)

The following morning Bea was thankful it was Sunday so that she could

spend the entire morning in bed. Before Sam had returned to his room in the early hours he had boasted that he could have gone on all night and probably all weekend. She had believed him. He was a quick learner and like any child with a new toy had been reluctant to put it away and go to bed. She smiled to herself in that pleasant heavy-eyed limbo between consciousness and unconsciousness and recalled with pride her eager student who by five o’clock in the morning had mastered the art of a soft touch, a slow kiss but not quite managed the patient restraint. That would come, she thought to herself, with maturity. Then she panicked as she remembered he was only fifteen years old and she sunk deeper beneath the blankets.

She was awoken a short time later by a sensual licking of the spaces between her toes. She writhed in her sleep as a warm sensation crept up her legs and into her belly. When the feeling of a wet mouth on her thigh became too intense to be imaginary she managed to open her eyes and peer down her body. ‘Sam. Not now,' she protested and rolled over.

But he persisted. ‘You can’t send me away, I know how you like it. You can’t resist me,’ he said, running his hand over her naked leg.

‘Just watch me,’ she replied, pulling the pillow over her head. But Sam was right. She was defenceless. He knew her vulnerable places and how to stimulate them. She was powerless against the responses of her body in spite of her mind that cried out for more sleep. She allowed him to coax her onto her back where she feigned reluctance as he practised the lessons of the night before.

Sam could think of nothing but sex. Seducing Bea had had the opposite effect to the one he had hoped for. Instead of toning down his lust it had only intensified it. He was now less able to concentrate on his studies than before and spent most of the day gazing out of the classroom window imagining what he was going to do to Bea when he next saw her. The fact that it was illicit made the whole affair irresistible. He enjoyed sitting across the breakfast table having sneaked out of her bed only a few minutes before, talking to her with his usual indifference, relishing the fact that no one knew of their nocturnal adventures.

He took her wherever possible whenever they found themselves alone. Behind the pool house, in the barn, beneath the apple trees in the orchard, down on the beach or in the hidden caves that still echoed with the urgent whispers

of long-dead smugglers. Bea worked hard in the day looking after Lucien and Joey, who needed constant supervision and entertainment, then serviced their elder brother through the night. She was exhausted but she couldn’t refuse him. He gave her too much pleasure.

Sam didn’t boast about it at school. He didn’t need to. He had changed and the other boys sensed it and admired him for it. Ingrid was too vague to notice her weary nanny or the self-satisfied expression on the face of her eldest son. Inigo rarely left his study and the girls were too preoccupied with their childish games to pay attention to their little brothers’ nanny. They considered themselves too grown-up for a nanny.

‘Come down to the orchard with me,’ Sam suggested, running a finger up the inside of Bea’s forearm.

‘I can’t. I should listen out for the boys in case they need me,' she replied, withdrawing her arm.

They’ve never needed you before. They’re asleep,’ he retorted, smelling the sweat on her body and feeling once again the ache in his groin.

‘It’s not safe. Anyone could discover us.’

‘Don’t be silly. Mum’s on the cliff painting, Dad’s in his study where he always is, the girls are at Federica’s house and Nuno, well, who cares about Nuno.’ He chuckled.

‘I don’t want this to get out of hand,’ she said, trying to sound sensible. ‘You’re just a boy.’

‘You’ve made me into a man,’ he teased.

‘I shouldn’t have done.’

‘Well, nothing can stop me now. I desire you.’

‘You desire anything in a skirt and I’m the closest thing available,’ she replied.

‘That’s not true, Bea. I like you. I really do,’ he said, trying to sweet talk her into the orchard.

‘Sure.’

‘I do. Look,’ he said, taking her hand and putting it on his trousers.

Bea sighed and smiled at him fondly. ‘There’s more to relationships than him,’ she said, shaking her head and retracting her hand.

‘Don’t pretend you don’t want him. You taught him how to satisfy you. Now he can’t get enough of you. Doesn’t that make you feel desired?’

