The Butterfly Room

by Lucinda Riley

  ‘What?’ Tammy’s eyes were anxious. ‘Are you trying to tell me you don’t want to see me again?’

  ‘God no! Completely the opposite. We’ve become such good friends so quickly and I really do seem to have become very fond of you . . . more than fond, actually, and I was wondering . . . Well, the truth is, I was wondering whether this is as far as you want to take it.’

  ‘You mean, whether I’d prefer to remain “just good friends”?’ she clarified.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘As opposed to what?’

  ‘Instead of, you know, taking it further.’

  ‘Nick, are you saying you might quite like to ask me out? I mean, officially, like teenagers do?’

  She was playing with him now, but he didn’t care. ‘Yes, I would, very much.’

  ‘So,’ Tammy said, forking up a chip, ‘ask me then.’

  ‘Okay,’ nodded Nick, his heart pounding, ‘would you like to go out with me?’

  ‘No, not really.’ She shook her head firmly.

  ‘Oh.’

  Tammy offered her hand to him across the table.

  ‘I said, that’s what we’d do if we were teenagers, but we’re not. And we’ve been “out” on lots of dates already. In fact, we’re in the middle of one right now. So, how about we behave like the consenting adults we are, and after we’ve eaten these delicious chips, cut the crap and go back to my house?’

  He looked at her, relief flooding through him. ‘I can’t think of anything I’d like more.’

  The late afternoon sun streamed through Tammy’s uncurtained bedroom window. It looked out on a pretty roof terrace that she’d filled with pots full of flowers and a trellis that sported a clematis in high summer. The flowers were past their best now but she still loved looking out at her little patch of nature in the centre of the city. The tiny house was her haven and she’d populated it with treasures from her travels around the world.

  Small dust motes danced in the air and Tammy watched them through half-closed eyes as Nick caressed her back softly with his hands and his mouth. She felt totally peaceful, sated after two hours of blissful lovemaking.

  Usually she dreaded the first time with a new lover. Even though there was the surge of excitement that could only be felt at the touch of a new, unknown body, there was also the tension of not knowing whether she would please him, or he her.

  But with Nick, it had been wonderful.

  He had a beautiful body, tanned from the Perth sun, strong and slim, with just the right amount of male brawn where it should be. And he’d touched her so gently, without any hint of clumsiness or hesitation, and whispered so many loving endearments that she’d been able to respond fully to her body’s urges in safety and without any embarrassment.

  ‘You are totally and utterly gorgeous,’ Nick murmured into her neck. ‘And I completely adore you.’

  She rolled over to face him, then stroked his cheek. He took her fingers to his lips and kissed them.

  ‘So can I say that we are officially going out?’ he asked softly.

  ‘Just because I sleep with you doesn’t mean you are my boyfriend,’ she giggled.

  ‘Blimey, how things have changed. Used to be it was the other way round,’ he teased.

  ‘I’d love to “go out” with you,’ nodded Tammy. ‘Apart from the fact that, just for now, I’d far rather prefer to stay in.’

  ‘Absolutely, as much staying in as possible please.’ He twisted a lock of her Titian hair around his fingers. ‘By the way, I’m going to call my mum this weekend and let her know I’m back. She lives in Suffolk and I’ll probably go up to see her next week. Would you like to come with me?’ he added, unable to stop himself.

  ‘I’d love to meet your mother at some point, but perhaps you should go and see her alone first? You’ll have a lot to talk about and I’m sure she’ll want you all to herself, at least for a few hours.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Nick felt the colour rising in his cheeks at his impromptu suggestion.

  ‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ Nick’s face darkened. ‘An older brother called Sam. For various reasons he’s not my favourite person, I’m afraid. He’s a total waster and I have no time for him whatsoever.’

  ‘They say you can choose your friends, but not your family,’ said Tammy.

  ‘Absolutely. Anyway, let’s not talk about Sam. So, where shall we go on our first official date tonight? That’s if you’re not doing anything else?’

