‘Well, it’s a glorious monster, Posy, however demanding,’ he said as they walked along the path back to the house, passing the copper beech, still resplendent in its glorious colours.
Freddie suddenly halted in his tracks, looked to his left and pointed. ‘What is that building?’
‘The Folly. My father used it as his den. He collected butterflies and I used to help catch them – I thought he just studied them and let them go. When I managed to sneak inside, I was horrified to see them hanging on the walls, all dead, with great pins stuck through their middles. I haven’t been near the place since,’ she shuddered.
Freddie was silent for a while as his gaze rested on the building, then on Posy. He sighed heavily. ‘No. Well, I don’t blame you.’
‘Now then,’ Posy could feel the atmosphere was heavy with ghosts from the past, and it was her fault. ‘Let’s go inside and I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.’
She busied herself around the kitchen as Freddie sat silently at the old oak table. She was positive Health and Safety would probably insist on it being destroyed, due to the amount of bacteria that had collected in its wooden grooves over the years, but she had very happy memories of lunches and dinners eaten at it as a family.
‘Are you quite all right, Freddie?’ she asked him as she put a cup of tea in front of him. ‘You seem awfully subdued.’
‘Sorry, Posy, perhaps seeing you has taken me back to a different moment in my life. And made me realise how old I am,’ he added with a shrug.
‘I’m sad my presence depresses you,’ she said as she sat down opposite him with a glass of water. ‘Slice of cake?’
‘No thank you, I’m trying to watch my waistline. But really, Posy, I’m thrilled that we have been reacquainted after all these years.’
‘You don’t look it,’ Posy said brusquely, deciding she just needed to be honest. ‘Won’t you tell me what’s up? We were having such a lovely lunch and then suddenly you upped and left.’
‘I . . . look, Posy, the truth is,’ Freddie sighed heavily, ‘there was a reason back then and a reason now why I can’t . . . pursue the relationship I’d so very much like to have with you. And it has absolutely nothing to do with you. It’s all . . . me. Putting it simply, I have . . . issues.’
A hundred thoughts floated through Posy’s head: Was he a closet gay? Did he have a mental disorder like bipolar? Was there another woman lurking in the background . . .?
‘Why don’t you tell me what it is? Then maybe I can decide whether or not it’s important.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t do that, Posy,’ Freddie replied gravely. ‘And now I feel very guilty for even coming here. I swore to myself I wouldn’t, but . . . seeing you again, it rekindled the feelings I had for you all those years ago and, well, I just couldn’t keep away.’
‘Talk about mixed messages, Freddie,’ Posy sighed. ‘I do wish you would just tell me what it is.’
‘Could you accept I can’t, for now, anyway? Because if you can, then I do think there is no reason why we can’t have a friendship, at least.’
Posy realised that all she could do was agree. If she said that she couldn’t, it would make her sound either churlish, or needy for more than he said he could give her.
‘That’s fine by me,’ she shrugged.
Finally, a smile crossed Freddie’s face. ‘Then I am a happy man. May I take you out to dinner tomorrow night, if I promise not to rush off towards the end of it like some blushing virgin who thinks his virtue is about to be stolen?’
That made Posy chuckle and eased the tension somewhat. ‘Yes. Dinner would be lovely, thank you.’
By the time Freddie had left, it was too dark to go back into the garden. She made herself beans on toast, then went into the morning room, which had served as the sitting room for years as the drawing room was simply too large to heat. She knelt to light the first fire of the autumn, then sat in her favourite chair and watched the flames jump in the grate.
‘Why is life so complicated?’ she asked herself with a sigh. It seemed ridiculous that, with both of them around seventy years of age, there had to be ‘issues’ that precluded a proper relationship between them. Still, she thought, it was nice to think of dinner tomorrow night, even if Freddie had made it obvious there would be no goodnight kiss on the menu afterwards.
‘Perhaps he simply doesn’t fancy me, and maybe he never did,’ she said to the flames. ‘Which was maybe what the problem was in the first place. Yes, I’ll bet that’s what it is, but he just can’t bear to tell me.’
