The Butterfly Room

by Lucinda Riley

  I had to tell Jonny it was over. It was only fair.

  But what if Freddie leaves you . . .?

  If he did, I thought, I thoroughly deserved losing Jonny. He was so good and kind and steady – the perfect husband-to-be. He would be devastated if he knew his fiancé was behaving as she was.

  After lunch I told Freddie I had a headache, took the bus home and sat down in my bedroom to write to Jonny. It took at least six drafts, because it was so difficult to find the words I needed, but eventually I folded the letter in two and put it in the envelope. Then I took my engagement ring out of its box, wrapped it round with cotton wool and Sellotape and placed it inside with the letter. Sealing it with my tongue, I addressed it to his base, then stuck a stamp to the front. Before I could change my mind I went out to the postbox and, taking a deep breath, dropped the envelope inside.

  ‘I’m so terribly sorry, Jonny darling. Goodbye.’

  Three days after that, I went to bed with Freddie. And if any part of me had been worried that breaking off my engagement was the wrong thing to do, my fears were blown away by how he made me feel. The event took place at Freddie’s flat in Clapham. Afterwards, we lay there smoking and drinking Gin and It, which had become our favourite tipple.

  ‘So, you’re not a virgin.’ Freddie let a hand stray across my breast. ‘I thought you might be. Who was the lucky man?’

  ‘Freddie, I have something to tell you,’ I sighed.

  ‘Spit it out then, darling. Have I got a rival for your affections?’

  ‘You did have, yes. I was . . . engaged when we met, you see, to someone called Jonny. He’s away training for the army, and well, anyway, I wrote to him a few days ago to say that the engagement was off. That I couldn’t marry him.’

  ‘Was it to do with me?’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied honestly. ‘I mean, please don’t feel frightened or anything, will you? I’m not thinking that you and I will get engaged, but I felt it was only right to tell him.’

  ‘You dark horse, you,’ Freddie smiled. ‘And there was me thinking you were so sweet and innocent, and all the time there was someone else.’

  ‘Yes, I know I’ve been awful, and I’m sorry. I haven’t seen him since you and I met because he’s training. So I haven’t been unfaithful to you, Freddie.’

  ‘So that was why you wouldn’t sleep with me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, for my part I’m awfully glad he’s gone and your morals are no longer holding you back.’ He reached for me and held me tight. ‘Shall we do it again to celebrate?’

  I was only glad that Freddie didn’t seem at all perturbed by my confession. I’d worried he’d feel that I was putting pressure on him, which of course I wasn’t at all. I told myself there were other reasons for breaking off my engagement; not least, the thought of leaving my beloved job behind to travel abroad with Jonny. But if I was truthful with myself, I knew that if Freddie asked me to, I’d travel with him to the ends of the earth without a second thought.

  After that first, wonderful time in bed, I virtually moved in with Freddie. I’d wait for him after the show, and we’d make love till the small hours before I fell asleep in his arms. The odd thing was that even though I was existing on very little sleep, I’d feel as fresh as a daisy when I woke and left for Kew. I’d read endless romantic novels when I was younger, and only now did I understand what the writers had been expressing. I’d never been as happy in my life.

  Mid-October, I made my weekly trip back to Baron’s Court to get a change of clothes and collect my post. Waiting for me in my bedroom was a thick vellum envelope with an Italian postmark on it.

  Maman, I thought as I tore it open.

  Ma chère Posy,

  It is a very long time since I last wrote, and I hope you will forgive me for that. Life has been very busy with the marriage of one of Alessandro’s sons. Congratulations on your First at Cambridge. I am proud to have such an intelligent daughter.

  Posy, myself and Alessandro are flying to London at the beginning of November and I would very much like to see you there. We will be staying at the Ritz between the 1st and 9th, so please telephone me to tell me when you can come. It has been too long, so please, say you will see your Maman and meet her husband.

  With all love,

  Maman

  I sat there staring at the letter, thinking it had been over thirteen years since I had last set eyes on Maman. Whichever way one looked at it, my mother had deserted me. And even though the adult, sensible side of me realised that it had been the right thing to have the stability of Granny and Cornwall, rather than being dragged around Europe as I grew up, the emotional part of me was as hurt and angry as any child whose mother had abandoned them.