  ‘The local takeaway, I’m afraid. I’ve got some repairs to do on a couple of dresses before the weekend on my stall. God, I can’t wait until I find some premises and I can employ a seamstress who can help me. I’ve got stacks of beads waiting to be re-sewn on.’ Tammy pointed to the plastic boxes that were cluttering up the area she used as her dressing room. ‘Goodness, it’s nearly six. Sorry, darling, but I’ve really got to get up and get on.’

  ‘Okay. Would you prefer me to go?’

  ‘No, not at all, as long as you don’t mind chatting to me while I work and fetching a curry,’ Tammy smiled.

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Can you go and get it now? I’m starving.’

  ‘You’re food-obsessed, woman,’ grinned Nick as he watched her climb out of bed.

  On the way to get the curry, Nick had a sudden feeling of euphoria. For better or worse, this afternoon his mind had been made up. He would stay and take his chances on a new life in London. And on Tammy.

  Admiral House

  December 1944

  I was a little upset that Maman didn’t look more upset as we climbed up onto the pony and trap on a frosty December morning. Even though it was not even seven o’clock in the morning, Maman was wearing one of her pretty dresses and had red lipstick on.

  ‘You look nice today,’ I said as she appeared at the front door and walked down the steps towards us.

  ‘Well it is nearly Christmas, chérie, and we must all make an effort,’ she shrugged as she reached up so she could kiss my cheek. ‘Now, be a good girl for your grandmother, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes. Merry Christmas, Maman,’ I said as Benson snicked the pony’s flank in preparation to leave. ‘See you in the New Year,’ I added as the pony began to clop along the drive.

  But Maman had already turned away and was walking up the steps and into the house.

  Christmas wasn’t actually as miserable as I had imagined it would be. For starters, on the day before Christmas Eve, it began to snow. Living near the sea, I’d only been treated to three or four snowy days in my entire life, the white covering disappearing within hours as it began to rain. Here, on the edge of Bodmin Moor, the snow came down like great dumps of icing sugar and didn’t seem inclined to go away. It sat on the windowsills outside as the light from the fires and the Advent candle flickered inside. Bill, the young man who did all sorts of odd jobs for Granny and brought in logs for the fire, presented me with an old sledge he himself had once used in the winter. I followed him through the snow that reached up to my knees, and followed his pointed finger to a slope. Small, bright bundles were careering down it on all manner of sliding equipment, from tin trays to old wooden pallets.

  He took me across to the bottom of the slope and introduced me to a tiny figure, whose face was so camouflaged in a pink knitted hat and scarf, I could only see a pair of bright blue eyes.

  ‘This be my god-daughter, Katie,’ Bill said, his Cornish accent as thick as the cream from the cows that dotted the landscape. ‘She’ll take care of ye.’

  And she did. Even though she only came up to my shoulder, it turned out Katie was the same age as me and obviously a power to be reckoned with in this remote community. We trudged up the slope, Katie shouting and waving at her pals as we did so.

  ‘That be Boycee, the butcher’s son, and that be Rosie, the postmaster’s daughter,’ she informed me as we reached the summit of the snow-covered tor. ‘My Da’s the milkman.’

  ‘My daddy . . . Da is a pilot,
’ I said as Katie showed me how to lie face down on my sledge and use my hands to paddle in the snow to give myself a start downwards.

  ‘Off you go!’ Katie shouted as she gave the sledge an enormous push and I went sailing at speed down the steep slope, screaming like a baby and loving every second of it.

  I went up and down the tor countless times that day and of all my childhood memories, it always stood out as the best fun I’d ever had, apart from catching butterflies with Daddy of course, but I couldn’t think about that any more without wanting to cry. The other children were very welcoming, and after I’d enjoyed the hot Ovaltine brought by one of the mothers and doled out into tin cups to warm us all up, I went home feeling happy that I’d made a lot of new friends. It was a feeling that warmed my insides as much as the Ovaltine.

  Christmas Eve came, and me and Bill traipsed through the snow to a small pine wood on the edge of the village. I chose a small tree, which, even though it could never compete with the enormous one that always stood in the hall at Admiral House, looked so pretty with Granny’s old and rather tarnished silver decorations and the candles that stood on the branches flickering in the firelight.

