The Butterfly Box

by Santa Montefiore

  Scrambling into Helena’s bed Hal and Federica excitedly tore open the tissue paper on each carefully wrapped present. ‘How come Father Christmas found us in England?’ Federica asked her mother, squealing in delight as she pulled out a brand new paint box.

  ‘He’s very clever,’ she replied, watching as Federica folded each bit of wrapping paper neatly in a pile while Hal threw his on the floor for someone else to pick up later.

  ‘I hope he found Papa in Santiago,’ said Federica, remembering how both parents used to get stockings too. ‘I wish he were here,’ she said wistfully, turning one of her gifts over in her hand thoughtfully. She wanted him to see her opening her presents although she knew no present would ever beat the butterfly box he had given her. ‘Where’s yours, Mama?’ she asked, noticing that Helena didn’t have anything to open.

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  ‘Father Christmas left it outside your bedroom by mistake,’ sm ing in her dressing gown and slippers with her greying hair long

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  her shoulders. She handed her daughter the stocking.

  Thank you, Mum.’ She smiled at her mother, making space for her on the edge of the bed.

  Polly sat down and touched her daughter’s cheek with her large hand. ‘Don’t thank me, thank Father Christmas,’ she said and winked.

  Federica ate her breakfast in silence. She had loved her presents, especially the Snoopy dog that came with lots of different outfits so that she could change him for each new occasion. Her grandmother had put little gifts on their places at breakfast and her grandfather had turned the Christmas tree lights on making the house look festive. She loved the snow and longed to run outside and play in it. But nothing could make up for the absence of her father. She tried not to think about him, she wasn’t meant to be sad on Christmas Day and she didn’t want to spoil it for her mother by sulking, but in spite of her smiles she missed him so much she wanted to cry. Helena noticed her shiny eyes and knew immediately what was wrong. ‘Why don’t you and Hal finish breakfast now and go and play outside. You can build a snowman if you like,’ she suggested kindly, hoping that the snow might distract her. But nothing could.

  Federica didn’t want to go to church even though she knew the Applebys would be there. She didn’t feel like it. She didn’t feel like watching all the other children with their fathers, looking at her and wondering why she didn’t have one too. She wanted to hide. But her mother wouldn’t let her and told her that she had to go to church to thank God for all the wonderful things He had given her during the year and to thank Him for giving the world baby Jesus. On the way to church she thought about what her mother had said. God had given her lots of wonderful things, Hester, for example, and she liked Polperro. But she couldn’t help but feel deeply let down. If God could give her Hester why couldn’t He give her back her father? She resolved to ask Him in her prayers.

  The church was said to be so old that it was listed in the Domesday Book. Toby had taken Federica there when she had first arrived in Polperro to show her the grave of Old Hatty Browne, the witch burnt by the villagers for sorcery in 1508. Toby added darkly that on very clear nights she was often spotted in the yard picking herbs for her potions, with which she would minister to the dead. Federica had been enchanted and wanted to know more, so they had sat among the daffodils and talked until sundown.

  The church itself was small and quaint with a sloping roof and rickety porch,

  surrounded by snow-capped graves and a low brick wall to keep the dogs out. For some inexplicable reason there was nothing they liked better than to cock their legs on the gravestones. Nuno said it was due to the pungent scent of the deceased that rendered the earth irresistible to them but Inigo lamented their lack of respect and said that they enjoyed ‘pissing on the deceased because they couldn’t piss on the living’. The nave and balcony only managed to seat about fifty people but due to the unlikely charisma of the Reverend Boyble there was rarely a spare seat in the place. Helena had brought her children up in the Catholic faith, because Ramon was Catholic. But now she was back in England and on her own she had reverted to the Protestant faith with which she had been raised. It gave her a sense of belonging.

