The Butterfly Room

by Lucinda Riley

  I’ll go to bed at eight tonight, I thought as I soaked myself, then stepped out and towelled myself dry. Dressed in my robe, I made myself some cheese on toast and sat on the sofa eating it. Am I boring, preferring seedlings to non-stop partying? I asked myself. When I’d complained about the noise a few days ago, Estelle had told me I was getting old before my time.

  ‘You can sleep when you’re in your forties, Posy darling. Enjoy your youth whilst you have it,’ she’d said nonchalantly as she took another drag of a joint she’d been passed by a young man who was very obviously wearing lipstick. I had skulked back to my bedroom and stuck cotton wool in my ears.

  At least I adored my job. Mr Hubbard, the new Keeper of the Herbarium, seemed to like me and was very encouraging. Every morning, we received new plant samples at Kew from all over the world: some delivered by the plant hunters in special cases to keep the specimens alive after months of travels through mountains and jungles, and some in boxes sent over from botanical gardens in Singapore, Australia or the Americas. After carefully checking the plants for little travellers such as lice or flies, I would begin to study them, make scientific illustrations at my tiny desk, and take photographs, then develop them in the darkroom.

  I learnt to press the samples on archival paper in the mounting room, then marked the origin, the collector, the family and genus numbers on small labels. Deciphering the notes from various botanists all over the world took the longest time, but ultimately gave vital information on the care and upkeep of the plant. Once dried, I would put the pressed plants in the tall cupboards in the centre of the Herbarium, a two-storeyed room that was already overcrowded with samples. I asked my colleague Alice how many there were in total, and she chewed on her pencil thoughtfully before replying, ‘Perhaps four and a half million?’

  I could not ask for a more glorious place to work; the garden around me provided a much-needed contrast to the bustle of the city.

  I’m a country girl at heart, I acknowledged as I yawned, washed up my plate and cutlery and headed for bed. ‘I miss Cambridge, and Jonny,’ I murmured as I lay uncovered on the hard mattress – it was far too hot for a sheet. Still sweating, I then divested myself of my nightie too and lay there naked. I reached for the book on my bedside table and attempted to read, but I was so exhausted I soon fell asleep, lulled by the lightest touch of a breeze coming from the open window.

  I came to a few hours later, hearing the front door slam and the sound of laughter in the narrow hall.

  ‘Oh God,’ I groaned as I heard Frankie blaring out from the gramophone. Reaching for the glass of water on my bedside table, I drank thirstily. Lying back down, I closed my eyes and wished I too could fly to the moon like Sinatra was begging a girl to do. At least there would be silence there.

  ‘Won’t be a tick, just going for a . . .’

  My bedroom door was suddenly opened and a figure appeared in the doorframe, silhouetted by the light behind him. I gave a small scream and fumbled for a sheet to cover my modesty as the light was switched on.

  ‘Go away!’ I called as I looked at the figure in the doorway. I couldn’t see his features in the gloom, but with a jolt, I realised exactly who he was.

  ‘God, do excuse me, I was looking for the lavatory,’ said my intruder, pushing a hand through his thick wavy hair and staring straight at me. I blushed, pulling the sheet tighter around me.

  ‘That’s okay,’ I gulped. ‘The lavatory’s on the other side of the corridor.’

  ‘Of course. And I do beg your pardon.’ He squinted at me again. ‘Are you sure I don’t know you? You look awfully familiar.’

  ‘I’m sure you don’t,’ I said, wishing he would just go away.

  ‘Were you by any chance at Cambridge?’

  ‘Yes,’ I sighed, ‘I was.’

  ‘And you had a friend called Andrea?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘I never forget a face,’ he smiled. ‘She brought you to one of my parties – I remember it vividly. You were wearing a red dress.’

  ‘Yes, it was me,’ I said as my eyes adjusted to the gloom and I saw his big, fawn-coloured eyes.

  ‘Well, well. Isn’t it a small world. I’m Freddie Lennox. It’s very nice to see you again, er . . .?’

  ‘Posy Anderson.’

  ‘Of course, I remember now. May I ask why you’re in here like Cinderella whilst the party goes on around you?’

  ‘Because unlike most of the guests, I have a job to do.’

