The Butterfly Box (26 page)

He hesitated a moment before ringing the bell. The tall acacia trees towered over him like sentinels. The house was as big as a fortress. Suddenly he felt humbled and embarrassed that he had come at all. Besides, he wouldn’t know what to say. The living muted him. He was about to turn and leave when he heard voices coming from the other side of the house. He stood and listened. There was no mistaking that the laughter was Estella’s. She had a very distinctive laugh, like the bubbling of a merry river. Pablo loved that laugh more than any other sound on earth and he felt a suffocating fury grip his throat again. He clenched his fists and ground his teeth like a bull about to be taken on by the bullfighter. He rang the bell.

The laughter ceased immediately, dissolving into urgent whispers and the light patter of feet. Pablo rang the bell again. Then he waited completely still as if conserving all his energy for his fight. The door opened after a long pause and Don Ramon Campione stood in the doorway.

‘Can I help you?’ he asked politely. Pablo searched for the right words but he had never been very good at expressing himself in syllables to living people so he simply pulled his arm back and sent his fist crashing into the proud jaw of his adversary, sending the larger man reeling back into the house where he fell to the floor and glared up at Pablo Rega in astonishment.

‘Hijo de puta!’
he exclaimed, taking his hand away from his wound and examining the blood. ‘What the hell was that for?’ But he knew.

‘Papa!’ Estella cried. ‘What have you done?’ she gasped in horror when she saw Ramon stagger to his feet, his face dripping with blood.

‘How dare you steal my little girl?’ Pablo stammered angrily, his fist poised to hit him again.

‘He didn’t steal me, Papa, I came willingly. Didn’t you get my note?’ she interrupted in exasperation, bravely placing herself between her father and her lover. ‘Enough, Papa,’ she ordered. ‘You’ve done enough!’

‘Marry her, Señor!’ Pablo pointed a threatening finger at Ramon, who looked down at the squat little man with impatience.

‘There’s the slight problem of me being married already,’ said Ramon flippantly.

Pablo’s face swelled crimson and his lips began to tremble. ‘So what are you

going to do?’ he asked hoarsely, shaking his head incredulously.

‘Papa, please come in and we can discuss this calmly,’ said Estella, taking her father by the arm and leading him into the house. Ramon watched them walk through the hall and sitting room and out onto the terrace. He noticed how her confidence had grown with the baby and he admired her for it. He remembered the shy little girl he had seduced and smiled in spite of his throbbing jaw.

Pablo slumped into a chair and looked up at his daughter with weary resignation. Estella sat opposite him, placing her hands on her large belly. Ramon stood by the door with his arms folded in front of him. He let Estella do all the talking; he had no desire to sweet talk the old man. As far as Ramon was concerned, his affair with Estella had nothing to do with anyone else but them.

‘Papa, I love Ramon. He is the father of my baby and I want to be with him. I don’t care about marriage. Ramon will buy us a house in Cachagua and make sure we are looked after. This is what I want,’ she said calmly.

‘Your grandmother would turn in her grave,’ he muttered, gazing at his daughter with watering eyes.

‘Then she’ll have to turn, Papa,’ Estella replied resolutely.

‘You’re committing adultery. God will punish you,’ he said, instinctively touching his silver medallion of the Virgin Mary. ‘He’ll punish you both.’

‘God will understand,’ said Ramon, who hated the way the church kept everyone in line by filling their hearts with fear.

‘You are a godless man, Don Ramon.’

‘Far from it, Señor, I am a believer. I just don’t blindly believe the garbage I’m told by weak mortals who call themselves priests and claim to be in constant dialogue with God. They are no more holy than I.’

‘Papa, Ramon is a good man.’

‘He’s lucky he’s not a dead man,’ Pablo replied, getting up. ‘Go on then, live in sin. I don’t know you any more.’

‘Papa, please!’ Estella begged tearfully, throwing her arms about him. ‘Please don’t turn your back on me.’

‘As long as you’re with this selfish, godless man, I don’t want to see you,’ he said sadly. Estella followed him out to his truck. She tried to persuade him to give Ramon a chance, but Pablo refused to listen. ‘After all we’ve done for you,’ he said, turning the key in the ignition.

‘Papa, please don’t leave like this,’ she sobbed.

But he drove up the road without so much as a glance in his rear mirror.

