The Butterfly Box (47 page)

came and built on the lovely Hat of the Quangle Wangle Quee.'

 

Buff Jensen sat in the pew behind his son. He was a large man with a wide forehead and thinning black hair combed back and set with wax to give the impression that he had more than he did. His eyes were pale and imperious, set in smooth skin unblemished by the usual lines of humour. Buff rarely smiled. He was too aware of his own importance and the need to show it. Torquil turned around and grinned at his father, a grin that betrayed his triumph as well as his genuine pride. Buff had hoped for a better match for his son and relinquishing control was hard for him to accept. But this small battle Torquil had won. Cynthia only saw the pride in her stepson’s smile. He was marrying the girl he loved, there was no doubt about that. She had liked his little bride very much. Had she been a stronger character she might have felt competitive, but Federica would make the perfect daughter-in-law - provided one managed to forget where she came from.

After a short pause Federica’s family made their way to their seats with less ceremony than the Jensens. Helena wore a pink suit with a pillar-box hat to match and Polly wore red - they obviously hadn’t planned their outfits

together. When Helena saw the vast expanse of Mrs Jensen’s creation she winced with rivalry and wished she had had the courage to wear something bigger. She also caught herself longing for Ramon - Arthur’s unimposing presence impressed no one. When Mrs Hammond’s hesitant fingers alighted on the keyboard, the idle chat was reduced to an expectant silence as everyone stood up and looked behind them to catch the first glimpse of the bride.

Federica hovered momentarily under the archway at the entrance of the church, before stepping out of the sun into the soft light of the nave. Sam was suddenly gripped with regret. He stood as still as marble, the blood drained from his stunned face, and felt the sharp claws of love tighten about his heart. It was as if the world had frozen around him, only Federica moved slowly towards him with the unearthly countenance of an angel. He barely dared breathe. It was only when Mr Toad escaped Joey’s grip and sprung onto the wooden bench behind him before leaping into the aisle that Sam was shaken from his trance and realized to his despair that Federica wasn’t walking towards him but away from him. She was walking way beyond his reach and he only had himself to blame. The clouds parted in his memory and he pictured their tender kisses

in the barn and her golden face on the hill and he almost choked with misery.

Jake watched with pride as his son led Federica up the aisle and wiped a damp eye at the recollection of his daughter’s wedding that he had missed. Helena caught her breath, for Federica floated on the arm of her brother like a princess with diamonds in her hair and a choker of diamonds and pearls about her neck. The ivory dress shimmered in the heavenly light that flooded in through the stained-glass windows and her skin seemed to glow with a translucence not of this world. Helena thought of Ramon until the tears stung her eyes and the memory of him became so strong that she could almost smell him. Arthur squeezed her hand, which wrenched her back to the reality of her dull marriage and the tears flowed more abundantly.

Arthur wanted to cry too - tears of fury and frustration, but he could not, so he sat with grim resignation as his stepdaughter walked past to embrace her destiny.

Ingrid’s heart sighed at the beauty of the music and Inigo abandoned himself to the positive vibrations of God’s house and took his wife’s hand in his as he remembered their own wedding all those years ago.

But Nuno watched Sam. He understood his grandson better than the boy

understood himself. He saw the anger in the line of his petulant mouth and the hurt behind his stormy grey eyes and wanted to tell him that everything comes to those who wait.

Sam felt he was watching a public hanging; the sacrifice of the innocent. He watched Torquil with the eyes of a predator, studying his every move, his every blink. There was something sinister in the shine of his shoes, the spotless coat, the starched shirt, the gold watch on the perfect chain, the emerald cufflinks. Not even a strand of hair disobeyed him and strayed over his forehead. Sam watched Federica, tremulous and radiant, in the dress Torquil had chosen for her, the jewels he had given her - only her shy smile was still hers, but Torquil grinned down at her, poised to possess that too.

Julian had returned to his place on the end of a pew after having taken the photographs outside the church. He put his camera under the seat and proceeded to watch the ceremony. After a while his attention was caught by a darkhaired woman seated on the other side of the aisle to him. She was sleek and confident in a tight, duck-egg blue suit with her long brown legs crossed, tapping her manicured fingers along to the music. She sensed she was being watched and glanced at him from under her wide-brimmed hat. When she saw

it was Julian, she smiled. ‘I still have your shirt,’ she mouthed. He shuddered as he suddenly remembered where he had seen Torquil before. Those two painfully self-satisfied people he had taken great trouble to forget now surfaced in his thoughts. But it was Federica’s wedding day, neither the time nor the place for negative recollections. Perhaps Torquil had grown up since those days, he certainly hoped so. He watched as the ring was slipped onto Federica’s finger and Reverend Boyble declared the happy couple man and wife. She belonged to him now. She had left the cove for the wider sea.

