The Butterfly Box (44 page)

‘Please tell me it is not Ramon,’ she begged, but Fortuna shook her head.

‘I cannot tell you because I do not know,’ she replied. ‘His face was not revealed to me. I can do no more.’

‘Is there nothing we can do?’ Maria asked in desperation.

‘Nothing. Fate is stronger than all of us.’

 

Estella was determined to change the future. She told her mother that Ramon

was leaving for Africa the following day and that if she could prevent him going she might save his life. Maria didn’t try to stop her. She knew she wouldn’t listen. She was too distressed to stay in Cachagua and wait for disaster to strike. She embraced her daughter at the bus station and reassured her that she would look after Ramoncito while she was away. ‘God go with you,’ she said. ‘May He protect you.’

Estella cried all the way to Santiago. She sat with her head leaning against the window, replaying all her most treasured memories of Ramon as if he had died already. She closed her eyes and prayed until her silent prayers formed words on her tongue that she mumbled deliriously without realizing that the other passengers could hear her, but were too polite to ask her to be quiet. When she arrived in Santiago she took a taxi to his apartment. She rang the bell but there was no reply. She stood in the doorway of the apartment block and disintegrated once more into tears. She didn’t know what to do or where to go. Perhaps she was too late. What if he was dead in his apartment? She collapsed onto the marble steps and put her head in her hands. When she felt a gentle tap on her shoulders she lifted her eyes expecting to see Ramon, only to be disappointed as the porter stood over her with a sympathetic expression

etched onto his smooth brown face.

‘Are you all right, Señora?’ he asked.

‘I’m looking for Ramon Campione,’ she muttered.

‘Don Ramon?’ he said, frowning. ‘Who are you?’

‘My name is Estella Rega. I am . ..’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘I am his . .. his ...’

‘His wife?’ he said helpfully.

‘His...’

‘If you are his wife I can tell you where he is,’ he said kindly, grinning at her crookedly.

‘I am his wife,’ she said firmly, wiping the tears off her face with a white
pahuelo.

‘He’s at a meeting. He left over an hour ago, but I will call you a taxi and he will take you to him.’ Estella pulled a grateful smile. ‘That’s better,’ said the porter. ‘You’re too pretty to be so sad.’ Then he watched her climb into the taxi he hailed for her and disappear into the traffic.

 

Ramon stood up. ‘I’m off to Africa tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I’ll be away three

weeks.’

‘That’s a short visit for you,’ his agent commented, smiling knowingly.

‘Well, I don’t have much reason to stay away these days.’ He chuckled.

‘You mean to say that this woman you’ve been hiding away all these years has captured your heart?’

‘You ask too many questions, Vicente.’

‘I know I’m right. I can tell from your writing. There’s love all over the pages.’

Ramon laughed and picked up his case. Then there’s even less reason to go away.’

‘But you’ll go anyway.’

‘I always do.’

‘Call me when you get back.’

Ramon closed the door behind him and stepped into the lift. He thought about what Vicente had said to him, ‘there’s love all over the pages’, and he smiled to himself as he thought of Estella and Ramoncito. Then he glanced at his reflection in the mirror. He wasn’t getting any younger. He was already greying around the temples and, looking at his physique, he wasn’t getting any thinner

either. He cocked his head to one side and rubbed his chin ponderously. ‘I should make an honest woman out of Estella,’ he thought, ‘I should have married her years ago.’

When he opened the door into the busy street he stopped a moment, stunned to see a woman who looked exactly like Estella on the other side of the road. She was looking to her left and right in confusion with swollen red eyes that darted about like a terrified animal unused to the traffic. He blinked a few times before he realized that she was in fact Estella and he shouted at her. She heard her name and raised her eyes. She smiled with relief when she saw him and lifted her hand to greet him. ‘Ramon!’ she cried with happiness, and placing her hand over her mouth she blinked away tears of joy. Then she stepped out into the road.

‘Estella, no!’ he shouted, but it was too late. The sparks from the truck spat into the air as the wheels screeched to a sudden halt in an attempt to avoid the woman who walked blindly out in front of it. Ramon dropped his case and ran across the road, which shuddered to a halt as drivers leapt out of their cars to see what had happened. When Ramon saw the broken body of Estella lying inert at the foot of the vehicle he threw himself upon her with trembling hands,

desperate to find a pulse.

Talk to me, Estella, talk to me,’ he pleaded, pressing his face against hers, whispering into her ear. ‘Say something, my love, something. Please don't die.’

But she didn’t move. He gazed down at her pale face in shock and noticed that she still had traces of a small smile in the gentle curve of her lips. He placed a finger on them, willing her to breathe. But there was not a breath left in her. There was nothing he could do to bring her back. He lifted her shattered body into his arms and pressed it against his heart, then sobbed loudly from the core of his being as he realized that he had killed her.