‘Yes,’ she conceded. ‘But I have to keep reminding myself that you’re only

‘Almost sixteen, actually.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Sometimes you’re so adult you could be any one of my friends. But you’re not.’

‘Does it matter?’ he asked. Bea wanted to tell him that she was falling in love with him, that she lay awake at night pondering on the ten-year age difference and trying to figure out how a real relationship might work. But she knew in her heart that he wanted her only for sex and that he didn’t love her. He wasn’t even in love with her. He’d grow up and be off, breaking hearts all over the country, she thought wistfully. She gazed into his shallow grey eyes that had yet to deepen with the experiences of life and onto his mop of sandy hair that fell over his trouble-free forehead. His grin was mischievous with the charm of a monkey and yet his gaze was lofty, as if he knew he was cleverer and more beautiful than everyone else.

She sighed and ran a hand down his cheek. ‘I may as well enjoy you while I can,’ she conceded, smiling at him thoughtfully. He returned her smile with a twinkle in his eye as he followed her down the stairs and out into the garden.

It was evening. The scent of hay lingered in the cool air as the dew stitched her diamonds into the freshly mown lawn and surrounding flowerbeds. The sky was pale and receding as the sun was chased away by an impatient moon. The distant roar of the ocean and the sad cry of seagulls faded into the background as Sam opened the gate into the walled orchard and pulled Bea into his arms to kiss her. She had no time to savour the melancholy of the twilight or taste the scent of ripe apples, for at once Sam was pressed up against her, his mouth on her neck and her shoulders and then on her breasts that he released from her brassiere with one swift movement of his fingers.

He liked her breasts. They were large and soft like the marshmallows Molly and Hester were always toasting over fires. Pale, pink and pert, they were always enthusiastic, always responsive. He knew how to run his tongue around them. She liked it gentle. She barely liked to feel anything at all except a rapid teasing sensation that she had told him sent the blood rushing straight to her belly. She was large and curvaceous, all woman, every bit of her, and he enjoyed exploring again and again those female places that never ceased to fascinate him. She released him from his trousers to find he was as alert and impatient as ever. Falling to her knees she took him in her mouth with the enthusiasm of a woman desperate to do anything to keep her man. It was at that

moment that Nuno trotted up from the other end of the orchard on the balls of his feet. Neither Sam nor Bea noticed him for his footsteps were light and his amusement such that he didn’t want to disturb the sensual scene being played out before him.

Sam stood with his eyelids fluttering with pleasure, his mouth open, his jaw loose. Nuno thought he looked quite beautiful, like a golden youth from mythical times, a young Adonis or Hercules. He turned discreetly to face the rose bed while his grandson reached the
moment critique
, he didn’t want to ruin the boy’s pleasure. He felt immensely proud that his grandson had discovered the joys of the flesh. About time too, he thought, it must have been the influence of Zola’s
Nana
that stirred his budding sensuality.

Sam gave a moan and then a long, satisfied sigh. Bea giggled and got to her feet. Then Nuno turned around and coughed, loudly. “The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it,”’ he said, then raised his thick grey eyebrows at Sam.

‘Oscar Wilde,’ said Sam dutifully.

‘Molto bene, earn.
Now you have yielded perhaps Miss Osborne had better return to the nursery.’

Bea nodded numbly and ran through the gate without so much as a parting glance. Her face burned so red it throbbed. She was mortified. She wanted to die of embarrassment. But Nuno was greatly amused.

‘Come with me, young Samuel. I think I have to adapt your reading list,’ he said, wandering out of the gate that Bea had left swinging on its hinges.

Once in his library Nuno stood before the dusty bookshelves, running his hand over the spines of his beloved books. ‘These give me much pleasure, Samuel. My admiration for women was shattered when I discovered they were not as perfect as the ancient Greek sculptures I studied as a boy.’

‘How come?’ Sam asked, throwing himself into his grandfather’s leather sofa.

‘I only made love to your grandmother once.’

‘Really? You must have been fertile, Nuno.' He chuckled.