Sam lowered his eyes in defeat and noticed Mr Toad staring up at him expectantly from the stone floor. He bent down and gathered the blinking creature into his hands where he held him steadily. ‘It’s just you and me now,’ he said quietly, shaking his head. Then as he watched Torquil’s stepmother walk by he changed his mind and placed the sleepy toad onto her hat and grinned.

He hadn’t been able to stop the wedding, but this small act of sabotage gave him a shallow sense of pleasure.

Chapter 34

Sam returned to his meaningless job in the City and Helena to the dry residue of her marriage, but for Federica, life would never be the same again.

As soon as she returned bronzed and happy from her honeymoon, she rang up Harriet and booked in for lunch. Slipping into the waiting Mercedes in a new Gucci trouser suit she told the driver where to go, then sat back and savoured her new affluence. The seats were leather, the dashboard polished wood. Federica had never learnt to drive. Torquil didn’t encourage her. He insisted she have a chauffeur and organized a car for her. ‘I want you to have the best of everything,’ he had explained. ‘Because I love and cherish you.’ She rolled the window down and watched the sweltering, dusty city from the cool comfort of her car. She felt sophisticated and glamorous and her spirits floated on the sweet air of her expensive perfume. She fingered the large emerald ring that Torquil had given her and smiled to herself with perfectly painted lips. She was Mrs Torquil Jensen. To Federica the sound of that name had a glorious resonance and she whispered it to herself a few times, Mrs Torquil Jensen, Mrs Torquil Jensen. How far she had come from her uncertain beginnings in

The honeymoon had been idyllic. They had spent a week in Africa on safari, a week on the coast and the final two weeks in Thailand. They had stayed in the most prestigious hotels, hired the best guides and travelled first class. Federica had been enchanted by everything she saw and Torquil had enjoyed watching her absorb each new experience after experience like a proud father. But most of all she had savoured their quiet moments together as husband and wife, when he had made love to her in the humid heat of the African jungle and in the jasmine-scented rooms of Thailand. There he had taught her to listen to the calling of her own sensuality and to abandon herself to it. To lose herself in the pleasure of his caresses without inhibition or guilt. When she had found it difficult to discard her shyness he had tied her to the four bedposts so that she had no choice but to give in to her senses and ride unrestrained on the waves of his stroking. At first she had been horrified by the idea, he had never suggested anything like that before. But Torquil had laughed at her inexperience and with gentle persuasion she had agreed to playfully experiment as long as it was done with love. She now blushed at such

The car drew up outside the doors of St John & Smithe. The doorman hurried down the steps to assist her. ‘Ah, Mrs Jensen,’ he said in surprise. ‘Good morning,’ he added reverently, tapping his hat with his hand.

‘Thank you, Peter,’ she replied as he closed the car door behind her. He didn’t comment on her return or make a joke about her sudden rise up in the world. He was too polite. Now she was Mrs Torquil Jensen an invisible wall had grown up between them. Federica Campione belonged to the other side.

When Harriet saw Federica she barely recognized her friend. She was the colour of milk chocolate and her white hair had been bleached further by the sun. She looked so elegant that Harriet had to suppress a pang of jealousy. ‘Darling girl, you look fantastic. Marriage obviously suits you,’ she enthused, embracing her.

‘I love it,’ Federica replied with relish, clasping her hands together like a child with a new toy. ‘I’m deliriously happy.’

‘I can’t believe you share a bed every night with Torquil. I hate you,’ she laughed. Harriet played with the string of pearls about her neck then shook her

head and added more seriously, ‘If I couldn’t have him, m’darling, I’m happy he’s with someone I know and love.’

‘Please don’t become a nun!’ Federica said, taking her by the hand. ‘You really were very fond of him, weren’t you?’

Harriet nodded sadly but smiled in spite of her disappointment. ‘Yes, I was,’ she admitted. ‘I always made it out to be a bit of a joke, but.. .’

‘Many a true thing is said in jest,’ Federica interrupted.

‘Spot on.’

‘So, are you able to have a quick lunch?’ she asked.

Harriet looked around furtively. ‘You’ll have to ask. Greta’s smarting over your wedding,’ she hissed, casting her eyes to the closed door of Greta’s office. ‘I’m going to love watching this confrontation.’

‘No one’s going to enjoy it more than me,’ Federica grinned, pulling herself up in preparation to returning with interest the unkindness her boss had shown her during her short time as salesgirl. ‘Go and tell her I’m here,’ she said and watched Harriet stalk purposefully across the floor to Greta’s office.