  The village residents passed through Granny’s house all day to enjoy a fresh mince pie. Daisy had been overwhelmed to see six jars of spiced mincemeat sitting on the top shelf of the pantry. Granny had chuckled and asked how anyone could be surprised at this when mince pies were only eaten for a couple of days a year; she explained to Daisy that the batch her old cook had made before the war began had been large enough to feed half the Western Front and it kept forever. Then Granny, me and Daisy sat down to enjoy a scrumptious dinner of toad in the hole. There weren’t many sausages, but the crispy golden batter and thick gravy more than made up for it. It seemed to me that this little village on the edge of the moor had eaten better during the war than dukes and duchesses in London.

  ‘That’s because we’ve all pulled together,’ Granny had explained. ‘I’ve had my vegetable garden and chickens, and I swap my carrots and eggs for milk and meat. We’re a self-sufficient lot down here. We’ve always had to be, living where we do. Just look outside.’ She pointed to the snowflakes whirling beyond the windowpanes. ‘The road will be impassable by tomorrow, but there will still be fresh milk on the doorstep come morning, you’ll see. Jack’s never failed to get through yet.’

  And indeed, as Christmas Day dawned, Daisy brought in the still-warm milk left in a small tin canister on the doorstep. This was a moorland community where people looked after each other, isolated as it was from the rest of the world. Bodmin was the nearest town, and that was ten miles away. As I looked at the snow piled outside in great heaps where the heavens had deposited it, I thought it could easily be a thousand miles. I felt cocooned from reality in a soft, safe, snowy nest. And even though I missed Maman and Papa and Admiral House dreadfully, it was a feeling I liked.

  We opened our presents to each other after church and I was delighted with the book of botanical drawings by Margaret Mee, who was once an explorer for Kew Gardens, that Daddy had sent me in the Christmas box addressed to Granny, which had arrived a few days earlier.

  Christmas 1944

  For my darling Posy – have a merry time with Granny and counting the days until I see you again. All my love, Daddy xxx

  Well, I thought, at least he knows where I am, which was just as comforting as the lovely present, which would keep me occupied for many a long, snowy day. Daisy had knitted me a woollen hat with flaps that came down over my ears and tied under my chin.

  ‘Perfect for sledging!’ I said as I hugged her and she turned pink from pleasure.

  Granny had given me a set of leather-bound books by ladies called Anne, Emily and Charlotte Brontë.

  ‘They are probably a little grown-up for you now, Posy my dear, but I loved those stories when I was a gel,’ she’d smiled.

  Daisy had been invited to join us for Christmas lunch, which I found most surprising. Never, ever could I imagine Daisy sitting up to table at Admiral House, but Granny had insisted, saying how wrong it would be for Daisy to eat alone in the kitchen on the most holy day of the year. I liked Granny for that a lot, the way she didn’t mind where in the ‘lottery’ someone came from or what they did for a living. In fact, I was growing to like Granny more and more.

  I also noticed that, after a couple of whiskies, Granny became much more talkative. As we sat in front of the fire on Christmas night, me in my nightgown sipping hot cocoa before bed, she told me the story of how she and Grandfather had met. It had been during something that Granny called ‘the Season’, when Granny had ‘come out’ (I was not sure where from), which seemed to have to do with an awful lot of parties and dances and something called a ‘deb’s delight’. Grandfather had been one, apparently.

  ‘I saw him at the very first ball . . . well, how could one miss him?! He was six foot four and just down from Oxford. With those big brown eyes, which both you and your father have inherited, my dear, he could have had any young lady during the Season, even though he wasn’t titled like many of them. His mother had been an “Hon.” . . .’ (I wasn’t sure what this meant, but it was obviously something good.) ‘So, by the end of the Season, we were affianced. Of course, the marriage meant that I had to leave my beloved home here in dear old Cornwall and move to Suffolk, but that was what young ladies did in those days. They followed their husbands.’

