Sunrise at Butterfly Cove

by Sarah Bennett

  Aaron cleared his throat. ‘But that is not why I am calling, mate. Have you seen The Standard today?’ The Evening Standard was a daily evening paper that delivered national and international news, as well as being London-focused. It was prerequisite reading for much of the capital’s population, providing—amongst other things—reviews and details of social, arts and media events in and around town. Daniel hadn’t had cause to look at it since he had arrived at Butterfly Cove. Was it only two months ago? It seemed a lifetime.

  ‘Can’t say that I have. It’s not really relevant to my life these days.’ Daniel was surprised at how true that statement was. He was completely removed from his old life and concerns.

  ‘Can you get on the internet? I really think you need to have a look.’ The strain in his friend’s voice put him on alert, and he minimised his folder to flick open the browser window.

  ‘I’m on. What am I looking at?’ He typed in the search box and the familiar homepage rolled open.

  ‘Under the events tab, you can’t miss it. You have no idea about it, do you? I thought at first you must know, but then we only talked a couple of days ago and I was sure you would have mentioned it. How the fuck did he get hold of them?’ Aaron sounded angry now.

  Growing more concerned and confused by the second, Daniel selected the events tab and scrolled through the headlines. An icy feeling crawled up his spine as he read the sidebar in growing disbelief.

  Mystery of Fitz’s disappearance solved—new exhibition announced.

  ‘What the hell is this?’ he muttered, scanning through the story. His agent, his ex-agent, Nigel, was pictured outside the gallery that had hosted all of Daniel’s previous exhibitions. The owner, Maggie had taken a chance on him, and he had stayed loyal to her throughout his career. The story talked about Fitz being on retreat, looking for a new direction and a load of other bullshit Nigel had invented. There were a couple of teaser shots included with the story and Daniel blanched when he saw them.

  They were all images he had taken since arriving at Butterfly Cove. The top one was from inside the barn, the first time he had been in there. A murky shot of the sea taken through the filthy, cobweb covered window. The second image was a close-up of the vine-and-butterfly-patterned tiles around the dining room fireplace.

  It was the third shot that was the killer, though. It was one he had taken of Mia standing at the top of the steps leading down to the beach. She stood in silhouette looking out to sea, her hand raised to shield her eyes. A storm had been brewing. The sky purpled with the threat of rain and the sea a mass of white horses. It was a private image—one she hadn’t been aware of him taking. No-one was ever meant to see it—other than himself, and Mia when he gave her the album.

  ‘I’m going to kill him. How the hell did he get his hands on these?’ Even as he said it, Daniel knew. He’d uploaded everything to the cloud, just as he’d always done. Nigel had shared access to it. They’d used it to discuss and review plans for previous exhibitions, shuffling images around and weeding out the final approvals. It had never occurred to Daniel that Nigel would access it without his knowledge or permission.

  Flipping open the folder, he dragged everything from the shared area and moved them all back to his hard drive as quickly as he could. He could hear Aaron in the background, asking him if everything was okay but he didn’t answer until everything was cleared down and back in his sole possession. There was no way of knowing whether Nigel had copies of everything but Daniel would have to assume the worst.

  He finally turned back to the phone and Aaron’s increasingly worried voice. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore you. He had access to the cloud and I never dreamed he’d do anything like this. I need to come up to town, and get this sorted out.’ The very thought of returning to London turned his stomach to acid, but there was no time to waste. The show opened on Thursday, and it was already Monday afternoon.

  ‘Get what sorted out?’

  Daniel spun in his chair, his hand automatically closing his laptop as he turned to face Mia who had entered the kitchen behind him. He pasted a smile on his face, which he hoped looked less false and stiff than it felt. ‘Oh nothing, I just need to pop up to London for a few days, see the guys about the designs for the barn. It’s proving a bit complicated with us toing and froing over the phone. If we can sit down together then we can get things finalised…’

  His voice trailed off as he heard a sharp cough from the loudspeaker of his phone. He snatched it up and flipped the speaker off as he raised it to his ear.

