Butterfly Island

by Corina Bomann

  Diana had only vague memories of conflicts in southern India and Sri Lanka.

  “Nowadays, Tamils and Sinhalese live peacefully together once again in this part of Sri Lanka. But in the north there are strong demands for an independent Tamil state. The government isn’t likely to agree to that any day soon. They probably never will.”

  In the brief pause that followed, Diana wondered how deep the scars ran in both ethnic groups. Would they ever really be able to find peace?

  “With your knowledge you’d make a really good journalist,” she said.

  Jonathan nodded. “Probably. But believe me, once I’ve finished this project I’m going to return to ancient history. After all, I’m a historian. Have you ever heard of the Kingdom of Kandy?”

  “It was somewhere near here, wasn’t it?”

  Jonathan nodded. “Yes. That’s going to be my next project. I’m going to follow the trail of the old kings and do some research at the famous Temple of the Tooth. It’s said that a molar of Buddha himself is kept there as a relic.” He smiled dreamily as though he couldn’t wait to begin his work, before adding, “Every now and then you need some light relief.”

  “I doubt that researching into an ancient kingdom will necessarily be easy.”

  “You have to know where to search. If you do, you’ll find what you’re looking for. And I believe the Vannattuppūcci Tea Company will be a treasury of information.”

  He took a pile of papers from the envelope he’d brought her and selected a leaflet that had a small paragraph on the history of the plantation.

  Jonathan tapped his finger in a certain place and grinned at her.

  “That can’t be true!” Diana cried out in amazement.

  “It seems it is. I’d bet the whole of the fee from my book on the fact that you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

  In the evening, Diana and Jonathan got their things together for the climb to the tea plantation. There was no public transport out there, but Jonathan had found a man in the hotel who would drive them up to a certain point.

  Diana was excited by the prospect of finally seeing the place where her great-great-grandmother had once lived.

  What would she find there? Had any of the files survived the passage of time? Or would she find nothing at all?

  A knock at the door tore her from her thoughts.

  “Come in,” she said, assuming it was a maid come to stock up the minibar.

  “Ah, you’re almost packed.”

  Jonathan leaned against the door with a smile. Diana straightened up and brushed a lock of hair from her face.

  “Yes, I’ve got the essentials together. I wonder if we’ll find anything at the plantation.”

  “Even if we don’t, at least you’ll have seen the place where your ancestors lived. It’s very important to find your roots.”

  Diana smiled. “I could do with a generous helping of your optimism.”

  Jonathan spread his arms. “I think I’ve got enough for us both.”

  She would have loved to sink into his embrace, even though she knew it was not an invitation to a hug, but a mere gesture to emphasise his words. She scolded herself. You’re still a married woman. Your marriage may be over, but even so, you shouldn’t simply throw yourself at him.

  In any case Jonathan didn’t seem to have been expecting her to respond to his gesture.

  “Anyway, I’m not here to oversee your packing,” he said. “I’ve discovered something you should take a look at. It could move your research a step forward.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’ll see. Come down into the club.”

  Diana raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Am I allowed to just go in there?” She meant the question in jest, since anyone knew that most of the private clubs now also accepted women, or at least tolerated them on the premises.

  “Of course, especially since you’ll be in the company of a man! An evening dress would be appropriate, though, if you’re going to put in an appearance down there.”

  “An evening dress?” Diana said. “Do you mean that, or is it one of your little jokes?”

  “I think the club requires a certain degree of elegance among its members. At least, they offered to lend me a tie before I could enter the club room. Curiosity about this historic place got the better of me and I let myself be talked into wearing it.”

  Diana looked at his open shirt collar. “So where’s the tie now?”

  “Sadly, I had to give it back. But the doorman of the club will probably offer the same one to me again. Or a similarly absurd one.”

  “Fine, I’ll be right with you!”

  As Diana closed the door and hurried over to the wardrobe, which was now relieved of her hiking gear, she wondered what on earth Jonathan could have discovered here. Or was this simply one of his ruses to convince her to spend an enjoyable evening with him?

  After picking out the same outfit she had worn at the Grand Oriental Hotel, she went to the door again.

  Jonathan was leaning on the wall opposite. He looked her up and down, reminding her of Philipp on their early dates, back when she had hardly been able to believe her luck—a feeling that had completely vanished by now.

  “I know this isn’t an evening dress,” she said, a little embarrassed even though she could tell from his expression that he was far from unsatisfied with her appearance. “But you don’t think they’ll refuse me entry because of it, do you?”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine if you agree to wear a tie with it.”

  Diana laughed out loud; she loved his British humour.

  She had been expecting some kind of doorman outside the club, but obviously not the burly kind of bouncer who guarded the entrances to German clubs and discos. The doorman indicated Jonathan’s lack of tie politely, but firmly, without any indication that he’d seen him before only a short while ago.

  The ties in the small cupboard were indeed the most dreadful Diana had ever seen. They probably dated from the seventies and eighties, with clumsy patterns and garish colours. Nevertheless, as far as she could tell they were clean and neat, so they could be worn without worrying about the previous wearer’s sweat.

