The Butterfly Box (36 page)

The policemen,’ she said with a smile.

‘The policemen,’ said Sam, putting his hands in the pockets of his trousers. ‘At least that was the only way we could get ourselves invited.’

‘We don’t need policemen,’ Hester said sulkily.

‘That’s what you think,’ Sam laughed. ‘You might be pleased to have me and

Ben muscling in when all those drunken boys are fighting over you.’

‘I wish,’ she replied. ‘Look at it,’ she said, putting her hand out and feeling the drops.

‘I like the rain. It’s romantic,’ Sam said. Federica avoided making eye contact with him, but in spite of her efforts she could feel his stare on her face like the heat of the sun. She wondered why he was suddenly so interested and wished he’d leave before his proximity suffocated her.

‘Well I don’t,’ Foster complained. ‘Of all the days, why does it have to rain today? The place will be a mud bath.’

‘You can all get naked and mud wrestle,’ chuckled Ben, looking at his friend for approval. Hester giggled. Sam changed the subject.

‘Flow’s it going living with your uncle?’ he asked Federica. He remembered their conversation in the bluebells and how upset she had been at the prospect of leaving Polperro.

‘Fine, thank you,’ she replied, managing to look at him briefly before finding the intimacy of his eyes too much to bear and pulling away. She felt foolish, as if her tongue were too big for her mouth. She wished she could find something intelligent to say. ‘Julian’s giving me photography lessons,’ she said, filling the

silence that seemed embarrassingly large and vacuous.

‘I bet you’re quite good now,’ he replied. ‘You should be with a teacher like Julian.’

‘She is. I’ve seen some of her pictures,’ Hester said loyally. Sam raised his eyebrows with interest.

‘Not that good,’ interjected Federica bashfully. ‘Not yet.’

'A career as a photographer would be very appealing,’ Sam said, nodding his head ponderously. ‘You can take it anywhere, and you’ll always be your own boss. There’s a lot to be said for freedom, I can tell you.’

‘I know. But I’ve got a long way to go before I get to that stage.’

‘It goes very fast,’ Sam said, reflecting on how the past year had slipped by almost unnoticed and how much it had changed her.

‘I hope so,’ Federica replied, noticing to her bewilderment the intense expression on his face as he looked at her. She was thankful when Hester suggested they start getting ready for their party.

‘We haven’t got time to stand here chatting to a couple of old men,’ she said, dragging Federica away by the arm. Federica was only too pleased to go.

‘I never wished her a happy birthday,’ Sam said, watching them disappear

into the sitting room.

‘You can do it later when you’re pulling her and some groping adolescent out of the bushes.’

‘Shut up, Ben,’ Sam snapped irritably. ‘Sometimes you’re more of a child than they are.’

Federica enjoyed a hot bath in the company of Trotsky who took it upon himself to keep vigil as none of the doors in Pickthistle Manor had locks. He lay there in the steam panting with his noble head resting on his paws and his pink tongue hanging out. Once more Federica’s mind found Sam within the secrecy of its halls. She closed her eyes and imagined a world where everything she said was witty and clever, where she never blushed or stammered, where she always looked ravishing. Sam loved her in that world. He loved her passionately. He kissed her with tenderness and urgency, barely able to let her out of his sight even for a moment. FHis affection was all consuming. In his arms she felt secure and cherished, safe from the doubts and worries that silently plagued her in the real world.

She was dragged out of those pleasant halls by the loud, impatient yawn of

Trotsky who had jumped to his feet and was waiting by the door wanting to be let out. Federica found Hester in front of the mirror in her bedroom. She had already dried her hair and Molly was applying mascara with the steady hand of a professional makeup artist. ‘Til do you after Hester,’ she said.

Federica shuffled in her towel. ‘I don’t know. I’ve never put makeup on before,’ she said, screwing up her nose.

‘Well, tonight is your birthday party and you’re going to look wonderful. Hurry and put your dress on,’ she said bossily, standing back from her sister to admire her creation. ‘Hester, you look beautiful,’ she said, brushing on blusher with brisk strokes.