  ‘That sounds serious,’ Freddie smiled. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to your beauty sleep. It’s been very nice making your acquaintance again, Posy. Goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight.’

  As he switched off the light and closed the door behind him, I lay back on my bed with a sigh of relief. I remembered accompanying Andrea to the party – and I remembered Freddie vividly; I’d thought at the time he was the most handsome man I’d ever seen, way out of my league with his looks, his confidence and the fact that he was a third year. I was amazed he remembered me – I’d only spoken briefly to him.

  As the music played next door, I thought about Freddie standing only a few feet away from me, probably nursing a drink and talking to one of Estelle’s extremely pretty ballerina friends. Reaching for the cotton wool I kept in my drawer, I broke off two pieces of fluff and stuffed them in my ears.

  The following morning, I emerged from my bedroom and sighed at the detritus in the sitting room. There was a body on the floor and one on the sofa, but I ignored them as I went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea and some toast. I was just spreading jam on the latter when a familiar voice spoke from behind me.

  ‘Good morning, Posy. And how are you this fine day?’

  Freddie stood in the doorway, watching me.

  ‘I’m very well, thank you,’ I said politely as I cut the toast in two.

  ‘That looks just the ticket,’ he said, indicating the toast. ‘May I have a slice?’

  ‘Help yourself,’ I said. ‘I’m afraid I’m in rather a hurry.’ Taking my tea and plate, I walked to the kitchen door. He stepped back to allow me through and smiled at me.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I must say,’ he whispered as I passed him, ‘I much prefer you with no clothes on.’

  I hid my blushes as I stalked through the sitting room to my bedroom. Sitting down on the bed, I ate my toast and drank my tea, swearing I’d speak to Estelle about the situation. Having strange men accost me as I was trying to make breakfast was really not on. Gathering up a handbag and my leather case, I applied some lipstick, and left my room.

  ‘Where are you headed?’ Freddie asked me as I opened the front door.

  ‘To Kew Gardens.’

  ‘How very . . . botanical,’ he replied, following me as I began the endless descent down the stairs. ‘Is that for pleasure?’

  ‘No, I work there.’

  ‘You’re a gardener?’

  ‘No, I’m a scientist.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course you are. I remember you telling me. How very impressive.’

  I wondered if he was teasing me, and he must have felt he was because he added a ‘really’ to the end of his sentence. ‘I studied Law at Cambridge.’

  ‘Did you?’ I said as we finished the long walk down the stairs and I opened the front door.

  ‘Yes, but I really wanted to be an actor, so I thought I’d try my luck in London.’

  ‘Right,’ I said as we stepped out onto the pavement and he walked amiably by my side.

  ‘I’ve done some radio and had a bit part in a TV drama, but that’s about it.’

  ‘The life of an actor seems to be more about luck than talent, from what Estelle’s friends have told me.’

  ‘That is very true,’ Freddie agreed. ‘I met Andrea through the Footlights, if you remember.’

  ‘I do, yes.’

  ‘It was the main reason why I agreed to go to Cambridge. I do miss it, do you?’ he asked me as we arrived at my bus stop.

  ‘Yes, I
do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, this is my bus and I really must go.’

  ‘Of course, Posy. And I must go home to my flat and have a wash and brush up. I have an audition later.’

  ‘Good luck with that,’ I said, stepping onto the bus.

  ‘What time do you get home?’ he called to me as the bus conductor dinged the bell to let the driver know it was safe to pull off.

  ‘Around six usually,’ I called back.

  ‘Bye-bye, Posy, I’ll see you soon!’

  That day, I was not as attentive to my drawings as usual. Despite myself, I couldn’t help thinking of Freddie’s gorgeous eyes and the thick head of shiny hair my fingers ached to touch . . .

  ‘Really, Posy,’ I chided myself as I ate my lunchtime sandwiches in the gardens, ‘you’re engaged to be married and he’s a penniless actor. You need to get a grip, my girl.’

  On the bus on the way home, I couldn’t help fantasising that he would be waiting at the front door when I arrived home, and gave myself another stern talking to as I walked towards it. But, to my utter shock, there he was in reality, lurking outside, looking conspicuous (and utterly dreamy) in a blue velvet smoking jacket and a paisley cravat.