Estella gave birth to a baby boy in the same hospital in Valparaiso that she had been born in twenty-two years before. Ramon was as proud as any new father and held the tiny creature in his big hands, declaring that he be named Ramon. He placed his lips on his mottled forehead and kissed his son. ‘Ramon Campione,’ he said and smiled at Estella. ‘We don’t need marriage when we have Ramoncito to bind us together.’

Estella missed her mother dreadfully. The birth had been painful without her herbs and soothing words. She longed to contact her but she was afraid of their rejection. Her father’s harsh words had inflicted a deep wound that had left her feeling isolated and more dependent on Ramon than ever. A month after the birth they had moved into a pretty beach house that Ramon had bought just outside Zapallar so that she could be near her parents and the friends she had grown up with. He reassured her that her father would forgive her in time.

‘Time heals everything,’ he said knowingly. ‘Even my father might forgive me one day for letting Helena go.’

At the end of October Ignacio and Mariana had moved to their house in Cachagua for the duration of the summer. Mariana had hired a new maid called Gertrude, a sour old woman who had nothing pleasant to say about anyone and complained constantly about the state of her health. Ignacio liked her because she was so disagreeable he didn’t have to make the effort to be nice to her. In fact, she responded better to his cantankerous nature than she did to Mariana who tried to mollify her with kind words and smiles. Gertrude never smiled. When Mariana had foolishly mentioned Estella, Gertrude took it upon herself to inform her that there was a rumour that Estella had given birth to a monkey as a direct result of her getting pregnant outside wedlock. ‘That’s what happens to those who disobey God’s commandments,’ she crowed gleefully.

It never occurred to Ignacio and Mariana that their son might be the father.

‘I miss Estella,’ Mariana said to her husband.

‘Yes,’ he replied, laying out the pieces of a monumental puzzle on top of the card table in the sitting room.

‘How could Gertrude be so unkind? A monkey indeed.’ She sighed despairingly. ‘Where do these people hear such rubbish?’

‘It’s folklore, woman,’ Ignacio replied, adjusting his glasses.

‘Well, any intelligent human being must know it’s untrue.’

‘You believe in God, don't you?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you have no proof.’

‘Nacho!’

‘It’s just an example, woman.’

‘On a completely different level.’

‘As you wish,’ he replied, hoping she’d leave him alone to concentrate on his puzzle.

‘You know, I might find out where Estella lives and go and visit her. You know, just to make sure she’s all right.’

‘Como
quieras, mujer
,’ he said impatiently. Mariana shook her head and left him to his puzzle. The minutiae of my wife’s world never cease to amaze me,’ he sighed once she had gone, and sat down to commence his task.

Ramon watched his son sleeping in his cradle. The baby didn’t move, didn’t even twitch. Once again he panicked that his son might be dead. He bent into the cot to listen for his breathing. When he heard nothing he put his face to the

baby’s in order to feel his breath on his cheek.

‘Mi amor
, you’re not worrying again? Ramoncito is alive and well,’ Estella whispered, placing the clean washing on the chest of drawers.

‘I just had to be sure.’ He grinned at her bashfully.

‘You’ve forgotten what it was like,’ she chuckled, planting a tender kiss on his cheek.

‘Yes, I have.’

‘Go and see them,’ she said suddenly.

‘What?’

‘Go and visit your children, Ramon,’ she said.

‘Why?’

‘Because they need you.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Yes you can. If you left me and started a family with another woman I would like to think that you would still be a good father to Ramoncito.’

‘I’m not going to leave you, Estella,’ he said firmly.

‘That’s not what I mean. Those children need you to be a f^ went wrong between you and Helena has nothing to do with th<

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go, they’ll blame themselves. They must miss you. I look at Ramoncito, he’s so vulnerable and so innocent. He needs us both.’

‘I’ll go sometime,’ he said casually.

Estella was the first woman he had ever been with who didn’t beg him to stay. He was surprised that she had suggested he go. Suddenly he worried that she was growing tired of him. She was twenty years younger than he. Perhaps she longed for a man of her own age. Then he reassured himself that she couldn’t possibly want anyone else. He was the father of her child. She had also promised him that she would never complain if he left as long as he came back from time to time. The irony was that now he didn’t want to go anywhere. He could write at their beach house, take long walks in the sunshine, swim in the sea, make love in the afternoon and enjoy watching his baby grow each day. He found that his poems came easily. He didn’t have to find the words in faraway places, they were right there in their beach house. Estella read them and when she understood them she wept. She never asked when he was leaving and she never again suggested he go. But her words had settled into his conscience and grown. He knew she was right. He knew he should go and see his

children. But he always put it off until tomorrow. Tomorrow was a long way away.