  Everyone was dressed in their best coats and hats. Federica had squeezed into an old tweed coat of her mother’s that Polly had kept sealed in a large white box with tissue paper. She didn’t like it because it was scratchy and a little too small, but Helena thought she looked very smart and refused to let her take it off. Consequently she tugged at the collar throughout the service. The church smelt of pine tree and perfume, mingled with the waxy scent of the candles. Old Mrs Hammond played the organ with faltering precision, her

  shrivelled face pressed up against the hymn book because she was too proud to admit she needed glasses. A murmur passed through the congregation when the Appleby family entered and took their places at the front of the church. Nuno trotted in first on the balls of his feet with his tortoise nose in the air and a devout expression frozen onto his face. ‘Girls, you’re not a pair of pious penguins. Hold your hands together in front of you like vestal virgins,’ he hissed to Molly and Hester whose shoulders hunched up and shuddered as they tried their best to suppress their giggles. Hester caught Federica’s eye as she passed and winked at her. Federica forced a thin smile in return but she didn’t feel like smiling. Ingrid swept by dressed in a velvet turban and long green velvet coat that reached to the ground and trailed along behind her as if she were an ageing bride. She greeted everyone with a gracious nod of her noble head but she didn’t see any of their faces because her eyes had misted over with the beauty of the music. Inigo shuffled down in a mangy brown duffel coat and felt hat pulled low over his ill-tempered face followed by Sam, who was already bored, Bea in a short skirt, Lucien and Joey.

  Once the Applebys had settled into their seats the Reverend Boyble sprung into the centre of the nave like a jolly frog. His bulbous brown eyes swept

  cheerfully over the attentive faces of his congregation and he smiled a very wide, charming smile. ‘Welcome,’ he enthused in a surprisingly high, thin voice. ‘Welcome everyone. Today is a very special day because it is Jesus’ birthday.’

  Sam yawned, opening his mouth wide like a hippo. The Reverend Boyble noticed his yawn and chuckled. ‘I see some of you would prefer to be in bed on this glorious morning, or perhaps you’re tired of opening all those presents. I thank you for making the effort to come.’ Sam sat up stiffly and tried to prevent his face from flushing by focusing on the crucifix that hung above the altar.

  ‘Effort, hmmm . . .’ murmured Reverend Boyble thoughtfully, rubbing his thumbs over the surface of his prayer book. ‘Effort is a virtuous thing. It’s all too easy to allow laziness to lead us down the path of evil. I wonder whether you all know the story of the two frogs in the milk bowl.’ He cast his eyes about the faces that stared back at him expectantly. ‘They were stuck and couldn’t get out. It would have been quite easy for the stronger frog to have stepped on the weaker frog, thereby ensuring him a swiff leg-up to safety. But the stronger frog didn’t go for the easy option. Instead he continued to kick and kick together with the weaker frog in an enormous effort to throw himself

  up the side of the bowl. Well, his efforts were rewarded. They kicked so hard and for so long that the milk turned to butter, thereby allowing them to simply hop out with no trouble at all. That is effort, my good people. It brings its own rewards.’ A murmur of admiration rippled through the congregation. Today is Jesus’ birthday, so let us celebrate with the first carol on your service sheet, “Away in a Manger.’”

  Federica knew some carols because they had sung them at school in Chile, although the words had been in Spanish. It had been an age since she had last spoken Spanish, she thought unhappily, and she attempted to sing along quietly the way she had been taught in Viña. Suddenly all the homesickness and longing she had suffered silently for so long rebelled against her failing will and clawed their way into
her throat, causing her eyes to water in discomfort and her chin to tremble. In her mind’s eye she saw scenes of her past opening up to her like a vision of a lost world. Her heart stalled when she saw the dark face of her father emerge in all its magnificence and as much as she tried to hold back the tears they cascaded down her cheeks because she searched his eyes for love but found only indifference. At once she felt desperately empty and sad. All those wasted hours believing he’d come and visit. How naive she

  had been. He had obviously forgotten about them because it was Christmas and he had never missed a Christmas, ever. She knew now that he would never come and her spirits sunk lower than they had ever sunk. Helena placed a hand on her shoulder, sensing her daughter’s distress. She too missed Chile and in a strange way, Ramon. But she was more practised at hiding her melancholy and sang more heartily than ever.

