The Butterfly Box

by Santa Montefiore

  knew he was different from everyone else.

  So Federica fancied him. He had smiled to himself in amusement and then forgotten all about it. Most girls fancied him. What other boys failed to realize was that girls liked boys who excelled. Whether they excelled on the games field or in the classroom, it didn’t matter. Girls wanted boys who were commanding and confident. Boys who shone.

  Sam shone. He didn’t enjoy football or rugby - he hated group activities. He was good at tennis but only played singles. Doubles bored him. He liked to run around and get as exhausted as possible. He bored easily of girls, too. He wasn’t unkind. In fact, when he liked a girl he was romantic, phoning them and writing to them. His intentions were always good. But rather like a new book, once he had read it he moved on to the next.

  His mother told him that his behaviour was only natural in a young man of his age. ‘Sow your wild oats, darling,’ she said, ‘one day when they’re tamed oats you’ll be glad that you did.’ Nuno said that women weren’t worth wasting his time on and gave him more books to read. “‘Alas! The love of women! It is known to be a lovely and a fearful thing,”’ he said, to which Sam dutifully replied, ‘Byron, “Don JuanHis father, on the odd occasion that he emerged

  out of his philosophy books, advised him to go for the more mature woman, as there was nothing more unattractive than a man who didn’t understand the complexities of the female body; an older woman would teach him the art of good love.

  So Sam was determined to find an older woman. The girls he knew were far too young to hope for anything more than a kiss. A kiss was fine, up to a point. He had now reached that point. The point where his loins ached with a longing that was beginning to distract him from his schoolwork and drag his mind off his much-beloved nineteenth-century French literature. He found himself thinking about sex at the most inopportune moments, like in a car or on a train, usually when he wasn’t alone to indulge in his private fantasies. If he didn’t find a woman soon he’d go out of his mind with frustration.

  Federica had spent the morning with her Uncle Toby and his friend Julian in his boat, The Helena. The sea was as calm as a lake allowing them to sail for miles with the help of a firm but warm southerly wind that sent the boat slicing through the surface like the fin of a shark. Federica liked her uncle very much. He had taken her to his cottage and shown her his collection of insects. He

  had explained to her how ants built their hills and how hard they worked, like a little army of very disciplined soldiers, carrying pieces of food, sometimes twice their size, back to their nest. They had hidden in bushes at night to watch the foxes and badgers and he had built her a tree house in his parents’ garden so that she could wait for the rabbits to steal into the kitchen garden and nibble on Polly’s cabbages. In April when they had found an abandoned baby blackbird who had most probably fallen out of its nest they had immediately driven up to the Applebys’ manor to give it to Ingrid to nurse back to health. Toby and Federica had visited every day to check on its progress. Federica had been too shy to visit on her own, especially as she was afraid she might find herself alone with Sam and not know what to say. He wasn’t in the least bit interested in her. Why would he be? She was a child. But she couldn’t stop thinking of him. The bird had been promptly christened Blackie, another unoriginal name for Nuno to complain about, and no amount of coaxing would encourage it to fly away. ‘Life’s much too good!’ said Nuno as little Blackie perched on a coffee cup in the sitting room and ate breadcrumbs out of an adoring Hester’s hand. After that Hester had insisted Federica visit every day. She had been reluctant at first, but soon her desire to belong far exceeded her awkwardness and she found herself cycling up the lane daily for afternoon tea.

  Hester had supported Federica during her first term at school like an overprotective nanny. Having been a shy child herself the teachers were surprised at how much she had grown in confidence in one term. Thanks to Hester, who included her in everything, Federica had made friends for the first time in her life. In Chile she had always preferred to be on her own. She had been happy that way. Now things were different. She needed Hester and to her delight Hester needed her too. But nothing could replace her father, not even Uncle Toby.

  When Federica returned home from sailing she found her mother crying on the sofa in the sitting room. ‘Mama, what’s happened?’ she asked, her heart at once filling with dread that something might have happened to Hal or her grandparents. ‘It’s a letter from your father,’ Helena sniffed, handing her daughter the tear-stained piece of paper. ‘Sorry I opened it, sweetie, I thought it was addressed to me.’