  ‘Good evening, Posy. I came to apologise for barging in on you last night.’ He proffered me a wilting bunch of flowers and a brown paper bag. ‘I brought some gin and some sweet vermouth. Have you ever had a Gin and It?’

  ‘I don’t think I have, no,’ I said, unlocking the front door.

  ‘Then tonight, you will have one, my dear Posy. We are celebrating.’

  ‘Are we?’

  ‘Most definitely, yes. My audition was successful!’ he said as he followed me up the stairs. ‘I have a walk-on part in a Noël Coward play opening at the Lyric on Shaftesbury Avenue. A whole four lines, Posy! Isn’t that wonderful?’

  ‘It is,’ I replied as I began to mount the stairs, feeling . . . well, not sure what I was feeling, if I was truthful. I couldn’t understand why he was here, because he just couldn’t be interested in a girl like me, could he . . .?

  We reached the tiny top landing and I opened the door to the flat. Freddie followed me inside and surveyed the sitting room, still not cleared from last night’s antics.

  ‘Goodness, it’s a mess in here. I’ll help you clear up.’

  He did so, which I thought was awfully sweet of him, and then he made us both a Gin and It.

  ‘Cheers,’ Freddie toasted. ‘Here’s to me following in the footsteps of Olivier.’

  ‘Here’s to you,’ I said and took a swig of the drink, which really was rather nice.

  ‘I seem to remember you came from Suffolk originally, like me. Do you get back there often?’

  ‘Never,’ I sighed. ‘I left when I was nine.’

  ‘Lovely county,’ Freddie said, ‘but of course I much prefer the Smoke, don’t you?’

  ‘Not really, no. I like wide open spaces.’

  ‘Do you now?’

  ‘Yes. When I have the money, I think I’ll move out to Richmond, which is very near Kew and has the most wonderful park.’

  ‘I’ve never been. How say you we take a picnic there tomorrow?’

  ‘I . . . well,’ I blushed, not knowing what to say.

  ‘Are you desperately busy? Or are you trying to tell me to bugger off and leave you alone?’

  I knew that I really should tell him now that I was engaged to be married. It would have been perfectly obvious and so much easier if I had a ring sitting on my finger. But the fact I spent so much time with my hands in soil meant that I kept my beautiful engagement ring safely in a box in my bedside drawer. I stood in an agony of indecision, the ‘good’ Posy encouraging me to say the words I should, and the ‘bad’ Posy refusing to let me open my mouth and say what I needed to.

  ‘Well?’ Freddie gazed at me steadily.

  ‘No, I’m not busy,’ I heard a treacherous voice that just happened to be mine saying. ‘That would be lovely.’

  After my second Gin and It, Freddie announced he was hungry and would pull something together from the meagre stores in the cupboard. We ate sardines with buttered bread companionably, as Freddie entertained me with his life in London and the famous actors he’d met.

  ‘Right,’ he said eventually, ‘I suppose I must be going or I’ll miss my last bus home to Clapham.’

  I looked at my watch and could hardly believe it was past eleven.

  ‘It really has been the most pleasant evening,’ he said as he stood up.

  ‘Yes, it has,’ I said as I stood up too, my head spinning a little from the gin.

  ‘And I have to say, my dearest Posy, you are utterly, utterly gorgeous.’

  Before I knew it, Freddie had pulled me into his arms and was kissing me. And it felt like heaven. My body responded immediately, in a way it had never done with Jonny. And I was disappointed when he pulled away.

  ‘Now I really must dash, or I’ll be on a park bench for the night,’ he smiled. ‘I’ll be here at noon tomorrow. You bring the food, I’ll bring the booze. Goodnight, darling girl.’

  ‘Goodnight.’

  After he’d left, I floated into my bedroom, divested myself of my clothes and lay on the bed in a gorgeous haze of gin and lust. I imagined Freddie’s elegant fingers creeping down gently over my breasts, my stomach . . . When Estelle arrived with her usual gaggle of friends, I hardly minded, and at least I could sleep in a little tomorrow morning.

  ‘Goodnight, darling Freddie,’ I said as I closed my eyes.

  Even though I woke up the following morning with a blistering headache and a heart full of guilt, I’m ashamed to say that neither made me cancel the picnic in the park with Freddie. We sat on the parched grass, drinking wine on a blanket, my head resting on his shoulder.