‘Who was she?’ someone asked.

‘My wife,’ he wailed and rocked back and forth dementedly.

Ramon took the woman he had loved as he had loved none other back to her home in Zapallar. Maria had slipped into a deadly fever when she heard the news and lay in a trance, her ears deafened to the desperate pleas of Pablo Re-ga who held a candlelight vigil by her bed, silently bargaining with God. Mariana went immediately to their house and embraced them both for she had grown to love their daughter as her own. Only Ramoncito remained dry-eyed

and composed. Mariana explained to her grandson that his mother had gone to live with Jesus and that she was looking down on him and loving him from Heaven. But Ramoncito just nodded and put his arms around her in order to give comfort. Mariana was confused. His maturity perturbed her. But she didn’t hear the breaking of his heart or the crying out of his soul in mute despair.

As Fortuna had predicted, millions would feel his suffering in the words he would write in the future. But for the moment he was unable to comprehend his own grief or know how to express it.

Ramon arrived shrunken and grey with the body of his beloved Estella. He allowed himself to be comforted in the familiar bosom of his mother and then straightened himself up to be strong for his son. When Maria saw Ramon she blinked out of her trance and told them all of Fortuna’s prediction. Ramon shook his head. ‘She died instead of me,’ he said sadly.

‘She died because it was her time,’ said Maria. ‘That’s why Fortuna couldn’t see her face.’

When Ignacio Campione knocked on the door of Pablo Rega’s house the small party of mourners looked at each other in surprise. He walked in with the stride of a man no longer able to play ignorant.

‘I’m sorry, son,’ he said, pulling Ramon’s large frame into his arms. Ramon blinked at his mother in confusion over Ignacio’s shoulder. Mariana shrugged and wiped away her tears. ‘You don’t really believe I’m that stupid,’ he said, patting his son on his back. For once Ramon didn’t know what to say. He buried his face in his father’s neck and sobbed.

Estella was buried on the top of the hill overlooking the sea, in the shade of a tall green pine tree. Pablo Rega later apologized to Osvaldo Garcia Segundo because he would from that moment on speak only to his daughter. Unlike Osvaldo, Estella talked back. He could hear her voice in the rise and fall of the tides and feel her breath in the wind that always smelt of roses.

Ramon looked out over the horizon and reflected on his misguided acts of selfishness that had ruined so many lives. He thought about what he had loved and lost. Then he looked down at his eleven-year-old son. Ramoncito glanced up at him and smiled. In his smile Ramon saw the smile of Federica and the

tears of Hal, the frustration of Helena and the unconditional love of Estella and he swallowed his regret as if it were a ball of nails in his throat. He placed his hand on the brave shoulder of his son and vowed that he would make up for his negligence by loving Ramoncito, by being there for him, by changing his ways as Helena had once begged him to.

He threw a single red rose onto the coffin, then walked away a different man.

Chapter 32
Polperro

Helena, Jake and Polly sat helplessly watching the television for news of the crash. A number had been given out for worried relatives, but they were still pulling bodies out of the wreckage and had no news of Toby and Julian. Arthur sped over from the office and Hal was picked up from school. Polly’s kitchen vibrated with the resonance of their grief. All Jake’s model boats lay in scattered abandon, like matchsticks, over the floors and table as he had thrown them all to the ground in a sudden fit of anger and remorse. Polly tried to reach out to him, to give him her hand, as he spiralled into a dark pit where his stubbornness and prejudice laughed at him mockingly, but he didn’t take it. He was too ashamed. Too disgusted that he had allowed his intolerance to obscure the value of life.

Sure that Toby was dead and unable to face the rest of the family, Jake stalked out of the house to walk on the cliffs. He strode across the winter grass and allowed tears of self-loathing to sting his face. The bitter wind caused his eyes to burn but he hurried on blindly as if by walking fast he might leave his

despair behind him.

He recalled Toby as a little boy. The times he had taken him out on his boat, the times they had sat in silence watching the seagulls and the shoals of fish just beneath the surface. He remembered how he had laughed when Toby had begged him to return to the water a large trout they had just caught. He had teased him, holding the fish in his hands and waving it about in front of the child’s tormented face. He winced at the recollection, like so many other recollections. Toby had always known the value of life. He had known it better than anyone.

Then he remembered the times when father and son had been so close they had both believed that nothing could come between them. Toby had helped him glue together his model boats well into the night. They had told each other stories, they had laughed and they had worked together in the familiar silence of the very intimate. There had been a time when Toby had told him everything.

But Julian had arrived and it had all changed.