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Chapter 17

Polperro

Federica bicycled down to the post office with Hester to post the picture she had painted for her grandmother. It was of her new house and her new friends Molly and Hester. She had included Sam, painting him in bigger than everyone else, even bigger than her mother and grandparents. Hester had admired it. ‘You should be a painter like Mummy,’ she had said. ‘But Mummy can’t draw people, they all end up looking like birds.’

‘Oh, I think she’s rather good.’

‘Well, when you know Mummy better you won’t be too shy to say what you really think.’ She had laughed. Federica also had a letter to post to her father. She hadn’t told her mother and as she didn’t know her father’s new address she had popped the letter into the envelope addressed to her grandmother. She knew Abuelita would pass it on. She had told him that she missed him and that she thought of him every day when she woke up and every night before she went to bed, because those were the times she reserved for her butterfly box. She told him that he was right, the box was magical, because when she

opened it her mind automatically drifted off to faraway places where she rode on clouds, fished pink fish out of silver rivers and ate delicious fruit unlike any fruit she had ever seen before. Then she asked him to come and see them because she was growing up fast and if he didn’t come soon he wouldn’t recognize her. Satisfied that he would surely come, she had sealed the envelope with a wish.

Federica had spent almost the entire summer with the Applebys, leaving her mother to concentrate her attention on Hal. Polly cooked, cleaned and cared for Helena as if she were a child again. Nothing was too much for her to ask. Jake just rolled his eyes as he watched his wife run around after their daughter as if the last ten years had been but a blink. Polly insisted that she was only doing what any other mother would do for her child. Jake couldn’t disagree; he didn’t know what other mothers would do but he only had to look at Helena running around after Hal to know that there was at least a certain amount of truth in his wife’s excuses.

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Hal could do no wrong, if only in the eyes of his mother. He glossy black hair and dark, heavy eyes into which Helena

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disappear for hours. During those periods there was very little anyone could do to get her attention. She would laugh at all the quaint things he said, play whatever games he suggested and praise him even when he hadn’t done anything worth praising. At four years of age Helena felt he was the brightest, most charming child she had ever seen. Well beyond his years. She refused, however, to acknowledge his moods that swung from absolute affection to blind fury and loathing, for no apparent reason. When Hal swelled with rage not even Helena could reach him. Somehow she found excuses for these tantrums and if anyone mentioned them she turned on them with all her defences. Federica knew instinctively when to leave her mother and Hal alone together and play on her own. Her mother didn’t love her less, she understood that, Hal just needed her more than she did. After all Hal didn’t have any friends like Molly and Hester. Lucien and Joey included him at their tea parties, but Hal wasn't an honorary member of the Appleby family like she was. He was too little.

Federica wanted to join Hester for Christmas, but Helena insisted she stay at home with her own family. ‘You’re not an Appleby, you’re a Campione,’ she said, much to Federica’s disappointment because she was beginning to feel more like an Appleby every day. Ingrid began to decorate the manor in

October. Instead of tinsel she made garlands of flowers made out of crepe paper, which she hung up the banisters and around the cornices in the hall and sitting room. The tree was hung with large goose eggs that she painted in festive colours and lit with a conventional string of Christmas tree lights. On the top she made a nest for Blackie to sit in. To Federica’s surprise Blackie was delighted with her new bed. None of the Applebys were in the least bit surprised, for when it came to animals Ingrid had the touch of Saint Francis. But the most surprising of all was Nuno. Apparently every Christmas Nuno made the pudding. It was a ceremonial affair, which was taken very seriously indeed. The entire kitchen had to be cleared for a day. No one except Sam was allowed in so the rest of the family had to have lunch at the pub while Nuno floated about the kitchen in a state of rapture. Even Inigo was dragged out of his philosophy books and his black mood and forced to join in the fun at The Bear and Ball. Nuno believed himself to be a phenomenal cook.

‘It’s not so much about the right quantity of ingredients, dear boy, but the way the pot is stirred,’ he told Sam.

