‘You can’t go picking up strangers, Helena. You don’t know anything about him,’ said Jake sternly, carefully hingeing the miniature wooden door on the model boat he was making.
‘He could be a murderer,’ Polly added wryly, as if murderers were commonplace. She took a steaming vegetable lasagne out of the Aga and placed it on
the table. ‘Where the devil is that brother of yours? Toby!’ she shouted. ‘Toby!’ ‘Mum, he’s not a murderer,' Helena protested.
‘Well, you’ll only find out when it’s too late.’ She chuckled heartily, wiping her hands on her woollen skirt. Polly was a large woman, not fat, but big-boned and strong. She thought diets were frivolous and spending time in front of the mirror a wasteful indulgence of the very vain. Like a magnificent galleon she dwarfed her husband who trailed behind her like a crude sailing boat. Not that Jake was slight; he might have been small in stature but he could knock the breath out of any man who caused him offence. They looked an odd couple but they were immensely fond of each other and agreed on everything as much out of habit as out of a united opinion. Jake owned a thriving joinery business and Polly ran the house, raised the children and the beds of flowers that blossomed every spring. They were comfortable but not rich. ‘What do I need a lot of money for?’ Jake would say. ‘I can’t take it with me when I die, can I?’
Toby descended the stairs, the loud thumping noise of his feet on the wood shaking the entire building. ‘What’s for lunch, Mum?’ he asked, smelling the heavy aroma of his mother’s celebrated cooking.
‘Vegetable lasagne,’ she said briskly, placing a water jug on the table.
‘My favourite,’ he enthused. Jake had always said that Toby must have holes in the soles of his feet because he had an amazing capacity for food but never gained weight. He was slim and lithe like a rubber plant, with the gypsy black hair of his father and the good humour of his mother. When it came to food he had an appetite that far exceeded both theirs combined.
‘Jake, can’t you finish that after lunch?’ said Polly impatiently. ‘Why we need another model boat is beyond me.’ She sighed, casting her eyes over the rows of models that cluttered up her surfaces like the shelves of a toyshop.
‘What if I bring him here to meet you, then you can judge for yourselves?’ Helena persisted.
‘Bring who here?’ Toby asked, dishing himself a large portion of lasagne.
‘Helena’s met a man in Polperro who wants her to show him all the old smuggling sights for an article he’s writing,’ said Jake.
‘Oh yes?’ Toby exclaimed. ‘That’s a good one.’
‘No, he really is writing an article,’ Helena insisted.
‘Why, did you see it?’ said Toby.
She pulled a face at him. ‘Of course not, stupid. He hasn’t written it yet.’
‘All right, all right. Enough you two,’ said Polly as if she were talking to a couple of rowdy dogs. Tell him to come here for tea, then we can meet him for ourselves.’ Helena smiled triumphantly.
‘How old is he, Helena?’ Jake asked seriously, pulling out a chair and joining them at the table. He dug his fork into the lasagne.
‘Mid to late twenties,’ she replied and shrugged because she didn’t really know. He was bristly and hairy, well built and confident. He could have been anything between twenty-five and forty.
‘And he’s travelling alone?’ he said, chewing on his food. ‘Polly, this lasagne is really very good,’ he added as his wife sat down and helped herself to what was left.
‘Looks like it,’ said Helena.
‘At eighteen you might think you’re a woman, but when I was your age I had to have a chaperone,’ said Polly.
As if you needed a chaperone, Mum, you could flatten the strongest of men with one wave of your big hand,’ Toby chuckled irreverently.
Ramon met Helena as planned on the harbour wall. She was embarrassed to tell him that she had to introduce him to her parents before they’d allow her to
go anywhere with him.
‘My mother thinks you’re a murderer,’ she said and sighed.
‘Well, you can never be too sure.’
‘You come from a strange country, how are we to know, you might be a cannibal.’ She laughed.
‘Well, if I were I think you’d be pretty tasty.’
She smiled coyly but didn’t lower her eyes or blush. She looked at him with her steady blue eyes, assessing him. ‘You think so,’ she replied loftily. He nodded and grinned at her. Her arrogance amused him although he was sure it wasn’t meant to. ‘Well then, I think you’d better come and meet my parents. We live just outside Polperro so you can either travel as I do by bike or walk.’
