The Butterfly Box (40 page)

 

‘Fuck off! I’m a lady,’ squawked the gypsy in protest.

‘You are no lady,’ Nigel hissed into the crack in the door, hoping that none of the other customers could hear her. ‘Now I will warn you only once more, if you don’t come out we’re going to have to bash the door down and drag you

out.’

‘Can’t a lady piss in peace?’ she shouted. ‘I have my rights. A piss is a piss, the same for a duchess as for a tramp. I ain’t no duchess, but I’m a lady through and through.’

‘Right, that’s it. We’re coming in.’

‘All right, all right,’ she said, opening the door. Nigel winced at the stench that followed her. ‘Not even allowed to piss in peace,’ she squawked as she pushed past him.

The customers grimaced as she waddled through the department, scowling at them angrily. ‘I’ll bet he lets you piss in peace,’ she shrieked to an unsuspecting elderly lady who stood frozen to the ground with disgust. ‘This joint smells like the devil’s arse!’ she added before disappearing into the street. The whole shop seemed to sigh with relief. Only Harriet and Torquil continued to shop oblivious to the commotion.

After a couple of hours of unpacking photograph frames and stacking them in neat piles on the shelves, Federica was pleased to see Harriet’s excited face appear in the doorway. ‘Darling girl, you’re never going to believe it, Torquil

Jensen has just been in and spent a whole two hours shopping with me,’ she hissed, afraid of being overheard.

‘Really!’ said Federica, trying to share her excitement.

‘He squashed Greta. You should have seen her face. It fell a mile. Silly cow.’

‘How wonderful.’

‘He is so drop dead handsome. I wish you could have seen him. He’s dark and mysterious with the most beautiful green eyes that change to blue depending on what he’s wearing and he was wearing a green cashmere sweater today, so they were green, like emeralds. He’s so elegant. He exudes wealth and confidence. I can’t believe you didn’t see him. You simply can’t understand.’ Federica shrugged her shoulders. ‘Anyway, he’s bought so many things it’s all been taken upstairs and you and I are going to have the honour of wrapping it up.’

‘Lucky us!’ said Federica sarcastically.

‘You’d feel differently if you’d met him,’ said Harriet sympathetically, gazing upon the piles of colour-coded frames. ‘You know, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Greta sent you down here on purpose because she saw him come into the shop. He’d fancy you, he’s got a thing about blondes.’

‘I don’t think he’d look at me, Harriet. And anyway, I wouldn’t want him to. My heart pines for someone else,’ she said and sat down on the stool.

‘Who?’ Harriet asked, leaning back against the doorframe.

‘Oh, just someone I’ve known all my life. It’s useless, though, he couldn’t be less interested,’ she replied and smiled up at her friend in an effort not to reveal the extent of her misery.

‘You wouldn’t want anyone else if you saw Torquil,’ said Harriet, knowing that she would never admire another man as long as she lived. ‘If Torquil marries I shall become a nun,’ she added with a grin. ‘Come on, I think Cinders has suffered enough in the basement.’

Federica didn’t have any desire to meet Torquil Jensen. She belonged exclusively to Sam Appleby. As much as she tried to move on and attach her desire to someone else, it ached incessantly for Sam. She loved the mischievous way he grinned, the mop of golden hair that fell over his intelligent eyes, his commanding nature and his confidence. And she missed him all the time.

She spoke to her mother every other day. Helena no longer worried about

Federica, who had grown into a sensible young woman, capable of looking after herself. She worried about Hal. He had never been an easy child, not like his sister, but he had always been biddable. Now he was getting into trouble at school, failing exams and acquiring an attitude that questioned everything she did and argued only for the sake of being troublesome. She mourned the loss of the child who used to cling to her and caress her with the adoring eyes of an infatuated lover. Now he scowled at her one moment and loved her the next and she found herself living her life on a permanent roller-coaster without being able to get off. He disappeared with his friends on the weekends and returned sometimes in the early hours of the morning smelling of alcohol and smoke, barely able to drag himself up the stairs and into bed.

Helena despaired. Arthur embraced her with his support and affection and demanded nothing in return. Selflessly he listened to her as she unburdened her tormented thoughts and he gave his advice wisely in spite of the fact that he knew she wouldn’t heed a single word of it. She was too involved to be able to see the situation objectively. ‘Ignore him, my darling,’ Arthur would advise. ‘He’s living off your attention like a parasite, if the attention runs dry he’ll drop off.’

‘My son is not some bloody tick!’ she’d retort before freezing her face into the expression of a much-misunderstood martyr. But Arthur understood Hal. He had been indulged all his life because Helena had never stopped feeling guilty for taking him away from his father. In Arthur’s opinion a guilty mother was a very dangerous thing. Hal needed a firm hand and until he received one he’d push his boundaries as far as they could go. But Helena wouldn’t allow her husband to assert his authority and instead of earning her son’s respect with severity she tried to win it with leniency.