  On the bus back to Clapham, I mulled over whether I should discuss it with Freddie and decided against it. I couldn’t bear the thought of him pitying me so I said nothing. When I got home, he noticed that I was distracted.

  ‘What is it, darling girl? I can see there’s something wrong.’

  ‘Nothing, Freddie; I’ve got a headache, that’s all.’

  ‘Then come here and let me mop your fevered brow.’ I went into his arms and felt comforted there.

  ‘You know, darling, I’ve been thinking about whether you and I should consider getting a flat together. This single bed is becoming rather too irritating, don’t you think?’

  I looked up at him. ‘You’re suggesting we live together?’

  ‘Don’t look so shocked, darling. We live together now, just unofficially.’

  ‘Golly, Freddie, I’m not sure what my grandmother would say if she knew. I mean, it’s a bit risqué, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s the 1950s, Posy, and lots of people do it, I promise you. I want you to have a decent kitchen where you can make all these scrumptious meals you keep telling me about,’ he smiled.

  ‘Can I think about it?’

  ‘Of course you can.’ Freddie kissed me on my cheek.

  ‘Thank you.’

  One way and another, as the Christmas of 1958 approached, my life could not have been fuller. It felt as though there wasn’t one part of me that didn’t feel sated; I had my wonderful job, and I had Freddie, who filled my every waking thought, my body and my heart. I was almost frightened at the happiness I felt, because surely it could not last forever, could it?

  Buoyed up on my cloud of happiness, I decided I should see Maman when she came to London, out of courtesy if nothing else. So, the week she said she was in town, I phoned the Ritz hotel and was put through to her maid. I told her I’d be able to meet Maman for tea this coming Saturday. Then I went to Swan & Edgar in Regent Street and bought myself a smart suit that I could reuse for any upcoming occasion.

  When I entered the Ritz a few days later, my legs felt as though they were made of cotton wool and my heart beat hard against my chest.

  ‘Can I help you, Madam?’ asked the maître’d who stood guard over the sumptuous lounge where tea was being served.

  ‘Yes, I’m looking for the Count and Contessa d’Amici.’

  ‘Ah, yes, Madam, they are expecting you. Follow me.’

  As the maître’d led me through the well-dressed guests sipping tea and eating dainty sandwiches, my eyes flitted to get a forward glance of my mother. And there she was, her blonde hair worn up in an elegant chignon, her make-up perfect. She looked exactly the same, apart from a triple string of creamy pearls around her neck and an array of diamonds sparkling on her fingers and wrist. She was sitting next to a diminutive, bald-headed man, who to my eyes looked double her age, but then perhaps Maman was just exceptionally well-preserved.

  ‘My dear Posy, I’d like you to meet Alessandro, your stepfather.’

  ‘Cara mia, you are even more beautiful than your Mama told me. I am honoured to meet you.’ Alessandro stood up and clasped my hands in his, and I was surprised to see tears in his eyes. I had been determined to dislike him, but his kindness was palpable, and I saw how clearly he doted on my mother.


  As I nibbled on cucumber sandwiches and drank glass after glass of champagne, Alessandro regaled me with stories of their life in Italy, of their palazzo and their summer cruises along the Amalfi coast.

  ‘Your mother, she is – what is the word? – marrrrvelous! She bring light and joy to my life!’

  I looked down at my tea as he gave her hand a kiss. Maman beamed back at him, and I realised I could never remember her smiling like that at Admiral House.

  ‘You must come to visit us!’ Maman said, once the waiters had cleared away the plates. ‘Christmas at the palazzo is so beautiful, and next summer, we will take the boat along the coast and show you the wonders of Italy.’

  ‘I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get away from work,’ I hedged.

  ‘But you must surely have some holidays,’ she said. ‘I . . .’ Maman turned to her husband. ‘Amore mio, can you give me a moment alone with my daughter?’

  ‘Si, certo.’ With a final kiss of Maman’s hand, Alessandro wandered out of the tea room.