  I simply couldn’t believe how natural it felt – I remembered how it had taken months for Jonny and I to relax physically with each other. There was an awful lot of kissing and not much talking, and eventually both of us fell asleep. We caught the bus back to the flat, and he came upstairs with me. As usual, the mess was there from the night before, but we ignored it and did some more kissing.

  ‘Posy,’ he said as he nuzzled into my neck, ‘you know that I would absolutely love to take you into the bedroom and—’

  ‘No, Freddie!’ I sat upright, bleary from too much wine and sun, and looked at him sternly. ‘I’m simply not that kind of a girl.’

  ‘And I respect that,’ he nodded. ‘I’m just saying that I want to – am desperate to. Every time I close my eyes, I have visions of you sitting there on your bed like an alabaster statue of Aphrodite, with only a sheet to hide your modesty.’ He smiled.

  ‘Why do you want me, Freddie? Surely you’d prefer some glamorous actress, not a dowdy scientist like me.’

  ‘Goodness, Posy, you’re hardly dowdy. Part of the reason I’m so attracted to you is because you don’t know how gorgeous you are. You’re so natural,’ he said, his lips moving towards mine. ‘Such a breath of fresh air from the girls I usually meet . . .’

  I moved away from him. ‘Well, I’m not like them in all sorts of ways. Are you after me purely for my body?’ I asked him boldly.

  ‘I’m definitely after that, yes, as I’ve freely admitted to you. But no, it’s more than that. Under this vacuous actor’s facade, I happen to be rather a serious person, you see. So many of the women I meet are facile, without a brain in their head. After the initial attraction has disappeared, one needs to be able to hold a conversation, doesn’t one?’

  ‘Yes, I think one does.’

  ‘And you’re so very bright, Posy. I love hearing you talk about polytunnels and compost. It turns me on.’

  I allowed him to kiss me again, pacified by what he’d said. And, I thought when he’d left, the worst thing that could happen was that he’d have his wicked way with me and then leave me broken-hearted. And if I was to be married to Jonny for the rest of my life, surely it was all right to have an adventure before I did so . . .?

  Sum
mer turned to autumn in a flash, and still my affair with Freddie continued. Jonny wrote to me every week from his officer cadet training base in Aldershot, telling me he’d soon get leave and would be able to come up to town to visit me for a weekend. He sounded happy, talking of which regiment he would join – the 7th Gurkha Rifles – and of where ‘we’d’ be based when he finished his six months’ training. He was hoping for somewhere exotic like Malaya.

  It suddenly struck me that I hadn’t really thought the future through; and now here I was in it, with Jonny training for the army and me having achieved my dream of working at Kew. If I went ahead and married him, I’d have to go wherever he was, which would mean giving up all my goals and ambitions for the future. Whereas, with Freddie, I could stay in London and pursue my career . . .

  Freddie’s play had opened, and I’d been to see him say his four lines and given him a rousing cheer as he’d bowed. We saw each other less because of his evening performances, but we always spent Sunday together.

  ‘Have you slept with him yet?’ Estelle asked me as I readied myself to meet him for lunch at the Lyon’s Corner House on Charing Cross Road.

  ‘Of course not, Estelle,’ I said as I applied lipstick in the mirror that hung above the sofa in the sitting room.

  ‘I’m surprised, you certainly look as though you are to me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Just the way you’re so familiar with each other.’

  ‘Well, we haven’t.’

  ‘You must have been tempted. He’s a total dish,’ said Estelle, still fishing. ‘What are you going to do about Jonny Army?’

  ‘I . . . don’t know.’

  ‘Does Freddie know about him? That you’re engaged?’

  ‘Er, no, he doesn’t.’

  ‘Honestly, Posy,’ Estelle giggled. ‘And there was me worrying about my morals, when you’re two-timing your fiancé!’

  On the way to meet Freddie for lunch, I thought about what Estelle had said. I knew she was right. In my mind, I’d conveniently managed to sanction my affair with Freddie simply because we hadn’t yet been to bed together, but I knew I was lying to myself as well as to Freddie. I had fallen madly in love with him, and that was the truth of it.