What little confidence Posy had garnered from Freddie’s recent attentions, plus the haircut and the jeans, floated away into the ether.
‘Stop it, Posy!’ she told herself firmly. Instead, she would focus on the fact that her darling Nick was due here in a couple of days’ time after ten long years.
Chapter 10
Amy listened to the wind howling round the thin walls of the house. She could hear, in the dead of the night, the waves crashing onto the shore only a quarter of a mile away from her. The other residents of the houses on Ferry Road had long since left for warmer, more substantial shelter.
Next door, Sara coughed in her sleep. Amy shifted restlessly, knowing she must take her daughter to the doctor’s tomorrow. The cough had been going on for too long now.
Sam was snoring next to her, oblivious to the anxious thoughts keeping his wife awake. He was coming in later and later these days, citing his heavy workload as the reason, and she made sure she was in bed feigning sleep before he arrived home.
There was no doubt their marriage was going through a crisis. And it wasn’t as if she could blame their current circumstances, either. They’d been here before, struggling for money time and again when one of Sam’s deals hadn’t worked out. Perhaps not as dramatically as this, but still, their life together had never been a bed of roses.
Everything was bloody, bloody awful. The thought of spending a long winter in this ghastly house was almost unbearable. She’d once believed it didn’t matter where they lived or how much money they had as long as they were together, but actually it did, because it made life so much harder. She was tired of putting on a brave face to the world, tired of defending herself from her husband’s anger when he was drunk and, on top of that, exhausted from trying to do her job and be a good mother to her two children.
Although Sam was lying only a few inches away from her, the emotional chasm between them was vast. And since that night she had met Sebastian Girault on the sea front, Amy had begun to question whether it was just because life was so difficult at present, or, more disturbingly, whether her current feeling of depression was because she just didn’t love Sam any more. In fact, she admitted, he disgusted her when he was drunk, but what could she do?
The following morning, Amy got up as usual, leaving Sam asleep in bed. She drove Jake to school, then sat in the doctor’s surgery with a poorly Sara on her knee.
‘Sara has a temperature and a nasty cold and cough. A couple of days tucked up in a nice, warm bed should see her better. If she doesn’t improve, bring her back and we can think about prescribing some antibiotics, but let’s see how some old-fashioned nursing goes down first, shall we?’ suggested the doctor.
Amy’s heart sank. The news meant she’d have to cancel work for two days, which meant she’d lose two days’ money. On the way home, she called in to the hotel and told them she’d be unable to work, then popped quickly next door to the supermarket to get supplies. Sara whined and cried in the front of the trolley as Amy sped round the aisles, eager to get her home.
‘Darling, I won’t be long, I promise. Let’s get you some Ribena and . . .’
As Amy turned fast into the next aisle, her trolley collided with a shopping basket sticking out from the arm of a man.
‘Sorry, sorry.’ Amy’s heart sank when she saw who it was.
Sebastian Girault raised an eyebrow at her. ‘We really must stop meeting like this. People will talk.’
&nb
sp; ‘Yes we must. Sorry and excuse me.’ Amy reached past him for a bottle of Ribena. Sebastian waved her arm away, took a bottle down and placed it in her trolley. Sara began to scream.
‘Oh dear, she doesn’t sound happy.’
‘She’s not. She’s sick. I need to get her home.’
‘Of course. Bye then.’
‘Bye.’
Sebastian watched as Amy hurried along the aisle and disappeared round the corner. Even in her dishevelled and obviously anxious state, she really was a beautiful woman. He wondered who she was and where she came from. In this small seaside town, so full of middle-aged and retired gentlefolk, Amy and her youth and beauty stood out like a beacon.
Sebastian was just about to move off, when he saw a small pink mitten lying on the floor. Obviously, Amy’s daughter had dropped it. He retrieved it and rushed down the aisle after her. He reached the checkout and saw Amy getting into her car outside. By the time he’d got to the exit, she’d driven off.
Sebastian looked down at the tiny glove. Not quite Cinderella’s slipper, but it would have to do.
