The Butterfly Box (30 page)

PART TWO
 

Chapter 20

Polperro, Spring 1989

Federica bicycled up the hill, her breaths staggered and short as she sobbed and pedalled, barely able to see the road for the tears in her eyes. The warm May sunshine had tempted the trees and bushes into blossom and bud, the unlikely snowfalls in April were now over for good. But Federica didn’t care for the beauty of nature. She didn’t even notice the armies of bluebells in the woods or the sweet smell of fertility as the ground woke up from her winter sleep. Fler heart felt as if someone had wrenched it from her chest, beaten it about, then carelessly put it back again.

The ride up the lane to Pickthistle Manor seemed much longer than normal. Her face was red and sweaty from exertion and her eyes swollen like two baked apples. When she cycled into the driveway she was greeted by Trotsky, the rather arrogant Great Dane that Inigo had given Ingrid to console her after the death of her favourite dog, Pushkin. Trotsky was honey-brown with skin like velvet and the intelligent face of a Cambridge scholar, his eyes surrounded by dark circles which gave the impression that he was wearing little round

glasses, much to everyone’s amusement. Hence the name Trotsky, which he lived up to with great pride and dignity. Federica patted him absentmindedly as she passed. He sensed her distress and bounded after her with long, leisurely strides.

She threw down her bicycle on the gravel then rushed inside shouting for Hester. She held her breath and listened for a reply, but none came. Only the sound of Inigo’s classical music escaped under his study door and floated through the house. She didn’t want to disturb Inigo who was obviously working so she wandered through the rooms hoping to find one of the girls. She was mortified to discover that the house was completely empty except for Sam who sat at the kitchen table eating a large peanut-butter sandwich, reading the Saturday papers. When he saw her standing awkwardly in the doorway he put down his paper and asked her what was wrong.

‘I’m looking for Hester,’ she said quietly, wiping her face with her hands and hoping he wouldn’t notice she was crying. She took a deep breath and forced a smile.

But Sam wasn’t fooled. The girls have gone shopping with Mum and the boys are having a picnic tea on the beach,’ he said, then smiled

sympathetically.

‘Oh,’ said Federica, not knowing what else to say. She had always felt suffocated when alone with Sam. He was too handsome to look at, too clever to talk to and much too grown up to be interested in her. So she began to back away through the door, mumbling that she’d find Hester later.

‘Why don’t you have a peanut-butter sandwich?’ he asked, holding up the jar. ‘They’re extremely good. Mum calls this type of food “comfort food” and you look as though you need some of that.’

‘No, really, I’m not hungry,’ she stammered, embarrassed by her own incompetence.

‘I know. But you’re unhappy,’ he said and smiled again. ‘At least have some to make you feel better.’ He pulled out a couple of slices of bread and began to prepare a sandwich for her. She had no choice. She walked up to the table and sat down on the chair that he had pulled out for her. ‘I'm afraid I can’t resist a weeping woman,’ he said. Federica laughed as the tears blurred her vision again. A month off thirteen she could hardly be considered a woman, not even by a long stretch of the imagination. She lowered her eyes and took a timid bite of her sandwich. ‘You know,’ Sam continued, ‘women’s tears are their secret

weapon. I know I’m not alone. Most men go weak at the sight of them, or they don’t know how to handle them so they leave themselves vulnerable to every sort of manipulation. They’ll do anything to bring a smile to the lady’s face. What can I do to bring a smile to your face?’

‘There’s nothing you can do. I’ll be fine,’ she replied, staring down at her sandwich, anything rather than look at him.

‘Well, there’s nothing worse than sitting about inside on a sunny day like this feeling miserable. Why don’t you join me for a walk? The bluebells will cheer you up and by the time we get back the girls will probably have returned. How does that sound?’

‘You must have better things to do,’ she said, not wanting to be a bore.

‘Now you’re sounding like Eeyore. Try and be more like Pooh, or Tigger. Actually,’ he said, grinning at her, ‘you’re more like Piglet.’

‘Is that meant to be a compliment?’

‘Definitely. Piglet is a fine fellow. So how about a stroll in the hundred acre wood?’

Federica rarely saw Sam. He had left school and travelled for a year before

taking up his scholarship at Cambridge. The long holidays were usually spent travelling, weekends up in London at parties. When he came home he’d only stay for a couple of days, locked in Nuno’s library or in heavy discussion with his father. Federica would bicycle up the drive, her heart in a state of quivering expectation, hoping that his green and white Deux Chevaux would be parked outside the house indicating that he was at home. When the space on the gravel was empty she’d still keep her ears open and hope that perhaps during the course of her visit he might very well turn up and surprise them all. But he rarely did.

During the previous seven years Federica’s crush on Sam had neither waned nor tempered. If anything it had grown more intense, teased by the fact that she so rarely saw him. She knew he was too old, she knew he would never look at her as anything other than his little sister’s friend, but still she fantasized about him. Molly and Flester knew of her crush. The whole family did and they all found it charming, even Sam, whose ego wasn’t immune to the blushes of a twelve-year-old child. But no one ever spoke of it in front of Federica. She was shy and ill-equipped for their type of humour.

