The Butterfly Box (53 page)

dressing gown sleeve and sniffed.

‘Are you all right?’ Molly asked anxiously.

‘Oh, I’m much better,’ she replied, controlling herself with difficulty. ‘It’s just that I forgot to turn off the bath!’

Chapter 39

Torquil returned home to find water pouring down the stairs. Fearing that Federica might be in trouble, he raced up to the bedroom, his feet slipping on the slimy carpet, the blood flooding to his head with anxiety.

‘Federica!’ he shouted, ‘Federica! Are you all right?’ He stumbled into the bathroom where the water was cascading over the edges in a final act of defiance. He turned off the taps and thrust his hand to the bottom and pulled out the plug. It gurgled with satisfaction. ‘Shit!’ he swore, looking at the expensive carpets which would all have to be replaced.

He cast his eyes about for his wife, but all that remained were her clothes neatly folded on the bed. He noticed only one dressing gown hung on the back of the door. He called her name again and proceeded to check the rest of the house. There was no reply, only the empty echo of his own voice as it bounced off the walls. He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his chin with his hand.

He was very worried. She had simply disappeared. But there was no indication of a struggle, or a break in, just the overflowing bath. Finally, he picked up the telephone and called the chauffeur.

‘Well, Mr Jensen,’ Paul replied thoughtfully, ‘she goes shopping in St James’s for about an hour, then when I’m driving her back, see, she asks me to stop, all of a sudden. Well, as you can imagine, Mr Jensen, I was a bit worried. She looked upset . . . No, I don’t know why, Mr Jensen, she just looked pale like. She runs up the pavement and disappears into a caff for about an hour. When I drop her off, see, she’s all right. So I go home, Mr Jensen. She said she didn’t need me any more.’ A short silence followed. ‘Mr Jensen?’ asked the chauffeur, afraid that he had perhaps made a mistake. ‘Mr Jensen? Mrs Jensen didn’t need me after that, did she?’

‘It’s fine, Paul,’ Torquil replied, but his voice cracked mid-sentence. He put down the telephone and scratched his bristled jaw line ponderously. Then something caught his eye. The drawer to the bedside table was open a crack where Federica had failed to close it properly. Torquil always noticed details. He opened it to find his pocket book lying upside down, not as he had left it at all. He picked it up and studied it. With a deep groan he eyed the photograph of Lucia, which he had stuck onto the inside cover. Then it all made sense. She had run off in such a state she had forgotten to turn the taps off.

He unstuck the picture and tore it into small pieces before throwing them in

the bin in fury. She had completely misunderstood, that photograph had been taken years before. He’d explain it all to her and she’d forgive him. He cast his eyes fretfully about the room to see if she had packed a bag. She hadn’t. She hadn’t taken anything, not even her underwear. She must have left in her dressing gown. He relaxed his shoulders. She was obviously planning on coming back. After all, how far could she go in a dressing gown?

Federica told Molly and Hester everything, omitting the part about the anonymous notes of poetry, which would remain her secret until she managed to track down her father.

The three friends sat in front of the gas fire with two bottles of cheap red wine, while Kenny Rogers sang ‘It’s a fine time to leave me, Lucille’.

Molly was fascinated by Federica’s unhappy world. She had failed to see past the designer clothes and crocodile handbags.

Hester listened with deep sympathy. ‘I knew you were miserable, Fede, I could tell. What are you going to do now?’

‘Go home to Polperro and start again,’ she said simply.

‘You mean, you’re going to leave Torquil?’ Molly exclaimed, lighting a

cigarette.

 

‘Of course she’s going to leave Torquil,’ Hester said. ‘He’s a monster. You deserve so much better,’ she added, squeezing Federica’s arm affectionately.

‘Oh, I don’t want to look at another man as long as I live,’ Federica sniffed. ‘I want to be on my own for a while, make my own decisions. I need to work out who I am. I don’t think I’m very sure of anything any more.’

When the telephone rang they all froze. Molly and Hester looked at Federica who stared back with fear. ‘You answer it, Molly,’ she said and her voice thinned with anxiety. She put her thumb to her mouth and bit the skin around her nail. ‘You haven’t seen me,’ she added gravely.

Molly got up from the floor and the wine flushed from her head to her toes, restoring her swiftly back to sobriety. She took a deep breath before picking up the receiver. The shrill tones ceased leaving the room in a silence that hung heavy with anticipation.

‘Hello,’ Molly responded, trying her best to sound normal. Her shoulders dropped. ‘Sam! What the hell are you doing calling me now? We’re in crisis, that’s why . . . What, now? Oh God! You’ll have to sleep in the sitting room,

Federica’s in with Hester. . . it’s a long story, we’ll tell you when you arrive . . . Okay, see you in a minute.’ She hung up with a smile on her face. ‘One more for the party,’ she laughed. ‘Let’s get out another bottle of wine.’

