with shame. What had she been reduced to? Arthur was guilty only of adoring her. What was the point of clinging onto the shadow of Ramon when Arthur was real and his love absolute? She had made a terrible mistake.
When she arrived back at the house it was dusk. The late summer sun had sunk behind the town making way for a bright harvest moon. She felt weary and defeated. To her surprise she saw the light on in the bedroom, indicating that Arthur was home. Her spirits rose like bubbles, slowly at first but with increasing speed, until she yearned to run to him like a child and apologize for treating him so badly. The thought of Arthur’s familiar smell, his cosy embrace and his encouraging smile filled her with remorse. She longed to curl up against him like they had done when they had been newly wed and feel that sense of security, that sense of intimacy and friendship. She wanted to forget Diego Miranda for ever. She wished she had never gone near the pub that day. How close she had come to losing everything for a pitiful infatuation. Why was it that she was constantly chasing dreams?
She put the key in the lock and wriggled it about in frustration. When it wouldn’t turn she rang the bell. When Arthur didn’t come down she shouted
up at the window. Then to her horror the light extinguished in the bedroom, leaving her alone in the empty street, blinking up in fear at the sudden realization that he must know. Somehow he knew. Or he had simply had enough. ‘Arthur!’ she shouted in panic. ‘Arthur!’ But the house remained silent and impenetrable. ‘Arthur, let me in!’ she choked. She shouted until her voice was hoarse, until the cold wall of the house echoed her pleas only to mock her. She sunk to the ground and crumpled into sobs. Arthur’s patience had finally snapped.
Arthur watched through the gap in the curtains as his wife finally retreated to her car and drove off into the night. His throat ached from suppressing his emotions and his heart thumped behind his ribcage because he knew that by shutting her out he risked losing the one woman he had ever loved. But he also knew that he couldn’t continue being taken for granted. He had been pushed to the limit. She had gone too far. It was time to win back her respect. She needed space to recognize that what she had with him was something precious, something sacred, something to be nurtured, not worn away out of carelessness and complacency.
He slumped on the side of the bed and dropped his head into his hands.
Hal had drifted away from Federica. She was married now and her life no longer ran parallel to his. So he was surprised when she called him soon after Nuno’s funeral and asked him for lunch in London during the university holidays. ‘I need to see you, Hal,7 she said and her voice sounded different. Hal was relieved to get out of his mother’s house. She was crowding him out with her incessant questions and her unspoken demand to be included in his life. She wanted to know every detail about Exeter, who his friends were, whether he had a girlfriend, what he did in the evenings. He found her attention at once gratifying and invasive. It suffocated him.
Arthur watched him prowl around the house like one of the living dead and decided that at last he was growing up and growing away. But he didn’t like his pallor or his disquiet.
Hal met Federica in Le Caprice. He noticed that in the space of a couple of months she had lost considerable weight. She noticed how thin and pale he was. ‘You look dreadful, Hal. What on earth is going on?’ she asked, ordering a bottle of still water.
‘A Bloody Mary for me,’ said Hal. ‘I’m fine. You look well.’
Thank you.' she replied. ‘I’m getting myself under control.' she added proudly. She had lost almost a whole stone.
‘Good for you. This lunch is on you, right?’
‘Right.’
‘Good, let’s order, I’m famished,’ he said, opening the menu.
‘How’s Mama?’
‘Fine, I suppose. Annoying as usual.' he muttered.
Toby and Julian?’
‘Why don’t you ask them yourself? You never go down and see them.’ ‘There’s been so little time.’
‘Sure.’
‘Really.’
‘I’ll have a steak and chips,’ he said, closing the menu.
‘You don’t look as if you eat steak and chips. You look as if you’ve got an eating disorder.’
‘For God’s sake, you sound like Mama.' he complained. ‘Anyway, what’s this lunch for? I can’t believe it’s just a social.’
‘It is a social. I haven’t seen you properly in years.’
‘Not my fault.’