Federica also listened to her mother’s grievances with the patience of a therapist. At the beginning when Federica had just moved up to London, Helena asked her about her new job and flat, but once she had settled in Helena asked less about her life until her curiosity dried up altogether and she spoke of nothing but Hal. If Federica tried to direct the conversation away from her brother Helena would either wind up the conversation or find some way of bringing it back to her son. Hal was no longer her hobby but her life and his demand for attention was all consuming.

Federica’s life in London was so far removed from Polperro that she was able to detach herself from the tangle of family politics. At first everything was

so new she didn’t have time to miss home. Then she spoke to Toby and Julian on the telephone and she suddenly felt a yearning for the sea and the cry of gulls and the fresh salty air and silent nights. She also missed Rasta who she had had to leave with her uncle. When she arrived in London she understood why. The city was no place for a dog like Rasta who thrived on his long country walks and games on the beach. He would decline fast in a place like London, but she missed his company none the less.

At first she found it difficult to sleep in the city for the noise of cars, people and the odd police siren that wailed into the night and turned her blood cold. But after a month she began to find the noise a comfort and the yellow streetlights that flooded into the small bedroom she shared with Hester a trigger of memories long since forgotten. As she familiarized herself with the streets of her new home she began to feel a growing sense of belonging. The city ceased to feel like an overwhelming maze to be feared but a friendly town to be enjoyed. She made new friends and went out almost every night, to the cinema, the theatre or simply to the pub where they’d sit around playing backgammon and talk until closing. But Sam’s imaginary presence followed her wherever she went and fought off the men who admired her and longed to have her for

themselves.

Then just when she thought that nothing could dilute the ardour she felt for Sam, someone walked into her life to change it for ever.

Chapter 29

‘Greta wants us to move all the china to the other side of the department.' Harriet said wearily as Federica entered the department.

‘Are you sure? That’s a lot of heavy work.' Federica replied, then she noticed the black circles around Harriet’s dull eyes. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I got locked out of my flat last night and ended up walking the streets until dawn.’

‘You should have called me,’ said Federica.

‘I didn’t have your number on me, m’darling. I’m fine. Just protect me from Greta, please.’ She sighed and smiled weakly. ‘Apparently Torquil’s coming in today for some more shopping. They delivered all the gifts we wrapped up before the weekend, but he needs a few more. I can’t bear it, I look hideous,’ she sighed, rubbing her eyes.

‘You could never look hideous, Harriet. Greta can look after him,’ Federica said, locking her bag under the counter. ‘That might put her in a better mood.’

‘Some hope,’ she moaned.

By mid morning they had moved all the china and were leaning back against the counter exhausted when Mr Jensen entered followed by a group of dark-suited men rubbing their hands together in gestures of deference and answering, ‘Yes, Mr Jensen, of course, Mr Jensen’, to everything he said. Harriet and Federica at once stood to attention and smiled politely. ‘That’s Mr Jensen,’ Harriet hissed.

‘Don’t think I didn’t notice,’ she hissed back. ‘You just have to look at the group of sycophants!’ The entourage stopped and looked about the room, commenting in hushed voices on the products and the displays. ‘Thank God we did the china before he came in,’ said Federica.

‘Just in the nick of time,’ Harriet replied. ‘He’d freak out if he saw the department in a mess.’

Mr Jensen’s small eyes missed nothing. He scanned the room in one long scrutinizing sweep. When his gaze rested on the angelic countenance of Federica he pulled himself up and whispered something into the inclined ear of one of his aides. At that moment Greta stalked out of her office.

‘I thought I told you two not to stand together gossiping,’ she said in exasperation, her accent shaving the words aggressively.

‘Good morning, Greta,’ said Mr Jensen, appearing behind her as if out of nowhere. ‘I don’t believe we have met,’ he added, turning to Federica. Greta blinked in surprise and drew herself up with self-importance.

‘Federica Campione,’ Federica replied, extending her hand.

‘It is a pleasure to have you here,’ he said with a smile, watching her curiously. ‘We need sunny faces like yours in the front of the shop.’ He chuckled and narrowed his small black eyes. The aides chuckled too. ‘Make sure she’s always at the front of the shop, Greta.’

Greta nodded enthusiastically. ‘Of course, Mr Jensen, I know an asset when I see one,’ she gushed.

‘Good.’ He sniffed, then his expression darkened as he traced his eyes over the newly moved china. ‘Why has the department been changed around?’ he asked in indignation. His aides straightened themselves up and folded their arms in front of their pigeon chests in a show of mutual outrage.