  She lied. She had been unable to resist. She hadn’t heard from Ramon since

  they had left in January. When she recognized his handwriting she hadn’t wasted a moment, but tore it open in a sudden fit of rage and longing. It was written from India on hotel writing paper and had taken a month to reach them. He had written such an enchanting story for Federica that the tears had welled in her eyes until they had spilled over, running down her face in a stream of jealousy and resentment.

  ‘I hate Ramon for what he has made me become,’ she explained to her mother later that evening when Federica had gone to bed. ‘I’m jealous of my daughter because he wrote to her and not to me. He loves her. In his hopeless way he loves her. Then I resent him for maltreating her. For writing this letter which will only bring her hope. He’s not coming back. It’s over, for all of us. For Federica too. But this letter will only make it worse. He raises her hopes only to dash them later. He’s always been like that, impulsive. Suddenly gripped by remorse or homesickness or God knows what, he writes this epistle of love, but he’ll have forgotten all about it by now. That’s what sickens me. He’s so damned irresponsible. If only he’d come clean and tell her to forget him then she wouldn’t be constantly on the brink of having her heart broken. I can't bear it for her. He doesn’t even write a message to me, not even a few

  Federica read the letter while her heart inflated like a happy balloon, filling her chest with excitement. Surely this must mean that he will be coming to visit soon, she thought, biting her lip to contain the impulse to scream with joy. Then she ran into her grandfather’s study to find where India was on the map. It wasn’t too far from England. Not that far at all, she deduced, turning the globe around to find Chile. Chile was the other side of the world. But India was close. Close enough for him to stop and visit on his way back to Santiago. She read the letter several times before placing it in the butterfly box that sat on her bedside table. As she listened to the light clatter of tiny bells she was comforted by the certainty that he loved her and was thinking about her. That letter made up for the four months of silence during which she had almost given up hope that he remembered her at all.

  ‘I received a letter from Papa today,’ Federica told Hester as they sat on the raff in the middle of the lake. ‘He’ll be visiting us soon.’

  ‘That’s nice, what did he say?’

  ‘He wrote me a story. He writes wonderful stories,’ she said, her cheeks burning with pleasure.

  ‘Is that his job?’

  ‘Yes. He writes books. He once wrote about Polperro for the National Geographic. That’s how he met Mama.’

  ‘Really, how romantic.’

  ‘It was. He wrote a secret message in the article that only she would understand. She realized then that he loved her.’

  ‘Molly says your parents are divorced,’ said Hester suddenly before she had time to stop herself. Federica gasped in horror and her face stung crimson.

  ‘Divorced? No, that’s not true. Who told her that?’ she asked tearfully.

  ‘I imagine she made it up,’ said Hester quickly.

  ‘Well, it’s not true. They aren’t divorced. Papa’s coming to visit soon. Tell her that. If they were divorced he wouldn’t write me such a nice letter, would he?’

  ‘Of course not. Molly makes up loads of things,’ Hester said, wishing she hadn’t mentioned it for Federica’s
face was now grey and agonized. They sat in silence while Hester was tortured with regret and Federica with uncertainty.

  ‘If I tell you a secret, will you promise to keep it for ever?’ said Federica quietly, blinking sadly across at her friend.

  ‘For ever. You can trust me. You know you can,’ said Hester, wishing to make it up to her.

  ‘Don’t tell anyone about this. Anyone at all.’

  ‘I won’t, I promise.’

  ‘Not Molly.’

  ‘Especially not Molly,’ said Hester firmly.

  ‘Well, we were in Cachagua, staying with my grandparents. I overheard my parents arguing,’ she began hesitantly.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Mama was accusing Papa of not caring about us, that’s why he spent so much time in other countries. I didn’t tell you before, but Papa always travelled a lot. We rarely saw him. He’d suddenly turn up out of the blue after a few months. Sometimes one month, sometimes more. He’d never say when he was coming home, he’d just arrive. She said that their marriage was only a bit of paper and that she was giving him his freedom. She said he’d never have to come home again.' Federica’s chin wobbled with despair.