‘No, it’s not. But I need your help too.’
‘What?’ he sighed, rolling his eyes. She had intended to tell him about her father’s note, but he was so hostile and aloof she changed her mind.
‘I need you to get Abuelita’s telephone number from Mama,’ she said.
‘Why can’t you get it yourself?’
‘Because I don’t want her to know I want it,’ she explained. ‘All you need to do is look it up in her book, it's sure to be there.’
‘Why don’t you want her to know? Abuelita is your grandmother.’
‘And Papa’s mother,’ she said. ‘Hal, don’t be so naive. Mama hasn’t spoken to her in years, literally. She hates Papa. She hated it when he wrote to us.’
To you,’ he snapped. ‘He never wrote to me.’
‘Whatever. It's just better to do it secretly, believe me.’
‘It’ll cost you.’
‘What?’
‘Yes, it will,’ he said resolutely.
‘You’re not serious?’
‘Of course I am,’ he insisted coolly. ‘What do I get out of it otherwise?7
‘Well, how much then?7 she asked.
‘One hundred pounds.7
‘One hundred pounds?7 she gasped. ‘You must be joking!7
‘I had to take the train, return ticket. Besides, it’s a fag. It’s the least you can do. It’s Torquil’s money anyway and he’s rolling.7
Federica watched her brother and barely recognized the Hal she had grown up with. She frowned. ‘You’re strange today. What’s the matter with you?7 she asked, searching his face for an expression she recognized.
‘The money or no telephone number.7
‘Address and telephone, Cachagua and Santiago,7 she said firmly.
‘Okay, done.7
‘Good,7 she replied, shaking his hand. He dug his knife into the steak.
‘I want the money now,7 he said, getting up.
‘Where are you going?7
‘To the men’s room. Won’t be a minute.7 She watched him meander unsteadily through the restaurant and wondered whether their father was keeping an eye on him as well. Then she remembered that Ramon had never written to
Helena was too ashamed to tell her parents the real reason Arthur had locked her out of the house. She moved back into her old room where she paced the floors in rage.
‘Poor Helena,’ Polly lamented to her husband. ‘She’s furious with Arthur.’
‘No she’s not,’ said Jake simply. ‘She’s furious with herself. She’s blown it again.’
Helena wouldn’t hear a word said against Arthur. When she called Federica to tell her, she terminated the conversation abruptly by slamming down the telephone because her daughter had immediately blamed her stepfather.
‘Oh, Federica,’ she sighed impatiently. ‘You know nothing about it.’
She had driven round to see Arthur the following morning, beat upon the door and even followed him to work. ‘Arthur, I can explain,’ she had begged, but he wouldn’t listen.
‘You’ve gone too far, Helena,’ he had replied flatly. ‘You’ve drained me dry. I don’t want you back unless you’re willing to change and you can’t decide that in a day. Go away and think about it.’ Shocked by the apparent stubbing out of
his emotions she had limped back home to wail on her mother’s shoulder that he no longer loved her.
Only Toby was told the truth. ‘I had an affair,’ she confessed as they sat on the windy beach, talking over the rush of the surf and the cries
of the gulls.
‘Oh, Helena,’ Toby sighed. ‘Who with, for God’s sake?’
‘A Spaniard.’
‘A Spaniard?’ he exclaimed, shaking his head at his sister’s foolishness.
‘A bloody Spaniard,’ she retorted, folding her arms in front of her chest and sniffing with self-pity.
‘Why?’
‘Because he reminded me of Ramon.’
Toby prodded the sand with a stick. ‘You’re obsessed with a ghost, Helena,’ he said gravely.
‘I know,’ she replied, then more angrily, ‘I know now, don’t I!’
‘You always want what you can’t have.’
‘I don’t need you to tell me that,’ she snapped defensively. ‘I’ve been an idiot, I’m the first to admit it.’
‘Did you ever love Arthur?’ he asked. She looked out across the waves to the
grey clouds moving swiftly towards them and recalled her husband’s fury. ‘Well, did you?’ he repeated.
