The Butterfly Box (46 page)

Sam wasn’t fooled. He loathed him immediately.

‘I don’t trust him,’ he hissed to Nuno. ‘Fle’s too smooth. There’s a portrait of him with all his imperfections hidden away in some attic somewhere, I’m

telling you.’

‘Ah, a Dorian Grey, perhaps. He’s certainly beautiful,’ Nuno replied as he watched Ingrid, Hester and Molly turn pink under the brilliance of Torquil’s physical perfection.

‘God, they’re such simpletons,’ Sam scorned. ‘Why is it that women are so dazzled by looks? It’s pathetic.’

Nuno scrutinized his grandson and sniffed knowingly. ‘Are you perhaps not a trifle jealous, dear boy?’

Sam shook his head and put his hands in his pockets. ‘Certainly not. She’s like a sister, I feel protective,’ he insisted, smarting at the sight of Federica basking in Torquil’s reflected glory.

‘Ah,’ sighed Nuno with a smile. “‘O! beware, my lord, of jealousy, It is the green-ey’d monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on.’”

‘Shakespeare’s
Othello
,’ said Sam flatly. ‘But I assure you, Nuno, I don’t covet Fede for myself. I’m just loath to see her falling into the wrong hands.’

‘You can’t live people’s lives for them, dear boy, they have to suffer their own mistakes and learn. We all do.’

‘I know, but it’s hard to stand back and watch it happen,’ he admitted

bleakly.

 

‘Nothing in the world would convince Federica today that Torquil is not all that he seems - if, indeed, he does deceive. Keep your thoughts to yourself. Nothing will come of honesty but bitterness.’

Sam sat through lunch watching Torquil holding forth while the women in the family laughed in admiration at every lame joke he delivered. Once or twice Torquil locked eyes with his aggressor, but it was he who turned away first.

He knows I can see straight through him
, Sam thought to himself,
the fool\
Federica noticed Sam’s silence and felt her enthusiasm dissipate as if his muted disapproval were sucking her energies dry. After lunch they all decided to go for a walk.

‘Are you coming with us, Sam?’ Federica asked hopefully.

But Sam shook his head. ‘I’ve got things to do,’ he replied.
Better things to do than listen to Torquil’s oafish jokes
, he thought sourly, and left the room for Nuno’s study.

 

Nuno’s study had the benefit of being situated on a corner of the house. One

half looked out onto the garden, the other onto the front. Sam stood by the window watching Torquil play with the dogs, who mobbed around on the grass in front of Molly, Hester and Ingrid.

‘I adore dogs, Ingrid,’ Torquil was saying, patting their soft heads. These two are really special.’

‘Dog lovers are good people,’ she replied, ‘you can always be certain of a person’s true nature if he likes dogs.’ She wrapped her long cardigan about her body. ‘If you’re going to walk on the cliffs, I suggest you borrow a coat, Torquil.’

‘No thank you, I have one in the car, I’ll just go and get it,’ he said, leaving the girls to chat among themselves. Sam watched him disappear through the archway and out to where his car was parked on the gravel. He wandered over to the other window. Torquil stalked across the driveway to his Porsche, followed eagerly by Trotsky and Amadeus who sniffed and sprung about his feet. To Sam’s surprise Torquil turned on them with impatience.

‘Stupid dogs. Piss off,' he growled, shunting Amadeus out of the way with a firm nudge of his shoe. Amadeus shrunk momentarily before believing it to be a game and trotted back for some more. ‘Bloody animals!’ he continued,

opening the boot and pulling out his coat. Trotsky lifted his ears in bewilderment and backed away leaving Amadeus to jump up onto Torquil’s neatly pressed corduroy trousers with muddy paws. Torquil was furious. He swore again and smacked the spaniel around the face. ‘You do that again and I’ll eat you for dinner,’ he scowled, before marching back through the arch to where the girls eagerly awaited him.

Sam was left floundering by the window, amazed at what he had just witnessed. He wanted to tell Federica immediately, but who would believe him? He sat down in Nuno’s leather chair and watched the fire smoulder in the grate.
Over my dead body will he get Federica up the aisle
, he thought to himself, but he didn’t have the first idea how he was going to stop him.

Chapter 33

Everyone loved Torquil. He had swept into Polperro like a victorious conqueror, winning over everyone he met, slaying them all with his straight white teeth and lucid eyes. Only Sam and Arthur remained suspicious, forming a silent resistance, unwilling to be deceived. But no one else seemed able to see beyond the charm. Nuno was too absorbed in the works of Stendahl to look, the women were all too smitten even to try and Federica’s family were so deeply enamoured with Torquil’s glamour that they didn’t give Arthur the opportunity to state his case. There was only one option open to both of them, but Nuno had warned Sam against speaking to Federica. He fretted away in a fever of irritation feeling powerless as Federica buzzed deliriously about the web of a very shrewd spider. But Arthur had less to lose - his stepdaughter had disliked him right from the start.

He managed to find a suitable moment on Sunday, when Torquil was being shown the Cornish coast in Toby’s boat, accompanied by Jake, Hal and Julian. Federica hadn’t wanted to go, preferring to spend some time with her grandmother in the kitchen, preparing the lunch in order to impress her fiance.

Helena sat in the rocking-chair beneath a canopy of hanging miniature ships, sipping a Bloody Mary and discussing wedding plans, while her mother and daughter sweated about the Aga with steaming pots of vegetables and treacle tart. After a while Federica wandered into the sitting room to find Arthur alone by the fire reading the papers. She pulled a polite smile.

‘How’s the cooking going?’ Arthur asked, folding the newspaper and placing it on the sofa beside him.

Federica hovered by the door, reluctant to embark on a conversation with her stepfather. ‘Fine,’ she replied impassively.

‘I can’t imagine you’ll ever have to cook at home once you’re married,’ he said and watched her carefully.

‘Oh, I’ll still cook, I’ve cooked all my life.’ Then she looked at him quizzically. ‘You don’t like Torquil, do you?’

Arthur sighed and sat back against the cushions. He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid I don’t trust him, Fede,’ he replied, fixing her with his sharp brown eyes.

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 found 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