‘Oh,’ gasped Greta, clasping her hands together in horror. ‘I can only apologize. Federica is new and did not understand my instructions,’ she said without so much as a blink. Federica’s cheeks flushed scarlet. Mr Jensen nodded and his aids unfolded their arms.

‘Perhaps you’d better make yourself more easily understood next time,’ he said firmly. ‘I want it all moved back to where it was,’ he added, clicking his fingers in the air as if summoning a waiter. Then he turned and led the entourage up the stairs to the furniture department.

‘You heard him, do it!’ Greta snapped impatiently. ‘And, Harriet, if you come into work looking like this again I will send you straight back home - for good. Do you understand?’ Harriet nodded. She was too weary to fight. ‘Ya! Now hurry, before he comes back.’

Federica watched helplessly as she disappeared into her office. ‘I’m speechless,’ she breathed.

‘You’d better get used to it, m’darling, she does that sort of thing all the time. I’ve been in trouble so many times because of her shifting the responsibility. She hides behind us. But she takes all the credit when things go well, believe me. Right, back to where we started again. Stupid cow!’ she muttered, once again fishing the key to the cabinets out of the drawer.

Federica simmered quietly with fury as she walked about rearranging her department. Harriet was too tired to talk and so Federica wallowed in her own self-pity, wishing she had the strength of character to stand up for herself.

When a tall, leather-clad man in a black shiny motorbike helmet stalked into the shop, she pressed the code B button on the telephone in an act of defiance and watched the stairs for Nigel Dalby.

Nigel glided down with as much subtlety as a policeman in a pantomime. Federica caught his eye and nodded towards the man who hovered suspiciously by the door. Nigel approached him, straightened himself up importantly and asked him to remove his helmet. ‘I’m afraid we don’t permit helmets in the shop,’ he explained with self-importance. The man cocked his head to one side in amusement before removing his gloves and then his helmet, shaking out his raven hair and revealing himself to be none other than Torquil Jensen. Nigel spluttered his apologies and visibly shrunk.

Federica sighed heavily as the colour drained from her face. Harriet was right, he was quite the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Nigel withdrew backwards, almost bowing as he went, then scuttled up the stairs to hide while his humiliation subsided in the privacy of his office.

Torquil looked at Federica with green eyes and smirked. ‘So you’re the shop security, are you?’ he said, striding over to her and dropping his helmet onto the counter. ‘I’m Torquil Jensen.’ He extended his hand. He watched her blush

as he traced her features with the same scrutinizing stare as his uncle had done earlier.

‘Federica Campione,’ she replied hoarsely.

‘Italian?’

‘Chilean.’

‘What a beautiful country,’ he exclaimed. ‘I travelled there as a young man.’ Then he grinned at her brazenly. ‘This may sound crass but I’m so completely stunned by your looks, I’ve forgotten what I came in for.’ Federica frowned in discomfort and felt the wings of a butterfly make her stomach quiver. ‘You’re very pretty,’ he continued. ‘You must be new. No one’s that keen to assist Nigel Dalby.’ He laughed, his face creasing into deep lines around his large mouth and surprisingly pale eyes. ‘You did him a favour, he thinks he’s much more important than he is, those sort of people need to be taken down a peg or two.’

‘It was a mistake. I apologize,’ she said, thinking of Nigel Dalby’s long knuckled fingers tapping his mortification away alone in his office and felt guilty. ‘He was only doing his job,’ she added in his defence.

‘And you were only doing yours,’ he said. ‘I’ve just bought a new bike, you

must come for a ride sometime,’ he added, caressing her with intense eyes. She smiled awkwardly. He folded his arms and leant on the counter. She stepped back as the spicy scent of his skin and the heat of his body invaded her senses with too much intimacy. ‘Oh, I know what I came in for. I need something for a young woman,’ he said, then thought a moment, rubbing his stubbly chin with his hand. ‘A young woman, about your age. A Christmas present. What sort of thing would she like?’

‘How well do you know her?’ she asked, trying to sound official in spite of his suffocating proximity.

‘Not very well. But I want to give her something,’ he said casually, grinning at her.

‘How much do you want to spend?’

‘Money is no object. If you’d been here longer you’d know that. I never look at prices, they only get in the way. So, what do you think you’d like, for example?’

‘Well, if you don’t know her too well, I’d go for something pretty but not too intimate. Let me see,’ she said, casting her eyes about the shop, feeling the shamelessness of his stare burn her face crimson. She saw Harriet hiding

behind the glass cabinets displaying the china they had just moved, and wished she’d come to her aid. But Harriet felt too ugly to show herself and cowered lower until even Federica couldn’t see her.