‘Indeed I was, as luck, or the Gods, would have it. No, my dear boy, when I discovered women had pubic hair they toppled for ever from the heavenly pedestal I had so innocently placed them upon.’

Sam laughed. ‘All because of pubic hair? You can’t have believed women to be literally like those sculptures?’ he said in amazement.

His grandfather pulled out a couple of books and lovingly stroked their covers. Indeed I did, Samuel. They were never quite the same after that.’

‘Poor Grandma.’

‘She was devoted to me. Devoted. You’ll learn that the pleasures of the flesh, the entwining of loins, the stimulation of the genitalia,’ he said, clipping his words for emphasis, ‘are nothing more than illusions, dear boy. False love. You lose yourself in them momentarily, then they are gone and you are left lusting after the next fleeting pleasure. You can chase it all your life, but you can never hold onto it. No, dear boy, love is something more profound. That is how your grandmother loved me. Not like an animal but like a divine being. Yes, a divine being.
Ecco
,’ he said, handing Sam the books.

Sam took them and eyed them suspiciously. ‘Casanova’s
Memoirs
and Oscar Wilde’s
The Picture of Dorian Cray'
he read.

‘The first will teach you about the joys of the flesh, the second will teach you not to abuse them,’ said Nuno wisely.

‘Thank you,’ said Sam, getting up.

‘Sexual pleasure can be a weapon as well as a wand, young Samuel. Use it well.’

‘You won’t tell Mum, will you?’ Sam said, hovering by the door, shuffling his feet.

‘It’s your business, dear boy, but might I suggest you keep your loving to the dark hours when there is no chance of someone walking in on you.’ He turned back to his books.

‘“Love ceases to be a pleasure when it ceases to be a secret,”’ replied Sam, grinning smugly.

‘Aphra Behn,
The Lover’s Watch’
said Nuno pompously, without turning around. ‘It is still a secret from the rest of the household, dear boy. Enjoy it,’ he added, and smiled proudly because he had taught his grandson to appreciate literature.

Helena stood at her bedroom window and watched Federica playing in the garden with Hester and Molly. She was glad that Federica had settled into their new home. Her first term at school had been a great success. Hester had taken Federica under her wing and made her feel part of their family, which was what Federica needed, a large, loud family to take her mind off her absent father. When the term had finished they had spent many long afternoons on the

beach, building sand-castles, picnicking on the cliff, exploring caves and listening to Jake’s old smuggling stories. Uncle Toby had taken her out in his boat with Julian and taught her how to fish, except that Toby always threw them back into the water again. He hated to hurt any living creature. Federica had developed a crush on Sam Appleby, which didn’t surprise Helena at all, Sam was a very beautiful young man. At least that took her mind off her father. All to the good, she thought. But what of her?

Helena was tied to the house, looking after Hal. She had been mortified to read the letter Ramon had sent to Federica. She found she missed him in spite of her efforts and caught herself more than once recalling that strange moment in Viña when their impulses had overcome their reasoning and they had made love. She had then remembered discovering him in bed with Estella and felt that nauseating anger all over again, as if it had been yesterday. She had hoped that she would have left all her memories of Ramon in Chile, along with the sentimental nonsense collected during their first happy years together. But it was harder to let him go than she had predicted. He clung to her thoughts in order to torment her. As much as she tried to shake him off she was plagued by images of him. She wondered where he was, whether he ever thought about her, whether he would turn up one of these days and tell her that he had made a mistake, that he would fight for her after all, that he would make an effort to change. How could he love her and not fight for her? She couldn’t understand him.

Then there were the children. She couldn’t comprehend that someone could love their children and yet care so little for them. He had written once but he hadn’t visited. It was now August. She often heard Federica listening to her butterfly box, miles away, riding on the mesmerising waves of her father’s stories as if that would bring her closer to him. Suddenly she was overcome with the possibility that something ill might have happened to him. She hadn’t considered that as a reason for his silence, she had been too busy blaming him for neglecting them. Defeated by guilt and remorse she pulled herself away from the window, lit a cigarette and dialled his parents’ number in Santiago.