It was warm. The bluebells flooded the ground like a violet river, drowning

the disintegrating winter foliage beneath them, shimmering in the breeze and heralding the return of spring. Sam pulled off his sweater, tying it about his waist and walking in his shirtsleeves, leaving the cuffs undone to flap carelessly about his hands. Trotsky trotted along behind them, sniffing the bushes and cocking his leg everywhere because the scent of spring excited him. ‘I do love this time of year. The smells are rich, the trees in bud. Just look at that green, it’s unreal, isn’t it?’ he said, pulling a piece of blossom off a tree and smelling it.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she replied, following him up the path that wound its way through the trees.

‘I remember when you first moved here,’ he said.

‘Me too. I nearly died in the lake.’

‘Not a very auspicious start,’ he chuckled.

‘It’s got better, though,’ she replied. It
had
got better, but now it had all gone wrong.

‘Do you miss Chile?’ he asked, slowing down for her to catch up as the path widened to allow them both to walk side by side.

‘I miss my father,’ she said truthfully, swallowing a sob. ‘Chile is little more

than a faded memory. If I think of Chile I think of my father.’

 

Sam pulled a sympathetic smile. He was very aware that she never spoke about her father. Nuno had condemned him as heartless, Inigo irresponsible. Only Ingrid took Ramon’s side and believed there was more to it than the superficial actuality of a father deserting his family.

When Ramon had left Polperro seven years before, everyone had remained electrified by his sudden visit. Federica had talked proudly about him at every opportunity, clearly expecting him to return every once in a while to see her, perhaps one day coming to stay for good. She had written to him. Long letters in her childish hand, signed with love and sealed with hope. He had written poems for her and a novel which he had dedicated ‘to my daughter’ about a little girl called Topahuay who lived in Peru but which none of the Applebys understood except for Nuno who had a basic knowledge of Spanish because of his ability to speak Italian. Then the letters had begun to arrive with less frequency until they had almost dried up altogether. There was no surprise visit, no telephone call. Federica kept his letters in the butterfly box, which she hid under her bed. Without knowing why she began to shroud Ramon in secrecy.

She stopped talking about him. She showed no one her butterfly box. She possessively protected his memory in the silent halls of her mind where she alone could visit him. The only person she allowed into these halls was Hester. And Hester loyally kept all Federica’s secrets. She even managed to keep them from Molly who had attempted to force them out of her sister with both manipulation and force. But Hester had never given in and took great pride in her loyalty.

As the years passed Federica’s shame grew. Everyone else had a father. The other schoolchildren wondered why Federica didn’t have one and whispered about it behind her back. Deep in her subconscious she couldn’t help but wonder whether she had done something wrong, for he couldn’t love her. If he loved her he would want to see her. If he loved her he’d miss her like she missed him. She remembered his words about Señora Baraca because she remembered everything he had ever said to her. ‘Sometimes it’s better to move on, rather than dwell on the past. One should learn things from the past and then let them go.’ He had chosen to stay away, would he prefer them to let him

‘I liked your father very much.' said Sam carefully. He watched her mouth twist with misery and her eyes glisten again with tears. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought him up. It must be very painful for you,’ he apologized, touching her arm.

‘I miss him, that’s all,’ she sniffed.

‘Of course you do,’ he agreed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, a gesture he often did when he felt awkward.

‘Sometimes it’s fine. Then all of a sudden, for no reason, I think of him and feel sad.’

‘That’s only natural.’

‘I know. Is Mama having a serious boyfriend natural too?’ she asked and a large tear wobbled on her upper lip before dropping into the bluebells.

Sam stopped walking and instinctively drew the sobbing child into his arms. ‘So this is what it’s all about,’ he said, hugging her. She nodded but her throat was too strained to speak. ‘It was always going to happen, Fede. Look, let’s sit down and talk about this,’ he suggested, patting her gently on the back before releasing her.

They sat in the sun among the bluebells, Federica cross-legged and Sam

with his long legs stretched out in front of him leaning back against the trunk of a tree. Federica couldn’t believe that only a moment ago she had been in his arms. To her shame her tears ceased immediately and she blinked across at him, her cheeks aflame.

‘She’s had boyfriends before, but Arthur wants to marry her,’ she said in despair.

‘What’s this Arthur like?’

‘He’s all right, I suppose. He’s not very interesting. In fact, I think he’s very dull. He’s quite fat and has no hair, but he laughs at all Mama’s jokes and tells her how wonderful she is all the time.’

‘What does he do?’

‘He’s a wine merchant. An old wine merchant. He must be at least fifty. Mama says he’s very clever and has a very good job. He’s reliable, dependable and nice. Yes, that’s the word, nice. Nice, nice, nice.’

