The Butterfly Room

by Lucinda Riley

  Clemmie looked at Posy, realising this lady was not going to take no for an answer. She shrugged. ‘Okay. If Mum doesn’t mind.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Evie acquiesced, knowing she’d been outmanoeuvred.

  ‘Good-oh, bring a warm jacket in case it gets chilly later on.’

  Clemmie nodded and went upstairs to get ready.

  ‘Dear Evie, forgive me for being an interfering old busy-body, but I thought I could jolly Clemmie along about going away to school, tell her how much fun there is to be had.’

  ‘I’m at my wit’s end, to be honest. She is point-blank refusing to go.’

  ‘Well, I’ll do my best to cheer her up about the whole thing.’

  ‘Thank you, Posy.’ At last Evie managed a hint of a smile. ‘It’s very kind of you.’

  ‘Not at all, a day’s crabbing is always my pleasure. Right, young lady,’ she said as Clemmie came back down the stairs, ‘let’s be off.’

  ‘Bye, Mum.’

  ‘Bye, darling. Have a fun time.’

  Evie waved them both off in the car and shut the door. Shivering in her bathrobe, she braced herself to climb the stairs and get dressed. She felt utterly exhausted – last night, the sun had been rising before she’d finally slept.

  Slipping on her jeans and a jumper – she was always cold these days – Evie contemplated that, even though coming back here had to be the right thing for Clemmie, she had been a fool to hope she could return to Southwold and still somehow escape the past. If only she could tell someone, share the burden . . . Posy had been a surrogate mother to her ten years ago. The two of them had become close and Evie had adored her. It would be so comforting to sink onto her capable shoulder and let her troubles pour out.

  Yet ironically, Evie thought as she lay down on the bed, feeling too weak to tackle the walk back downstairs, Posy was the last person she could confide in just now.

  ‘Wow! A real wooden rowing boat,’ remarked Clemmie excitedly as they walked onto the narrow wooden pier and joined the small queue to cross the glistening water of the River Blyth, which separated Southwold from neighbouring Walberswick.

  ‘Surely you’ve been in a boat before?’ said Posy as they watched the vessel coming back across the estuary, pulled by the oarsman.

  ‘No. We weren’t very near the water in Leicester, you know.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you were,’ Posy agreed. ‘Never been there myself. Is it a decent sort of place?’

  ‘I liked it,’ said Clemmie. ‘I didn’t want to move because I had lots of friends there, but Mummy said we had to.’

  ‘Right, are you ready to go aboard?’ asked Posy as the boat pulled in and the returning passengers climbed out.

  ‘Yes.’

  The oarsman, whom Posy noticed was smartly dressed in a linen shirt, with a panama hat pulled jauntily over his brow to ward off the sun’s glare, held out his hand to Clemmie and helped steady her as she stepped into the boat. Posy followed, throwing the two buckets full of bait in first.

  ‘There we go, madam.’ The rich, modulated voice sounded familiar, and very different from Bob, the ex-fisherman who’d helmed the boat across the hundred yards of water for the past twenty years.

  ‘Thank you.’ Posy sat down on one of the narrow benches as the rest of the passengers came aboard. ‘You can swim, Clemmie, can’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I had lessons at school.’

  ‘Good, because this boat has been known to sink under the weight of too many tourists,’ Posy teased as the oarsman behind them cast off and began to row across to Walberswick. ‘So, Clemmie, I hear you’re going away to school in a few days’ time.’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t want to go.’

  ‘I went away to school,’ Posy commented as she closed her eyes and lifted her head to catch the sun’s rays. ‘I had a wonderful time there. I made lots of friends, had endless midnight feasts in the dorm and besides all that, got a very good education to boot.’

  Clemmie’s lips pursed. ‘I’m sure you did, Posy, but I don’t want to go, whatever you say.’

  ‘Look, we’re here,’ said Posy briskly as the oarsman stood up and grabbed hold of a rope on the jetty to pull them in. He jumped out of the boat, then fastened it to the mooring. Being at the back of the boat, Posy and Clemmie were the last to step off. Posy watched as the oarsman swung Clemmie effortlessly onto dry land, his muscled forearms tanned and strong.

