‘Yes, well, I’d better shoot. Speak to you tomorrow. Love you, Mum.’
‘Love you too, darling boy.’ Posy put the receiver down and sighed, then contacted the local auctioneer Nick had recommended to come and value the contents of the house. They made an appointment for a couple of days’ time.
As she wandered from room to room doing as Nick had suggested, Posy realised that there was very little she wanted to take with her into her new life. The odd painting, the jade art deco clock that stood above the fireplace in the drawing room, her father’s desk with its battered leather top . . .
Posy sat down heavily on the well-used mattress in one of the spare rooms. She saw herself in the old, heavily foxed gilt mirror, which had reflected back the images of generations of Andersons. What would they all be thinking as she threw away three hundred years of family history, she wondered. If one ‘thought’ any more beyond the grave, which these days, she often doubted. And yet, in these past weeks since she had agreed to sell, she had felt her father’s presence around her more strongly than she had for years.
‘Posy, it’s time,’ she told her reflection.
‘I was wondering, Sebastian, whether you would have half an hour to spare to come with me to the Folly in the garden. It was my father’s eyrie, you see, and when I was younger, I was never allowed in. My father – whom you know I utterly adored – would take me round the grounds and teach me to net butterflies. He’d then take them into the Folly to “study” them, and after that he told me he set them free. I managed to sneak inside once, and what did I find but a large collection of framed and very dead butterflies hanging on the wall. It broke my heart at the time, but of course he was simply a collector. It was perfectly normal in those days and he was preserving them for posterity – there are probably some specimens that are extinct now.’
Sebastian’s hand, which was holding a slice of toast dripping with homemade jam, paused on its way to his mouth. ‘Well, they’re probably worth something, at least.’
‘Probably, but I’d never want money for them. If they’re of any value, I’d donate them to the Natural History Museum. Anyway, I have to admit that I’m not relishing the thought of entering the Folly. I haven’t been inside it for over sixty years. After my father died, I went off to live with my grandmother in Cornwall, and when I eventually came back here with my husband and children, well, I simply couldn’t face going in.’
‘I can quite see why not, Posy,’ Sebastian replied neutrally.
‘And I don’t think I can face it now, alone anyway; but of course, I simply must, because it needs to be cleared out before the move.’
‘Of course I’ll come with you, Posy. Just let me know when.’
‘How about this afternoon? I really must tackle it and what with Paul, Nick’s art dealer friend, coming this weekend, I thought it might be a good idea to show him the butterflies.’
Sebastian watched Posy leave the kitchen with a heavy heart and wondered why she wasn’t asking Sam to accompany her. As her eldest son, he was the obvious choice. He rose to wash his plate and mug in the sink, thinking that perhaps he was biased, but even if he wasn’t in love with Sam’s wife, he was pretty sure he’d still find the man obnoxious and arrogant.
‘You never can tell with genes,’ he murmured as he walked up the glorious turned staircase, hoping Posy wouldn’t mind that he’d stolen its beauty to use as a central motif for his book.
‘So, can you spare me that half an hour to go the Folly?’ Posy asked him once they had finished lunch.
Sebastian put his knife and fork together. ‘That beef and dumpling stew was the best I’ve ever tasted and I’d accompany you to the moon if you’d make it again for me at some point. Right, I’ll just go and fetch a couple of torches. I doubt there’s electric light in there.’
Posy managed a weak smile, but as Sebastian stood up, he could sense her tension.
As they walked through the gardens, heavily hung with autumn mist that hadn’t cleared all day, Sebastian saw the Folly sitting behind the row of bare chestnut trees. He shivered involuntarily; given what he knew, feeling perhaps as much trepidation as Posy.
They approached the door, made of once-sturdy oak that had now partially rotted away after so many years of negligence. Posy lifted the heavy bunch of keys to the lock. Her hand was shaking so much that she couldn’t slide the correct key into the keyhole.
‘Here, let me.’
As Sebastian used all his strength to release a lock that he realised had not been opened for over sixty years, he felt his own heart rate rising. Who knew what was in there, what was left behind from the tragedy that he knew had occurred within these walls . . .