When Hester and Federica appeared in the tent in their dresses, their hair and makeup gave them the cool sophistication of much older girls. Molly stood proudly behind them like a nanny, pushing them forward so they could be admired. Ingrid clasped her hands together and exclaimed that they both looked like princesses. Helena realized that her daughter was growing up and felt a stab of sadness at her passing childhood. She wore a pale blue strapless dress that matched her aquamarine eyes and Molly had pinned her pale hair up onto

the top of her head. She looked innocent yet remote, unlike other children of her age who were either far too knowing for their own good or much too infantile. She had acquired an ethereal quality in the last year, but Helena was certain she wasn’t aware of her own allure; she was too insecure.

‘You both look lovely,’ she said, tucking a stray piece of white air behind Federica’s ear. ‘Lovely,’ she said wistfully. She wished Ramon were there to see her. He’d be so proud. She shook off her regret and pulled a thin smile. ‘Toby will pick you up in the morning. You look wonderful, Fede, a young woman now.’

‘Che belle donne!'
Nuno declared, trotting into the tent dressed in white tie.

‘Pa, what on earth are you wearing?’ Ingrid exclaimed, looking him up and down in puzzlement. ‘It’s
black
tie.’

‘Cara mia
, I live my own dress code,’ he said with a sigh. ‘It is my granddaughter’s ball and I owe it to her to look my best.’

‘Are you sure you want to come to my party, Nuno?’ Hester laughed. ‘You look like a penguin.’

‘I’m flattered, truly,’ he said with a bow. ‘It’s an honour to be in the company of two beautiful princesses. Let us celebrate with a glass of champagne!’

Federica was disappointed Sam hadn’t come down. She felt pretty and wanted him to see her. While she drank endless toasts with Ingrid, Nuno and her mother she kept a keen eye on the French doors, her heart quivering in anticipation of his arrival. But he never appeared. Finally she asked Hester, ‘Where are the policemen?’

‘Watching telly, I suspect,’ she said to Federica’s disappointment. ‘They’ll appear when things get going.’

Things got going pretty fast. The guests arrived and proceeded to finish almost the entire supply of alcohol before sitting down to dinner. The buffet was served early to compensate but no one moved towards the food until Trotsky was seen at one of the tables like a canine vacuum cleaner, polishing off the sausages with one inhalation. Once Hester had dragged the dog out into the garden, the guests fell upon the dishes in fear of losing it all to the other animals who wandered in and out as if they owned the place. Federica sat next to two boys she didn’t know who talked most of the evening across her about cricket and O levels. Too shy to assert herself she just sat back and listened submissively, watching Molly near by who managed to have the attention of her entire table and smoked a long thin cigarette with great panache. Federica

felt conspicuous and foolish by comparison.

Federica danced with a couple of boys, but she was too selfconscious to enjoy it. She noticed they looked over her shoulders, probably hoping for more interesting girls to dance with. She watched one of Molly’s friends in a black lace dress move with the lithe sophistication of a professional dancer and wished she had such self-assurance and grace. Finally, when she was about to retreat to a lone chair somewhere in the corner of the tent, preferably underneath a large orchid, her dance partner suddenly swelled green in the face, like mouldy yoghurt, and grabbing Federica by the hand dragged her outside into the night.

‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ he groaned as the alcohol caused his stomach to heave.

‘What do you need
me
for?’ she asked in bewilderment, as her heels sunk into Ingrid’s sodden lawn.

‘I don’t want to die alone,’ he replied, pulling her into the night.

‘I don’t think it’s that bad, is it?’ she asked, hoping he’d make a miraculous recovery and take her back to the party. She shivered with cold as the drizzle dusted her face and shoulders.

‘It’s very bad,’ he replied before throwing his head into a bush and vomiting loudly. Federica winced as he covered Ingrid’s beautiful roses with bile and minced sausages. She stepped back in alarm and put her hand over her mouth in disgust. Suddenly the drizzle turned to rain that fell thick and heavy, pounding onto her silk dress and seeping through to her skin. She cowered her head, not knowing whether to leave him in the flowerbed and run for cover or stay with him. When she heard her name echo across the garden she turned her attention away from the grunting bush in relief. It was Sam.

‘Federica!’ he shouted. Federica strained her eyes to see Sam running towards her through the deluge. ‘Federica. Are you all right?’ he asked, jogging up to her. His white shirt was so wet it stuck to his skin like paper revealing beneath it the colour of his flesh. His blond hair was dripping over his face, but his smile was broad as if he enjoyed the drama the rain brought with it.

