The Butterfly Box

by Santa Montefiore

  Reluctantly he got to his feet. ‘So this is it then?’

  This is it,’ she confirmed, standing up.

  ‘Well communicate through our lawyers.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘I don’t think I can go on for ever without seeing my children.’

  ‘Give me time,’ she conceded, suddenly feeling saddened by the finality of their decision to divorce. ‘I want to marry Arthur. If Fede thinks you’re back I’ll have one hell of a battle on my hands. You’ve waited seven years, another year won’t make any difference, at least not to Fede.’

  Ramon lowered his eyes. ‘You really want to marry him?’ he asked, wondering why he cared.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, maintaining her composure with a great deal of effort.

  ‘Well, good luck.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Ramon leant over and kissed her on the cheek. Helena withdrew quickly, afraid that he might linger there too long, afraid that she might not be able to resist him. Then he turned and left. She sank back onto the bench and waited for the sound of the car to disappear out of the driveway. Then she placed her head in her hands and cried.

  Federica cycled down the lane. She had left Hal with Toby and Julian who both agreed that he was too tired to bicycle all the way home after such a heavy tea. They would drive him back later. Federica was delighted - at least on her own she could go as fast as she liked without worrying that a car might appear from around the corner and frighten her brother. She took her feet off the pedals and freewheeled down the road. With the sun on her back and the spring wind raking through her hair she felt exhilarated.

  Suddenly a shiny black Mercedes roared around the bend, sending her hands straight onto the brakes in a panicked attempt to control the bike and avoid crashing into the car. With her heart suspended between beats she felt the hot rush of air as it passed dangerously close by, then heard the screech of tyres as it pulled up in the middle of the road behind her. She drew her bike to a shaky stop by dragging her shoes along the tarmac. Then she positioned her unsteady feet on the ground and turned around. The sun was so bright she had to put her hand over her eyes to shield them from the dazzling glare. She watched the car, but no one got out. She squinted her eyes in an effort to make out who was inside, but the reflection on the glass prevented her from seeing in. She remained motionless, wondering what was going through the driver’s

  mind that inhibited him from descending and apologizing to her for nearly claiming her life. She was visibly shaken, for her whole body trembled, but still no one appeared. Then to Federica’s bewilderment, the car started up again and left just as suddenly as it had come, restoring the lane to its previous tranquillity as if nothing had happened.

  Only the black marks on the tarmac betrayed the stranger’s indecision.

  Chapter 24

  Autumn 1990

  Federica insisted she was too old to be a bridesmaid at her mother’s wedding.

  ‘You’re fourteen,’ said Helena simply, ‘and anyway, you’re small for your age.’ Once again Federica walked out of the room, out of the house and off onto the cliffs, followed loyally by Rasta, who was now a fully grown Labrador with enormous paws and a large black spot on his nose which baffled everyone.

  Helena sighed wearily and decided that Hal would have to be a single page -at twelve years old he wasn’t very enthusiastic but agreed because of a hidden mechanism in his makeup that made it impossible for him to deny his mother anything.

  After Ramon’s brief visit Helena had resolved to marry Arthur. It had taken eighteen months for the divorce to come through. Helena had disintegrated into tears at the sight of the physical proof that her marriage to Ramon was over. She had held the piece of paper in her hands and wondered whether marriage

  to Arthur was really what she wanted after all. But then she had forced herself to remember how unhappy marriage to Ramon had been and how kind Arthur was and she had filed the document away and continued with her plans in her own stubborn way, refusing to listen to her heart that beat inaudibly for Ramon.

  During that time Helena had fought almost daily with her daughter who still believed her father would appear to save her from the dreaded Arthur.

  ‘Arthur will never be my father,’ she had shouted at her mother in one of her many fits of hysterics. ‘And I will never move away from Polperro. Papa’s so handsome, what do you see in Arthur?’

  Helena ignored her, hoping that she’d get used to Arthur in time. She didn’t.