  ‘I’ll text you when I’ve sorted my train times out, all right? Yeah, yeah I know. See you later.’ Daniel hung up and swallowed, trying to clear the sour taste on his tongue from so many lies. He didn’t know why he hadn’t just told Mia the truth about the exhibition but now that he had started on the path of untruths, he had no idea how to backtrack without making things worse. It had been an instinctive move to protect her, to protect himself really.

  He couldn’t bear it if she found out and somehow thought he’d planned this all along. He just needed to get to London and get his hands on bloody Nigel. Get a retraction printed and make sure all the copies were deleted. If he could just make it all go away, then he could get back to Mia and explain it to her afterwards. Somehow.

  ***

  Daniel Fitzwilliams was a terrible liar. If that was his idea of a poker face, he’d get fleeced every time he sat at a card table. She might have taken his visit to Aaron at face value except for two things. His mouth had twisted over the mention of London, and the guys were supposed to be joining them in a few days for the long Easter weekend. She knew he found the prospect of meeting Bill and Pat daunting, and thought he’d feel more comfortable with a bit of support at his back. She and Madeline had planned a huge feast for the Sunday, and an enormous turkey occupied pride of place in the freezer.

  Whatever this sudden trip was about, it didn’t have anything to do with the plans for the barn, she was almost certain of it. It hurt her to think he was hiding something from her, but she brushed it aside and gave him her best smile. Relationships were damn hard—she’d forgotten just how much. Since their morning on the beach, it had seemed silly to make him sleep in the room next door. She just wished he didn’t take up quite so much space everywhere.

  He was a snuggler, she’d discovered, with a natural body temperature to rival any Ready Brek kid. Two and half years of sleeping alone had turned her into a starfish, sprawling across the mattress in a wide array of arms and legs. He invaded her space at every turn, leaving stray socks beside the bed and his watch and phone tumbled carelessly between the carefully placed set of bowls on her dressing table. Silly, niggly things that counted for nothing when he took her in his arms, but it would take time to adjust to the reality of him.

  Maybe he was struggling with her need to have everything just so. His clothes still hung in the wardrobe in the other room because she hadn’t quite got around to making room for him in hers. Perhaps she should take the opportunity while he was away to clear a few things out so he had some proper places for his own things when he got back.

  ‘When do you need to go?’

  ‘First thing in the morning. I’ll get the early train, if you don’t mind dropping me off?’ He kept his eyes fixed on the half-closed laptop in front of him. Her stomach twisted. Something was definitely wrong.

  ‘But you’ll be back in time for the weekend?’ He gave her a blank look over his shoulder. ‘It’s Easter. Pat and Bill are coming down, remember?’ She kept the reminder gentle. What if his trip to London was an attempt to avoid meeting them? Why else would he be in such a panic?

  ‘Oh, damn. That’s this weekend?’ He scrubbed his hands through his hair, leaving a chunk at the front sticking straight up. The bleak look in his eyes was more than she could bear. Closing the space between them she petted the strands back into place, then cupped his head to hold him to her in a tight hug.

  ‘I’ll be on the first train Friday morning, I
promise. If I could put this off I would. I’m sorry.’ He muttered the words into her shoulder.

  She stroked his hair again. What was she to do? If things were going to work out between them then she needed to trust him. Whatever his reason for the trip, he didn’t sound happy about it. Fighting against her need to take control, she kept her mouth shut. If he wanted her help, he would ask for it. There was no cause to feel rejected. Keep telling yourself that, Mia.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Daniel stayed in his seat as the train pulled into the terminus in London. Everyone else seemed desperate to be first off so he hung back and left them to push and shove and barge their way off the train. He was in no hurry; the closer he’d got to London the worse the sick feeling in his gut became until he was swallowing convulsively to keep the bile down. He hated that feeling, that sudden gush of saliva just before his stomach muscles contracted and his body did a fine impression of something trying to turn itself inside out. He’d had too many mornings in the recent past when he had done just that. The heat and crush on the commuter train was doing nothing to ease his anxiety.

