She shuffled uncomfortably, then placed a defiant hand on her hip. ‘What is there to mistrust?’
‘It’s too soon, Fede,’ he argued. ‘You’ve known him all of a few months, why
do you have to marry him right now? What’s wrong with spending time together first? That in itself makes me suspicious.’
‘We love each other?’ she insisted crossly.
‘What do you know of love, Fede? You have no experience. He’s the first man who’s swept you off your feet. He’s handsome, rich, charming, what else do you know about him?’
‘I don’t need to know anything else about him. You and Mama aren’t exactly the epitome of the perfect marriage,’ she retorted defensively.
He folded his arms and chuckled. ‘We have our problems, of course. Marriage isn’t a treacle tart, Fede. I’m concerned because I care about you.’
‘No you don’t, you care about Hal,’ she snapped impulsively, then wished the hadn’t said it. Not because it wasn’t true, but because it was a childish response and she was trying desperately hard to present herself as an adult. ‘Anyway,’ she continued defiantly, ‘try as hard as you like to find fault with him,
I promise you, you won’t find it. He’s perfect. That’s what gets up your nose.’ ‘That’s not true,’ Arthur replied patiently. He wanted to ask her what Torquil, a sophisticated, urbane man of thirty-eight, would want with a provincial eighteen-year-old of limited experience, but he knew that would hurt her. He
simply added that he was concerned by the speed of the romance. ‘If Torquil’s got nothing to hide what’s the harm in waiting a few more months? I’m troubled by his urgency.’
‘It’s called love, Arthur,’ she replied sarcastically and rolled her eyes in exasperation. ‘Look, I really don’t want to discuss this any more. Mama likes him, in fact, everyone likes him but you. The truth is I don’t care what you think,’ she said and stalked out.
When she returned to the kitchen she decided not to mention it to her mother or grandmother - she didn’t want to dwell on negative things. This was the happiest time of her life and she wasn’t going to let her interfering stepfather ruin it for her. He had always disliked her, right from the start.
When the men returned, red-faced from the wind and their laughter, Torquil retreated upstairs to change for lunch. Federica rushed about the kitchen with excitement, putting finishing touches with the same enthusiasm she had once reserved for her father. Toby and Julian stood by the fire telling Jake and Helena about the giant crab that had nearly sent Torquil overboard.
‘He didn’t like the look of it, but give him his due he’s a man who can laugh
at himself!’ Toby chuckled.
Arthur wandered into the drinks room to pour himself something strong. He rattled a cube of ice about his glass in agitation before filling it with whisky. He looked out of the French doors onto the winter garden and felt a bleak foreboding gnaw at his gut. His talk with his stepdaughter had been worse than disastrous. Lunch would be awkward. With a sinking spirit he opened the door and walked grimly onto the terrace. He breathed in the bitter air and watched his breath rise up on the cold as he exhaled. Then to his astonishment he heard a low voice in the window above him. Creeping back against the wall he listened with deliberation as Torquil continued a private conversation on his mobile telephone, leaning out of the window for better reception. ‘. .. The wedding will be the last time I find myself in this godforsaken backwater . . . She loves the city, believe me, she’s too good for these provincial people ... I’m rescuing her from a life of dogs and crabs, I’ve caught her just in time too. Poor girl, imagine growing up here, no wonder she’s so grateful I’m marrying her. . . Don’t start on that again, babe, I’ve told you, I love her to distraction . . . So, she’s not worldly like you, that’s why I like her. She’s pure and innocent, untouched. I don’t want someone else’s cast-off. . . Just wait until you meet
her, then you’ll understand . . . You don’t work in that department, you work in the basement and that’s where I like you.’ He laughed throatily. ‘That’s where you like to be . . . Look, I’d better go. The sooner we have lunch the sooner we can leave.’
Arthur held his breath for fear of being heard and waited a moment before he dared open the door and slip back inside. He felt physically sick, but worse than his nausea was his anger because he had nowhere to vent it. No one would listen.
Feigning a headache he sat quietly through lunch while Torquil acted the perfect guest, expressing his love of Polperro and the sea, forging a false bond with the family Arthur knew he despised. Watching Federica was like witnessing a car crash in slow motion. There was nothing he could do to prevent it.