  Federica had taken to walking high on the cliffs, watching the surf crash violently against the rocks below and the mesmerizing rise and fall of the cold ocean which, like a beast, seemed to mirror her own inner fury. Rasta would sit with her, the wind drawing his ears back against his sandy neck, cowering against her for warmth, detecting her pain and sympathizing in his own unspoken way.

  Federica couldn’t understand why her father hadn’t written. She had begged

  him to help and he had ignored her. She felt gutted inside. Within her head she was screaming for compassion but no one heard her. Occasionally her despair boiled over and she fought with her mother, but Helena never bothered to search beneath the outward expression of a grief than ran much deeper than she imagined. No one did. Federica confided in Hester, but Hester was only a child, like she was, and unable to do more than listen and sympathize. She had a father so how could she?

  Federica would like to have talked to Sam, but Sam wasn’t often at the manor and when he was she found the words dried up in her mouth and she was unable to communicate with him in anything other than empty smiles. She knew he saw through her smiles, he was smart enough to recognize her unhappiness and he often placed an affectionate arm around her for no apparent reason, or asked her how she was in a compassionate tone of voice. Hester told her that she had heard him confess to her mother that he had a soft spot for her, which only made Federica more selfconscious and less able to speak to him. But she was secretly delighted and sensed they shared a special bond, forged that day in the bluebells. He no longer ignored her. Even though she was still very much a child, he had noticed her. She felt herself so in love she

  was unable to concentrate on anything else. Only her mother’s impending wedding distracted her from her ardour.

  The day of Helena’s wedding arrived and Federica awoke with the unavoidable sense of doom that had dogged her for the last few months. She looked out onto an October morning. The sky was watery, shimmering through the golden leaves and silky dew that seemed to cling to everything like tears. She cast her eye over the place that had become her home and loved it all the more because she knew she was leaving it.

  ‘Oh, to be a grown up,’ she thought miserably, ‘then at least I could make my own decisions.’ But she was fourteen years old and still had to obey her mother. Moodily she ate her breakfast while her mother paced up and down the house in a pre-wedding panic having lost her shoes, then her mascara and finally the dress itself, which she had forgotten hung in her mother’s cupboard because it was less damp. Much to Federica’s annoyance she found herself clearing up after her mother, pouring her endless glasses of wine and standing by like an unwilling assistant receiving bouquets of flowers, wedding presents and answering the telephone. Polly sat with her daughter in her bedroom while

  the stylist did her hair and makeup, trying to prevent her from drinking too much and keeping the atmosphere light.

  Hal lay on the bed playing with a computer game oblivious to the chaos that raged around him.

  Federica sulked the entire way through her mother’s wedding; it was all she could do not to cry. When she thought things simply couldn’t get any worse, Sam sauntered into the church with a new girlfriend hanging decoratively on his arm. The girl was tall, with long dark hair and long legs striding confidently out from under a very short pink skirt. Federica wanted to crawl under the nearest tombstone and die.

  The ceremony was one of blessing in the village church, given by the excitable Reverend Boyble who’d h
ad his robes dry-cleaned especially for the occasion and his shoes polished with such enthusiasm that they shone out from under his skirts like a couple of silver fish.

  Jake had refused to attend because Helena had refused to exclude Julian. Polly had told him to ‘grow up’. ‘Really, Jake, you’re being very childish,’ she said as she left him brooding in the kitchen among his toy boats. ‘This silly feud has been going on long enough! Honestly, one would think you’d put it to

  one side in order to give your own daughter away at her wedding.’

  Toby was best man and stood apprehensively at the end of the aisle with Arthur, whose brow was studded with jewels of sweat and his buttonhole wilted due to the heat exuding from his thick body. Toby winked at Federica who managed to pull a weak smile in spite of her misery. He wasn’t sure he didn’t agree with his niece, Arthur was a poor choice of husband. He cast his eyes over Arthur’s side of the congregation and decided that if he were to squint he would see little more than a monotonous grey blur. Federica stared at her scarlet shoes and wished she could tap them together three times and disappear back to Chile.