‘But he’s not your father,’ said Sam.

‘No,’ she croaked, ‘he’s not Papa and he never will be.’

‘I thought your parents were still married?’

‘They are.’

Then your mother would have to get a divorce in order to marry this boring Arthur person,’ said Sam.

‘Yes, she would.’

‘Well, that would take ages.’

‘Yes.’

‘Has your mother agreed to marry him?’

‘No, she hasn’t yet. I just overheard them talking.’

‘What did she say when he asked her?’

‘Well, Arthur goes, “You’re a delicate flower in need of protecting,”’ said Federica in a low voice. Sam laughed at her impersonation. Federica’s mouth curled into a small smile. ‘Then Mama said, “I wish I were as beautiful as a flower.” To which Arthur replied, “With a little watering you’ll blossom into one. Marry me, Helena.’” Federica grimaced, blinking away tears that now seemed out of place amid the humour of her recital. ‘I nearly threw up. Mama might be many things but she is certainly no flower. What would Papa think?’ Sam was chuckling. He had never bothered to talk to Federica before, he had always thought her rather dull and quiet, but he was seeing a side to her that he never knew she had. He didn’t blame his sisters at all for liking her.

‘It’s clear that she’s enjoying the attentions of a kind man. You don’t know the dynamics of your parents’ relationship. As your father was away all the time your mother must have felt neglected. Dull Arthur obviously makes her feel attractive. She’s enjoying the attention,’ said Sam, believing he had summed up the entire situation in a couple of sentences. He took off his glasses and began to clean them on his shirt.

‘But if she marries him we’ll have to move away from Polperro,’ said Federica in panic.

‘Ah, now that is a problem,’ he agreed.

Federica’s face lengthened again in gloom. ‘I couldn’t bear to move away. I love it here,’ she said huskily.

‘I know Molly and Hester wouldn’t want you to move away either.'

‘What can I do?’

‘You can’t do anything. But if I were you,’ he said loftily, ‘I would talk to your mother and ask her what she intends to do.’

‘But I can’t admit that I was eavesdropping.’

‘Why not? I eavesdrop all the time. There’s nothing wrong with it. If people don’t want to be heard they should make sure no one can hear them. It was

their fault. Arthur’s not only dull but obviously stupid too,’ he said. Sam had little tolerance for stupid people.

‘I suppose I could talk to her.’

‘Of course you could.’

‘But she’s only interested in talking about Hal. I don’t think I’d make the slightest bit of difference.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Sam, nodding his head. ‘Some mothers adore their sons to the exclusion of the rest of the family.'

‘Not in your family.’

‘No. Mum has always been far too vague to adore any of us too much. She’s not really on the planet, you know. She always looks rather surprised that she had any of us at all. I think if someone told her the stork brought us into the world she’d believe it. She has no memory of childbirth at all. We still manage to amaze her.’

‘Your family is the nicest I’ve ever met. I wish mine was like yours,’ she said wistfully.

‘One’s own problems always seem so much greater than anyone else’s because you never see past the veneer of other people’s families. Believe me,

each family hides skeletons in its cupboards. I’m sure you’d be surprised by some of ours,’ he said and laughed.

But Federica didn’t believe him. She doubted they even knew what a skeleton looked like.

‘I imagine it’s only natural that Mama should want to marry again,’ said Federica, picking a bluebell and turning it around between her fingers.

‘Everyone needs someone,’ said Sam.

‘Not Papa. He doesn’t need anyone at all.’

‘You never really talk about your father. Is that because you’re ashamed of him?’

Federica wouldn’t normally have answered such a personal question but she felt safe with Sam. ‘Yes,’ she replied, breaking the bluebell into small pieces. ‘I wish we were a normal family like everyone else’s. Like yours. When I was smaller, in Chile, Papa used to take me down to the beach or into Viña to eat
palta
sandwiches in the sunshine. We’d go and stay with my grandparents in Cachagua. It was lovely then. Although he didn’t come home very often, when he did it was like Heaven and I always knew when he left that he’d come back. His clothes were in the cupboards, his books in the sitting room. There was

evidence of his presence everywhere. Now there’s nothing. It’s as if he’s died -worse, because if he was dead everyone would make an effort to remember him. But no one talks about him at all. You see, in Viña everyone knew of Ramon Campione. He was well-known in Chile. He was a famous writer, a poet, and everyone thought he was very clever and gifted. I was so proud of him. Here no one’s ever heard of him. If it weren’t for his letters I’d wonder whether I’d made the whole thing up.’

‘Oh, Fede,’ he sighed. ‘I’m so sorry. It’s hideous for you. Because you never show your feelings or talk about him we just assumed you were all right. But, how can you be? It’s monstrous of him to desert you like that.’

‘Is it really that easy to forget?’

‘He forgets because he’s probably plagued with guilt when he remembers. In that sense it’s the easy option, total avoidance.’