  During the sermon Reverend Boyble spoke about the meaning of Christmas with great enthusiasm. ‘Christmas is a time for love and forgiveness,’ he preached. Federica listened to him but she felt no love or forgiveness, just an aching wound that refused to heal. As the full enormity of her father’s rejection reached her understanding, her vision misted until the candles glowed like small suns and Reverend Boyble was reduced to a black blur, his voice no more than a low hum in the distance. She felt the heat prickle on her skin as she made one last effort to suppress a sob, but her chest was too small to withstand such a violent tirade. Abruptly she stood up and shuffled blindly past her grandparents who looked at each other in bewilderment. She then ran up the aisle, pushed open the heavy oak door and burst out into the snow where she was finally able to let herself go and howl into the icy air.

  Holding her stomach she bent over and cried at the injustice of the world. She loathed Christmas and she loathed England. Suddenly she felt a heavy hand on her back. She stopped crying and straightened up. Wiping her face with her glove she lifted her eyes to find the dark eyes of her father staring into hers with love and remorse. She swallowed hard and blinked.

  ‘Papa?’ she croaked, catching her breath in her throat with surprise.

  ‘Fede. I’m sorry.’ He drew her kicking and screaming into his arms.

  ‘I hate you, I hate you!’ she sobbed, as he held her in a firm bear hug, burying his face into her hot neck, whispering words of tenderness and encouragement. As she felt herself enveloped in the familiar smell of his body she closed her eyes and stopped fighting, giving in to the security of his embrace, conquered by her love for him. Finally he crouched down and held her by her narrow shoulders.

  ‘I missed you,’ he said emphatically, searching her expression for submission. He wished he had missed her much sooner. ‘I got your letter,’ he added, grinning at her sheepishly.

  ‘Is that why you came?’

  ‘No. I was always going to come and see you. I’ve just been very busy. But

  your letter made me realize that I couldn’t leave it any longer.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ she said and smiled timidly.

  There, that’s better.’ He wiped her face with his thumbs. ‘You have so much to tell me. You’ve been living an adventure. I want to hear everything. Do you like England?’

  ‘Sort of. I have a best friend called Hester.’ She sniffed, cheering up.

  ‘What about that dog Mama was going to buy you?’ he asked.

  ‘She hasn’t yet.’

  Ramon rolled his eyes. ‘Oh dear. Do you want one, as a Christmas present?’

  ‘No thank you. You’re my Christmas present and I couldn’t ask for anything else.’

  Ramon had forgotten how much he loved his daughter. It had been too easy to forget. But now, as he held her against him again, his heart reeled with tenderness.

  Suddenly the door opened with a low groan and out walked Helena. When she saw Federica in the embrace of a strange man she was about to object. But then she recognized the wide shoulders and the strong back and felt her head swim with uncertainty. When he turned around to face her she stood blinking

  at him with her jaw open, not knowing what to say and fighting the impulse to slap him around the face and slate him for not having come months ago.

  ‘Helena.’ He said and smiled at her.

  Helena stared back at him, her face pale in the blue winter light, her lips quivering, anxiously trying to find the words. ‘Ramon,’ she replied in confusion. Then added clumsily, ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘As there was no one at the house I presumed you’d be at church,’ he replied casually, as if he dropped in all the time.

  ‘Yes, we are at church,’ she retorted stiffly, finding her wits again. ‘We’re at church. Now if you’d kindly let Fede go we’d like to finish the service,’ she said tightly, taking Federica by the arm.

  ‘I’m not leaving him,’ Federica hissed, grabbing onto his hand.

  ‘Fede, he’ll be here when we come out.’

  ‘I’m not leaving him,’ Federica repeated before dissolving into tears again.

  ‘It looks like I’m going to have to join you,’ said Ramon with a smirk, squeezing his daughter’s hand.

  Helena pursed her lips together and let out a long-suffering sigh. ‘There’s very little room,’ she argued, not wanting to incite the curiosity of the

  congregation by walking back up the aisle with Ramon.

