The Butterfly Box (39 page)

‘It’s beautiful,’ Federica sighed dreamily.

‘It’s as if Nature sometimes feels she needs to protest her supremacy and show us all how powerful she can be,’ said Sam, slowing down the car.

‘It’s always so fleeting.’

‘I know, a golden moment and then it’s gone. But that’s what makes it so magical. Sometimes things are more special
because
they’re transient.’

‘A rare glimpse of Heaven,’ she said, unwittingly recalling their stolen kisses in the barn. She lowered her eyes and felt the heat on her face.

‘Look how it’s washed all the fields with orange,’ he exclaimed, drawing the car into the side of the lane. ‘I have a sudden desire to walk in it, come on.’

Federica followed him out into the field. Without speaking they strode up the hill to walk in the rare golden light. ‘Your face is now orange,’ he laughed, looking down at his golden fingers.

‘So is yours. Talk about glowing!’

‘Let’s go to the top. We’ll be able to see the effect it has on the sea.' Then he allowed his impulses to once more take control. He took her cold hand in his and led her up to the summit. She felt her heart inflate like a hot air balloon and literally lift her feet off the ground. She was unable to contain the smile which alighted across her entire face. When they arrived at the top they were able to appreciate the full scale of Nature’s magnificence. The sea was oddly calm, stretching out to the horizon beneath a canopy of gold.

Neither spoke. They just stood in the tender light and watched the heavenly display take place about them. It was as spellbinding as it was transitory. Once the sun disappeared behind them to entertain another shore they were

suddenly plunged into shadow. With the shadow came the drop in temperature. Federica shivered.

‘Cold?’ he asked, squeezing her hand.

She nodded. ‘But it was worth it,’ she said, dazed with happiness.

‘It certainly was. You don’t often get to see a sky like that. I’m glad I shared it with you.’ He looked at her with affection.

She caught her breath and gazed at him in bewilderment. His warmth was unexpected. In the aching silence of the last few months she had longed to hear such words. She had dreamed that she would find herself once more alone with him, but as the months had rolled on she had doubted such a moment would ever come again. Now she looked into his face, trying to read his intentions in his features. But he only grinned back at her, giving nothing away.

‘Come, you’ll be late for your mother and I’ll be in terrible trouble,’ he said at last, dropping her hand and thrusting his into the pockets of his coat to keep warm. Disappointed she followed him down the hill to the car.

It was only when they got back to the lane that Federica realized they had completely forgotten Rasta. ‘I don’t believe it!’ she wailed. ‘Poor darling Rasta. He must have been going out of his mind with frustration watching us up

there on the hill.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Sam, shaking his head. ‘I was so distracted by the sunset he completely slipped my mind.’

‘And mine.’

‘Do you think he’ll forgive us?’ he said and grinned at her.

Federica smiled back. ‘I think he will if you promise you won’t ever forget him again,’ she replied, climbing in. Rasta’s tail wagged as much as it was able in such a confined space and he dribbled all the way down the back of the seat in his excitement to see them again.

‘I think I’ll pay for it,’ Sam said, looking at the dog’s slobber as it ran in a healthy stream down the leather.

‘Oh dear, you’re going to wish you had taken him,’ she laughed.

‘I’m afraid, Rasta, that this was a moment for me and your mother
only
,’ he said, starting the engine. ‘You can come next time.’

Federica’s spirits lifted at the thought that there might be another time. He may not have kissed her but he had certainly made her feel that she was special. That he cared. When he dropped her off at her uncle’s house he leant over and kissed her softly on her cheek. She was sure he lingered there longer than

was normal.

‘See you soon.' he said, pulling away.

Thanks, Sam, I really enjoyed that,’ she replied seriously. ‘So did Rasta,' she added for fear of sounding too sentimental.

‘So did
1
.' he agreed. He helped her with her bicycle while she opened the door for Rasta, who leapt out and immediately cocked his leg on the steaming tyre. They both laughed and Sam rolled his eyes. ‘How much longer do I have to go on paying for my negligence?’ he joked.

Federica shrugged.

‘You take care now,’ he said before climbing back into the car.

Federica watched him go and waved until he turned out of the driveway and disappeared down the lane.