‘I’ll find a bike,’ he said. ‘We can go together.’
They cycled up the hill out of Polperro, leaving the sleepy harbour and whitewashed houses that were stacked up the banks of the hill like dolls’ houses. It was a clear summer day, the seagulls floating on the salty breeze and the bees humming in the cow-parsley. As they cycled together Ramon told her about Chile and his book of tales. When he told her he was a well-known writer, she didn’t believe him, retorting that she had never heard of him. ‘Well, if you
come to Chile you’ll hear about me,’ he said.
‘Now, why would I want to go to Chile?’ she replied.
‘Because it’s beautiful and a girl like you should see the world,’ he said truthfully.
‘I’ll see the world one day. I’m only eighteen, you know.’
‘You have plenty of time.’
‘And lots of more important places to see first,’ she said. Ramon laughed and shook his head. He was suddenly overcome with the urge to kiss her, but he bicycled on. There would be time enough for that later.
Helena’s house was a pretty white building crawling with an abundance of clematis that climbed up the walls and onto the grey tiled roof above like the tentacles of a floral octopus. Ramon noticed a family of pigeons hopping about by the chimney, watching him from their lofty height with shiny black eyes. ‘Well, it ain’t much but it’s home,’ she said, dismounting and throwing her bike against the wall. ‘Let’s get this over with,’ she added, winking at him mischievously.
Polly Trebeka was not as Ramon had expected. She had pale hair like her daughter which was streaked with a silver grey and tied into a rough bun which
left curly wisps floating about her neck. Her face was completely free of makeup. She seemed the sort of woman who never bothered with creams yet her skin was soft and youthful and her smile that of a young girl. When he was introduced to Jake Trebeka he saw where Helena’s pale blue eyes came from. They were almost the colour of aquamarines. In Jake they were more evident due to his swarthy skin and jet-black hair. He looked like a strange gypsy with the eyes of a hawk. Helena had inherited their best features and was more refined than both of them.
Toby had taken special care to be present for this meeting. He had noticed the excitement burn in his sister’s cheeks when she spoke about this man and was curious to see what it was about him that made him different from all the other young men in Polperro who fell in love with her.
‘Please sit down, Mr. . .’ said Jake politely, looking to his daughter to introduce them. Helena, of course, didn’t know his name. Toby caught her eye and grinned. She shot him a look to tell him to behave himself before turning back to her parents.
‘Campione, Ramon Campione,’ said Ramon and sat down on the sofa. His presence was somehow too big for the small sitting room. Helena was undeterred by the amount of sofa he took up with his long arms and legs and sat down next to him.
‘I’m Jake Trebeka and this is my wife Polly and Toby, our son. It’s a pleasure to meet you. My daughter tells me you’re a writer,’ he said.
Ramon nodded. ‘Yes, I’ve written a couple of books of poetry and some short stories,’ he said and his heavy Spanish accent sounded out of place in such an English home.
‘But you’re not here for a book,’ said Polly, putting down the
tray of tea. She noticed Ramon’s long glossy hair which she thought could have done with a good cut and the mahogany colour of his intelligent eyes. He was so totally foreign. She had never spoken to a foreigner before.
‘No, Señora, I’m writing an article for National Geographic,’ he said.
Polly’s eyes widened and she looked at her daughter in exasperation. ‘Why didn’t you tell us he was writing for National Geographic, Helena?’ she said, placing her large hands on her round hips. ‘I love that magazine, so does Toby, don’t you dear?’ she enthused, feeling more comfortable now she was able to place him in a familiar box.
‘We love it,’ Jake agreed, impressed. ‘What’s the article on besides
smuggling?’
‘Well, it’s meant to be on the land of King Arthur,’ Ramon explained. ‘But Helena suggested the smuggling idea. I haven’t passed it by the editor, though.’
‘Oh, the land of King Arthur. What a magical idea,’ enthused Polly.
‘No it’s not, Mum, it’s unoriginal,’ said Helena bluntly.
‘Helena’s right, it’s very unoriginal,’ Toby agreed, grinning at his sister.
