‘I’m not leaving you,’ he said. ‘I’ll come back for you, I promise.’
She looked at him, startled. Her trusting brown eyes gazed up at him in bewilderment. ‘But I will have to leave,’ she stammered.
‘Why? Helena didn’t tell my parents. They think you’ve had a fight with your lover,’ he said. ‘Helena is going to England with the children. I’ll come back for you.’ It seemed so simple, so easy.
She threw her arms around him in gratitude. ‘Thank you, Don Ramon,’ she said and sobbed into his neck.
‘For God’s sake, call me Ramon.’ He laughed. ‘I think we’re intimate enough now to be rid of those silly formalities.’
‘Ramon,’ she breathed. She liked the sound of that and said it again. ‘Ramon.’
He touched her feverish face with the palm of his hand and pressed his lips to hers, breathing in her scent and tasting the salt of her tears.
‘Wait for me, Estella. I will come back. I promise.’ He stood up and left her crying once more into her paiiuelo.
But her tears were no longer of grief but of hope.
Mariana and Ignacio hugged the children with sadness, unsure of whether they’d ever see them again. They embraced their daughter-in-law, repressing the resentment they both felt, wishing her a safe journey to England. Mariana secretly blamed her for the breakdown of the marriage in spite of her reasoning that told her Ramon was more to blame. It felt unnatural to begrudge her son and she had to begrudge someone. She kissed Ramon with a love that was unconditional and wilfully blind. Ignacio wasn’t so blinkered. He had predicted this would happen for some time. Now it had he was deeply saddened but realistic. He hugged Ramon and wished them both well. ‘Don’t let them drift away, Ramon. They need you,’ was all he said before his son climbed into the car and the subdued family disappeared up the track. With sad old eyes Ignacio and Mariana watched until all that was left was the dust the tyres had kicked up and the sorrow that weighed heavily in their hearts.
Estella moved away from the window, afraid of being seen, and retreated into the kitchen. She sat down to chop the vegetables and wait, as he had instructed.
Federica sat in the back of the car in silence. She wanted to cry but she knew she had to be strong for her mother. Crying would only make both her parents sad. So she swallowed hard and strained her neck to prevent the tears. She looked across at her brother who was oblivious to the sudden change that was about to rock their lives. She remembered every word of her parents’ fight and wondered whether it was true that her father didn’t want her any more. In spite of her brave efforts a fat tear trickled down her cheek. Hastily she wiped it away before anyone spotted it. She opened her box and tried desperately to find in its magic her father’s love.
Chapter 8
The next few days were suspended in a surreal limbo. While Helena packed up the things that were precious to her and her children, Ramon took Hal and Federica for long walks up the beach with Rasta and into Calle Valparaiso for palta sandwiches and juice. Everything seemed normal. Beneath the surface, however, things were far from normal.
The night they returned Federica awoke crying. When her mother rushed to her she discovered that her daughter had wet her bed. She pulled her child into her arms, kissing her damp cheeks, reassuring her that it was okay; even grown-ups wet their beds occasionally. Federica didn’t understand what had happened and buried her face in her mother’s bosom in shame. But Helena understood only too well and longed for life to settle down in Polperro. She would have taken Federica to her bed had Hal not already occupied the space between Ramon and herself, the space usually left for indifference and self-pity. He had shuffled into his parents’ room crying, having had a nightmare. But Helena knew that his nightmare was nothing more than a symptom, like Federica’s incontinence, of the stress their marriage breakdown was causing them.
They only had themselves to blame.
When Ramon slept he dreamed of Estella. When he was awake he fantasized about her. It was only because of Estella that he was able to get through the traumatic few days that ensued. Long days of packing up the house, organizing estate agents to put it up for sale, travel agents to arrange Helena and the children’s trip to England. He longed to be on the road again, free from the turbulence Helena had invited into their lives. He’d buy an apartment in Santiago, somewhere to have as a base. Somewhere for him alone, without the constraints of domesticity, where he could come and go without explanation. He arranged to wire money to England, enough for them all to live well. Helena should have been grateful, his offer was generous, more than generous, but she only felt bitterness. Like his gifts, Ramon found it easy to buy people’s affection, as long as he didn’t have to invest his time, or himself. She accepted because she had to, for the sake of the children, but she would have preferred to have thrown it back in his face.
Federica curled into a ball. The light from the street lamp scattered her room with an orange glow. The light used to be reassuring. It used to make her feel
secure. But not any more. She pulled her knees up to her chest and sucked her thumb. She had gone to the bathroom at last twice in ten minutes. Not that she needed to go, but because she was afraid of wetting her bed again. Her father had kissed her goodnight. He had even told her a story. One of his adventures. She had listened, seated on his knee as usual. But when he had kissed her goodnight she had found herself wanting more. A longer kiss, a longer hug. When he had left the room she felt deprived, as if he hadn’t loved her enough. She no longer felt secure and cherished. She felt needy. She longed for her mother to embrace her and hold her against her body. She lay awake in bed devising plans to justify going into their room in the middle of the night. A nightmare was Hal’s excuse, she had to think of something different. So she pretended to be ill. Her mother had been sympathetic and allowed her to sleep in their bed on the second night, but on the third Hal had had another nightmare so she was swiftly taken back to her room where she cried herself to sleep. She was frightened about going to England. She didn’t want to leave Viña del Mar, or Chile or Abuelito and Abuelita. She didn’t want things to change. Most of all she wanted Mama and Papa to be friends again. But as much as they put on a show, she knew they no longer liked one another. She
had heard everything.