PART THREE
 

Chapter 28

London, Autumn 1994

‘Life would be ever so simple for all of us if robbers walked into the shop in black and white striped prison outfits with sacks of stolen goods slung over their backs.' said Nigel Dalby, the security officer, who sat on the desk with one foot perched up on a chair and two sharp blue eyes skipping eagerly from one face to the other. He spoke with a strong Yorkshire accent and had a head that was too small for the rest of his body, like an urban sloth. Federica noticed that although he spoke to eight new members of staff his eyes kept homing back to her. ‘But they don’t stand out like that, do they? And they don’t have big signs on their foreheads saying “I’m a robber” either.’ He laughed at his joke and slapped his thigh. Federica’s eyes were drawn to the clearly defined bulge that strained against his tight trousers. Embarrassed that her attention had somehow drifted there she focused on his face and tried to concentrate on the lecture.

They look like you and me. In a minute I’m going to show you a video of real-life shoplifters so that you can see how clever they are. You all have eyes -

I’m asking you to use them. You must always be on guard. In a shop like this thousands of pounds are stolen every year by crafty shoplifters.’ He clicked his tongue and pointed two fingers into his eyes. ‘Use them. Be vigilant. Now, on the telephones you’ll see three buttons: code A, B and C. Code A is only to be pressed if the situation is threatening. Say, for example, a man with a gun walks in and threatens you personally or your customers - this call goes directly to the police station and they can guarantee to be with us in about two minutes. Code B must be pressed if someone looks suspicious, then I’ll come down the stairs and subtly follow them about the store. Code C is for assistance, a difficult customer, that sort of thing.’ He licked his lips with a dry tongue and looked at Federica. ‘Any questions?’

One of the boys put up his hand after a scuffle of encouragement from a friend. ‘What does someone suspicious look like?’ he asked, trying not to smirk.

Nigel nodded seriously. ‘Good question, Simon. I’d say a man looks suspicious if he’s wearing a baseball cap, unshaven, sloppily dressed, foreign.’

Federica glanced at her colleagues to see if they were as appalled as she was. They didn’t seem to be.

‘And in women?’ asked Simon, showing off in front of the girls who smiled behind fringes of long shiny hair.

Nigel sniffed impatiently, anxious not to be made a fool of ‘God gave you good brains, that’s why we’ve hired you. Think about it.’ He clicked his tongue again and switched on the video.

Federica tried to watch the television but found her eyes drifting back to Nigel Dalby, whose long white fingers fidgeted with the remote control.

After the lecture Federica returned to the gift department on the ground floor and into a dense mist of Tiffany perfume. ‘How did it go, m’darling?’ asked Harriet, one of the girls who had worked on the shop floor for a couple of years. She was tall and buxom with a penchant for bright clothes and glittering jewellery. ‘I’m afraid Nigel tends to love the sound of his own voice, I can see he had you in there for over an hour. Probably fancies you. He’s a bit of a ladies man,’ she added and laughed loudly, flicking her chestnut curls over her lime-green shoulders and pearl necklace.

‘I can’t imagine he has much success with the ladies,’ Federica replied. ‘He’s only compelling because he’s so odd to look at.’

‘Darling girl, you’d be surprised. Though he’s not Torquil Jensen, is he?’ she

said thickly, pursing together her cherry lips.

‘Who’s Torquil Jensen?’ Federica asked.

‘Of course, you wouldn’t know who Torquil is.’ Harriet’s eyes shone with admiration. ‘Torquil is the most gorgeous man you’re ever likely to meet,’ she whispered confidentially. ‘He’s the nephew of Mr Jensen, the old codger who owns the store, and does a terrific amount of shopping in here.’

‘Have I met Mr Jensen?’

‘Darling girl, you’d know if you had!’ she exclaimed, playing with the pearls about her mottled neck. ‘He walks around with a vast entourage of hangers-on and advisers and never talks to anyone. He communicates with his staff through his side-kicks. A little slug of a man, his nephew is a genetic miracle! The old boy rarely comes into the store. I think he sends Torquil in to spy for him. Do watch out, though, the telephones are all bugged. Mr Jensen is a control freak.’

‘Really?’ Federica gasped, appalled.

‘Good God, yes. Don’t make any personal calls, m’darling. It’s not worth it. They’ll sack you immediately. A few months ago Greta had a sweet, sweet girl working as her assistant. Sadly, one personal call and she was out. No

explanation given. I think the staff room is bugged too, so no jokes about Mr Jensen, or the Ice Maiden for that matter.’

The Ice Maiden?’