While Arthur and Sam smarted in the wake of Torquil’s triumphant visit, Federica moved into his luxurious house in The Little Boltons. It was exquisite, decorated by one of the top London designers with rich fabrics and expensive paintings. ‘I can’t believe I’m going to live here for ever,’ she breathed in
excitement, throwing herself onto the bed.
‘Not only that, but you’re going to have my name and then my children. We’ll fill this house with the patter of tiny feet,’ he said, lying beside her and kissing her forehead lovingly.
‘Oh, Torquil. I’ve never been so happy,’ she said, holding his face in her hands. ‘You’re everything I’ve ever hoped for.’
‘And you’re a dream come true, I’ve been looking for you all my life,’ he said, smiling down at her. ‘You’re so good, Fede. I’m not worthy of you. You’re sweet and sensitive. You’re like an angel. Pure like white sugar. I don’t know what you see in me. I’m full of imperfections.’
She gazed deliriously into his pale eyes and wondered why Arthur mistrusted him; he had the most trustworthy expression she had ever encountered.
Later when she admired the tidy cupboards full of Chanel suits, Ferragamo shoes, Ralph Lauren casual wear, La Perla underwear and Tiffany jewellery, she noticed that everything had been bought for her by Torquil. When she asked him where all her old clothes had gone he told her that he had given them to Mrs Hughes, the housekeeper.
‘Her daughter is your age and they have very little money, sweetness. Besides, you’re different now you’re with me,’ he explained, drawing her into his arms. ‘You’re shedding your old skin along with your old name. You’re going to be Mrs Torquil Jensen and I want you to have the very best of everything.’
Although she would like him to have asked her first, she didn’t want to appear ungrateful. She replied simply that he was too generous and that she was undeserving of him. His obvious delight and approval allayed her fears and her spirits rose again. She wanted nothing more than to please him. When she admired her new maturity in the mirror she marvelled at the distance she had come since that morning in Viña, now over ten years ago, when she had gazed upon her childish reflection with distaste. After so many disappointments, she deserved Torquil.
She longed to share her news with her father, but she resented the fact that he hadn’t communicated in years. In spite of her joy she felt desperately let down. Now she had Torquil she no longer searched for happiness within the glittering splendour of the butterfly box. She didn’t need to. The shadows of the past were exchanged for the brightness of her new life. She didn’t need her memories any more; she was going to build new ones with Torquil. So she
Sam had spent the night before Federica’s wedding in Nuno’s leather chair rereading Alexandre Dumas’ The Count of Monte Cristo, the most satisfactory story of revenge ever written. The early birds had awoken him at dawn. He had looked about, bewildered that he had managed to sleep on such a night. He rubbed his weary eyes and gazed out of the window onto a fragile foggy morning. The garden was draped in a tender summer mist like a tent of glittering cobwebs. A frail mist that held in the sheer transience of its nature the promise of a magnificent sunny day.
For Sam it promised nothing but misery.
When Nuno shuffled in at eight he f
ound his grandson staring out of the window in gloom. ‘I would like to think it was one of my tomes that has kept you up all night,’ he said, glancing down at the heavy book on Sam’s knee.
Sam turned around slowly and blinked up at his grandfather. ‘I’d like to lock Torquil Jensen in the Chateau D’If,’ he groaned.
‘Ah!’ Nuno sighed knowingly and nodded his head. ‘Young Federica’s getting married today.’
‘Quite,’ Sam replied, removing his glasses and cleaning them on his shirt.
“‘Love is the wisdom of the fool and the folly of the wise,’” Nuno said and raised a thick eyebrow.
‘Nuno, I don’t have the patience for this today, but to satisfy the demands of your ego I’ll tell you it’s William Cook, Life of Samuel Foote.1
‘Mo/to bene, earn. Even in times of great despair you are able to keep your wits about you and indulge an old man.’
‘I’m not in love with Fede, Nuno, I’ve told you before, I just don’t want to see her hurt.’ Then he added crossly, ‘I don’t think I can go to the church, the sight of Torquil Jensen’s self-regard might just push me to do something I’ll later regret.’