Federica looked around at her old workplace, which was now, in effect, her family business. She felt a deep sense of satisfaction and power and resolved

to use every ounce of it to humiliate Greta. However, when Greta appeared Federica lost the will to hurt her. It was too easy and besides she had already won. She suddenly remembered one of Nuno’s most favourite philosophies, ‘What goes around comes around’, vengeance was not hers to take.

Greta swallowed hard and smiled with her mouth, leaving her eyes to betray her discomfort. Her face was grey like a bruised apple revealing her unhappiness in every line. She no longer had the power to intimidate.

‘Congratulations, Federica,’ Greta said tightly.

'Thank you.’

‘I hear from Mr Jensen that your wedding was beautiful.’

‘It was,’ she said, noticing the effort Greta was making to sound enthusiastic, a characteristic that came as unnaturally to her as benevolence. ‘I'd like to take Harriet out to lunch, Greta, you don’t mind if she takes more than an hour, do you?’

Greta pursed her pale lips together and shook her head. ‘Of course not.’ Then she laughed uncomfortably and added, ‘You’re the boss.’

Federica took Harriet to lunch at Oriels in Sloane Square. They laughed at

Federica’s meeting with Greta and at the absurdity of her sudden change in status.

‘I love it,’ admitted Federica. ‘I feel like a modern-day Cinderella. You know, he’s generous to a fault. I can have anything I want. I used to dream of being rich.’

‘So what will you do this afternoon?’ Harriet asked.

‘I don’t know. I’m going to have to discuss this with Torquil. I understand that I can’t work in the family shop, that would be absurd, but I’d like to be busy. I’d ideally like to do something with my photography. Julian taught me the basics, perhaps I could do a more advanced course and then make a trade of it.’

That would be wonderful. You’ve always wanted to be a photographer,’ Harriet enthused.

‘Mama said I had to earn money before embarking on that sort of career. Well, now I have more money than I dreamed of, I can do anything I like.’ She laughed and grinned at her friend who smiled back enviously.

‘Darling girl, you are so lucky.’ Harriet sighed. ‘But no one deserves it more than you.’

That evening, when Torquil returned from work, they had their first serious discussion.

‘Now we’re back from our honeymoon, Torquil, I’d like to settle into something. I’d like to work,’ Federica said, throwing herself onto the sofa in his study.

Torquil wandered over to the drinks table and poured himself a tumbler of whisky. ‘Would you like a drink, a glass of wine, perhaps?’ he asked. ‘They say a glass of red wine a day makes a lady glow. Not that you’re not glowing already.’

She laughed. ‘A glass of red would be nice, thank you,’ she replied.

He handed it to her then sat down in the armchair, putting one foot up on the stool. ‘Why do you want to work, sweetness?’

‘Well, I have to do something,’ she argued, taking a sip of wine. ‘Darling, this is delicious.’

‘Part of the wedding present from Arthur,’ he said. ‘He’s got very good taste that stepfather of yours.’

‘Only in some things,’ she replied dryly. ‘In others, believe me, he has no taste at all.’

‘You’re a rich woman now, Fede, you don’t need to work,’ he said seriously.

‘Well, I’ll get bored if I don’t do something,’ she explained. ‘It’s not for the money. You’re more than generous and I really appreciate that. It’s to fill my day with, to have a reason to get up every morning.’

‘Isn’t loving me good enough reason to get up in the morning?’ Torquil chuckled.

‘You know what I mean,’ she insisted jovially.

‘You’ll be busy soon with babies,’ he said and smiled at her tenderly.

‘Perhaps,’ she replied, hoping God would preserve her from that for at least a few more years. ‘But, say I don’t get pregnant, surely you don’t want me to languish here doing nothing?’

‘Sweetness,’ he said firmly, ‘you have a beautiful house, beautiful clothes, a husband who loves the ground you walk on, what more do you want?’ He frowned at her and she immediately felt guilty wanting more.

‘Well,’ she mumbled, suddenly feeling an uncomfortable sense of uncertainty turn her stomach over. ‘Julian gave me photography lessons when I was younger, if you don’t want me to work, perhaps I can do a course?’

‘If you have to do something,’ he conceded reluctantly, ‘a course is the only

option. No wife of mine is going to work.’

Thank you,’ she replied brightly, relieved the discussion was nearing a conclusive end.

‘But not photography,’ he added resolutely.

‘Why not?’ she argued in confusion.

He was no longer joking but looking at her very seriously. ‘I’ll get a tutor in to teach you whatever you want.’ He looked about the room. ‘Literature. Yes, you can take a literature course.’