‘Greta.’ She sniffed and screwed up her nose.

‘What’s she like?’

Harriet fumbled with the large silk bow about her neck, pulling it loose and tying it up again.

‘A horror, m’darling, an absolute horror,’ she stated emphatically.

‘Oh.’

‘She’s from Sweden and if you ask me she’s never fully defrosted. But don’t worry, she’s cold with everyone. She says what she thinks and doesn’t bother about the delivery. Torquil once took her out for a few weeks and she swanked about as if she owned the place and started referring to Mr Jensen as William. A definite no-no, believe me. Of course, it didn’t last and now Torquil barely acknowledges her. My advice to you is just obey quietly and don’t pick a fight with her. Just do what she says and stay out of her way. You’re lucky you’re so junior. She won’t bother with you.’ Federica smiled with relief. ‘Except you are very pretty. That could be a problem.’

‘Is Mr Jensen married?’

‘No, bachelor. Shame with all that money. Neither's Torquil. But he always has a girlfriend in tow. You know he drives a Porsche and lives in The Little Boltons. Now, that’s a grand address. My father lost all his money in Lloyds. Bloody shame, now I have to look out for a rich hubby. And to think I was once an heiress. Where do you live?’

‘In Pimlico with a couple of girlfriends,’ Federica replied.

‘Pimlico’s lovely. Pretty white stucco houses. I like that. They look much grander than they are,’ she said.

No sooner had they finished talking when Greta glided down the stairs behind them. She was slim with shiny blonde hair pulled back into a chignon at the nape of her elegant neck. She wore a navy Chanel suit with gold buttons and matching navy shoes. She was much older than Federica had expected, at least forty, and although she was tall and slim she had the thin-lipped, brittle face of a deeply unhappy woman.

She strode up to Federica and looked down at her imperiously with frosty blue eyes. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t had the chance to meet you yet. Welcome to St John & Smithe.’ She smiled only on the surface of her face, a fleeting gesture in

order to be polite. ‘Rule number one is that you don’t stand around talking all day. There are customers to be served and it is very rude to talk to each other and ignore them. Harriet should know better.’ She spoke with a slight accent, clipping her words with an icy formality. Harriet began to apologize but Greta cut her off with a snort. ‘Ya, ya, she’s new so it’s okay,’ she said briskly. As she walked off through the department to her office Harriet rolled her eyes at Federica and winked.

‘Don’t look so worried, m’darling, the rest of the group are real muckers,’ she said, then looked at her watch. ‘Good God, time for a ciggie break, see you in fifteen!’

Federica had moved to London at the end of the summer of 1994. She was eighteen years old. Inigo had bought Molly and Hester a flat to share in Bel-grave Road, and they had insisted Federica come and live with them for a very low rent, as there was space for another bed in Hester’s room. Molly was studying history at London University and Hester was at Saint Martin’s School of Art, following in the footsteps of her mother.

Federica hadn’t considered further education. She wanted to be a

photographer like Julian and her father, but Helena had shuddered at the thought of her daughter leading the same nomadic life as Ramon and encouraged her to try other avenues.

‘You must earn some money first and that can only be done with a proper job,’ she had said. ‘Once you can support yourself you can do what you like.’

Federica rarely saw Sam except in her dreams. Dreams that punctuated the long days and filled her nights with restlessness and longing. The rare times that they did meet, down at his home in Polperro or occasionally at the flat in London, he smiled at her with fondness and asked her about herself. But the promise of something more than friendship dissolved like that flamingo pink sky and left her floundering in shadow, wondering why he no longer cared. Living with Molly and Hester only fanned her infatuation and reminded her at every step of the young man who had first won her heart on the iced lake over ten years before. Occasionally he rang to speak to his sisters. If Federica answered the telephone she controlled the tremor in her voice with a will of steel and conversed as friends do, but lived off his every word until the next call as lovers do. As much as she tried to persuade herself that there was no point loving Sam and living off memories which he once shared but had most

probably now forgotten, she could not control her heart. There was no one in the world like Sam.

For the first time in her life Federica experienced what it was like to be independent and she relished it. At the end of September she received her first pay cheque; seven hundred pounds. Harriet took her shopping in Knightsbridge and she spent nearly all of it on new clothes, arguing with her friend who wanted her in the same bright colours that she wore. In each shop mirror Federica assessed whether or not Sam would approve of her choice, then found herself wondering whether he ever thought of her at all. But she didn’t give up - perhaps she was still too young, perhaps he was waiting for her - perhaps . . . When she appeared at work the following day she looked quite the Londoner in a short grey skirt and high-heeled shoes with her face prettily made up with mascara and face powder that Harriet had insisted she buy.