‘Sam’s missed his flipping train,’ Molly announced, skipping through to the kitchen.

‘Well, that’s typical,’ Hester sighed. ‘He’s in a world of his own these days, ever since Nuno died.’

‘Poor Sam,’ said Federica. ‘He really loved Nuno, didn’t he?’

‘More than anyone else. More than Mum and Dad, I think,’ Molly said, returning with another Bordeaux. ‘You see, Nuno spent most of his time with Sam. He never had a son, and being the chauvinist that he was, he probably wished he had. So Sam was a kind of surrogate son for him. Dad gave him Nuno’s study to write in. God knows what he’s writing. But he spends all day locked away just like Dad. The only person allowed anywhere near him is Trotsky,’ she added, opening the bottle.

‘He should find a girlfriend,’ said Hester. ‘He used to have so many girlfriends.’

That was when he had hair.’ Molly laughed unkindly.

‘He’s not Samson, Mol,’ Hester reproved in his defence. ‘I think he looks lovely with less hair. He doesn’t look pretty any more. He looks rugged and handsome.’

Molly scrunched up her nose in distaste. ‘Each to their own, I suppose,’ she sniffed, blowing smoke out of her mouth in rings.

‘One thing I’ve learnt from Torquil,’ said Federica sadly, ‘looks can be deceptive. No one’s as beautiful as Torquil, or as selfish. I’d rather a plain outside and a beautiful inside.’

Molly lowered her eyes, ashamed that she fancied him.

 

When Sam arrived at the flat Federica was at once struck by the rapid deterioration of the young man who had once been golden-haired and glossy, like a handsome Greek statue. He shuffled in with his shoulders hunched, shivering with cold. His face was as grey as it had been at Nuno’s funeral and his eyes betrayed a certain weariness, for his longing had drained him of all enthusiasm and energy. When he saw her he smiled sheepishly, though he wanted to run to her and hold her against him. Federica recalled their awkward conversation

at the funeral and smiled back, indicating that she had forgiven and forgotten. She stood up to greet him.

He placed his hands on her upper arms. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked seriously.

‘I’m fine now,’ she replied, pulling away and nursing the bruises he had left on her skin. ‘I’ve left Torquil,’ she added, sitting down again on the carpet in front of the fire.

‘You’ve left Torquil?’ he repeated incredulously, turning away in case she saw the light return to his eyes and the joy curl his lips into a triumphant grin. ‘You’ve left Torquil?’ he repeated.

‘It’s over,’ she stated.

‘We’re celebrating with wine,’ Molly added with glee.

‘I’d say we were commiserating with wine,’ said Hester. ‘Poor Fede’s really been through it.’

‘What happened?’ he asked, taking off his coat and sitting on the sofa. He felt very hot. He struggled out of his father’s holey jersey and sat in his blue shirt with the cuffs undone and hanging loosely on his wrists.

‘Oh, it’s a long story,’ she said, sipping the Bordeaux and feeling a lot better.

‘Mol, hand me a glass,’ he said, cheering up. ‘Fede, you’re so strong. I’m so proud of you. What you’ve done is the most difficult thing in the world. You’ve done it all by yourself.’

‘Not entirely,’ she replied. Sam looked away. ‘Let’s just say that my eyes have been opened. I suppose I’ve grown up a bit. I can’t believe I’ve been so blinkered and so weak. I’ve wasted four years of my life.’

‘Nothing is ever wasted, Fede, you’ve learned a great deal about human nature but above all about yourself,’ he said wisely. Then he changed the subject. ‘What are you going to do now?’

‘I’m going home. Mama and I are going to be a right pair.’

‘Yes, we heard about that,’ said Hester. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘She’s a fool,’ Federica sighed. They all frowned at her sudden change of attitude, her opinion of her stepfather was well known.

‘I thought you despised Arthur?’ Molly interjected, flicking ash onto the carpet.

‘Let’s say I misunderstood him. Everything’s much clearer now,’ she grinned at Sam. ‘I owe him an apology. Someone else I didn’t listen to when I should have.’

Sam acknowledged her with a small smile. ‘I’ll accompany you on the train if you like,’ he suggested.

Federica nodded at him gratefully. ‘Would you?’ She sighed in relief. ‘I’d feel so much better. I’m terrified he’ll find me and try to drag me back.’

‘I’ll bloody kill him if he comes anywhere near you,’ he said, then chuckled for he didn’t want her to know that he really meant it.

That night Federica and Sam barely slept. They sat up drinking and talking long after Flester and Molly had retired to bed. She unburdened her worries and her secrets to him and he listened with sympathy as he had done that day in the bluebells. ‘I wish I had had the courage to tell you that time we had lunch,’ she said.