  He wasn’t ready to face this life again. He wanted desperately to stay in his little cocoon with Mia and the house, looking to the future, always to the future, not back. In his heart, Daniel knew that he needed to resolve things in London once and for all. It had been cowardly of him to cut and run the way he had.

  Thankfully, Aaron and Luke had both stood by him, even though he had been a less than stellar friend in the last few months of his life in London. They’d both done their best to keep his head on straight, to talk to him about the parties and the booze and his occasional foray into illicit substances, but Daniel had been too stupid and, if he was brutally honest with himself, too egotistical, to care.

  It still stung to acknowledge how hard he’d fallen for his own hype, believing the bullshit about his own genius fed to him by sycophants and hangers-on. They’d only been interested in his money and basking in the reflected glory that his fifteen minutes in the spotlight had earned.

  A cleaner entered the empty carriage, clearing the empty cups, newspapers and food wrappers discarded everywhere into a bin bag. She gave Daniel a quizzical glance and it was enough of a push to persuade his reluctant feet to move. He would head to Aaron’s first and dump his bag before heading over to the gallery. He’d toyed with the idea of returning to his own flat, but he couldn’t face it. He would try and speak to his landlord while he was here, terminate his lease and arrange for his things to be packed up and shipped home.

  Mulling it over on the journey, he’d decided his best course of action would be to speak to Maggie, the gallery owner, directly. She had been the first person to show his work and had always dealt fairly with him. He wondered what Nigel had told Maggie about his absence from planning the exhibition, as Daniel had always been insistent on approving everything.

  The betrayal was still a fresh wound in his heart. Stupid really, as he’d known what a ruthless bastard Nigel was before he’d agreed to be represented by him. Daniel had never taken to the man, or the way he operated. Anyone who was anyone was on Nigel’s books, however, and Daniel had been persuaded he needed his representation to take the next big step towards success. Nigel boosted the price tags, got the special commissions, which Daniel might have found unbearably boring, but the money had been too good to refuse.

  He pushed his way through the crowds milling around the station, so different to the homely, welcoming platform at Orcombe with its hanging baskets of flowers and old-fashioned waiting room. Here it was harsh lights, coffee shops and crowds. Commuters grumbled as they chopped and weaved through the tourists and day trippers who dawdled along, tube maps in hand as they pointed out the exit signs to each other.

  Daniel knew his way around, but he took his time, wondering anew at the need for accessory shops. Who got off the train with an urgent need to buy a tie or a scarf? Who honestly thought a pair of novelty socks would be the perfect gift for their host? The little shops were bursting with people so clearly there was a call for it.

  The escalator down to the underground was steep and slow; Daniel made sure to obey the rules and stood on the right, to let those in a rush run down the moving stairway. He turned to watch the rows of posters that lined the walls, advertising the latest theatre shows, comedy tours and shit! There was the same image he’d taken of Mia on poster after poster, advertising the opening of the exhibition in just a couple of days’ time. Even worse, the posters were interspersed with a mood shot of Daniel himself looking every bit the tortured artist.

  Daniel ducked his head away from the taunting images and pulled the collar of his coat up. The last thing he needed was anyone recognising him. He stepped into the busy flow and joined the rushing commuters, running down the remaining steps of the escalator and escaping into the tunnels beyond.

  The gallery looked the same as always: stark black painted wooden frames around huge picture windows, a black wooden door with the name of the gallery owner picked out tastefully in gold script. The windows would usually display selected works of the featured artist but today they were blanked out with white screens plastered in posters for the forthcoming exhibition.

  Daniel scrubbed his hand through his beard and leaned on the doorbell. He kept the button depressed and could hear the insistent buzz notifying the owner of his presence. The gallery was closed to visitors until opening night and he didn’t want to risk being ignored as an eager punter.