‘Literature?’ she replied, crestfallen. ‘I’m not at all interested in literature.’

‘No, I’d like you to do literature,’ he insisted, walking over to his bookshelves and pulling one out. ‘I’ve never read any of these. I’d like you to read them.’

‘Torquil,’ she protested weakly.

‘No, I insist,’ he said. ‘If you want to do a course, literature is the only acceptable one.’

‘All right, I’ll study literature,’ she replied lamely. She’d rather do that than nothing at all.

‘Then that’s decided,’ he said, draining his glass. ‘Now, love of my life, come

When Federica sunk into her bath she reflected on their conversation. She felt uneasy. But rather than trying to get to the bottom of her ill-ease she made excuses for her husband’s reluctance to let her choose her own course. ‘It’s because he loves me and wants what’s best for me,’ she thought to herself as the bubbles began to dissolve with the soap. ‘Photography can wait,’ she resolved and decided to broach the subject again another time, when she was feeling more secure in her marriage.

Later, when Torquil wrapped her in a large white towel and made love to her, any remaining doubt melted away and all that was left was unconditional devotion and a strong desire to do anything in order to please him.

That night she dressed up and took her first step into what would become an endless round of cocktail parties and dinners. She met new faces, tried desperately to remember them all by name and quickly learnt how to adopt their social chitchat that said much without saying anything at all. Torquil always made sure she was the best-dressed woman in the room and smiled with pride when she was complimented. But he would become incandescent with

rage if he felt she flirted with other men and forbade her to dance with anyone else, explaining that it was a humiliation for him watching another man rub himself up against his wife.

So Federica was careful not to step out of line. Instinctively she knew when he was watching her and modified her behaviour. If she saw his face cloud with jealousy she would move over and link her arm through his and stand by his side like a lovely appendage. When her instincts rebelled against his commands she told herself firmly that he was of another generation and altered her conduct accordingly.

‘Everyone loves you, Fede,’ said Torquil as they sat in the back of the car on their way home from a party. Federica smiled with pleasure. ‘I’m so proud of you,’ he added, running a hand down her cheek. ‘You’re beautiful and serene. I must have been told by at least ten people tonight how lucky I am to have found you.’

‘Well, I’m lucky to have found you,’ she replied, taking his hand in hers and kissing his fingers.

He then looked into her face for a long moment, as if searching her features for something. ‘Are you lucky, sweetness?’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I don’t

know that you are.’

 

Federica frowned and laughed off his strange remark. Torquil noticed her anxiety and her effort to cover up. To his surprise it gave him a strange sense of satisfaction. But he was unable to interpret these new feelings or understand why he felt them. He was too insensitive to notice that he was beginning to resent his wife for all the reasons he married her. Her purity was beginning to grate, her perfection to irritate. She made him feel inadequate. He was unable to help himself put her down as if by pulling her off her marble pedestal he might raise himself up.

In an effort to exercise more control Torquil announced that he didn’t approve of her friendship with Harriet. ‘She’s not sophisticated enough for you, sweetness. You’re too intelligent to waste your affections on some old Sloane. You’ve moved on in the world, your friends have to change too. Now I’ve got someone in mind who I know you’ll like,’ he said happily. ‘Lucia Sarafina.’

Lucia was only too happy to be of service. ‘I’ll befriend your wife if you make time to see me,’ she bargained coquettishly when he telephoned her.

Torquil enjoyed the attention. ‘She needs to be around women like you,’ he

said. ‘She’s too snow white.’

‘I know what you mean,’ Lucia agreed, delighted by the thought that his devotion might be waning. ‘But she’s young. She’ll grow up.’

‘With your help,
maestra,
I hope she will.’

‘Leave it to me, darling. Then I want to be thanked in person,
capisci
?’

‘
Capisco
.’ He laughed. ‘You’re wicked.’ Then he sighed heavily, a sigh that escaped his throat like a deep groan. ‘God, I’ve missed you.’

‘You don’t have to,’ she whispered. ‘You know where to find me.’

‘I’ll hold that thought,’ he replied, ‘in the meantime you’ve got a job to do.’

Federica made a great effort to like Lucia. She had to in order to please her husband. Lucia invited her to Harry’s Bar where they were given the best table in the far corner of the restaurant. ‘Every man in this room will go straight home after lunch and make love to his wife,’ Lucia mused in a smooth Italian accent, as Federica sat down. ‘You see they’re all looking at me. I make them feel lustful.’ She sighed and licked her blood-red lips. ‘You probably don’t remember meeting me at the wedding. You had to be introduced to so many new people.’

‘Of course I remember meeting you.' Federica said diplomatically. ‘You’re Torquil’s closest friend.’