‘What?’ she stammered, blinking at him in confusion.

‘Hester said you’d been dragged away by a drunkard,’ he said, catching his breath. Federica pointed into the bush. ‘Good God!’ he exclaimed, putting a hand over his nose. ‘Let's get out of here. He’ll sober up by himself,’ he declared, taking her by the hand and leading her off in the opposite direction of

the tent.

‘Where are we going?’ she shouted as she hurried to keep up with him in her fragile heels.

‘Far away from that dreadful party,’ he replied in disgust. ‘You haven’t been enjoying it, I’ve been watching you.’ Federica’s belly shuddered with pleasure at the thought of him watching her, at the thought of him noticing her. She was grateful that the night hid her burning cheeks as well as her running mascara. When he opened the door to the barn they crept into the darkness. She heard him shuffle about with the latch and smelt the scent of warm hay and cut grass. Seconds later he flicked his lighter and lit a candle.

‘I’ve never been in here before,’ she said, casting her eyes about her curiously.

‘I come in here all the time. Especially at night because there’s a family of wild ducks who live here. That’s why I don’t use the light. It’ll scare them away.

I keep a candle so I can observe them.’

‘A family of ducks. Are you serious?’ she said.

‘Come,’ he whispered, taking her by the hand. ‘I’ll show you.’

Sam led her slowly over the floor that was covered in golden sticks of straw,

which caught the light and glittered. The barn was used for storing grain and hay for the animals and logs for the house fires. The sound of rain rattled on the roof, but inside it was warm and dry. Without making any noise they climbed onto the bales, crouched down and peered over to where the family of ducks sat comfortably in a warm bed of feathers. The ducklings were all asleep, oblivious to the strange creatures who watched them quietly, while the mother, cautious yet fearless, sat unmoving with her black eyes open and alert. Sam grinned at Federica who smiled back in delight. Neither spoke, they just watched without allowing the sound of syllables to ruin the moment.

When Sam leant over and kissed her, Federica was taken completely by surprise. His hand held her by the back of her neck and his lips kissed her stunned lips before drawing away and looking into her face for her reaction. She looked petrified.

‘Didn’t you like it?’ he asked softly. Federica tried to speak but the words didn’t form as she had hoped. ‘Would you like me to kiss you again?’ She nodded mutely, overwhelmed by the closeness of his body. He placed his mouth on hers again, tracing her lips with his, feeling her skin without tasting it. She

sat rigidly, too afraid to move, unsure of what to do. As if sensing her discomfort he pulled away and stroked his fingers through her hair that was wet from the rain and hanging over her face.

‘Is this the first time?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she replied hoarsely.

Sam smiled with tenderness. ‘The first time is always a bit frightening. I remember mine,’ he said. ‘It’s worse for a boy because you’re supposed to know what you’re doing.’

‘How did you know what to do?’ she asked in an attempt to make conversation but all she could think about was the sensation of his lips on hers and the fearful anticipation of him doing it again.

‘Instinct,’ he said simply, taking off his glasses. Then he looked at her with an intensity that made her heart lurch and ran his hand down the slope of her neck. ‘Look, close your eyes. Don’t be shy. Listen to your senses not your mind that’s whirring around asking what’s going on. Kissing is meant to be pleasurable not uncomfortable. Just relax and concentrate on what your body’s feeling. Don’t let yourself get distracted by your fears. I’m not judging you, just enjoying you.’ Federica giggled nervously. ‘Close your eyes, go on,’ he insisted.

Federica giggled again, then closed her eyes expectantly. Her stomach flinched as she felt his lips on her skin, kissing her jawbone, the muscle below the ear, her temples and her eyes. As much as she tried to detach her mind, she couldn’t allow herself to bask in the pleasure of her senses as he had suggested for fear of letting go and looking foolish. She could smell the spice of his aftershave mixed with the natural male scent of his body and she wanted to pinch herself to make sure it was really happening. Then, just when she thought her mind would ruin so magic a moment, his lips fell onto her mouth again, opened and ceased the frenetic racing of her thoughts. She tasted the wine on his tongue and felt his rough chin against hers. Aware only of the sensual aching of her limbs she responded instinctively. He wrapped his arms around her body and drew her against him. There in the flickering candlelight of the barn her whole being stirred with the flowering of spring.