“‘Kissing don’t last. Cookery do!”’ said Nuno in his clipped Italian accent.

That one’s lost on me,’ Sam admitted in irritation, after having thought about it for a while.

Nuno widened his glittering eyes and tapped his wooden spoon on the butcher’s table. ‘Come come, dear boy, think.’

‘Sorry, Nuno. I can’t,’ he replied, defeated.

‘Meredith Middleton.’

‘Of course. “Speech is the small change of silence,”’ Sam sighed, shaking his head. ‘That was an easy one.’

‘It’s always the easy ones that get us, Samuel. And we’re always got in the end.’

For Federica Christmas with her grandparents was going to be very dull in comparison to the Applebys’. Polly and Helena decorated the house with conventional streamers and the tree with tinsel and shiny baubles. Federica would have joined in had she not preferred to help Hester make presents for all the animals. Jake thought Christmas highly overrated and began to build a new model ship, leaving glue and pieces of wood all over the house, much to

Polly’s chagrin. Helena found her daughter’s daily jaunts up the lane excessive and decided that Hal and Federica were going to paint pictures for their grandparents’ presents and set them to work at the kitchen table. ‘I want the most beautiful paintings you can do, and if it doesn’t take at least a week you’re obviously not doing it properly,’ she said, directing her comments at Federica. Federica’s heart sank. She set about her task with little enthusiasm, wondering at every moment what Hester was doing up at Pickthistle Manor.

Toby had told his parents that he was going to spend Christmas with Julian’s family in Shropshire. They were hurt. No less hurt than they had been the Christmas before or the Christmas before that. But Toby wanted them to be sorry. As long as his father refused to have Julian in the house he would make him suffer by staying away too.

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Helena was furious and confronted her father about it. ‘He’s my brother and I won’t stand by and watch you treat him in this way. He’s not a leper, you know, he just happens to be in love with a boy. What’s the big deal?’ she said angrily. But Jake didn’t want to discuss it with his daughter. H' speak about his son’s homosexuality to anyone, not even to hi

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too ashamed. Helena didn’t give up. She spoke about Julian at every opportunity. ‘I went up to Toby's today with Hal. Really, Julian is so sweet with him. I left them together while Toby and I went for a walk. He couldn’t have been in safer hands. I’d trust him with my life,’ she would say, but Jake would ignore her and either leave the room or bury his nose further into the bowels of his model ships. But Helena was determined their family shouldn’t be wrenched apart because of some old-fashioned, irrational, misguided prejudice. She didn’t know how she’d do it but she was confident she could rectify the situation given time. In the meantime she was saddened. Christmas would be deeply lacking without Toby.

By the time Christmas arrived a thick covering of snow had transformed Polperro into an ice kingdom. The sky was pale and timid, the sun no more than a resplendent haze that hung low in the eastern sky. The trees had retreated into themselves, leaving only their frozen shells to fend off the bitter wind and in spite of their naked branches a few rooks and the odd robin braved the cold and sought shelter there. Federica and Hal were enchanted by the snow. They awoke early and pressed their noses against the frosted

windows to marvel at the white garden that lay silently in the emerging dawn light. They had been so excited by the snow that neither had noticed the fat stockings which lay full of presents at the end of their beds.

Scrambling into Helena’s bed Hal and Federica excitedly tore open the tissue paper on each carefully wrapped present. ‘How come Father Christmas found us in England?’ Federica asked her mother, squealing in delight as she pulled out a brand new paint box.

‘He’s very clever,’ she replied, watching as Federica folded each bit of wrapping paper neatly in a pile while Hal threw his on the floor for someone else to pick up later.

‘I hope he found Papa in Santiago,’ said Federica, remembering how both parents used to get stockings too. ‘I wish he were here,’ she said wistfully, turning one of her gifts over in her hand thoughtfully. She wanted him to see her opening her presents although she knew no present would ever beat the butterfly box he had given her. ‘Where’s yours, Mama?’ she asked, noticing that Helena didn’t have anything to open.

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‘Father Christmas left it outside your bedroom by mistake,’
sm
ing in her dressing gown and slippers with her greying hair long

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her shoulders. She handed her daughter the stocking.

 

Thank you, Mum.’ She smiled at her mother, making space for her on the edge of the bed.

Polly sat down and touched her daughter’s cheek with her large hand. ‘Don’t thank me, thank Father Christmas,’ she said and winked.