‘You so nearly did.’

‘I know.’

‘What frightened you?’ he asked gently.

She thought about it for a while, watching the golden flames of the gas fire springing cheerfully in the grate. ‘I didn’t realise I was unhappy,’ she said truthfully and shook her head in disbelief. ‘I know it sounds mad, but I couldn’t

admit it to myself. I believed I loved him.’

‘It doesn’t sound mad at all.’

‘Doesn’t it?’

‘No,’ he said, and took her hand. ‘You weren’t wrong to love him. He was wrong to abuse your love.’

She grinned at him fondly. ‘You understand everything so well.’

‘Not everything,’ he replied. ‘Just you.’

The following morning Federica borrowed clothes from Hester. She was just pulling on a pair of jeans when Molly shrieked from the sitting room. ‘Oh God!’ she shouted. ‘God, God, God.’ They all ran to the window. ‘No, Fede, not you,’ she said, blocking her way. ‘He’s there! Waiting for you,’ she hissed. ‘He’s seen me looking.’

Federica paced the room. Molly pulled the curtain back and peered out at the handsome man who stood beside his Porsche with his arms crossed miserably in front of him.

‘Shit, what am I going to do?’ she said nervously, biting her thumb again. Sam perched on the arm of the sofa. ‘I’ll book a cab and we’ll leave

together,’ he stated decisively, picking up the telephone. ‘It’s simple.’

‘I don’t think I can face him.’

‘Of course you can. You had the strength to leave him, didn’t you?’ he insisted. ‘So you can find the strength to tell him it’s over.’

‘I don’t think I can.'

‘You can and you will,’ he said seriously. ‘Or I’ll do it for you.’

‘You’ve gone this far, Fede, you can’t back out now,’ Flester agreed.

‘.' certainly wouldn’t want to go home to a sodden carpet and a furious husband,’ Molly said. ‘However handsome he is.’

Sam rolled his eyes and ordered the cab. ‘Just think about what you’d be going back to,’ he said carefully. He held his breath as she walked up and down the room, her hands on her hips, deliberating her next move. Then he added simply, ‘Fede, do you like the person you are when you’re with Torquil?’ She looked at him with fearful eyes and shook her head. ‘Well, cast her aside then and come with me.’ He stood up and took both her hands in his. ‘You know you’re doing the right thing.’

‘But he loves me,’ she protested weakly.

Sam squeezed her hands. ‘No he doesn’t, Fede. He wants to possess you,

like his car or his house. If he loved you he’d take pleasure in your freedom, in your growing confidence, in your successes. If he loved you he’d encourage you to make your own path in life. He’d have bought you a camera and paid for you to have lessons rather than buying you ridiculous shoes and handbags, like a doll for him to manipulate. You’re not a doll, Fede, you’re a person with your own ideas and your own personality. If you go back he’ll just sap you dry until you’re incapable of a single personal thought. Think about it.’

She stood staring into his eyes knowing that he was right, because she had worked it out herself.

‘Okay, let’s do it,’ she said firmly. ‘But when we leave the house I want to talk to him,’ she insisted. Then when she noticed Sam’s eyebrows rise in objection she added hastily, ‘I need to tell him myself. I need to prove to myself that I can do it.’

Twenty minutes later when Sam and Federica descended the steps which led onto the pavement, Torquil ran up to her and threw his arms around her. Sam immediately tried to separate them. ‘Leave us alone!’ Torquil growled. There followed a brief tussle during which Federica managed to wriggle free.

‘Go away, Torquil!’ she shouted. ‘It’s over.’ Then she noticed his dejected face, his bloodshot eyes and his shoulders, which stooped pitifully.

‘I haven’t slept all night. I’ve been so worried,’ he explained, raising his palms to the sky. ‘You could have let me know where you were. I thought you’d been abducted.’

Federica turned to Sam. ‘Wait for me in the cab,’ she instructed. With a suspended heart Sam walked away from her. He stood by the car ready to intercede if she needed him, but he hoped she wouldn’t need him. She had to learn not to need anyone, not her father, not her husband, not anyone. Once she had mastered that she’d be ready to love properly. He didn’t mind how long it took, he’d wait for her.

‘That photograph was taken years ago, little one. Didn’t you notice it was old?’ Torquil argued, reaching out for her. But Federica stepped back, putting her hands up to keep him at a distance. ‘Come on, sweetness, I’m not having an affair. I love you. I’m lost without you. We’re good together.’

‘It’s over, Torquil,’ she replied, shaking her head.

‘Don’t be a fool, Federica. You’re angry, I understand. Let’s just go home and talk this through sensibly. Don’t throw what we have away. It’s so special,’