  ‘Right,’ he said, turning to Posy and sweeping off his hat to mop his brow. ‘Goodness, it’s warm today for the time of year.’ He smiled at her as she clambered over the narrow benches towards him. He reached out his hand to her, and she looked up into his eyes for the first time.

  As she did so, Posy experienced the strangest sensation of time standing still. She could have stared at him for a second or a century; everything around her – the noise of the gulls above, the chattering of the other passengers as they walked away from the jetty – seemed to be somewhere far in the distance. She knew there was only one other moment in her life when she’d experienced a similar feeling, and that had been the first time she’d looked into the same pair of eyes over fifty years ago.

  Posy came to and saw he was reaching out a hand to help her onto the jetty. She didn’t know whether she might faint or in fact, vomit all over the rowing boat. Even though every instinct in her was telling her to flee from him and his proffered arm, she knew she was completely trapped, unless she threw herself into the water and swam back to the safety of Southwold, which was not a realistic option.

  ‘I can manage, thank you,’ she said, ducking her head down and away from him, hands scrabbling for the jetty to haul herself up. But her legs betrayed her and as she wobbled precariously between boat and jetty, his arm moved to help her. At his touch, a bolt of electricity shot through her, making her heart slam against her chest as he put his other arm round her to virtually lift her onto the wooden platform.

  ‘Are you quite all right, madam?’ he asked her, as she stood above him, panting.

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine,’ she managed, as she watched his brown eyes study her and the dawn of recognition appear. She turned away quickly. ‘Come on, Clemmie,’ she said, forcing her jelly filled legs to walk away.

  ‘I . . . my God! Posy, is that you?’ she heard him call from behind her. She did not look back.

  ‘Are you okay, Posy?’ Clemmie asked as Posy hurried her along the quayside.

  ‘Yes, of course I am. It’s just jolly hot today. Let’s sit down on that bench and have a drink of water.’

  From her vantage point along the quay, Posy could see him helping people onto his boat for the return journey. Only when it cast off and she saw him rowing back towards Southwold did her heart rate begin to slow down.

  Maybe we could take a taxi back, she mused. What on earth is he doing here . . .?

  Then she remembered it had been one of the things that had drawn them together originally, when they’d first met . . .

  ‘So where do you hail from, Posy?’

  ‘Suffolk originally, but I was brought up in Cornwall.’

  ‘Suffolk? Well, that’s something we have in common . . .’

  ‘Are you feeling better, Posy?’ Clemmie asked her, looking nervous.

  ‘Much, thank you, the water has restored me. Now, let’s go and find ourselves a good position and gather a bumper crop of crabs!’

  She led Clemmie as far along the quay as possible, then they settled themselves on the edge of it. Posy showed Clemmie how to attach the bacon to the hook at the end of the line and throw it into the water.

  ‘Now throw the line down, but don’t wriggle it too much, because the crab has to jump on. Keep it close to the wall. There tend to be more rocks under which the crabs can hide.’

  Eventually, after a few false alarms, Clemmie triumphantly hauled out a small but lively crab. Posy extracted it from the line and threw it in the bucket.

  ‘Well done, you! Now you’ve caught your first, lots more will follow, I promise.’ />
  Sure enough, Clemmie managed another six crabs before Posy declared herself hungry and thirsty.

  ‘Right,’ Posy said, her heart giving a lurch as she saw the rowing boat approaching the jetty, ‘the perfect moment for a drink and a little light lunch at the local.’ They tipped the crabs back into the water.

  Having found a table in the pub garden of The Anchor, Posy ordered herself a much-needed glass of white wine and Clemmie a Coke, plus two fresh prawn baguettes. As she stood at the bar, she remembered noticing how attractive he was when she’d first arrived at the boat. And when he’d taken his hat off to reveal what she’d always termed his ‘poet’s head’ of thick and now very white hair, swept back from his forehead and allowed to grow well below his ears . . .

  Stop it, Posy! she told herself. Remember what he did to you, how he broke your heart . . .

  Sadly, at least for now, she thought as she carried the drinks outside to the table where Clemmie waited, her rational brain wasn’t listening, due to the extreme physical reaction of her body to his touch.