The key finally turned and before he had further time to speculate, Posy was pushing the door open. They entered a darkened room; Sebastian saw the window was covered with cobwebs on the inside and a tangle of ivy on the outside. They both switched on their torches, and shone them around.
‘This is where my father kept all his sporting paraphernalia,’ Posy announced, as she stepped over a collection of sticks covered in green mould. ‘Cricket stumps,’ she said, ‘and look at this.’ She picked up a wooden object and waved it at him. ‘A croquet mallet. I remember we used to play when my parents had their parties.’
Sebastian shone his torch on a large cupboard. The door hung ajar and as he pulled it open, he saw a collection of guns lined up in a neat row, the shiny metal now rusted to a deep brown. His heart missed a beat as he saw one was very obviously missing.
‘My father’s hunting guns,’ said Posy. ‘I used to hear a gun going off sometimes at night. Daddy said it was the local farmer shooting rabbits, but the farm is quite a long way away and the sound of the gun was very close, so it was probably him.’
‘This is a Purdey, and if it was cleaned up, it’s probably quite valuable,’ Sebastian said as he pulled out one of the guns.
‘Do you shoot?’
‘God no, I only know about Purdeys because I had to research guns for my last novel,’ he smiled. In the gloom, he saw Posy shining her torch up a flight of stairs.
‘Shall I go first?’ he asked her.
‘If you wouldn’t mind. Be careful, they twist round quite sharply, from what I remember.’
‘Okay.’
The sound of their footsteps on the old stone steps echoed around the turret as they climbed. The smell of damp was palpable and Posy had a fit of sneezing as they reached the narrow landing at the top.
‘Goodness me,’ she said, burrowing in her Barbour pocket for a handkerchief and blowing her nose. ‘We’re probably breathing in wartime air!’
‘So,’ Sebastian studied the door in front of him – a miniature version of the oak front door but in much better condition. ‘Here we are.’
‘Yes.’ Posy studied the door as a hundred memories seemed to fly out of the wood itself.
‘Shall I open it?’
Posy handed him the big iron key ring, which reminded her of an oversized bracelet, the keys of different sizes masquerading as charms.
Sebastian tried the handle to check it was locked in the first place – which it was – then tried three keys before he found the right one.
‘Ready to go in?’
‘Can I wear a blindfold so I don’t have to see all those poor, dead butterflies?’
‘Yes, but it would make this rather a pointless exercise.’
Sebastian held out a hand and Posy took it, breathing deeply to try to calm her fluttering heart. Behind this slab of wood was the very essence of her beloved father. She followed Sebastian inside, eyes fixed on the floor, which was covered in decades of dust.
Sebastian shone his torch around the circular room, illuminating the large number of framed dead butterflies hanging lopsidedly against the walls. He noted a desk, a leather chair, and a bookcase still full of its paper tenants. Then behind it, his torch caught a large stain on the wall. It was copper-coloured with tiny splatters surrounding it, as though a modern art
ist had haphazardly thrown paint at a canvas.
It took time to make sense of it, but when he did, he had to take in a large gulp of fetid air to steady himself. He looked round at Posy, and saw her back was turned towards him as she studied a particular framed butterfly.
‘I remember this one – it was me who caught it and Daddy was thrilled as Large Blues were very rare. In fact, it was probably the last one I ever did catch,’ she sighed. ‘Perhaps I’ll ask Amy to paint it so I can remember its beauty, but not have to witness its demise,’ she said as she turned to him with a sad smile.
As her eyes scanned the room, Sebastian’s instinct was to hurry her out of it before she noticed, but it was already too late. Posy was shining her torch directly onto it.
‘What on earth is that?’ She walked towards the wall to examine the stain more closely.
‘Maybe it’s something that’s dripped from the ceiling.’
Even he heard the hollowness of his own lie.
‘No . . .’ Posy virtually put her nose to the stain. ‘It looks like dried blood to me, Sebastian. In fact, it looks as though someone has been stood in front of the wall and shot.’