‘That all depends on how it’s written,’ said Ramon, his shiny brown eyes smiling at Helena playfully.
‘Well, I said I’d show him the haunts and you, Dad, could fill him in on the history,’ said Helena breezily, smiling back at Ramon.
‘I’d be happy to help,’ said Jake. ‘The National Geographic, eh. Now that’s a prestigious magazine. Do you take the photographs as well?’
‘Everything,’ said Ramon. Polly nodded in admiration.
‘So you see, he’s not a murderer, is he?’ said Helena. Polly glared at her. Jake laughed. Toby nearly choked on his tea.
‘I hope not,’ he chuckled. ‘Be sure to show him Crag Creek,’ he added.
Helena beamed triumphantly. ‘I’ll show him everything,’ she said.
Helena and Ramon spent the following ten days cycling around the coast. She showed him places he would never have found without her help. She’d prepare picnics for them, which they’d eat on the beaches, chatting with the familiarity of two people who have known each other for a good many years. They talked to people in pubs and fishing boats, explored caves and creeks and swam in the sea. Ramon had wanted to kiss her from the first moment he had endured the arrogance of her conversation. His chance came after a couple of days when they were picnicking quietly on a remote beach. Helena had only packed one piece of her mother’s chocolate cake. Ramon suggested she halve it. Helena refused and placed the whole piece into her mouth at once, giggling triumphantly.
‘Well I’ll just have to go and get it then,’ he said. Helena tried to stand up, silently protesting with her hands for her mouth was too full to speak. But Ramon was too quick for her. He lay on top of her and pinned her onto the sand with his hands. She glared at him with ice-cold eyes that a moment before had been warm and inviting. But to his amusement she couldn’t refuse him verbally, so he placed his mouth onto hers with his Latin ardour and kissed her chocolate lips. Then he devoured the curve in her neck and the rise of her
collarbone. Finally she swallowed hard and was able to speak.
‘Ramon! What are you doing?’ she protested.
‘Shut up, I’ve heard all I want to hear from you for the moment. Now, relax and let me kiss you, I’ve been longing to from the first moment I saw you in Polperro,’ he said and placed his lips on hers again to silence her. She relaxed as he had instructed and closed her eyes, aware only of his warm mouth and the light feeling in her stomach.
Ramon left Polperro after two weeks. He kissed Helena goodbye on the quay where they had first met. She was too proud to show her sorrow so she smiled at him as if she didn’t care. Only afterwards did she cry into the spongy bosom of her mother. ‘I think I love him, Mum,’ she sobbed. Polly wrapped her arms around her and told her that if he loved her he’d come back for her. If he didn’t then she wasn’t to waste any more of her time on him. ‘Summer romances are lovely things in themselves, dear, sometimes they’re best left as they are.’
But Ramon hadn’t forgotten about Helena. He had tried to. He had written up his article and sent it off to his editor. Then he had gone to his parents’ house in Cachagua where he had moped around like a lovesick schoolboy, sat on the beach watching the sea with a heavy heart, thinking of Polperro and the mermaid he had left there. He tried everything to forget her. He slept with a few girls he picked up, but that only made his ardour stronger. He wrote poems about her and a short story about the daughter of a Cornish smuggler. His parents were delighted. He had never been in love before and they had almost despaired of his cold heart and lonely wanderings. So Mariana had talked to him, told him to follow his feelings instead of fighting them. They’re not going to go away, Ramon,’ she had said. ‘Enjoy them and indulge them. That’s what love is for. You’re lucky to feel like that, some people go through life and never experience it.’ So Ramon had called his editor and asked to add one small paragraph.
‘What’s that then?’ his editor asked curiously. He liked the article very much, but they wanted to run it immediately. ‘I hope it’s not long, I won’t have space,’ he said.
‘No, it’s not long. I’ll dictate it to you.’
‘All right. Go ahead.’
‘The most beautiful and magical place of all is Helena Beach in Polperro, a small cove of silver white sand with a pale blue sea of such translucence that
she lures you into the depths of her mysteries until your heart is captured and your soul enslaved. I left knowing that I would never be the same again and that I would be hers for ever. It is only a question of time before I go back to give myself to her, body and soul.’