‘Dear boy, if you cannot recognize your anger as fuelled by jealousy you’re less of a man than I thought you were. If you ask me, you had that gentle creature’s admiration for years and you chose to reject it. Now pull yourself together and accept defeat with honour. I suggest a bowl of porridge and a cup of tea, then put on your coat and come along to the church with the rest of us, with good grace. These things are sent to test us and this might be your biggest test yet, I trust you don’t want to fail.’
So Sam ate his porridge in silence while the excited chatter of his sisters and mother grated on his nerves and pushed him further into his troubled thoughts. Joey wandered in from the garden with a gigantic toad cupped in his trembling hands, explaining that he had found him drowning in the swimming pool. When Ingrid attempted to take the creature from him the toad leapt into the air with the zeal of an acrobat and proceeded to jump about the kitchen floor, outwitting everyone’s efforts to catch him.
‘Oh, leave him,' Ingrid sighed wearily, pouring herself another cup of tea. ‘He’ll find his way back to the pond without our help. I think Mr Toad is quite capable of looking after himself!’
Molly and Hester were to be bridesmaids, or as Molly preferred to put it: ‘maids of honour’.
‘I wish I were marrying Torquil Jensen instead of walking five steps behind the bride,’ Hester sighed enviously. ‘I can’t believe Fede’s luck.’
‘Fede of all people!’ Molly exclaimed, shaking her head in wonder that a man such as Torquil could fall for someone like Federica, when she was so much more attractive and charismatic. It should be me, she thought to herself resentfully.
‘Oh wake up!’ Sam snapped suddenly, rising from his chair. Molly and Hester both stared at him in confusion. ‘Don’t either of you have the intelligence to see past his pretty face? It doesn’t surprise me that Hester’s been fooled, but Mol, I always thought you were more perceptive. Torquil Jensen would be more suited to one of those crass American soap operas. What is it you girls used to watch? Dallas? In a language you both understand, he’s no Bobby Ewing!’ And with that he left the room.
The two sisters blinked at each other in amazement. ‘Have I missed something here?’ said Molly, putting down her mug.
Hester shrugged her shoulders. ‘If you have, Mol, then I certainly have,’ she replied, baffled.’ ‘What has Dallas got to do with Fede’s wedding?’
‘Torquil Jensen might be many things, but he’s no JR either.’ She sniffed angrily. ‘How dare he accuse me of lacking perception. God damn him, he’s always believed himself to be cleverer than everyone else.’
‘He might be cleverer than Torquil, but Torquil’s got all the beauty,’ Hester giggled.
‘That’s obviously what’s got under Sam’s skin. It’s all about hair,’ Molly laughed scornfully. ‘Sam’s losing his and Torquil's got plenty!’
Sam sat stiffly in the pew, ignoring Joey who quietly played with Mr Toad, having finally forced his surrender in the dog bowl. He watched the conceited profile of the groom with silent loathing. Torquil whispered to his best man, their heads inclined together like a couple of conspirators. Unable to bear the torment that sight evoked, he turned his eyes to the vast arrangements of white and yellow flowers and across to the other side of the aisle where Torquil’s grand friends sat under ostentatious hats, glancing warily about them at what must have appeared a very parochial scene. Reverend Boyble rushed about importantly, bowing low to the altar every time he passed in front of it. Finally, Torquil’s father and stepmother appeared and walked down the aisle with great ceremony. Sam took one look at Mrs Jensen’s hat and thought of the Quangle Wangle Quee. He shook his head at the vulgarity of it and caught Nuno’s eye. His grandfather smiled wryly and scribbled something down on a bit of paper, then passed it to Lucien, who passed it to Ingrid, who leant across her distracted youngest and handed it to Sam. He opened it and laughed out loud. Nuno had read his thoughts exactly for he had quoted from the same poem by Edward Lear: ‘And the Golden Grouse came there, and the Pobble who has no toes and the small Olympian bear, and the Dong with a luminous nose ... all
came and built on the lovely Hat of the Quangle Wangle Quee.'