‘Maybe it was one of your ancestors involved in some derring-do or other?’
‘That’s a thought yes, but I’m pretty sure I would have noticed it when I sneaked in here as a child. I mean, one can hardly miss it. And it’s right opposite the door.’
‘Perhaps there were more framed butterflies hanging over it last time you came.’
‘Maybe you’re right. In fact, I’m sure Daddy’s Red Admiral collection hung there. If I remember correctly, those were the first butterflies I saw when I opened the door, because then I simply fled back down the stairs. Yes, that would explain it.’
Sebastian felt weak with relief as Posy turned and walked towards the desk. She picked up a big magnifying glass and blew on it. Thousands of dust motes flew into the air, the light of the torch making them shine like glitter.
‘I suppose this was one of his instruments of torture. What lies adults tell children to protect them,’ she sighed. ‘We all do it, of course, but in the long run, I do wonder if it’s actually for the best.’
Again Sebastian had to take a deep breath. ‘Should I collect the butterfly frames and bring them all over to the house?’ he said.
‘Yes please, Sebastian.’ Posy indicated the books on the shelf. ‘Apart from these, I think everything else can go into the skip.’ She shivered. ‘I don’t like it in here at all. It has an odd atmosphere. And there was me as a child imagining Daddy in his shiny bright throne room; the King of the Fairies sitting atop his castle. Well,’ she shrugged, ‘it was only a game, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, it was. You go ahead, Posy. I’ll bring the butterflies across to the house.’
‘Thank you, Sebastian,’ she replied.
Chapter 26
Tammy lay in bed next to Nick and watched as he read through a sale catalogue.
‘So, you’re up in Southwold this weekend?’ she asked.
‘Yes, like I mentioned, Paul’s coming to take a look at the paintings at Mum’s and there’s an auction I want to attend in Lavenham on Sunday. I’ll drive up to Admiral House on Friday night and I should be back late Sunday afternoon.’
‘Can I come with you? I’d love to see your mum, and she said she has some gowns for me to look at.’
‘I’d have thought you’d want to be at the shop on Saturdays. You said it’s your busiest day of the week.’
‘I do have Meena, remember, and she’s a far better saleswoman than I’ll ever be!’
‘Yes, but she’s not you, and anyway, haven’t you arranged lunch with Jane?’
‘I had, but I can always cancel. I’d like to see your mother again,’ said Tammy.
‘I think she’s got a lot on her plate at the moment, to be honest. Perhaps another weekend, when things are clearer with the house sale, okay?’
‘God, Nick, that’s what you always bloody say!’ All Tammy’s uncertainty and frustration welled up. ‘I can’t remember the last time you and I actually spent a weekend together. You’re always disappearing off somewhere or other by yourself.’
‘Yes, to enable me to buy some good stock to get my business off the ground. I’m very sorry all my attention hasn’t been with you, Tammy,’ he said coldly, ‘but I thought we understood and respected each other’s work.’
‘We do, I do,’ said Tammy, ‘but surely, even in the midst of all this chaos, it would be possible to find the odd twenty-four hours to spend together? Isn’t life meant to be about balance?’
‘Tammy, I don’t wish to sound churlish, but it seems to me that now your business is up and running, you’re resenting that I’ve got to spend time on mine.’
‘That is so unfair! I’ve always made time for you so we could be together.’
Nick slammed the sale catalogue onto the floor and got out of bed. ‘I’ve got a hundred things on my mind, all of which need my care and attention, and the last thing I need is hassle from you. I’m going back to Paul and Jane’s to try and get some peace!’
Tammy heard the door slam behind him. She buried her head in her pillow and burst into tears.
Two days later, having heard nothing from Nick, Tammy left the boutique at noon to meet Jane at Langan’s in Beauchamp Place, their usual Saturday lunchtime haunt.
‘You look radiant,’ said Tammy as she sat down opposite her friend.
‘Thank you, I feel it. Now I’ve had the first scan and, cross fingers, everything seems to be fine with the baby, I can relax a little. Glass of wine for you, Tam? You look as though you could do with it.’ Jane studied her. ‘Are you feeling okay? You look very pale.’