  At the moment the bride was due to arrive an expectant silence subdued the chitter-chatter of the congregation. The Reverend Boyble strode importantly up the nave, his shoes silencing the last of the whispers with their metallic taptapping as he took great care not to slip. Everyone turned their eyes to the door. But when it flew open there was no sign of the bride, just Molly and Hester who scuttled down the aisle with their hands pressed firmly over their mouths in an attempt to stifle their laughter.

  ‘Shit,’ Sam hissed to his girlfriend, rolling his eyes. They’ve been at my

  spliffs again, God damn it.’ Indeed, Molly had learned how to roll her own and knew where her brother hid his grass. Ingrid caught Sam’s eye and frowned, cocking her head to one side, but he shrugged his shoulders, denying responsibility. Hester waved at Federica who looked back gloomily, but Hester was too high to notice her misery.

  When Helena finally arrived, dressed in a stunningly embroidered ivory dress, a sigh of admiration swept through the congregation, followed immediately by a gasp. Leading her up the aisle was none other than Nuno.

  ‘Good God!' Ingrid exclaimed. ‘What’s Pa doing?’

  Inigo’s scowl softened and the corners of his mouth turned up with pleasure. ‘Now that is splendid. Splendid,’ he said, rubbing his hands together.

  ‘Whatever do you mean, darling?’ Ingrid replied, nudging him with her elbow.

  ‘Well, it’s the blind leading the blind.’ He chuckled.

  ‘Helena’s not blind.’

  ‘She must be to marry that turnip,’ he said and laughed quietly.

  ‘Well, I suppose you’re right,’ Ingrid agreed. ‘Quite a compromise after having been married to the gorgeous Ramon,’ she added, remembering that

  handsome Latin who had given them all so much pleasure before leaving as quickly as he had come.

  ‘Where’s Grandpa?’ Federica hissed to her grandmother, temporarily emerging out of her dark cave of self-pity. Polly shrugged and glanced over at Toby who blinked helplessly back.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Polly sighed sadly. ‘Jake didn’t make it. I am sorry.’

  Helena had waited ten minutes outside the church for her father to arrive. She had known there was a good chance he wouldn’t come and she had been prepared to walk down the aisle alone with Hal. She wasn’t angry, just saddened. If his own daughter’s wedding couldn’t soften his prejudice she wondered what on earth could. When Reverend Boyble had started playing nervously with his prayer book and twitching at the corners of his mouth, Helena knew she couldn’t hold the service up any longer. Even though it was her wedding. Julian, who was taking the photographs, had snapped one last shot of the agitated bride before creeping silently into the church. Helena had nodded to Reverend Boyble to commence and winked at Hal, who smiled back proudly in his sailor suit.

  Then suddenly Nuno’s clipped syllables had stopped her at the door. ‘My dear, who’s going to give you away?’ he asked, trotting up the path as if he were out on a Sunday stroll.

  ‘Nuno,’ she replied, turning around.

  ‘I’m tardy, I’m afraid,’ he said, checking the gold watch that hung on a chain about his waist.

  ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me that “punctuality is the thief of time”,’ she laughed.

  ‘No, my dear, age is the thief of time, it steals one’s faculties in their entirety, including one’s ability to remember important events such as your wedding. I only remembered because I had tied a knot in my handkerchief, but then it took me a good fifteen minutes to work out why I had put the knot there in the first place. You see, dear girl, age steals everything.’

  ‘Well, you had better slip in then,’ she suggested, standing aside for him, noticing Reverend Boyble’s chubby fingers tapping with impatience on his prayer book.

  ‘God will wait, good man,’ Nuno said with a sniff.

  The fingers ceased to tap and Reverend Boyble remained for once

  speechless with his mouth agape.

  ‘Actually, Nuno,’ said Helena, with the glint of an idea shining in her eye. ‘Would you do me a favour.’