Jake sat on a cold rock and looked out onto the rough horizon where the waves collided with each other, drawing foam like blood. He searched his tormented soul to find the root of his prejudice. It wasn’t just Toby’s

homosexuality that had set father against son because feelings of resentment had grown up inside him long before he had known of it. There was something else. Something much more primitive. He recalled the first time Toby had introduced him to Julian. He had noticed their closeness immediately. The way they laughed together like old friends, anticipated the other’s thoughts like brothers and enjoyed the comfortable silence of father and son. His jealousy had choked him. When he scrutinized his feelings further he realized that he had never really had a problem with Toby’s homosexuality, but it had been easier to blame his resentment on that, rather than admit his jealousy, even to himself. He was suddenly consumed with shame.

Jake was not a religious man but he felt the presence of God in Nature and it was there that he prayed. He prayed that God would forgive him and begged him to preserve both Toby’s and Julian’s lives so that he could make it up to them.

When he returned home Polly noticed that his expression had changed. Somewhere out there in the wind he had slain the dragon that tormented him. Now he was ready to join the rest of the family in hope.

Helena knew she should be strong for her son, but her misery was all

consuming. She sat watching her tears send ripples across the surface of her cup of coffee and allowed the drama to engulf her completely. When Arthur arrived she managed to raise her swollen eyes to indicate that she needed comforting. Arthur put down his briefcase and stood in the centre of the kitchen.

‘Right,’ he said in a commanding tone, placing his hands on his hips. ‘I’ve spoken to the emergency services on site and so far there’s no sign of them. At least we can be thankful that they don’t feature among the dead.’

Helena began to wail. Polly clamped her pale lips together in an effort to contain her distress. She had to be strong for the rest of her family.

‘Now, there’s nothing we can do but wait. I suggest I put a call through every fifteen minutes. Jake, keep the radio on for bulletins. Helena, don’t mourn them prematurely, while there’s no news there’s hope, at least give them that courtesy.’

Helena was stunned. She had never heard her husband speak with such authority. She blinked up at him with admiration.

‘We all have to be strong for each other. It’s not over until it’s over,’ he continued and watched his wife straighten up obediently.

‘Right, anyone for another cup of tea?’ said Polly, filling the kettle.

Federica wished she were in Polperro with the rest of her family. She lay on Torquil’s large bed in The Little Boltons and stared unblinking out of the window, willing the telephone to ring with good news. She had called Torquil’s office and left a message for him with his secretary. She strained her ears for the key in the lock until her senses were so acute that her heart leapt at the smallest sound.

Helena had telephoned her with the terrible news. But while there was no evidence of their deaths there was still hope that they were alive. She had turned on the television and watched the various reports. The train looked like a toy made out of tin that had been carelessly scrunched up by an overbearing child. She had watched the firemen struggle with the bodies of the dead and searched behind them for those of the living. But she couldn’t see Toby or Julian in the blur of unfamiliar faces. When it became too much she had turned it off, lain on the bed and waited for news from her mother.

When the telephone finally did ring she picked up the receiver with a trembling hand and was barely able to hear the voice for the squealing of her nerves in her ears. ‘Fede, it’s Hester.’

Federica’s heart plummeted. ‘Oh, Hester, hi,’ she replied in disappointment.

‘I got your number from your mother. I’m so sorry. We’re all thinking about you,’ she said. ‘Molly and I are sitting in the flat praying they’re all right.’

Thank you, Hester,’ she mumbled weakly. ‘I’m praying too.’

Hester had heard about Federica’s engagement to Torquil but felt it wasn’t the time to mention it. ‘I’ll leave the line free now, but we’re here if you need us,’ she added sympathetically before hanging up.

When the key finally turned in the lock Federica’s hearing was too concentrated on the telephone to notice. Torquil found her curled up on the bed in a tight ball. He walked over to her and drew her into his arms where she sobbed against his chest. ‘I thought you’d never come,’ she choked, wrapping her arms around his neck. ‘They might be dead.’

‘You don’t know they’re dead,’ he replied. ‘What’s the latest news?’

‘That’s the worst, there is no news.’

‘Have you been watching the television?’

‘I couldn’t bear to look. I’m waiting for Mama to call. They keep ringing that family line they give out.’

‘Right, that’s all we can do for the moment. That and pray,’ he said, stroking her hot forehead. ‘They’re going to be all right, sweetness, I just know they are.’

But Federica felt nothing but doom.

After a while Torquil stood up and paced the room. ‘Moping around isn’t going to change anything and it’s making me feel claustrophobic. Why don’t you have a bath, get dressed and we can go out for lunch to take your mind off it.’

‘I can’t have lunch at a time like this!’ she exclaimed in horror.

‘It’ll be good for you to get out of the house, have some hot soup, it’ll make the time go faster.’

‘But the telephone?’ she stammered.

‘I’ll divert it to my mobile. Don’t worry, when they know something they’ll call us wherever we are,’ he reassured her.