Greta sniffed jealously at her and told her not to overdo the smiling. ‘You’re not an advert for toothpaste, Federica, and you look much too keen, you’ll frighten the customers away.’

Federica blushed to the roots of her white hair and lowered her eyes in

humiliation.

‘That’s better,’ said Greta. Then in a bid to keep her off the shop floor and hidden away she sent her down to the basement to tidy up the stockroom. ‘I want it so orderly and clean I could eat my breakfast in there,’ she added, stalking back into her office.

In spite of Greta’s occasional rudeness Federica loved her job. She enjoyed the security it gave her and the money it paid. She laughed with Harriet and the young people who worked in the other departments swiftly became an almost extended family. The majority of the customers were pleasant and the odd male customer asked her out. But Harriet advised her not to mix business with pleasure and so she declined their offers graciously, flattered that they noticed her. But the number of hopeful men who lingered about the gift department grew as Federica’s confidence grew. Exasperated, Greta banished her to the stockroom as much as possible but still they persisted.

One cold November morning Federica and Harriet were standing by the counter when a fat old gypsy shuffled in out of the winter mist, carrying a large number of grubby Tesco bags filled with what looked like more paper bags.

‘This is a job for Nigel,’ Federica whispered gleefully, pressing the code B

button on the telephone.

Harriet giggled, ‘He’s going to love this one, m’darling.’ She snorted. ‘This woman lives on the streets and comes in here once in a while to use the bathroom.’

‘How disgusting,’ said Federica, screwing up her nose in repulsion.

‘You think that’s disgusting, she washes her bottom in the basin,’ she added. ‘The secret is not to tell anyone and hope that Greta uses it immediately after her.’

‘Damn! Too late now,’ Federica hissed, watching Nigel bound down the stairs with a predatory grimace staining his face pink. Nigel blinked three times at Federica who cast her eyes across to the gypsy who was bustling her way down the corridor that led to the Ladies’ Room. Nigel deftly dodged a couple of elderly customers but didn’t manage to get to the gypsy before she squeezed into the small room and locked the door behind her. Nigel pounded his fists upon the door, exclaiming loudly, ‘This is the police, please will you come out of the toilet.’

To which the gypsy replied, ‘Fuck off, I’m a lady!’ just as Torquil Jensen strode into the store.

Greta immediately sprung out from her office and strode up to Federica. ‘I have told you two countless times not to stand and gossip on the shop floor. Federica, go down to the stockroom and sort out the recent delivery of photograph frames,’ she ordered.

‘But there are hundreds,’ Harriet protested on Federica’s behalf.

‘Do not talk back to me. I am your boss and I am giving Federica an order. If she doesn’t have the courage to complain to me herself she might as well find another job, because I have no patience with weak people.’ Then turning to Federica, ‘The store room. Now.’

Federica hastily departed as Torquil approached the counter. Greta smiled at him, betraying her desperation and her unhappiness in the way her lips paled and her eyes thawed.

Torquil smiled back tightly. ‘Hello, Greta,’ he said, looking at her briefly before turning his attention to Harriet. ‘Harriet, you look pretty today.’

Harriet swelled with pleasure. ‘Awfully kind of you, Mr Jensen,’ she replied buoyantly, enjoying the pain it caused Greta in spite of the fact that she knew she’d have to pay for it later.

‘Harriet, I need to start my Christmas shopping. I wonder whether you might

be able to help me, when it comes to presents you’re a gold medaller.’

‘Of course, Mr Jensen, it would be a pleasure,’ she replied, sinking into his green eyes and wishing Federica would emerge from the bowels of the store to witness her moment of glory.

‘Greta, you’re looking a bit pale,’ he said, smiling down at her pinched face. ‘You must be working too hard.’

‘No, no. I am quite well,’ she stammered, but her face seemed to melt like an ice cream in summer.

As Torquil and Harriet walked into the crowd of shoppers they parted reverentially, not because ofTorquil’s status but because of his dazzling beauty

Greta felt the bile simmer in her stomach and slunk back into the office to lick her wounded pride.