  He hoped that Maggie would be around, rather than one of her assistants, and he was rewarded by the clacking of heels on the tiled floor and the sound of her crisp, sharp voice approaching the door. ‘I hear you, I hear you. Take your finger off the bloody buzzer.’ The door yanked open, the fierce scowl on Maggie’s face instantly erased by a huge smile when she saw him. ‘Oh, Fitz, darling boy!’

  Daniel was enveloped in a discreet cloud of Chanel perfume as Maggie flung her arms around him. She looked just the same as always, cream silk blouse tucked into a black pencil skirt, stockings ‘tights are for schoolgirls and bank robbers’ masks, darling’ and black patent court shoes. Her blonde hair was fixed in a simple, elegant chignon and pearls at her throat and ears completed the look.

  ‘Come in, come in! It’s so wonderful to see you at last. Nigel has been very bloody cagey about your whereabouts and I was starting to worry. He’s got some very strange notions for the displays, not our usual thing at all. Between him and that obnoxious girlfriend of yours they have been driving me to absolute distraction!’ Maggie hooked her arm firmly through Daniel’s and towed him into the gallery.

  The walls were plastered with images he had taken at Butterfly Cove. Interior shots of the house, as well as around the garden and down on the beach. There was no finesse to the display, no careful grouping of images; they were just everywhere. ‘What the hell, Maggie?’ Daniel turned in a slow circle as he tried to take it all in.

  ‘I know, darling, I know, but you’re here now and we can fix it. I told them both, less is more. Subtle is the name of the game, but they wanted everything putting out.’

  ‘Less is definitely the way forward, Mags. A lot less.’ Daniel strode towards the wall in front of him and started to remove the prints as quickly as he could. His hands shook with fury and he pulled them down faster and faster, stacking them on the floor with no care, desperate to get them off the walls as quickly as possible.

  ‘Fitz, wait darling, you are going to chip the frames. What’s the matter?’ Maggie’s voice was high with her distress as she pulled on Daniel’s arm, trying to stop him and make him turn to look at her.

  Daniel shook her off and tore at the wall again, throwing a quirky shot of the green man statue down with such force that the glass in the frame shattered. The noise made Maggie scream and she jumped back to avoid the splinters of glass. Her scream was enough to shock Daniel into stillness and he turned to face Maggie, still clutching one of the photographs.

  ‘There is no F
itz any more. There is no exhibition. I quit town—quit all the bullshit—and I’ve found a new life. These are private, personal pictures. Mementos that were only to be shared with one person. I will not sell my future to strangers for a few quid and a bit of critical acclaim!’

  Daniel placed the picture more carefully on the pile of others on the floor and stepped towards Maggie who was staring at him in absolute horror. ‘No exhibition? That can’t be right. I’ve spent a small fortune on advertising. Nigel said it was the only way he could justify keeping your work here, that so many other galleries were clamouring to show your new collection. I had to demonstrate to him I was serious about retaining you as a client.’ Maggie hiccupped as her words trailed off and Daniel wrapped his arms around her petite frame, worried that she would keel over, she was so ghostly pale.

  ‘Maggie, Mags, you can’t have believed that I would desert you after all we’ve been through?’ Even as he said the words, Daniel was struck by the fact that he had indeed left Maggie without a second thought. She was someone who had stood by him from the very beginning and certainly deserved better than this. He squeezed her tighter and rubbed his hand up and down her soft, silk-clad back.

  ‘I’ll cover the costs. Nigel had no right to put you in such a position. I’ll post an announcement tomorrow, explain there has been a misunderstanding; it’ll be all right.’

  Maggie pulled back from Daniel and glared up at him, her eyes were red-rimmed and her perfect, subtle make-up was smudged across one cheek. She was furious. ‘It won’t be all right; the bloody phone has been ringing off the hook. Your vanishing act had everyone intrigued. I’ve had dozens of people willing to reserve a piece, based only on your reputation. The fact that a couple of gossip columns have been speculating on your whereabouts and your girlfriend has stirred the pot with her enigmatic statements. You can’t cancel now; it’ll be a bloody disaster! My reputation will be ruined!’