Federica ate her breakfast in silence. She had loved her presents, especially the Snoopy dog that came with lots of different outfits so that she could change him for each new occasion. Her grandmother had put little gifts on their places at breakfast and her grandfather had turned the Christmas tree lights on making the house look festive. She loved the snow and longed to run outside and play in it. But nothing could make up for the absence of her father. She tried not to think about him, she wasn’t meant to be sad on Christmas Day and she didn’t want to spoil it for her mother by sulking, but in spite of her smiles she missed him so much she wanted to cry. Helena noticed her shiny eyes and knew immediately what was wrong. ‘Why don’t you and Hal finish breakfast now and go and play outside. You can build a snowman if you like,’ she suggested kindly, hoping that the snow might distract her. But nothing could.

Federica didn’t want to go to church even though she knew the Applebys would be there. She didn’t feel like it. She didn’t feel like watching all the other children with their fathers, looking at her and wondering why she didn’t have one too. She wanted to hide. But her mother wouldn’t let her and told her that she had to go to church to thank God for all the wonderful things He had given her during the year and to thank Him for giving the world baby Jesus. On the way to church she thought about what her mother had said. God had given her lots of wonderful things, Hester, for example, and she liked Polperro. But she couldn’t help but feel deeply let down. If God could give her Hester why couldn’t He give her back her father? She resolved to ask Him in her prayers.

The church was said to be so old that it was listed in the Domesday Book. Toby had taken Federica there when she had first arrived in Polperro to show her the grave of Old Hatty Browne, the witch burnt by the villagers for sorcery in 1508. Toby added darkly that on very clear nights she was often spotted in the yard picking herbs for her potions, with which she would minister to the dead. Federica had been enchanted and wanted to know more, so they had sat among the daffodils and talked until sundown.

The church itself was small and quaint with a sloping roof and rickety porch,

surrounded by snow-capped graves and a low brick wall to keep the dogs out. For some inexplicable reason there was nothing they liked better than to cock their legs on the gravestones. Nuno said it was due to the pungent scent of the deceased that rendered the earth irresistible to them but Inigo lamented their lack of respect and said that they enjoyed ‘pissing on the deceased because they couldn’t piss on the living’. The nave and balcony only managed to seat about fifty people but due to the unlikely charisma of the Reverend Boyble there was rarely a spare seat in the place. Helena had brought her children up in the Catholic faith, because Ramon was Catholic. But now she was back in England and on her own she had reverted to the Protestant faith with which she had been raised. It gave her a sense of belonging.

Everyone was dressed in their best coats and hats. Federica had squeezed into an old tweed coat of her mother’s that Polly had kept sealed in a large white box with tissue paper. She didn’t like it because it was scratchy and a little too small, but Helena thought she looked very smart and refused to let her take it off. Consequently she tugged at the collar throughout the service. The church smelt of pine tree and perfume, mingled with the waxy scent of the candles. Old Mrs Hammond played the organ with faltering precision, her

shrivelled face pressed up against the hymn book because she was too proud to admit she needed glasses. A murmur passed through the congregation when the Appleby family entered and took their places at the front of the church. Nuno trotted in first on the balls of his feet with his tortoise nose in the air and a devout expression frozen onto his face. ‘Girls, you’re not a pair of pious penguins. Hold your hands together in front of you like vestal virgins,’ he hissed to Molly and Hester whose shoulders hunched up and shuddered as they tried their best to suppress their giggles. Hester caught Federica’s eye as she passed and winked at her. Federica forced a thin smile in return but she didn’t feel like smiling. Ingrid swept by dressed in a velvet turban and long green velvet coat that reached to the ground and trailed along behind her as if she were an ageing bride. She greeted everyone with a gracious nod of her noble head but she didn’t see any of their faces because her eyes had misted over with the beauty of the music. Inigo shuffled down in a mangy brown duffel coat and felt hat pulled low over his ill-tempered face followed by Sam, who was already bored, Bea in a short skirt, Lucien and Joey.

Once the Applebys had settled into their seats the Reverend Boyble sprung into the centre of the nave like a jolly frog. His bulbous brown eyes swept

cheerfully over the attentive faces of his congregation and he smiled a very wide, charming smile. ‘Welcome,’ he enthused in a surprisingly high, thin voice. ‘Welcome everyone. Today is a very special day because it is Jesus’ birthday.’

