The Butterfly Box

by Santa Montefiore

  ‘I liked your father very much.' said Sam carefully. He watched her mouth twist with misery and her eyes glisten again with tears. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought him up. It must be very painful for you,’ he apologized, touching her arm.

  ‘I miss him, that’s all,’ she sniffed.

  ‘Of course you do,’ he agreed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, a gesture he often did when he felt awkward.

  ‘Sometimes it’s fine. Then all of a sudden, for no reason, I think of him and feel sad.’

  ‘That’s only natural.’

  ‘I know. Is Mama having a serious boyfriend natural too?’ she asked and a large tear wobbled on her upper lip before dropping into the bluebells.

  Sam stopped walking and instinctively drew the sobbing child into his arms. ‘So this is what it’s all about,’ he said, hugging her. She nodded but her throat was too strained to speak. ‘It was always going to happen, Fede. Look, let’s sit down and talk about this,’ he suggested, patting her gently on the back before releasing her.

  They sat in the sun among the bluebells, Federica cross-legged and Sam

  with his long legs stretched out in front of him leaning back against the trunk of a tree. Federica couldn’t believe that only a moment ago she had been in his arms. To her shame her tears ceased immediately and she blinked across at him, her cheeks aflame.

  ‘She’s had boyfriends before, but Arthur wants to marry her,’ she said in despair.

  ‘What’s this Arthur like?’

  ‘He’s all right, I suppose. He’s not very interesting. In fact, I think he’s very dull. He’s quite fat and has no hair, but he laughs at all Mama’s jokes and tells her how wonderful she is all the time.’

  ‘What does he do?’

  ‘He’s a wine merchant. An old wine merchant. He must be at least fifty. Mama says he’s very clever and has a very good job. He’s reliable, dependable and nice. Yes, that’s the word, nice. Nice, nice, nice.’

  ‘But he’s not your father,’ said Sam.

  ‘No,’ she croaked, ‘he’s not Papa and he never will be.’

  ‘I thought your parents were still married?’

  ‘They are.’

  Then your mother would have to get a divorce in order to marry this boring Arthur person,’ said Sam.

  ‘Yes, she would.’

  ‘Well, that would take ages.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Has your mother agreed to marry him?’

  ‘No, she hasn’t yet. I just overheard them talking.’

  ‘What did she say when he asked her?’

  ‘Well, Arthur goes, “You’re a delicate flower in need of protecting,”’ said Federica in a low voice. Sam laughed at her impersonation. Federica’s mouth curled into a small smile. ‘Then Mama said, “I wish I were as beautiful as a flower.” To which Arthur replied, “With a little watering you’ll blossom into one. Marry me, Helena.’” Federica grimaced, blinking away tears that now seemed out of place amid the humour of her recital. ‘I nearly threw up. Mama might be many things but she is certainly no flower. What would Papa think?’ Sam was chuckling. He had never bothered to talk to Federica before, he had always thought her rather dull and quiet, but he was seeing a side to her that he never knew she had. He didn’t blame his sisters at all for liking her.

  ‘It’s clear that she’s enjoying the attentions of a kind man. You don’t know the dynamics of your parents’ relationship. As your father was away all the time your mother must have felt neglected. Dull Arthur obviously makes her feel attractive. She’s enjoying the attention,’ said Sam, believing he had summed up the entire situation in a couple of sentences. He took off his glasses and began to clean them on his shirt.

  ‘But if she marries him we’ll have to move away from Polperro,’ said Federica in panic.

  ‘Ah, now that is a problem,’ he agreed.

  Federica’s face lengthened again in gloom. ‘I couldn’t bear to move away. I love it here,’ she said huskily.

  ‘I know Molly and Hester wouldn’t want you to move away either.'

  ‘What can I do?’

  ‘You can’t do anything. But if I were you,’ he said loftily, ‘I would talk to your mother and ask her what she intends to do.’

  ‘But I can’t admit that I was eavesdropping.’