Buff Jensen sat in the pew behind his son. He was a large man with a wide forehead and thinning black hair combed back and set with wax to give the impression that he had more than he did. His eyes were pale and imperious, set in smooth skin unblemished by the usual lines of humour. Buff rarely smiled. He was too aware of his own importance and the need to show it. Torquil turned around and grinned at his father, a grin that betrayed his triumph as well as his genuine pride. Buff had hoped for a better match for his son and relinquishing control was hard for him to accept. But this small battle Torquil had won. Cynthia only saw the pride in her stepson’s smile. He was marrying the girl he loved, there was no doubt about that. She had liked his little bride very much. Had she been a stronger character she might have felt competitive, but Federica would make the perfect daughter-in-law - provided one managed to forget where she came from.
After a short pause Federica’s family made their way to their seats with less ceremony than the Jensens. Helena wore a pink suit with a pillar-box hat to match and Polly wore red - they obviously hadn’t planned their outfits
together. When Helena saw the vast expanse of Mrs Jensen’s creation she winced with rivalry and wished she had had the courage to wear something bigger. She also caught herself longing for Ramon - Arthur’s unimposing presence impressed no one. When Mrs Hammond’s hesitant fingers alighted on the keyboard, the idle chat was reduced to an expectant silence as everyone stood up and looked behind them to catch the first glimpse of the bride.
Federica hovered momentarily under the archway at the entrance of the church, before stepping out of the sun into the soft light of the nave. Sam was suddenly gripped with regret. He stood as still as marble, the blood drained from his stunned face, and felt the sharp claws of love tighten about his heart. It was as if the world had frozen around him, only Federica moved slowly towards him with the unearthly countenance of an angel. He barely dared breathe. It was only when Mr Toad escaped Joey’s grip and sprung onto the wooden bench behind him before leaping into the aisle that Sam was shaken from his trance and realized to his despair that Federica wasn’t walking towards him but away from him. She was walking way beyond his reach and he only had himself to blame. The clouds parted in his memory and he pictured their tender kisses
in the barn and her golden face on the hill and he almost choked with misery.
Jake watched with pride as his son led Federica up the aisle and wiped a damp eye at the recollection of his daughter’s wedding that he had missed. Helena caught her breath, for Federica floated on the arm of her brother like a princess with diamonds in her hair and a choker of diamonds and pearls about her neck. The ivory dre
ss shimmered in the heavenly light that flooded in through the stained-glass windows and her skin seemed to glow with a translucence not of this world. Helena thought of Ramon until the tears stung her eyes and the memory of him became so strong that she could almost smell him. Arthur squeezed her hand, which wrenched her back to the reality of her dull marriage and the tears flowed more abundantly.
Arthur wanted to cry too - tears of fury and frustration, but he could not, so he sat with grim resignation as his stepdaughter walked past to embrace her destiny.
Ingrid’s heart sighed at the beauty of the music and Inigo abandoned himself to the positive vibrations of God’s house and took his wife’s hand in his as he remembered their own wedding all those years ago.
But Nuno watched Sam. He understood his grandson better than the boy
understood himself. He saw the anger in the line of his petulant mouth and the hurt behind his stormy grey eyes and wanted to tell him that everything comes to those who wait.
Sam felt he was watching a public hanging; the sacrifice of the innocent. He watched Torquil with the eyes of a predator, studying his every move, his every blink. There was something sinister in the shine of his shoes, the spotless coat, the starched shirt, the gold watch on the perfect chain, the emerald cufflinks. Not even a strand of hair disobeyed him and strayed over his forehead. Sam watched Federica, tremulous and radiant, in the dress Torquil had chosen for her, the jewels he had given her - only her shy smile was still hers, but Torquil grinned down at her, poised to possess that too.
Julian had returned to his place on the end of a pew after having taken the photographs outside the church. He put his camera under the seat and proceeded to watch the ceremony. After a while his attention was caught by a darkhaired woman seated on the other side of the aisle to him. She was sleek and confident in a tight, duck-egg blue suit with her long brown legs crossed, tapping her manicured fingers along to the music. She sensed she was being watched and glanced at him from under her wide-brimmed hat. When she saw
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