  I’ll find somewhere,’ he said, shrugging his big shoulders.

  ‘As you wish,’ Helena conceded, reluctantly opening the door.

  Ramon followed her into the church, which he dwarfed with the sheer scale of his charisma. As they walked down the aisle Helena felt innumerable pairs of inquisitive eyes settle on her husband, eager to know who the strange, dark foreigner was. But Federica placed a proprietorial hand in his so that no one would be in any doubt that he was her father.

  Jake and Polly’s eyes widened with surprise when Helena asked them to move up to make space for Ramon. They sat staring at him with their mouths agape like floundering fish. Fortunately Reverend Boyble was still merrily giving his sermon about the meaning of Christmas so they didn’t have the opportunity to ask questions or voice their shock. Federica grinned up at her father and held his warm hand in both of hers to prevent him from getting away. Hal squeezed closer to his mother, sensing her uneasiness and feeling fear but not understanding why. Helena wished she hadn’t been so unfriendly, but she was in shock, what did he expect? He could have let her know. A letter or a telephone call would have been nice. She sat scowling into her prayer book trying

  to draw some peace from the words written on its pages, anything rather than look at him. She struggled with her pride, which longed for him to see her happy and settled and regret letting her go, and her heart, which suffered the weight of her memories and yearned for him still. Ramon sat back and glanced at the unfamiliar faces around him. Then he settled his gaze on his daughter whose tear-stained face glowed with love and pride. He was happy he had come.

  Chapter 18

  Once the service was over the church turned into a parochial cocktail party as the village wished each other a very happy Christmas. Ramon shook hands with Jake and kissed Polly on her stiff cheek as if he had seen them the week before. He lifted a reluctant, wriggling Hal into his arms and kissed his face before handing him back to Helena.

  ‘Does it surprise you that he doesn’t recognize you?’ she hissed.

  Ramon lowered his eyes and shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave it this long,’ he replied, ashamed.

  ‘You never do,’ she retorted bitterly.

  Federica took him by the hand and led him through the throng of strange people to meet the Applebys.

  ‘This is my father,’ she said proudly to Ingrid who extended her hand graciously.

  ‘It’s a great pleasure to meet you. Fede has told us so much about you,’ she said and smiled broadly.

  ‘You must be Hester’s mother,’ he said.

  Ingrid’s face expressed her surprise. ‘Why, yes I am,’
she replied, wondering how he had worked that one out.

  ‘Fede’s lucky to have a best friend in Hester,’ he said. Federica squeezed his hand because he knew nothing about Hester except what she had told him outside.

  Ingrid placed her monocle in her eye to study him in more detail. He was devastatingly handsome with the remote, mysterious eyes of a wolf. She also found his accent most charming; his was genuine, Nuno’s was not.

  ‘Come with me, I’d like to introduce you to the rest of my family,’ she said, gesticulating to her father and husband who stood talking to each other because they found the after-church chitchat with the village superficial and tiresome. Both longed to be back at the manor with their books. ‘Pa, Inigo, it gives me great pleasure to introduce Ramon Campione,’ she said and smiled broadly. ‘Isn’t he quite the most handsome thing Polperro has ever seen?’

  Ramon chuckled to hide his discomfort but Federica’s grin increased until it was in danger of swallowing up her entire face.

  ‘Really, darling, you shouldn’t judge people by their appearance. I apologize for my wife,’ said Inigo, shaking Ramon firmly by the hand.

  ‘“It is only shallow people who do not judge by appearances,”’ said Nuno, bowing to Ramon.

  ‘Ah, you’re an admirer of Oscar Wilde,’ he replied, bowing back.

  Nuno’s eyes flickered their approval. ‘So are you. Now I hold you in great esteem. When can you come to lunch? I would like to show you my library,’ said Nuno, turning to his daughter and raising an eyebrow. ‘I could tell young Federica comes from a learned family.’

  ‘Ramon is a famous writer,’ said Ingrid, who knew all about him from Helena. ‘He’s highly regarded in Chile.’