Amy was actually relieved to return to work a couple of days later. Being stuck in the house with only a sick, whiny four-year-old for company as the rain had poured down outside had just about been the icing on her cake. The only positive had been that she had taken the time to catch up with some housework and laundry and at least their hovel was tidy now, if not welcoming.
‘How is Sara?’ asked Wendy, the hotel housekeeper, as she passed by the reception desk.
‘Much better. It’s me that needs the Valium.’ Amy rolled her eyes.
‘There’s nothing worse than a poorly little one,’ Wendy clucked. ‘Still, she’s on the mend now.’
Amy’s heart sank as Sebastian Girault entered and marched up to the reception desk.
‘Yes, it’s me again. Sorry, but I came to return something that was yours – or should I say, your daughter’s.’ He placed the tiny mitten on the counter. ‘She dropped it in the supermarket.’
‘Oh, er, thanks,’ said Amy perfunctorily, not looking up to meet his eyes. Sebastian hovered at the desk and Amy realised he had something more to say. ‘What?’
‘I’d like you to come for a drink with me at lunchtime.’
‘Why?’
‘Why not? Because I want you to,’ he shrugged.
‘Mr Girault’ – Amy lowered her voice to prevent being overheard, her cheeks pink with embarrassment – ‘you don’t even know my name.’
‘Yes I do. Mrs Amy Montague,’ he read from the badge pinned to her blouse. ‘There you are, you see.’
‘Exactly. “Mrs”,’ Amy almost hissed. ‘It may have escaped your notice, but I’m a married woman with two children. I can’t just go waltzing off with some strange man for a drink.’
‘Admittedly, I am strange,’ Sebastian agreed, ‘but I haven’t quite revealed my ulterior motive, which is that I have been speaking to your friend Marie and—’
‘Excuse me, Mr Girault, I must deal with this customer’s bill.’ Amy indicated the man standing patiently behind Sebastian.
‘Of course. I’ll see you in the back bar of the Crown at one, then.’ He smiled at her and left the hotel.
When Amy had finished dealing with her customer, she immediately called Marie.
‘Oh,’ Marie giggled down the line, ‘it’s my fault. I suggested something to him when he was in our office yesterday. He’s still looking for somewhere to rent for the winter.’
‘What did you suggest? That he came and stayed with us on Ferry Road?’
‘Ha ha, no. You’ll have to go and meet him and find out, won’t you?’
‘Marie, please, I don’t like games, just tell me.’
‘Okay, okay, keep your hair on. Sebastian is desperate for a place to write this novel of his. So far everything’s been too big, too small, too old, too new – you name it – but it’s not been right. Anyway, yesterday when he walked in, I’d just had a call from your mother-in-law, Mrs Montague, to say she is seriously thinking of selling and would I go round and value Admiral House. And I suddenly thought what a fantastic place it would be to write a book.’
‘So why didn’t you suggest Sebastian got straight in touch with Posy rather than involving me?’ asked Amy crossly.
‘Because I barely know your mother-in-law and it would be unprofessional to start giving out her telephone number to a stranger. I thought it would be better if Sebastian spoke to you and then you could act as a go-between. That’s all. I’m sorry if I’ve done the wrong thing, Amy, really.’
‘No, no, of course you haven’t,’ Amy said hastily, feeling guilty for her suspicious mind when Marie had obviously acted in all innocence. ‘It’s just that I seem to bump into him at every turn.’
‘Well, I doubt you’ll come to much harm in the back bar of the Crown,’ said Marie sensibly.
‘No, and I’m sorry. Thanks Marie.’ Amy put the receiver down and wondered who she was becoming. Her usual sunny demeanour seemed to be deserting her. She was grumpy with everyone, especially the kids. After she’d met Sebastian, she’d go to the deli and take them home something special for supper.
Sebastian was already ensconced behind a copy of The Times in a corner of the bar when Amy arrived. Looking nervously around her, she was relieved to see that, apart from a couple of oldies drinking pints of Adnams beer, the bar was deserted.
‘Hello, Mr Girault.’