‘What about one of those china pots, you could buy a plant and present them together?’

‘Would you like a plant?’ he asked.

‘Of course. All women like plants.’

‘I like your ideas, give me another one,’ he said, without taking his eyes off her.

‘A painting?’ she suggested, looking up at the patchwork of pictures on the wall.

‘I don’t know her taste,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘What about a silver photograph frame or something pretty that she can use?’

‘Oh, I know,’ she said, leading him through the shop to a locked glass case that contained exquisite ornate silver frames. ‘This one’s just come in, it’s from China. It’s so delicate, isn’t it? If you don’t know her very well, it’s perfect.’

‘You’re a good salesgirl,’ he said, taking the frame from her. ‘If a man gave this to you, would you like it?’

‘Of course. If anyone gave it to me, I’d like it.’

‘Good, wrap it up then. That was easy.’

She began to wrap it up with an unsteady hand for his eyes watched her every move with undisguised fascination. ‘Would you like to take it now or shall I have it delivered?’

‘I’ll take it now,’ he replied, disarming her with another wide smile.

‘Is there anything else you want?’

‘I’m not in the mood any more. I’ll come back another time, that will also give me an opportunity to see you again,’ he said in a low voice. Federica frantically searched for something to say, but nothing came. She stood mutely staring back at him. When he left the department a large vacuum remained into which Federica stared as if she were seeing something that no one else could see. Then she breathed again and realized that she had hardly dared breathe at all while Torquil had been beside her.

The rest of the day passed in an exquisitely somnambulant haze. When she returned to the flat she couldn’t recall a single thing that had happened after Torquil Jensen had left, but she remembered every word of their conversation

as if she had learnt it all by heart. As she sat enjoying a glass of wine with Hester and Molly, the doorbell rang. Hester answered it to find a delivery boy with two packages for Federica. When Federica saw the size of the second package she began to tremble. It was a large plant in a blue and white china pot, like the one she had recommended to Torquil that morning.

‘Who’s this all from?’ Hester gasped in amazement.

‘This will look divine in the flat,’ said Molly, taking it from Federica and placing it in the sitting room where she proceeded to unwrap it. ‘What’s in the other package?’

‘I imagine it’s a silver photograph frame,’ said Federica in amazement.

‘How do you know?’ Hester asked.

‘I just do.’

‘Well, come on,’ said Molly impatiently, flicking ash into the gas fire. ‘It won’t open by you staring at it.’

Federica carefully peeled off the paper and pulled out the delicate frame imported from China. ‘It’s stunning,’ Hester gasped in admiration. ‘Look, it’s got birds carved into it,’ she added, running her hand over it in wonder.

‘That would look good in the sitting room too,’ said Molly, dragging on her

cigarette.

But Federica held it tightly. Til put the photograph of Papa in there.' she said firmly. ‘It’s going beside my bed.’

‘Goodie.' Hester exclaimed. ‘I can enjoy it too.'

 

Federica hurried along the corridor to her bedroom and closed the door behind her. She could hear the whisperings of Molly and Hester who were curious to know who had bought her such expensive gifts. But she ignored them and sat on the bed to carefully exchange her father’s frame for the new one. She ran a fond finger over his handsome face and noticed how Torquil’s dark looks resembled Ramon’s. The same raven hair, the same olive skin and the same generous mouth. But their eyes were very different. Ramon’s were black and mysterious like the universe, whereas Torquil’s were light and shimmering like a shallow green pool. She set the photograph into the frame and placed it on the side table, then sat back and admired it. That was how Hester found her, gazing transfixed into her father’s hidden world.

‘I don’t want to disturb you,’ she said, waking her friend from her trance.

‘No, no, that’s fine.’ Federica pulled her eyes away.

‘Who is he?’ she asked. ‘I imagine he’s a “he”,’ she giggled.

‘My God, Hester. You should see him. He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on,’ she said emphatically, lying back against the pillows. ‘He’s tall and dark with the palest green eyes. When he smiles my stomach turns over. I feel I’ve been hit by a lorry.’

‘More like one of Cupid’s arrows.’ She chuckled, settling onto her own bed. ‘Where did you meet him?’

‘He’s the nephew of the man who owns St John and Smithe. Thankfully, he’s not short and bald like his uncle.’

‘So, he just came into the shop?’

‘Yes, I thought he was a shoplifter because he wore a biker helmet, so I called Nigel Dalby down to check him out, it was really embarrassing.’

‘Well, he obviously didn’t take offence.’

‘No, he was amused.’ She smiled, recalling the moment.

‘Very amused, I can see,’ said Hester, admiring the frame. ‘He’s smitten too.’

‘I think he’s smitten by a lot of women.’

‘How old is he?’