  Do behave, Posy! You’re almost seventy years old! Besides, he’s probably married with a heap of children and grandchildren and . . .

  ‘Thank you, Posy,’ Clemmie said as she put the glasses down on the picnic bench.

  ‘The baguettes will follow, but I brought you a packet of crisps to stave off any hunger pangs. Cheers!’ Posy chinked her glass against Clemmie’s.

  ‘Cheers,’ Clemmie repeated.

  ‘So, dear girl, you’re obviously not very keen on going to this new school of yours.’

  ‘No,’ Clemmie shook her head defiantly. ‘If Mummy makes me go, then I’ll run away and come home. I’ve saved up my pocket money just in case and I know how to get on a train.’

  ‘I’m sure you do, and I understand just how you feel. I was horrified when it was suggested to me.’

  ‘Well, I don’t understand why I have to go,’ Clemmie complained.

  ‘Because your mother wants you to have the best start in life that you can. And sometimes, grown-ups have to take decisions for their children that their children don’t agree with or understand. Do you really think your mother wants to send you away?’

  Clemmie sipped her Coke slowly through her straw as she thought about it. ‘Perhaps. I know I’ve been difficult since we moved to Southwold.’

  Posy chuckled. ‘My dear Clemmie, your behaviour has nothing to do with her wanting you to go to away to school. When my boys left to go to board, I wept buckets for days afterwards. I missed them terribly.’

  ‘Did you?’ Clemmie looked surprised.

  ‘Oh yes,’ nodded Posy. ‘And I know your mother will feel the same, but like her, I did it because I knew it was the best for them, even if they didn’t think so at the time.’

  ‘But, Posy, you don’t understand, really you don’t,’ replied Clemmie urgently. ‘Mummy needs me. And besides . . .’ her voice trailed off.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m scared!’ Clemmie bit her lip. ‘What if I hate it? What if all the other girls are horrid?’

  ‘Then you can leave,’ shrugged Posy. ‘It’s pretty silly not doing something just because you think you might not like it. Besides, the school isn’t far away. You’ll be home for weekends, half term and holidays of course. You’ll get the best of both worlds.’

  ‘What if Mummy forgets about me while I’m gone?’

  ‘Oh my dear, your mother adores you. It’s written all over her face. She’s doing this for you, not for her.’

  Clemmie sighed. ‘Well, if you say it like that . . . and I suppose it might be fun to share a dorm.’

  ‘Well, how about you try it for a term or so? Take it in bite-sized chunks and see how you go? Then, if you really don’t like it, I know your mother will allow you to leave.’

  ‘Will you make her promise, Posy?’

  ‘We can ask her when I take you back home. Now.’ Posy looked up as the waitress placed two baguettes filled with prawns and crispy lettuce dressed in a rich piquant sauce onto the trestle table. ‘Shall we tuck in?’

  After another half hour of regaling Clemmie with jolly stories of school antics – some real, most imagined – a reluctant Posy and a far calmer Clemmie headed back for the boat. Thankfully, it was full and the oarsman had no time to say anything to her as he loaded the passengers on board. When they reached Southwold, Posy steeled herself as she waited to get off the boat. As he took her arm and helped her onto the jetty, he bent down towards her.

  ‘It is you, Posy, isn’t it?’ he whispered.

  ‘Yes.’ She gave a slight nod, knowing it would be childish to remain silent.

  ‘Do you live locally? Because I’d really like to . . .’

  By this time, she was safely on dry land. Without looking back at him, Posy walked away.

  Chapter 5

  Nick Montague viewed the early morning mist through the taxi window. Even though it was barely seven o’clock, cars were bumper to bumper on the M4 heading for London.

  He shivered, experiencing the chill of an English autumn for the first time in ten years. In Perth, the spring was just beginning and temperatures were up in the low twenties.

  As they drove into central London, Nick felt the tense momentum of the capital, so at odds with the laid-back atmosphere of Perth. It excited and unsettled him in equal measure and he knew it would take him time to get used to it. He was glad he’d decided to come here first, rather than heading straight to Southwold. He hadn’t told his mother his exact date of arrival back in England, wanting some time to himself without her expecting his presence. He had decisions he wanted to make before he saw her.