  Granny took another sip of whisky and her eyes took on a dreamy expression. ‘Oh my dear, we were so happy for those first two years before the Great War came. I found myself pregnant with your father and everything was so perfect. And then . . .’ Granny gave a deep sigh. ‘Georgie enlisted the moment war was declared, and was shipped off to the trenches in France. He didn’t even survive long enough to see his son born.’

  ‘Oh Granny, how awful,’ I said as she dabbed her eyes with a lace handkerchief.

  ‘Yes, it really was at the time, yet so many of us women were losing their men, and with some in the village left virtually destitute because of it, I felt that it was my duty to help them. And that, plus your darling father being born, was what got me through. Lawrence was such a good baby and a sweet toddler – perhaps too gentle for a boy if one was being completely honest, but of course, I indulged his passion for nature, because I shared a love of the outdoors too. He adored his butterflies even then, and had quite a collection of other insects too. That was why I gave him the top of the Folly; I simply couldn’t bear him sleeping in the same room with jars of insects and spiders,’ Granny shuddered. ‘One never knew when they might escape. He’s a clever chap, your father, albeit his head is ruled by his heart. And even though he is a gentle soul, once he has a bee in his bonnet, there is no stopping him.’

  ‘What is a bee in a bonnet, Granny?’

  ‘It means that when he knows what he wants, he goes after it. All his schoolmasters thought he was quite bright enough to study law at Oxford like his father, but Lawrence wasn’t having any of it. Botany was the path he wished to tread and he did so at Cambridge. Then of course, he was determined to have your mother, even though . . .’ Granny stopped short suddenly and took a breath. ‘She was French,’ she added. Rather limply, I thought.

  ‘Is there something wrong with being French?’ I asked her.

  ‘No, no, not at all,’ Granny replied hurriedly. ‘They simply had to learn each other’s languages, that’s all. Now, look at the time! It’s past nine o’clock, far too late for little girls to be up and about. Off with you to bed, young lady.’

  I was glad the snow stayed put after Christmas, because it meant I was kept very busy. I was out with the village children every day, sledging or having snowball fights and snowmen-building competitions. I really liked the fact that we lived close enough to the village for Katie to call for me, or I for her, because at Admiral House, which was miles from any other building, only Mabel had ever come to call. And even though Granny lived in the grandest house in the village, the other children didn
’t treat me differently, just teased me about my accent, which I thought was quite ironic, considering it took a lot of concentration to understand a thing that any of them said to me.

  On New Year’s Eve, the entire village went to church to attend a special service of remembrance for all the local men lost to the war. There was quite a lot of sniffing and weeping, and I prayed hard for Daddy to return safely (even though Granny said the war was all over ‘bar the shouting’, whatever that meant, and she was hoping to hear from him any day soon). After church, there was quite a lot of drinking in the hall next door. Katie surreptitiously offered me some punch that she had sneaked from one of the big bowls while no one was looking. I tried it and was almost sick because it tasted and smelt like petrol mixed with bruised apples and gone-off blackberries. Then someone produced a fiddle and someone else a flute and soon the whole village, including me, Granny and Daisy (who danced with Bill) were hopping and skipping and twirling around the room. It really was great fun, even if I hadn’t a clue what I was doing.

  In bed that night, even though I was exhausted from all the dancing and the walk home through the snow afterwards, I managed to send my love up to both Maman and Daddy.

  ‘Happy New Year. Sleep with the angels,’ I murmured, before falling contentedly into a deep sleep.

  Two days later, when the snow had finally begun to turn to slushy fondant during the day, but was freezing treacherously at night, Granny got a telegram. We were having breakfast together at the time, deciding what Daisy would cook for supper that night, when the front doorbell rang. Daisy brought in the telegram and I watched Granny’s face turn as white as the previous night’s ashes still lying in the fire.

  ‘Excuse me, my dear,’ she said as she rose from the table and left the room. She didn’t come back, and after I had been up to my room to wash my face and hands after breakfast, I came down to be told by Daisy that Granny was on the telephone in the study and not to be disturbed.

  ‘Is everything all right, Daisy?’ I asked tentatively, knowing full well ‘everything’ was not.