  ‘Why not? I eavesdrop all the time. There’s nothing wrong with it. If people don’t want to be heard they should make sure no one can hear them. It was

  their fault. Arthur’s not only dull but obviously stupid too,’ he said. Sam had little tolerance for stupid people.

  ‘I suppose I could talk to her.’

  ‘Of course you could.’

  ‘But she’s only interested in talking about Hal. I don’t think I’d make the slightest bit of difference.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Sam, nodding his head. ‘Some mothers adore their sons to the exclusion of the rest of the family.'

  ‘Not in your family.’

  ‘No. Mum has always been far too vague to adore any of us too much. She’s not really on the planet, you know. She always looks rather surprised that she had any of us at all. I think if someone told her the stork brought us into the world she’d believe it. She has no memory of childbirth at all. We still manage to amaze her.’

  ‘Your family is the nicest I’ve ever met. I wish mine was like yours,’ she said wistfully.

  ‘One’s own problems always seem so much greater than anyone else’s because you never see past the veneer of other people’s families. Believe me,

  each family hides skeletons in its cupboards. I’m sure you’d be surprised by some of ours,’ he said and laughed.

  But Federica didn’t believe him. She doubted they even knew what a skeleton looked like.

  ‘I imagine it’s only natural that Mama should want to marry again,’ said Federica, picking a bluebell and turning it around between her fingers.

  ‘Everyone needs someone,’ said Sam.

  ‘Not Papa. He doesn’t need anyone at all.’

  ‘You never really talk about your father. Is that because you’re ashamed of him?’

  Federica wouldn’t normally have answered such a personal question but she felt safe with Sam. ‘Yes,’ she replied, breaking the bluebell into small pieces. ‘I wish we were a normal family like everyone else’s. Like yours. When I was smaller, in Chile, Papa used to take me down to the beach or into Viña to eat palta sandwiches in the sunshine. We’d go and stay with my grandparents in Cachagua. It was lovely then. Although he didn’t come home very often, when he did it was like Heaven and I always knew when he left that he’d come back. His clothes were in the cupboards, his books in the sitting room. There was

  evidence of his presence everywhere. Now there’s nothing. It’s as if he’s died -worse, because if he was dead everyone would make an effort to remember him. But no one talks about him at all. You see, in Viña everyone knew of Ramon Campione. He was well-known in Chile. He was a famous writer, a poet, and everyone thought he was very clever and gifted. I was so proud of him. Here no one’s ever heard of him. If it weren’t for his letters I’d wonder whether I’d made the whole thing up.’

  ‘Oh, Fede,’ he sighed. ‘I’m so sorry. It’s hideous for you. Because you never show your feelings or talk about him we just assumed you were all right. But, how can you be? It’s monstrous of him to desert you like that.’

  ‘Is it really that easy to forget?’

  ‘He forgets because he’s probably plagued with guilt when he remembers. In that sense it’s the easy option, total avoidance.’

  ‘I’ve always put him on a pedestal,’ she exclaimed, pulling a thin smile.

  ‘No one’s infallible, Fede. Not even Ramon.’

  ‘But seven years is worse than careless,’ she argued.

  ‘Has it really been so long?’ Sam asked, feeling very sorry for her. She reminded him of one of his mother’s broken animals.

  ‘Yes. He used to write all the time. I haven’t ha
d a letter from him for about six months. I still write to him, but not as much as I used to. I’m frightened I’ll forget him. I don’t want him to turn up one day and not recognize him.’ Her voice thinned again as her throat constricted with sadness. She opened her eyes very wide in an attempt to force her tears back. ‘I should be angry with him. But I’m not. I just want him to come home.’

  ‘Can’t you talk to your mother about this?’ he asked, shuffling over to sit beside her so he could place an arm around her.

  ‘I could. But Mama’s very fragile. She hates Papa so I can’t mention his name in the house. Hal doesn’t even remember him. Arthur’s become more of a father to Hal than Papa ever was. But he’ll never be a father to me, never,’ she sobbed and the tears finally rebelled and spilled out over her cheeks.