Finally the day of their departure arrived. With solemn faces they watched as Ramon loaded up the car with their cases. Federica couldn’t stop herself crying. She didn’t want to leave her father. She didn’t know when she would see him again. In Viña she had been happy to wait, after all it was his home, he was bound to come back at some stage. He always had. But now her new home wouldn’t be his home.
He picked her up in his strong arms and held her tightly, kissing her face. ‘Papa loves you, Fede. Papa loves you so much. Just remember that, mi amor. Papa will always love you, even if he’s not with you. When the sun shines and you feel that heat on your body, that’s Papa’s love. You understand?’ Federica nodded, too distressed to speak. She didn’t want him to let her go. But he had to. They had a flight to catch and the taxi was waiting to take them to Santiago. Helena had thought it less traumatic for the children if Ramon said goodbye to them at the house and didn’t accompany them to the airport. He picked up his son, who didn’t really understand what was going on, and kissed his plump face. ‘Papa loves you too, Hal. Be good for Mama, won’t you,’ he choked, closing his eyes, burying his face in the child’s glossy black hair.
Federica clutched the box against her and waved at her father who stood forlornly in the road, waving back with an unsteady smile, like a clumsy giant. She turned to look out of the back of the car and waved until they had turned the corner and he had gone. Then she sat slouched against the window, watching the houses pass by, numb with sadness. She felt as if her insides had been scooped out, leaving a gaping hole that only her father could fill. She worried all the way to the airport about Rasta. She worried that no one would walk him and that he’d start to bark again out of s
heer boredom and misery. It was only when they were on the plane that she stopped crying. She had never been in a plane before and it fascinated and excited her. She took her mother’s hand as they careered up the runway. Helena smiled down at her lovingly and squeezed her hand.
When the lights were turned out and Hal and Federica lay sleeping in their chairs, Helena reflected on the past few days, relieved that they were over. She would put Chile behind her, Ramon too. She’d start a new life in England. She felt drained of energy, depleted of emotion. She replayed the telephone conversation she had had with her mother and found the tears welling in her somnolent eyes. She had been so busy playing the glad game for the children she hadn’t allowed herself the luxury of crying. Now they were asleep she wept silently, relieving the strain in her neck and jaw. The thought of her mother’s voice made her stomach flutter with longing. She had heard her father in the background and suddenly she had wanted more than anything in the world to run to them, as she had done as a child, and let them soothe her with their gentle words and reassuring presence. They had been saddened to hear that Helena had decided to leave her husband, but glad that they were coming home.
Jake and Polly Trebeka had watched helplessly as their daughter had married and gone to live on the other side of the world. They had both liked Ramon in spite of the vast difference in culture that had prevented them from understanding him. They were never given the time to get to know him properly. Both would have preferred a gentle Cornishman for their daughter. But Helena had been consumed by him almost from the minute she met him. The first indication of his feelings for her and off she had gone to follow him wherever he chose to go, like an adoring shadow. Of course, Polly knew all about their troubles and blamed Ramon entirely for the disintegration of their marriage.
She had had her reservations right from the start. He was from a different world, a wanderer and it was all very well while they floated about just the two of them, but there would come a point when Helena would want a family. Ramon had always been selfish. The world revolved for him alone and she doubted he’d ever change his ways for anyone. Well, now it had imploded. Jake and Polly were distraught but realistic. Helena was still young, only thirty years old. There was plenty of time to find a nice, kind Cornishman to look after her as she deserved to be looked after. Ramon was an unfortunate error; but he was now in the past.
Polly immediately set about preparing for their arrival. She spent hours deliberating whether Hal and Federica would like to share or whether they’d prefer to have their own rooms. The house was large. There was space enough for everyone. Finally, after having discussed it with her husband she decided to give them their own, each with twin beds, so that if they felt lonely they could share. She aired Helena’s old bedroom, still with the clothes and trinkets she had left behind packed neatly in the cupboards. She had never cleared them out. She hadn’t had to. As far as she was concerned that room had always belonged to Helena.
Chapter 9
Ramon walked up the beach and experienced for the first time in his life the hollow pangs of bereavement. It was evening and he was alone. He hadn't even been able to take Rasta for a walk, for without Federica there didn’t seem much point. So he had walked past the dog’s small prison looking the other way and ignoring the animal’s excited breath and husky barking. His heart ached with remorse and self-loathing and yet he didn’t consider changing his ways as Helena had asked him to. He hadn’t even offered to try. He wallowed in his misery, enhanced by the natural melancholy of the dying day. He turned his weary eyes to the sea and tried to imagine their new home in England. He remembered Polperro and the first time he had seen Helena. He imagined it the way it was then.