‘Quite a beach, Ramon,’ said the editor dryly. ‘I shouldn’t allow it to go in, but as it’s you.’ Then he added with a smile, ‘I just hope none of our readers try to find it, they might be disappointed!’
When Helena received the copy of National Ceographic she knew it was from Ramon, although there was no note attached. She tore open the paper and leafed through the pages with a trembling hand. Then she sat at the kitchen table and read his article. She wept at the photographs, taken together, and the way he wrote which was uniquely poetical and touched her heart. When her eyes found the paragraph about ‘Helena Beach’ they were so misted she could barely read it. Blinking away her tears she had to read it again in case she had read too much into it. Then she smiled because she knew that he loved her and that he’d come back for her. He had been worth waiting for after all.
Ramon sat on the beach, thinking of Polperro, thinking of his wife and children sitting on the quay in the harbour and his heart lurched for them. He thought of the way he first felt about Helena and the way he now felt about Estella. Love, he sniffed, what’s the use? It always goes sour in the end, he thought bleakly. How could he love Estella when he hadn’t even been capable of loving his wife properly? It was better not to love at all.
Later when he returned to the house he had made up his mind. He would leave immediately and forget about Estella. He should have forgotten about Helena all those years ago, at least he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.
Opening his maps he cast his eye to India and nodded. India, that's as good a place as any.
Chapter 10
England
Toby Trebeka had stayed the night in London in order to be close to Heathrow airport for his sister’s arrival the following morning. He had volunteered to go. He didn’t like to think of her having to take a train or a bus down to Cornwall, especially not in her fragile state of mind. His parents had told him she had decided to leave Ramon. He was saddened. She had been so happy at the beginning. Wasn’t everyone? He felt sorry for the children, torn between two people like that, feeling themselves to blame for their parents’ failure to love one another. It always affected children more than people realized. Still, he thought, one can’t live one’s life entirely for one’s children. No
t that he’d ever have that problem.
Toby had always been different from the other boys growing up in Polperro. In spite of being of an athletic build he hadn’t enjoyed sport, except for fishing, which the other boys thought incredibly dull and antisocial, especially because he always threw back the fish he had caught. He refused to eat meat - ‘anything with a mother or a face’ he explained. But Toby had sailed off in his father’s small boat to look at the fish in spite of their mockery. He used to sit out there in the rough sea for hours on end with only the seagulls for company and the sound of his own voice humming the bad love songs he listened to on the wireless. He was handsome with pale luminous skin and sensitive eyes that cried easily, usually at things other people wouldn’t have even flinched at, like the sight of a shimmering shoal of fish beneath the surface of the sea or a lone crab running for cover beneath a rock. It was only his cheery nature and sharp wit that prevented him from being bullied at school and because he was so much brighter than the other boys. He earned their respect by humour and by his readiness to laugh at himself. He collected insects, which he kept in large glass containers with all the luxuries they could possibly need from foliage to food, and spent hours nurturing and studying them. He read books on trees and animals and subscribed to the National Geographic. He knew he was different. His mother had told him to ‘make a feature’ of his differences. So he hadn’t tried to like football or rugby, he hadn’t tried to like smoking and sitting in pubs discussing girls. For that matter he hadn’t tried to like girls either -well, not in the way the other boys expected him to ‘like’ them.
When he was about fifteen and the only boy in the class never to have kissed
a girl he forced little Joanna Black up against the wall and kissed her in front of everyone just to prove that he could. He had hated himself for it. Not only because he had hurt Joanna Black and sent her running into the classroom sobbing with the force of a woman robbed of her virginity, but because he hadn’t liked it. It hadn’t felt right. The boys patted him on his back with admiration. Joanna Black was one of the prettiest girls in the school. But the hot rush of pride to his head had been quickly replaced by a burning shame that tugged at his conscience. Joanna Black never spoke to him again. Even when he saw her in the grocery shop years later, she still stuck her nose up and stalked out without so much as a glance. He had tried to apologize, but it felt silly apologizing for something that had happened so long ago.
The Butterfly Box Page 11