‘Of course I did. I just didn’t recognize it.’ Toby frowned. ‘It’s not the all-consuming love of Ramon,’ she explained. ‘It’s something quieter. I don’t think I heard it. I was too busy listening out for the roar. My love for Arthur is more gentle. It’s taken me a while, but I hear it now.’
‘The roar always subsides before long, then if you’re lucky you’re left with something much stronger and more lasting,’ Toby chuckled, thinking of Julian. ‘Arthur’s a good man.’
‘I realise that now. I can’t believe that it took an empty, meaningless affair to wake up and realize how much Arthur means to me. I’ve treated him so badly. I’ve been so off-hand with him. He just sat back and let me behave so appallingly. What other man would be so indulgent? I don’t deserve him.’ Then she looked at her brother with big, sad eyes. ‘I’ve lost him, haven’t I?’ she said.
Toby put an arm around her shoulders and kissed her head that smelt of salt. ‘I don’t know, sweetheart. You never seem to learn from your mistakes.’
Chapter 38
Sam watched the rain rattle against the glass windows of Nuno’s study. The flames crackled in the fireplace where Nuno had always stoked the logs with the steel poker when he had needed to gather together his thoughts and Trotsky lay on the rug, breathing heavily in his sleep. But Sam felt the cold in his bones and shuddered. He settled his gaze on the leather sofa where Federica had sat and recalled her eyes, opaque with resignation and her unhappy body that took the brunt of too much comfort food. He felt gutted inside. He had lost Nuno, his beloved grandfather and friend, but he had also lost Federica to another, wholly unsuitable man. He sighed hopelessly; he was fooling himself for he had never had her to lose. When he could have had her he hadn't wanted her.
He stood up and paced the room in order to warm up. He pulled his jersey over his icy hands and hunched his shoulders. He hadn’t written a word since he had returned home to write. He had toyed with the idea of buying a cottage like Toby and Julian’s, a young man of thirty-one shouldn’t live at home with his parents, but he didn’t have the energy or the incentive to find one. While he
was at Pickthistle Manor he didn’t have to go out for company, cook his own food, or pay rent or a mortgage. His father was grateful for his company and talked his theories through with him in front of the sitting room fire where Federica had first toasted marshmallows with Molly and Hester.
Ingrid floated about the rooms like a spectre in her long gowns, leaving a trail of smoke behind her and barely noticing that Sam was there at all. She continued to operate the animal sanctuary which was so overcrowded that when Sam had returned home from London he had opened his sweater drawer to discover a hibernating squirrel curled up in his favourite cashmere V-neck. When he had confronted her about it she had smiled happily and replied, ‘So that’s where Amos is! You know, darling, I’ve been looking for him the entire winter. You won’t disturb him until the spring, will you?’
So Sam had borrowed his father’s sweaters, which all had holes in them, either from moths or mice, for he had never done a day’s manual labour in his life and went out so very little they rarely saw the light of day. When Inigo failed to recognize the ragged jersey on Sam’s back, he patted him firmly on the shoulder and said, ‘Son, if you need money you won’t be too proud to ask, will you?’ Sam had replied that he was more than comfortable. His two younger
brothers came home on weekends. Lucien was at Cambridge and Joey in his last year at school. Molly and Hester came down when they could, as both now had full-time jobs which gave them very little time off.
Molly always managed to find something snide to say about Federica while Hester mourned the loss of her friend. ‘We were once so close,’ she would sigh. ‘We told each other everything.’
‘Well, that’s what happens when someone lets wealth and society go to their head,’ said Molly unkindly. ‘If you and I were grander, Hester, you can be sure she wouldn’t have dropped us like hot potatoes.’
But Sam knew the truth because he wasn’t blinded by jealousy like Molly. He kept his feelings to himself and hid behind the heavy oak door of Nuno's study.
‘Sam’s just like Dad,’ Molly laughed one weekend when he had only emerged for meals, ‘he's growing moody too.’