  It must have been Jonathan’s sense of humour that caused him to pick out the most repulsive one—yellow and turquoise stripes with a pink diamond pattern in the yellow sections.

  “If a bomb exploded in the club it wouldn’t be louder than your tie,” Diana murmured to Jonathan as soon as they were past the doorman. She found it hard to stop herself from bursting out laughing again.

  “I knew you’d appreciate my refinement and good taste.”

  With a grin he led her between the club members, some of whom stared at them with undisguised amazement. She wasn’t sure if they were more concerned about her lack of evening dress or Jonathan’s tie, which didn’t match the rest of his clothing at all.

  But no one said a word, and if they had Diana wouldn’t have responded as her eyes were glued to a wall hung with old photographs showing the members of the Hill Club in the hotel’s heyday. Her hunch was confirmed by Jonathan just a few moments later.

  “Look at the names beneath these pictures,” he said, pointing at an old photo protected behind glass, in a condition similar to her photo of Grace. In this one, however, the people were shown clearly enough to be able to make out their features.

  Most of the men, dressed in elegant suits, looked a little strained, partly because it wasn’t usual at the time to smile for the camera, and partly because a long exposure was needed to take a photograph.

  Her heart beating hard, Diana scanned the names. Emmerson Walbury, Trent Jennings, Daniel Stockton, Henry Tremayne . . .

  She counted until she found the fourth man from the left. Henry Tremayne was tall and light-haired.

  “It can’t be true!” she exclaimed.

  “It seems like it is,” Jonathan replied. “Your ancestor seems to have been a member of the club. I hope you realise that only the most well-respected membe
rs of society were accepted here.”

  “I can imagine. It was the same in England. And still is, to some extent.”

  Jonathan allowed her a little time to look at the photo.

  “How do you feel?” he asked then.

  Diana had to admit that it sent shivers down her spine. “As though I were looking through a window on to the past,” she replied. “Do you think it would be possible to have a copy? As far as I know this is the only picture in existence of my great-great-great-grandfather. Somehow it failed to reach the family gallery at Tremayne House.”

  “It probably will. I’ll ask the doorman later. He owes me a favour for inflicting this tie on me.”

  “But you picked the tie out yourself!” Diana replied with a grin.

  “Did you see what there was to choose from? Each one was more horrific than the last!” Jonathan smiled broadly. “Wait a moment; I’ll just go and ask him. With a little encouragement he should grant you your wish.”

  Before Diana could object that if he was going to bribe the doorman, he ought to use her money, he had gone.

  Not ten minutes later Diana was holding a copy of the photo in her hands. For a price of twenty dollars the doorman had readily agreed to take the photo down himself and leave his post to take a copy. It was incredibly good.

  “That was way too much!” Diana said reproachfully.

  “You think so? I think it was a more than reasonable price to pay for another clue. Or at least to know what your ancestor looked like.”

  She studied the photo. This was what the high society of tea barons and colonial merchants looked like. She could see clearly that the club had hardly been altered, only renovated. Overall, it was just as it had been.

  If only I knew what happened between you and Grace, she said silently to Henry Tremayne as she traced his features with her finger. What led to you break off relations with your daughter and disinherit her?

  She spent the rest of the evening with Jonathan in the club over iced tea and a light meal consisting mainly of local fruits. The topic of the plantation and what could have happened in her ancestors’ days seemed inexhaustible, and it was only when they were discreetly told that the club was about to close that they thought about going to bed.

  Although it wasn’t strictly necessary, Jonathan walked her back to her room. “You never know what unscrupulous ruffians might be lying in wait for a lady at this time of night.”

  Laughing, she reminded him that they weren’t living in the times of Henry Tremayne—although she had to admit that the hotel gave the impression that time had stood still.

  When Diana finally lay down on her bed, she heard rain pattering against the windowpane. The monotonous noise soon lulled her into a deep sleep.

  7

  Vannattuppūcci, 1887

  Grace’s hopes that she wouldn’t see the insolent Mr. Stockton again were dashed the very next morning. Over breakfast, between the porridge with honey and brown sugar that Mr. Wilkes had sent for from Nuwara Eliya and the wonderful little cakes to which even her mother had become accustomed, her father suddenly announced, “Yesterday I had a very pleasant meeting with one of our neighbours. He’s called Daniel Stockton, and he owns the plantation to the west of ours. He went out of his way to speak to me. Isn’t that nice?”

  “Oh, very nice,” Claudia said. “Did you have an interesting conversation?”

  “Very friendly. I think he must have adopted the local tradition of hospitality because without further ado he offered to send one of his workers over to help with the forest clearance.”

  Had that been before or after Grace and Victoria encountered him? Grace turned bright red and looked at Victoria, who raised her eyebrows in surprise.

  “He also told me that he had already had the pleasure of meeting my daughters,” their father added. “You didn’t mention it. Or that you refused his offer to accompany you home.”

  Grace cleared her throat. “I didn’t consider it important. He came within a whisker of riding Victoria down.”

  “Didn’t he apologise?” their mother asked.

  As if that were the most important thing, Grace thought grimly. What about Victoria? Shouldn’t you be asking whether she was hurt?