Sam yawned, opening his mouth wide like a hippo. The Reverend Boyble noticed his yawn and chuckled. ‘I see some of you would prefer to be in bed on this glorious morning, or perhaps you’re tired of opening all those presents. I thank you for making the effort to come.’ Sam sat up stiffly and tried to prevent his face from flushing by focusing on the crucifix that hung above the altar.

‘Effort, hmmm . . .’ murmured Reverend Boyble thoughtfully, rubbing his thumbs over the surface of his prayer book. ‘Effort is a virtuous thing. It’s all too easy to allow laziness to lead us down the path of evil. I wonder whether you all know the story of the two frogs in the milk bowl.’ He cast his eyes about the faces that stared back at him expectantly. ‘They were stuck and couldn’t get out. It would have been quite easy for the stronger frog to have stepped on the weaker frog, thereby ensuring him a swiff leg-up to safety. But the stronger frog didn’t go for the easy option. Instead he continued to kick and kick together with the weaker frog in an enormous effort to throw himself

up the side of the bowl. Well, his efforts were rewarded. They kicked so hard and for so long that the milk turned to butter, thereby allowing them to simply hop out with no trouble at all. That is effort, my good people. It brings its own rewards.’ A murmur of admiration rippled through the congregation. Today is Jesus’ birthday, so let us celebrate with the first carol on your service sheet, “Away in a Manger.’”

Federica knew some carols because they had sung them at school in Chile, although the words had been in Spanish. It had been an age since she had last spoken Spanish, she thought unhappily, and she attempted to sing along quietly the way she had been taught in Viña. Suddenly all the homesickness and longing she had suffered silently for so long rebelled against her failing will and clawed their way into her throat, causing her eyes to water in discomfort and her chin to tremble. In her mind’s eye she saw scenes of her past opening up to her like a vision of a lost world. Her heart stalled when she saw the dark face of her father emerge in all its magnificence and as much as she tried to hold back the tears they cascaded down her cheeks because she searched his eyes for love but found only indifference. At once she felt desperately empty and sad. All those wasted hours believing he’d come and visit. How naive she

had been. He had obviously forgotten about them because it was Christmas and he had never missed a Christmas, ever. She knew now that he would never come and her spirits sunk lower than they had ever sunk. Helena placed a hand on her shoulder, sensing her daughter’s distress. She too missed Chile and in a strange way, Ramon. But she was more practised at hiding her melancholy and sang more heartily than ever.

During the sermon Reverend Boyble spoke about the meaning of Christmas with great enthusiasm. ‘Christmas is a time for love and forgiveness,’ he preached. Federica listened to him but she felt no love or forgiveness, just an aching wound that refused to heal. As the full enormity of her father’s rejection reached her understanding, her vision misted until the candles glowed like small suns and Reverend Boyble was reduced to a black blur, his voice no more than a low hum in the distance. She felt the heat prickle on her skin as she made one last effort to suppress a sob, but her chest was too small to withstand such a violent tirade. Abruptly she stood up and shuffled blindly past her grandparents who looked at each other in bewilderment. She then ran up the aisle, pushed open the heavy oak door and burst out into the snow where she was finally able to let herself go and howl into the icy air.

Holding her stomach she bent over and cried at the injustice of the world. She loathed Christmas and she loathed England. Suddenly she felt a heavy hand on her back. She stopped crying and straightened up. Wiping her face with her glove she lifted her eyes to find the dark eyes of her father staring into hers with love and remorse. She swallowed hard and blinked.

‘Papa?’ she croaked, catching her breath in her throat with surprise.

‘Fede. I’m sorry.’ He drew her kicking and screaming into his arms.

‘I hate you, I hate you!’ she sobbed, as he held her in a firm bear hug, burying his face into her hot neck, whispering words of tenderness and encouragement. As she felt herself enveloped in the familiar smell of his body she closed her eyes and stopped fighting, giving in to the security of his embrace, conquered by her love for him. Finally he crouched down and held her by her narrow shoulders.

‘I missed you,’ he said emphatically, searching her expression for submission. He wished he had missed her much sooner. ‘I got your letter,’ he added, grinning at her sheepishly.

‘Is that why you came?’

‘No. I was always going to come and see you. I’ve just been very busy. But

your letter made me realize that I couldn’t leave it any longer.’