News travelled fast in Polperro. Ingrid chain-smoked, unable to paint or rise in her usual vague way above her cares. Inigo closed his philosophy books and sat with his wife in front of the fire, pondering on the meaning of death. Nuno shook his head and knocked back a glass of brandy lamenting that it should have been him. ‘My time is nigh,’ he sighed. ‘Those boys had years ahead of them.’

Sam sat in front of his computer at work, longing to call Federica. Molly had

rung up and told him the news. He had immediately turned on the radio and listened to the details of the crash, wishing he could comfort her like he had that day in the bluebells after she had overheard Arthur’s marriage proposal. She had been so young and forlorn then, gazing up at him with timid eyes, adoring him unconditionally. He recalled the sweet kisses in the barn and their awkward confrontation in the kitchen at Christmas and felt her drifting away from him. He already loathed Torquil Jensen. ‘What sort of a name is that, anyway?’ he thought to himself with resentment. In her confusion Molly had forgotten to tell him that Federica was engaged to be married. She had only remembered to give him Federica’s new number and ask him to call her. ‘She needs our support,’ she had explained.

Sam doodled around the number he had written on the corner of the
Evening Standard
and debated whether or not she would be pleased to hear from him. Then he pushed his reservations aside and dialled the number. He leant back in his chair and listened to the tone with an accelerated heart. Finally it ceased and a gravelly male voice responded with urgency, ‘Torquil here.’

Sam’s gut twisted with irritation. ‘It’s Sam Appleby for Federica,’ he stated coldly.

The man indicated his disappointment with a loud sigh. ‘She’s in the bath, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh,’ Sam replied impatiently, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose in agitation.

‘Can she call you back later? We’d like to leave the lines free. I don’t know whether you know but...’

‘I do. Just tell her I called,’ he interrupted and hung up. Angrily he stabbed his letter opener into the front of the newspaper. He regretted having telephoned at all. ‘Torquil Jensen,’ he scowled under his breath, ‘what an imbecile.’

‘Who was that?’ Federica shouted from the bathtub. Torquil chewed the inside of his cheek, deliberating whether or not to tell her. He didn’t much like the sound of Sam Appleby. His arrogance grated. Anyway, Federica didn’t need any male friends now; she had him. ‘Nothing, sweetness, just the office,’ he replied with a smirk.

Sam Appleby might have hung up on him but he had just had the last word.

Torquil took Federica out to lunch in a small restaurant around the corner from

his house. The waiter, who knew Torquil well, gave them a table by the window and Federica sat staring unhappily out onto the grey pavement. ‘Uncle Toby has always been like a father to me,’ she said, stirring her spoon about the soup bowl. ‘My own father never bothered really, but Uncle Toby always had time for us. I have so many memories of him.’ She sighed, not bothering to wipe away a heavy tear that balanced on the end of her eyelashes.

‘You’re talking in the past, sweetness,’ said Torquil, stroking her arm with tenderness. ‘I’m sure he’s alive, you’ll see.’

‘Oh, he’s dead,’ she replied sadly. ‘If he were alive we would have heard.’

At that moment Torquil’s mobile rang with a loud shriek that jolted the entire restaurant.

‘Torquil here,’ he answered briskly. ‘Ah, Mrs Cooke, it’s Torquil Jensen. Any news?’

‘Is Federica with you?’ Helena asked, ignoring the usual pleasantries.

‘I’ll pass you over.’

‘Fede, sweetie, I’m afraid we still don’t know for sure. There are thirty-two dead. Toby and Julian aren’t among those, but they’re not among the survivors either. They still don’t know. They’re still looking. We’re all trying so hard to be

strong. Arthur’s been wonderful. He’s taken over completely. I didn’t think he had it in him.’

‘Oh Mama, I’m praying so hard,’ she whispered.

‘So am I. We all are.’

‘I never said goodbye,’ she choked, casting her eyes into the quiet street. Suddenly she saw Toby and Julian strolling happily up the pavement. Toby was eating a chocolate bar. She paused in astonishment, blinking furiously in case she was mistaken.

‘I know, sweetie, neither did I,’ Helena said with a sniff. Then after a moment, when Federica failed to respond she added, ‘Fede, are you all right?’

‘Mama, they’re here!’ she exclaimed in amazement.

Torquil turned around and looked out of the window.

‘Who is?’

‘Uncle Toby and Julian!’

‘What?’

‘They’re walking towards me up the road.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes!’ she replied, getting up and running out through the door. ‘Toby!

Julian!’ she shouted.

Toby smiled jovially as his niece ran towards him. She threw herself into his arms. ‘You’re alive,’ she laughed. They’re alive!’ she shouted into the telephone where Helena was anxiously hanging on at the other end.

‘Pass me over now!’ she ordered crossly. ‘They’re alive!’ she added, looking at her parents, Arthur and Hal in confusion.

‘Helena,’ said Toby, grinning into the speaker.