He sat on the sand and rested his elbows on his knees looking out over the choppy Pacific Ocean that stretched out before him, untamed and free. He had been like the sea then, going wherever the tide of his imagination took him. Those were the days when he was young and adventurous and blessed with immortality. Or so he had thought. He could do anything he wanted. So he had
travelled, sometimes sleeping under the stars, other times boarding with strangers generous enough to take him in. He had been born into a world of privilege and yet money had never meant a great deal to him. As long as he was on the move he was happy. At first he had written poems, which a friend of his father’s, who owned a small publishing firm in Santiago, had published for him. It had been immensely exciting seeing his work in print for the first time, with his name in big letters, positioned in the bookshop window for all to see. But he didn’t care too much for fame either, he was happier wandering the world unnoticed. Then he had written a collection of short stories, inspired by his adventures and embroidered with his fantasies. After that he was no longer an unknown in Chile; he began to be recognized. His book sold in bookshops all over the country. His picture appeared in El Mercurio and La Estrella and alongside the articles he wrote for various magazines such as Geo Chile. His desire to be creative was insatiable, nothing could pin him down. He’d stay in Chile long enough to see his family and then he’d be gone again, as if he were afraid his own shadow might catch up with him.
When he first met Helena he was writing a piece for National Geographic about the historic sights of Cornwall. He had been inspired to write the story
having met a weathered old seaman who had grown up in St Ives before joining the Navy and finally ending up in Valparaiso. He had woven a compelling tale of the land of King Arthur and Ramon had been struck with the urge to go to see it for himself. He hadn’t been disappointed. The villages and towns were stuck in the past as if the modern world had not yet discovered them. The houses were whitewashed and built into the rich green hills that fell sharply into the sea. The bays were solitary coves haunted by the ghosts of smugglers and shipwrecks. The roads were little more than narrow, winding lanes lined with tall hedgerows scattered with cow-parsley and long grasses. He had been enchanted. But if it hadn’t been for Helena he would only have scratched at the surface.
Helena Trebeka had been sitting on the quayside in Polperro when Ramon had first seen her. She was slim, carefree, with long wavy hair of such a pale blonde that he was immediately struck by it. He sat down to watch her, making mental notes in order to put her into one of his stories. He imagined she was the granddaughter of a smuggler. A girl with a wild nature and rebellious inclination to do exactly as she pleased; he wasn’t far wrong. She caught him staring at her and stared back in defiance. Not wanting to offend her he walked
over and placed himself next to her so that their legs dangled over the edge together.
‘You’re very beautiful, like a mermaid,’ he mused, smiling at her. She was caught off guard. Englishmen were never that poetic or daring and most of the men she knew were afraid of her.
‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, I have legs not fins,’ she said and smiled back vivaciously.
‘So I see. Much more practical, I should imagine.’
‘Where are you from?’ she asked. He spoke with a heavy accent and his black hair and brown skin were new to her, as were the leather moccasins he wore on his feet.
‘I’m from Chile,’ he replied.
‘Where’s that?’ she asked, unimpressed.
‘In South America.’
‘Oh.’
‘There is a world outside Polperro, you know,’ he teased.
‘I know,’ she said tartly, not wanting him to think her provincial. ‘So what are you doing here in my little town?’ she asked, unable to curtail her curiosity.
‘I’m writing an article about Cornwall for a magazine,’ he said.
‘Do you like it?’
‘What, Cornwall?’
‘Yes.’
‘So far, I like it very much.’
‘Where have you been?’ she asked, smiling, for she knew he wouldn’t have been to the secret places that weren’t to be found in guidebooks. So he listed the towns he’d visited and some of the history he’d picked up.
&n
bsp; ‘You know, my grandfather was a smuggler,’ she said proudly.
‘A smuggler.’ He laughed, congratulating himself on his acute powers of perception.
‘A smuggler,’ she repeated.
‘What did he smuggle?’
‘Brandy and tobacco, that sort of thing. They used to cart it by the wagonload to Bodmin Moor where they would hide it. They’d sell it for a fortune in London.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Now that’s the sort of thing you should be writing in your article.
Everyone’s bored of King Arthur. Why not write something original?’
‘Well, I—’
‘I could show you all the secret coves and bays and Dad could fill you in on the details,’ she said impulsively. Ramon thought that sounded like a good idea. At least if the smuggling story didn’t work he’d have some time to get to know this intriguing character who was presenting him with a tempting challenge. She wasn’t like other girls he’d met. She was outspoken and confident.
‘Okay. I’d like that,’ he replied, surprised at her forwardness that contradicted sharply her almost angelic looks.
Jake and Polly Trebeka were appalled when Helena skipped in for lunch to tell them that she had made a new friend, a writer from somewhere in South America, whom she was going to show around all the old smuggling sights.
The Butterfly Box Page 10