  “Of course he apologised, and we accepted his apology,” Grace replied before turning back to her plate.

  “He didn’t say anything about a collision. Are you all right, Victoria?”

  “Of course, Papa. Grace pulled me out of the way just in time. And she was angry with him then because he could have trampled me dead.”

  With a rush of relief, Grace looked at her sister, who gave her a brief wink.

  “Oh, it seems we have a heroine in the family.”

  “It wasn’t a heroic act, Papa,” Grace demurred. “I was only doing my duty and taking care of my sister.”

  “What were you doing up there anyway?” Claudia asked, her eyes moving between her daughters with a searching look.

  “We wanted to see the elephants at work clearing the forest,” Victoria said, beating her sister to an answer. “You promised we could, Papa.”

  “And we found that one of the elephants is in quite a bad state,” Grace burst out. She had somehow forgotten to raise the subject the evening before. “I think the workers are mistreating their animals. You really should do something about it.”

  Her father looked at her rather curiously.

  Grace realised she was coming across as snappish—which was definitely not her intention. If she wanted to help the elephants she should go about it with more subtlety and not risk her father closing his ears to her entreaties.

  But the mere thought of Stockton staring at her again with those eyes unsettled her deeply.

  “I’ll take care of the elephants,” Henry said coolly, giving his daughters a penetrating look. “Is there any other cause for your resentment?”

  Yes, Stockton, Grace thought angrily. “I’m not sleeping very well. It must be the air here.”

  “You’ll have to get used to it. And to everything else.”

  “Well, I think it would have been polite if you had accepted Mr. Stockton’s offer of help,” Claudia said in an attempt to get back to the previous topic of conversation, as she feared a row at the breakfast table.

  Help? Grace thought scornfully. He kissed my hand in a completely improper manner. The way he had looked at her still seemed to cling to her skin. He was at least twenty years older than she was! “I considered it better to refuse. In any case, when we’re out I’m the one who’s responsible for Victoria.”

  Grace couldn’t fail to notice the look her mother and father exchanged. But instead of scolding her for her tone, Henry set his teacup down and said, “It doesn’t sound as though you warmed to Mr. Stockton. But hopefully things will change. I’ve invited him to tea with us this afternoon. Would that be all right for you, darling?”

  Claudia’s eyes shone at the prospect of having a visitor at last. “But of course it’s all right! We ought to take the opportunity to invite his family on another occasion as well. He is married, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he is, and he has a son. He’s a little older than Grace, and sees to the administration of their plantation.”

  “I’ll send out an invitation today. If you have nothing against it.”

  “It can’t do any harm to get to know our neighbours a little.”

  Henry turned back to his breakfast. Grace sat motionless as if rooted to the spot, before reminding herself that a lady kept her emotions under control and hid her feelings.

  If I raise any objection, I’ll only make matters worse. It’s almost as if this afternoon tea is a punishment for my behaviour.

  Her parents seemed satisfied by her silence.

  Only Victoria recognised that she was still angry, and when they were walking around the garden after breakfast, she asked, “Is it so bad that he’s coming here? He didn’t really do anything; he was only trying to be nice. First impressions can be deceiving sometimes. Anyw
ay it’s Mama who’ll be the centre of attention over tea. He’ll hardly remember you, and it’ll be over before you know it.”

  “You’re right.” Grace lowered her head in embarrassment. “I don’t know what got into me. Sometimes I . . . I mean, sometimes I think I can sense when someone’s being dishonest. He was a little over-friendly for a first meeting, don’t you think? And then the way he kissed my hand! The moment before he’d been looking at us as though he wanted to thrash us with his riding crop.”

  “You’re right there. But Papa wouldn’t have reacted any differently if someone had run out in front of his horse. You know what dreadful accidents can happen. Just think of Uncle Richard.”

  “He fell from Adam’s Peak, not from a horse.”

  “A fall is a fall!” Victoria insisted. Something distracted her. “Oh, look, here comes Mr. Vikrama! Do you think I should ask him if he’ll catch me a parrot?”

  “You’d be better off concentrating on catching butterflies.”

  “But a parrot would look wonderful in Mama’s drawing room!”

  “Then you should try and catch a red one. Miss Giles said yesterday that they’ve ordered red silk from India.”

  As though he had noticed them looking across at him, Vikrama turned, briefly raised his hand in greeting and smiled.

  “So, what does your intuition tell you about him?”

  Grace looked away quickly. “What do you mean?”

  “What do you think of Mr. Vikrama?”

  “I’ve never spoken a word to him, so I can’t say.”

  “But we watched him with Father. He seemed very nice to me.”

  “I don’t think your ability to judge is mature enough to say.” Grace knew full well that a minor argument was a good way of changing the subject.

  “My ability to judge?” Victoria rose to the bait. “You’re one to talk! Your experience of the world is as limited as mine!”

  “But I’ve been around for five years longer than you.”

  “Four!” Victoria corrected her. “And Mr. Norris always says that intuition and insight into human nature have nothing to do with age. Even very young people can tell which way the wind’s blowing.”