  Once we were alone, she leant closer to me. ‘Posy, I know I have missed much of your life—’

  ‘Maman, I understand, you don’t have to—’

  ‘No, I do,’ she said fiercely. ‘You have grown into a beautiful, clever and strong woman, and I regret that I have had little to do with it.’ Her breath caught in her throat. ‘There are so many things that I wish I could explain to you, but . . .’ she shook her head. ‘Time has passed and there is no use looking back.’ She patted my hand. ‘Chérie, please consider coming to Italy at Christmas, won’t you?’

  I walked away from the Ritz feeling a little squiffy after the champagne and wondering if I had indeed misjudged my mother; she’d put on such a good show that I had genuinely felt sorry for her. It took the bus ride home for the gloss to wear off and for me to realise that she was yet again manipulating me, and I’d fallen for it. She had asked almost nothing about my life apart from the basics of where I lived and worked. Even though I’d been ready to tell her about Freddie and my love for him, the subject had never come up. She had been far too busy describing her own glamorous life, as she flitted around Europe with Alessandro to some glittering event or other. Needing a night alone, I telephoned Freddie at his flat to say I’d be staying at mine tonight, and sat in my bedroom drinking tea to try to sober up and think.

  And when I did, my heart began to harden all over again. I decided there would be no spending Christmas at the palazzo, or joining them in Italy next summer . . . Maman wasn’t trying to make it up to me, she was trying to make herself feel better for the way she’d abandoned me.

  ‘You survived the past thirteen years without her, Posy – you can survive the next,’ I said, brushing my tears away harshly.

  There was a knock on my door and Estelle poked her head into my room.

  ‘You okay, Posy?’

  I shrugged.

  ‘Anything I can help with?’

  ‘Yes. Do you think you can ever stop loving a parent? I mean, even if they do terrible things to you, is that love still there?’

  ‘Golly, Posy, that’s a deep one.’ Estelle came to sit next to me on the bed. ‘Andrea and her English degree might be able to help you more.’

  ‘Love isn’t technical though, is it? It’s not something that you can quantify. It just . . . is.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right of course, and as to your question, I really don’t know, Posy. I mean, I adore my parents, so it’s not something I’ve ever had to think about, but at the end of the day, I suppose you can choose your friends, but not your family. You don’t have to like them, though when it comes to love, especially with a mother, perhaps it is simply there forever, however badly they behave towards you. It’s unconditional, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is, which is a shame actually, because I’d much prefer not to love her.’

  ‘So the meeting was difficult?’

  ‘No, it was perfect,’ I smiled. ‘And that was the problem. I just don’t want to be let down by her again. And if she thinks she can come waltzing back into my life after all these years . . . She asked me to go shopping with her tomorrow!’

  ‘Well, that might be worth doing, Posy. From what you’ve said, she has plenty of money.’

  Estelle, ever the pragmatist, gave me a small smile.

  ‘I don’t want to be bought, Estelle, and that’s what she would be doing. And then she’d think that we’d made up and that everything was fine.’

  ‘I understand. Well, the good news is that she lives in Italy and is not going to darken your doorstep very often. Out of sight is out of mind, after all.’

  ‘So you don’t think I’m being churlish?’

  ‘Not at all, no. She abandoned you when when you’d just lost your father. A few pretty dresses thirteen years on can’t make up for that.’

  ‘Thank you, Estelle,’ I said, turning to her. ‘She made me feel so guilty for not immediately saying yes to her offer of me visiting.’

  ‘Well, don’t feel guilty, Posy. She is meant to be the grown-up, not you. Right, I must be off. I have a date!’ Estelle said, her eyes shining.

  ‘You look excited. Is he the principal dancer at Covent Garden?’

  ‘No, and that’s why I am excited. Believe it or not, he has a proper job. He does something in the City with stocks and shares. He wears a suit, which of course I’m dying to rip off him, but I get the feeling he’s awfully proper.’

  ‘You’re saying he’s normal?’

  ‘Deliciously so,’ Estelle giggled as she walked towards the door. ‘I’m off to dig out my most decorous dress.’