  Sam tried to comfort her by squeezing her around the shoulders and giving her the best advice he could think of. ‘Talk to your mother. The most worrying thing is the doubt. You don’t know if she’s said “yes” to boring Arthur and you don’t know what that means for you if she has said “yes”. You need to find out. She might have no intention of moving away from Polperro.’

  Federica nodded her head and sniffed. ‘I’ll ask her.’

  ‘Good. You must let me know what she says.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘You can come and talk to me any time, you know,’ he said. ‘Hester’s all very well, but sometimes a grown-up is better. Especially if you can’t talk to your mother. Everyone needs someone to talk to.’

  ‘Who do you talk to?’

  ‘Nuno or Dad. Mostly Nuno, I suppose.’

  ‘Isn’t he a bit mad?’ said Federica.

  Sam smiled at her. ‘Eccentric, but not mad. In fact, he’s the cleverest man I’ve ever met. He taught me more than I would have ever learnt at school. He’s far too wise for his own good.’

  ‘I wish I were wise.’

  ‘You will be one day. But no one can teach you wisdom, they can teach you knowledge and warn you so that you avoid the mistakes they made. But on the whole you need to live to acquire wisdom. “ ’Tis held that sorrow makes us wise” - Lord Alfred Tennyson.’

  ‘Then I must be quite wise by now,’ she said and grinned at him with self-pity.

  ‘Don’t put your happiness in other people’s hands.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Don’t rely on other people to make you happy or you’re sure to be unhappy always. People will inevitably disappoint you,’ he said. ‘On that positive note, let’s head back to the house. I bet Hester’s back by now with a whole new wardrobe to show you,’ he chuckled, pushing himself up from the ground. ‘Feel any better?’

  She nodded. ‘Thank you,’ she said, full of gratitude. Finally Sam had noticed her. She felt a lightness of being in spite of her heaviness of heart.

  He patted her between her shoulder blades. ‘Come on. And that means you too, Trotsky,’ he said to the dog, who had slept through their entire conversation. He got to his feet and stretched before trotting on down the path they had made through the bluebells. The clamour of birds filled the trees, punctuated occasionally by the sharp cough of a pheasant. The sunlight bathed the woods in a resplendent mist and Federica felt she was walking through an earthly paradise. She watched Sam, tall and straight, lead the way and knew that she could never leave Polperro because the Applebys were her family and she simply couldn’t be without them.

  Chapter 21

  When Helena watched Ramon walk out seven years before she knew she had driven him away. She had admitted regret, opening herself up to be wounded once again by Ramon’s indifference. She thought he had changed. But she knew in her heart that he would never, ever change. He had always been far too selfish to think of anyone but himself. So she had swallowed her humiliation and let him go, quietly resolving to get on with her life in Polperro in spite of him.

  Helena might have believed she had cleansed herself of her husband’s presence, but unknown to her his words had penetrated her subconscious where they had taken root and grown. She began to make some space in her life for herself and her own needs. She relied more on her mother to help her with Hal - Federica didn’t need much looking after: she was responsible and self-sufficient. She looked after herself and her mother too. So Helena didn’t worry about Federica, she worried about Hal.

  Hal was dependent and needy and as self-centred as his mother. He was also extremely moody, up one moment, down the next, floundering in a pool of

  his own dissatisfaction. Polly was delighted to be needed again and threw herself into the roles of mother and grandmother with relish. Jake just pushed his nose further into his miniature boats and tried to ignore the rest of the household, who moved around in barely contained longing to satisfy the demands of his daughter and grandson.

  So, Helena had moved on. She went out on dates. She even slept with a few of the men she dated and almost managed to convince herself that she liked it. But none of them made love to her like Ramon and as much as she knew she was no longer really married and free to see whoever she chose, she was still wracked with guilt afterwards. It wasn’t until she met Arthur Cooke that everything changed.

  Polly noticed that Arthur was different from the others because Helena cut her hair, painted her nails, bought a new wardrobe and began to take pride in her appearance. A light skip crept into her walk and she held her shoulders back and head up as she had always done as a teenager. Suddenly she began to look her age, thirty-seven, rather than the old woman who had surreptitiously slipped beneath her bitter skin.