‘I’ve not been sleeping very well, that’s all.’
‘What? Too busy counting up all the takings in your head?’ Jane smiled as she ordered mineral water and wine from a passing waiter.
‘No, although things have gone really well in the past few days, and this morning we were heaving. In fact, I really can’t stay for too long. I’ve left Meena to cope by herself.’
‘Well, I’m sure she’s more than capable, but if things continue to go well, you’ll have to get an assistant to help both of you.’
‘I know. I’ll think about it,’ agreed Tammy.
‘Tam, come on, you should be jumping up and down with excitement. Everyone is talking about you and your fabulous gowns and you look miserable. What is it?’
Tammy reached for her glass of wine and took a big gulp. ‘I had a row with Nick a couple of nights ago and I haven’t heard from him since. Janey . . .’ Tammy took another gulp of her wine. ‘I think Nick might be having an affair.’
Jane looked at her in complete amazement. ‘What?! No, never!’
‘Well, I reckon he is.’
‘But, when I saw you together at the party, you looked blissfully happy.’ Jane shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, but I just can’t believe it. Not of Nick, of all men. He’s just not the type.’
‘Janey, something happened recently and I know for a fact Nick lied to me about it.’
‘What?’
Tammy told Jane how she’d taken the call on Nick’s mobile and how the phone had been slammed down. Then how she’d seen the initials ‘EN’ and noticed that the area code was the same as Posy’s in Southwold.
‘Nick told me this “EN” lived in London. Why would he lie?’
‘Perhaps “EN” does live in London some of the time. That’s hardly proof of infidelity, Tammy.’
‘No, I know, but I just have a feeling . . .’ Tammy fingered her wine glass. ‘Besides, he actually told me he had something to sort out before he could fully commit to me. You once mentioned a girl he’d known who lived in Southwold?’
‘Yes, but . . . I don’t think it was serious or long-term. If I remember rightly, she had a live-in boyfriend.’
‘But there was definitely someone?’ Tammy confirmed.
‘Yes.’
‘What was h
er name?’
‘I think it was Evie somebody. Evie Newman, that’s right.’
‘Oh my God! “EN”!’ Tammy felt tears burgeoning in her eyes. ‘I knew it!’
‘Please, Tam, try and keep calm . . .’
‘How can I?! It’s obvious he’s seeing her again.’
‘It was ten years ago, and you have absolutely no proof whatsoever he’s involved with her now,’ Jane placated her.
‘Okay, so why did she call him and why didn’t he want me to go with him this weekend?’
‘Because he thought you’d be bored and had better things to do, like see me for lunch?’
‘No, Jane, we both know why he’s there, and if I look back, almost every weekend over the past month, Nick has been away, ostensibly at an auction.’
‘So what? He’s an antiques dealer, that’s what he does,’ shrugged Jane.
‘And he never asks me to go. In fact, if I suggest it, he finds some reason why I can’t.’
‘Look, Tammy, I understand why you’re suspicious. I would be too. But I’m absolutely sure Nick loves you – he’s even confessed it to Paul. So before you ruin the best thing that’s happened to you in years, you need to confront Nick and have it out. There may be a perfectly legitimate reason why he’s in Southwold. Now, we’d better order if you’ve got to get back to the shop. I’ll have the monkfish.’
‘I’m not hungry. I’ll have the rocket salad and another glass of wine.’
As Jane ordered, Tammy fiddled distractedly with her napkin.
‘What makes it even weirder is that he took me to see a house in Battersea recently and asked what I thought of it; whether I could picture our children running around the garden.’
‘There you are then! What more proof do you need?’
‘None, I suppose,’ said Tammy, dipping a breadstick into the olive paste, ‘but it still doesn’t explain “EN”.’
‘Look, I’ve known Nick for years. He isn’t a game-player, Tammy, I swear. Paul and I were only saying the other night that we both thought this was it for him. Do you love him?’
‘Yes. I’m horribly afraid I do.’
The Butterfly Room Page 33