Sam longed to telephone Federica, but he didn’t know what to say and he didn’t want her to know that he had written the note. After their conversation at Nuno’s funeral he doubted she’d be too happy to hear from him. So, out of
frustration at not being able to communicate he decided to write another anonymous note. He opened Nuno’s book and sat by the fire, shivering with cold, and endeavoured to find a few lines that would be helpful to her. The lines encircled by Nuno were very different from the ones that would be appropriate for Federica, for Violet had needed encouragement to love whereas Federica needed encouragement to live - to live independently and not according to the will of another. He turned the pages, chewing the end of his pencil in concentration. He could use one of the verses on love, but that would be more apt for himself for he was suffering on the ‘threshing-floor’ of love because Federica tormented his thoughts and burned holes in his heart. He could use one of the verses on sorrow for that would teach her that joy and sorrow are inseparable, for without one it is impossible to know the other.
Then he came across a verse on freedom and realized that none other was more suitable. He tapped the page triumphantly with the damp end of his pencil and thought: it is within Federica’s own power to walk away. Torquil treats her according to how she allows him to treat her. She can always say no and she must say no. He read it out loud to Trotsky who opened his saggy eyes, yawned and stretched before cocking his head to one side and pricking his
ears up attentively.
Tor how can a tyrant rule the free and the proud, but for a tyranny in their own freedom and a shame in their own pride? And if it is a care you would cast off, that care has been chosen by you rather than imposed upon you. And if it is a fear you would dispel, the seat of that fear is in your heart and not in the hand of the feared.’
Sam sat at Nuno’s desk in front of his computer and typed it out. Then he spent the next half hour printing it, typing the envelope and sealing it because every action was done with the utmost care as if it were a love letter that contained the secrets of his heart. Excited at the prospect of catching a glimpse of Federica he took the early train the following morning, staring out of the window all the way because he was too distracted to read. He arrived by taxi in time to see her leaving her house and climbing into the awaiting car.
‘Follow the Mercedes.' said Sam to the driver, then he sat back and listened to the thumping of his own heart and the cautiously optimistic thoughts that whirred around in his head.
He had been struck immediately by her figure. She had slimmed down a bit and her step had regained that buoyancy it had always had before she married.
Her skin was no longer ravaged by strain but glowed with health. He wondered whether his not
e might have inspired the change. Then his face dropped with gloom; perhaps it was Torquil.
Federica was excited by her new approach to life, though it hadn’t been easy. She had had to work hard with her personal trainer to lose the weight and change her diet. It had been demoralizing. She hadn’t taken a good look at herself in the mirror for months and when her clothes had no longer fit she had simply asked Torquil to buy her more. She was fatter than she had imagined. She had put on a couple of stone and her skin had suffered because of all the junk food. Suddenly she couldn’t hide any more, for John Burly arrived on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays to weigh her, measure her and work her until the sweat oozed out of every pore like blood, often making her cry out dispiritedly, ‘I can’t do it. I’m just made to be fat.’
But he would reply, ‘All right, if you want to stay fat, that’s fine, you don’t need me to stay fat,’ until she begged him to continue. She had made sure the fridge was stocked with fruit and vegetables and stuck to the rigorous diet only because every time she hankered after a bag of crisps or a bar of chocolate she
remembered Torquil’s cruel names and chewed on a carrot instead.
Instead of spending Torquil’s money on clothes she paid regular visits to the beautician and began to take pride in her appearance again. As the weight fell off, so her confidence grew. She also derived strength from her father’s note that she hid at the bottom of the butterfly box and brought out during the day when Torquil was at work and she could be alone with her thoughts. She was certain her father had been in the country, seen her and sent it. She wished he had approached her but understood why he might have been reticent. She wanted him to know that she didn’t blame him and that she still loved him. As the days got increasingly colder in the run-up to Christmas Federica waited for Hal to call her with her grandparents’ telephone number, but he never did.
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