  ‘Tell me all next time I see you,’ I called.

  ‘Will do!’

  ‘So, what are your plans for Christmas, Posy?’ Freddie asked me as we drank tea at a cafe in between his Saturday matinee and evening performance.

  ‘I’ll be going home to my grandmother’s in Cornwall as always,’ I told him. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Oh, I suppose I’m on my way back to Mother’s for our usual miserable couple of days. I’ve told you she suffers from her nerves, haven’t I? And Christmas and New Year just happen to be a particularly bad time for her. At least this year, I have a genuine excuse! I’ll only have to get through three days there, as we have performances right up to New Year.’

  Freddie never said much about his home life, or his childhood (which I’d gathered had been difficult from the little he had said), so even though I’d waxed lyrical to him about Daddy and how wonderful he had been to me before he died in the war, I’d refrained from enlarging on my own childhood. If we ever touched on it, he would always tell me that the past was irrelevant and we should both look to the future, which suited me fine.

  ‘So you wouldn’t have time to come to Cornwall?’

  ‘Sadly no, though I would love to. Your Christmases sound utter bliss.’

  ‘Oh, they’re not grand or anything, Freddie, just very . . . Christmassy, I suppose. And I really would love you to come and meet Granny.’

  ‘I promise I will as soon as this blasted run is over,’ Freddie sighed. ‘I’m sick of it, Posy, really I am. Hanging around in my dressing room for hours just to say my four lines. And I’m sure that damned actor I’m understudying has decided not to get sick on purpose. Everyone else has caught the cast cold except for him. I was hoping to bring agents in to see me play the role.’

  ‘Well, at least you’re employed, which is something.’

  ‘Yes, and earning next to nothing,’ he added morosely. ‘Seriously, Posy, I’m thinking of throwing in the towel and going to Bar School next September if nothing happens in the next few months. I mean, man – and woman – can’t live by sardines alone, can they?’

  ‘I have my salary, Freddie, and we get by, don’t we?’

  ‘Yes, we do, but even though I like to pretend I’m all for equality and it doesn’t matter which of the two of us earns it, I’m not sure I’m comfortable with being a kept man.’

  �
�Oops,’ I smiled at him, ‘there’s that whiff of the traditionalist about you again.’

  ‘Yes, and I freely admit it. I’ve had my foray into the acting world and at least I can say that I’ve tried. But I was thinking only this morning, that actually, what is being a barrister, other than standing up and performing in front of an audience? The difference is that you get awfully well paid for your troubles, and might even do some good in the world to boot. Acting really is the most vacuous profession, isn’t it? I mean, it’s all about oneself.’

  ‘I suppose it is, yes, although it does give a lot of pleasure to other people; lifts them out of the grim reality of their own lives for a few hours.’

  ‘You’re right, of course,’ he agreed. ‘Perhaps I’m just getting old, but one day, I’d like to provide you with a nice home and enough money to have a couple of children.’

  I lowered my eyes so he could not see them fill with pleasure. I couldn’t think of anything I wanted more than to marry Freddie and spend the rest of my life with him. I’d even caught myself looking at bridal gowns in women’s magazines.

  ‘We’d do all right together, wouldn’t we, you and I?’ I looked up and he smiled at me.

  ‘I think so, yes. You . . . wouldn’t ever stop me working though, would you?’

  ‘Of course not! I mean, I’d obviously hope that you’d take a week or two off if we ever had children, and I’d have to be earning far more than you, of course, but . . .’

  I thumped Freddie playfully on the arm, knowing he was teasing me. He looked at his watch.

  ‘Right, I’d better get back to my prison cell of a dressing room before the half-hour call. Bye-bye, darling girl, see you later at the flat.’

  I watched him thread his way through the tables and saw a couple of females glance up at him as he passed. He really was extraordinarily handsome and I wondered for the umpteenth time how on earth I’d managed to have him as mine.

  ‘He’s just perfect,’ I murmured to myself as I decided to walk along Regent Street and look at the department stores’ Christmas window displays. The street was crowded with people doing the same thing as me, and the hot-chestnut sellers were attracting a roaring trade.