  Arthur Cooke was forty-nine years old, divorced, with three children who were all in their early twenties. He prided himself in his ability to sustain a good relationship with his wife, who had married again, and children who didn’t seem to resent him for the breakup of their family. When Helena had first met him, at an eye-wateringly boring drinks party given by one of her dates, she had thought he looked like an egg. A smiling egg. He wasn’t tall, didn’t have much hair, didn’t dress particularly well and had nothing physically that would have attracted her to him. But Helena was too busy assessing what he didn’t have to notice what he did have. She found that out later.

  Arthur was kind, witty, energetic, enthusiastic and generous. When she found herself talking to him because there simply wasn’t anyone better to talk to, she discovered sharp brown eyes that noticed everything, a smile that reached across the whole of his jovial face and a contagious laugh that bubbled up from his belly. When he touched her hand his was soft and gentle, when he spoke his voice was full of understanding and when he listened she realized that he did so without distraction as if she were the most fascinating woman he had ever met. By the end of the evening she had talked to no one else and had completely ignored the man she had arrived with. Arthur invited

  her to join him for a drink and she left her floundering date without an explanation, knowing that she wouldn’t care if she never saw him again.

  They went to a quiet bar that overlooked the bay and sat in candlelight listening to the schmaltzy music that accompanied the soporific rhythm of the tide and talked for hours. By the time Arthur dropped her off at her home he knew everything about Ramon, Federica and Hal. She had allowed him to strip her soul layer by layer with the help of various glasses of wine until she stood naked before him, lonely and unhappy. He had then helped her dress it again with compliments and words of encouragement and compassion. When she awoke the following morning she looked in the mirror and saw a haggard old woman staring back at her in surprise. She had never noticed her before. Shocked, she left her mother to look after the children and disappeared into town for half the day to discard Ramon’s wife and emerge as someone different. When Helena returned looking rejuvenated, her mother told her that a man called Arthur had telephoned. She smiled in a way that Polly hadn’t seen her smile for a long, long time.

  Arthur made her feel good about herself. He seemed to understand her and her needs. He held her hand when it began
to shake and taught her how to

  breathe deeply from the pit of her stomach when she felt nervous. He rang her all the time for no reason at all, simply to hear her voice and to make sure that she was okay. He made her feel protected. He made her laugh with the inhibition that had characterized those first heavenly years with Ramon, with a loose throat and an aching stomach. He made her feel that nothing really mattered and she suddenly realized why Ingrid was always happy, because she dwelt in a vague, carefree world that hovered above the preoccupations of more earthly people. She would never be like Ingrid, but she was now able at least to see her world and aspire towards it.

  As much as Arthur had endeared himself to her she was terrified of taking the relationship into a physical dimension. Sex with Ramon had been otherworldly. No one could compete with that. Certainly not Arthur. He wasn’t a physical man. He didn’t play sport, was flat-footed and unfit. He loved good food, good wine and good company, but she couldn’t imagine him in bed and she feared sex would ruin the relationship beyond repair. So she rebuffed his advances when he tried to kiss her. But Arthur’s sharp brown eyes had noticed everything. He wasn’t the sort of man to dither and brood. If he had something to say he simply said it.

  ‘Helena,’ he said one winter evening as they drained their wine glasses beside the boisterous fire in his sitting room.

  ‘Yes, Arthur,’ she replied nervously, fearing that he was going to ask her to stay the night.

  'Your hand is shaking again. Give me your wine glass,’ he said. She handed it to him and smiled hesitantly. ‘Close your eyes,’ he said, taking her hand in his. ‘Now, take a deep breath, right from the bottom of your lungs. That’s right. Now let it out. Let out all that fear and all that uncertainty. Well done. Now let’s do it again.’ He instructed her to repeat the exercise three times. ‘Now you should feel better,’ he said, but she didn’t. ‘This time I want you to close your eyes and let me kiss you.’