  In the past few months, he’d found himself homesick for England for the first time since he’d arrived in Perth. Maybe it was because originally, the challenge of establishing himself in a new country and forging a business had consumed him. He had eventually succeeded, and now owned a flourishing antiques emporium on the Left Bank and rented a beautiful apartment overlooking the water in Peppermint Grove.

  Perhaps it had all been a little too easy, he acknowledged. Having hit Perth at a time when it was growing fast and gathering a clique of wealthy, young entrepreneurs, and due to the lack of competition in the quality antiques business, he’d made far more money than he might have done in England.

  He’d tried to enjoy his success, but had known for some time he had to find himself a new challenge. He’d toyed with the idea of opening shops in Sydney and Melbourne, but the distances between the cities made it difficult, especially as far as shipping furniture was concerned. Besides, he’d now earned himself the money and experience to move into the big league, and if he didn’t do it now, Nick knew he never would. Put simply, that meant coming home.

  He’d decided to spend some time in London studying the antiques market, going to some top-notch sales and looking at a couple of shop sites in West London he’d researched on the internet. He also wanted to see how he felt about being back in England. If it didn’t feel right here, maybe he’d head off to New York.

  ‘Here we are, mate; Six, Gordon Place.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Nick, paying the driver. The cab drove off, and Nick lugged his suitcase to the front door of the wisteria-covered town house. Even though they were only a couple of minute’s walk from the bustle of Kensington High Street, Nick was aware of the tranquility of this elegant residential neighbourhood. It was good to see houses that had stood for a couple of hundred years, rather than the endless new urban sprawl that covered Perth.

  He walked up to the front door and rang the bell.

  ‘Nick, g’day!’ Paul Lyons-Harvey clasped him in a bear hug and slapped him on the back. ‘Look at you! You haven’t changed one iota. Still have your own hair, unlike some of us.’ Paul stroked the bald patch on the crown of his head, then picked up Nick’s case and took it inside.

  ‘Nick!’ He was hugged again, this time by Jane, Paul’s wife, a tall, willowy blonde whose perfect symmetrical features had on
ce graced the cover of Vogue.

  ‘Doesn’t he look in good shape?’ said Paul, leading Nick down the narrow hall into the kitchen.

  ‘He certainly does. Must be all that surfing that’s helped keep the pounds off. I keep trying to put Paul on a diet, but it only lasts a day or so before he’s back on the puds again,’ Jane remarked, kissing her diminutive and undeniably portly husband on his bald patch fondly.

  ‘What I don’t have in height, I’ve decided to make up for in girth,’ chuckled Paul.

  ‘Too much of the good life, is it?’ enquired Nick, sitting down at the kitchen table and swinging his legs underneath it.

  ‘I must say things have gone rather well in the past few years. They had to, to keep the old lady in furs and jewels.’

  ‘You bet,’ agreed Jane, switching on the kettle. ‘I hardly married you for your stunning good looks, did I darling? Coffee, Nick?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ answered Nick, admiring Jane’s long, jeans-clad legs and thinking yet again how his oldest friend and his wife might be physically mismatched, yet had one of the strongest marriages he knew. They were the perfect foil for each other; Paul, the aristocratic art dealer, and Jane, so elegant and down to earth, with a calmness that provided the balance to her more excitable husband. They adored each other.

  ‘How tired are you?’ Jane asked Nick, putting a coffee in front of him.

  ‘Pretty,’ he admitted. ‘I might go and grab a few hours’ kip, if neither of you mind.’

  ‘Of course not, but I’m afraid we do have a supper party here tonight. We arranged it before we knew you were coming to stay,’ Jane apologised. ‘We’d love you to join us, if you’re up to it, but if not, don’t worry.’

  ‘I’d come if I were you. Serious totty on the guest list,’ Paul chimed in. ‘A lovely girl from the good old days of Jane’s time on the runway. I presume you still haven’t got yourself hitched then?’

  ‘No. The eternal bachelor, that’s me,’ shrugged Nick.

  ‘Well, with that tan, I give you twenty-four hours before women are throwing themselves against our front door,’ said Jane. ‘Anyway, I must be off. I’ve got a shoot at noon and I still haven’t found a pair of shoes for the model to wear.’