  Helena once more suffered doubt as she walked on Nuno’s arm towards the man who would in a matter of minutes be her husband. She made a great effort to rid her thoughts of Ramon and pushed aside any uncertainty with a will of iron. She fixed her eyes on Arthur and remembered his kindness and his adoration and her mind cleared. ‘I deserve you,’ she thought to herself as his clammy hand found hers and he smiled merrily across at her. His eyes told her that she looked beautiful and she returned his smile wholeheartedly.

  As Nuno tripped to his seat beside his daughter he heard the muffled squeals of Molly and Hester who jiggled up and down like two clockwork mice in the row behind. ‘High on life,’ said Ingrid vaguely, shaking her head.

  ‘So that’s what they’re rolling nowadays, is it?’ he replied, sitting down.

  ‘Really, Pa. They’re just children,’ she replied, opening the order of service.

  ‘No, my dear, they’re your children and if they continue to screech like a couple of pigs in a farmyard, I would like you to send them out,’ he sniffed, lifting

  his chin up piously and turning his attention to the marriage ceremony.

  The service was long due to the over-exuberance of the Reverend Boyble who loved to hear the sound of his own voice, inspired by God, echo about the stone walls of his church. It was better than singing hymns in the bathroom. Every eye was on him, thirsting for his words to inspire them up the narrow path to God. Marriages were his favourite services and he liked to make them last as long as possible not only for himself but for the happy couple and their friends who had gathered together to hear him. So taken was he by the wit and intelligence of his sermon, he failed to notice the eyes of his congregation droop with boredom and the sound of impatient fingers rustle through the order of service, wondering how long it was going to last.

  Finally everyone emerged dazed from the church except for Arthur who strode out like a triumphant gladiator.

  ‘My darling wife,’ he said, kissing her on her pale cheek. ‘My dear, darling wife. Now we belong together for always.’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, swallowing the ugly knot of doubt that had found its way into her throat. ‘For ever,’ she repeated, not wanting to think too hard about

  what that meant.

  After smiling for Julian they climbed into a horse-drawn carriage and slowly made their way back to the house for the reception. The warm autumnal light set the sky aflame as the evening closed in and the sun began to sink low over the western horizon.

  ‘You are so beautiful, Helena,’ Arthur said, taking her hand. ‘I am the luckiest man alive.’

  Helena squeezed his hand, suddenly overcome by the splendour of the dying day and the affection that blazed in her new husband’s eyes. ‘I’m lucky to have you,’ she replied truthfully, looking i
nto his gentle features that promised her a life of indulgence and love. ‘I’m going to give up smoking as a tribute to you and to announce the beginning of a new life. I really am very lucky that you want to take me on.’

  ‘No, my darling. The luck is all mine and something I won’t forget even for a moment.’ He bent his head and kissed her. She closed her eyes and breathed in the security of his scent. That calmed her nerves and reminded her of all the reasons she had chosen him.

  As the guests arrived gasping for sustenance, Polly rushed about the tent

  they had erected in the garden with trays of scones and sandwiches while Toby saw to it that everyone had a glass of champagne. Hester and Molly found Federica sitting alone in her bedroom.

  ‘We’ve been looking for you for hours,’ said Hester, joining her on her bed.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Molly asked. ‘You look miserable.’

  ‘I don’t want to leave Polperro,’ she sniffed unhappily.

  ‘We don’t want you to leave Polperro either,’ said Hester.

  ‘I don’t like Arthur,’ she said, crossing her arms in front of her. ‘He’s now my stepfather. Yuck.’

  ‘He’s not that bad,’ said Molly helpfully.

  ‘But he’s not Papa.’

  ‘No, he certainly isn’t Ramon,’ Molly agreed, giggling at Hester. ‘But no one’s as handsome as your father.’

  ‘He didn’t come,’ said Federica, lowering her eyes. ‘I was certain he would.’

  ‘Perhaps he didn’t get your letter,’ said Hester, putting an arm around her friend.

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘I know a way to cheer you up,’ said Molly, grinning at her sister and putting

  her hand in her pocket.

  ‘What a good idea,’ Hester gasped, smacking her hand across her mouth and blinking at Federica guiltily.