He looked up from behind his paper. ‘Sebastian, please. What can I get you to drink?’
‘Nothing, I can’t stay. I have some shopping to do.’ Amy felt breathless, her heart banging against her chest.
‘Okay.’ Sebastian shrugged. ‘Will you at least sit down, then? I swear I will not ravish you where you stand, madam, that my intentions are honourable,’ he smiled, his green eyes full of amusement at her discomfort.
‘Don’t make fun of me,’ said Amy under her breath. ‘This is a very small town with a lot of big mouths. I do not want it to get back to my husband that I was seen having a drink with you.’
‘Well, you’ve already said you’re not having a drink, so that solves half the problem,’ Sebastian replied rationally. ‘And I hardly think you’d choose the most popular bar in town in which to have a secret liaison, but anyway . . . I am having a drink. Excuse me.’
Amy moved aside to let him pass. She watched him walk to the bar and realised how childish he must think her behaviour was. She followed him.
‘Sorry, Sebastian. I’ll have an orange juice and lemonade, please.’
‘Coming right up.’
Amy went and sat down.
‘There we go, one orange juice and lemonade.’
‘Thank you. I’m sorry for behaving so defensively earlier and just now.’
‘That’s okay. I do know what small towns are like. I used to live in one too. Cheers.’ Sebastian took a swig of his beer. ‘No doubt you called your friend Marie—’
‘I wouldn’t call her a friend exactly,’ cut in Amy. ‘I hardly know her.’
‘Okay, you called Marie to find out what she’d been saying to me.’
‘Yes I did,’ nodded Amy.
‘And what do you think?’
‘I have no idea how Posy would feel about having a tenant,’ Amy shrugged. ‘Or how you would feel about Admiral House. It’s not exactly luxury accommodation, you know. There’s no heating at all upstairs.’
‘That doesn’t bother me. I went to public school so I’m used to freezing my balls off, if you’ll pardon the expression. I have to say, having exhausted the rental possibilities, your mother-in-law’s place sounds just the job. I need lots of room to pace.’
‘There’s certainly pacing room at Admiral House, that’s for sure. Heaps of it,’ acknowledged Amy. ‘Well, all I can do is ask Posy and see what she says. How long would it be for?’
‘A couple of months to begin with. It’s hard to tell how quickly I’ll get on.’
‘You’d certainly be well fed.
Posy is a wonderful cook.’
‘My goodness, I wasn’t hoping for board as well, but that would be absolute heaven. I never manage much more than the odd slice of toast and a pot noodle when I’m writing.’
‘Oh, I’m sure Posy would love to feed you. I know she misses cooking for her family.’
‘So, you are married to one of her sons?’
‘Yes. Sam, the eldest.’
‘She lives alone in the house, does she?’
‘Yes, but not for much longer. I think she’s finally decided to sell it. Marie said something about going in to value it later this week.’
‘I’d better get in there soon, then. Will you ring your mother-in-law for me? Put in a good word? Tell her I’m clean, house-trained and willing to pay, but a little on the eccentric side when it comes to the hours I keep.’
‘I’ll do my best.’ Amy nodded.
‘So, where do you live? In some equally gracious pile, I presume.’
‘Hardly,’ she snorted. ‘The Montagues are no longer the wealthy family they once were. All that remains of the glory days of the past is Admiral House. Sam has to make his own living.’
‘I see. And what does your husband do?’
Usually, the word ‘business entrepreneur’ would slip easily from her tongue when people asked her what Sam did. Today, Amy could not bring herself to say it. She shrugged. ‘Oh, this and that. At the moment he’s involved in some property company which, given Sam’s track record, will probably go belly-up within the next six months.’
‘I see.’
‘Oh God, that sounds so awful, doesn’t it?’ Amy put her hand to her mouth in shame. ‘What I meant to say is that Sam’s a nice man and I love him to bits, but he really hasn’t had much luck in the career department.’
‘That must have been very difficult for you,’ acknowledged Sebastian, ‘especially with children. How many?’
The Butterfly Room Page 16