  ‘But he’s written you this letter,’ said Hester, shuffling up to her friend and placing a comforting arm around her shoulders.

  ‘I know. He wouldn’t have written it if he wasn’t coming back, would he?’

  ‘Of course not. If he didn’t want to see you again he wouldn’t have written at all, would he?’

  Federica shook her head. ‘No, he wouldn’t have written,’ she agreed.

  ‘So there’s nothing to be sad about. In fact there’s everything to be happy about. He’ll be coming to visit soon. Maybe very soon.’

  ‘If they were divorced, I’d know about it, wouldn’t I?’

  ‘Yes. They would have told you.’

  ‘Mama said that we’d live in England and Papa would come and see us just like he always has done.’

  ‘Well then, that’s the truth,’ Hester conceded. Federica wiped her tears with a hanky that she pulled out of her pocket. The only person Hester knew who carried a hanky in their pocket was Nuno. ‘You know, my mother says that people often say things they don’t mean when they fight.’ She added, ‘My father says terrible things, but we don’t really worry about them because when he’s angry he’s a different person. I think your parents were different people when they fought. I doubt they meant it.’

  ‘Me too,’ Federica agreed, feeling a lot better.

  ‘Why don’t we ask Sam to light a fire for us, then we can toast some marshmallows?’ Hester suggested happily.

  Federica blinked across at her friend with gratitude then focused her thoughts on Sam. At once she forgot about her father and the conversation she had overheard in Cachagua. Paddling furiously, they made their way across the glassy lake to the long reeds and bulrushes.

  Sam was not happy to be distracted from his book. They found him lying on the sofa in the sitting room, eating a packet of salt and vinegar crisps and listening to David Bowie. He told them to go and find someone else.

  ‘But there is no one else, Sam,’ Hester said.

  ‘What about Bea?’

  ‘It’s Saturday, silly,’ she replied.

  ‘Well, she’s here because I heard her,’ said Sam, taking another handful of crisps.

  ‘Well, if she won’t do it, then will you?’

  ‘I’ll jump that when I get to it. Just go and call her,’ he instructed. Hester walked out into the hall and shouted for Bea. Federica followed sheepishly behind her not wanting to be left in the room with Sam. While Hester called for Bea, Federica watched Sam through the crack in the door. He was so handsome she wished she were fifteen too, then he would notice her.

  When Bea trotted down the stairs she looked completely different to the scruffy nanny who had helped Federica out of her clothes that winter day when she had fallen through the ice. She was dressed to go out in a very tight black dress with high stiletto shoes and a froth of wild blonde curls that bounced as she walked. Her face was painted like a doll with thick black eyelashes and shiny red lipstick. ‘What do you want, Hester?’ she asked, leaning over the banisters. ‘I’m about to go out.’

  ‘We wanted you to light a fire for us,’ said Hester.

  ‘Well, I can hardly do it dressed like this, can I?’ she replied and smiled sympathetically.

  ‘Sam won’t do it.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because he’s reading.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, he’s been reading all day. Where is he?’

  ‘In the sitting room,’ said Hester, watching as Bea tottered passed them to confront Sam.

  Sam sighed and raised his eyes above his book with impatience. When he saw Bea towering over him with her long naked legs strapped into shiny black stilettos he put the book down and sat up in amazement. ‘Sam, can’t you tear yourself away from your book for five minutes and light the girls a fire?’ she said, but Sam wasn’t listening. He was watching her scarlet lips and imagining what they could do for him.

  ‘Sorry?’ he stammered, shaking his head in order to shatter the image he had conjured up.

  ‘I said, please can you light the girls a fire?’ Bea repeated impatiently.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he replied beneficently.

  Bea straightened up. That was easy, she thought to herself in surprise. Usually it was impossible to get Sam to do anything he didn’t want to do. ‘Thank you, Sam,’ she said, selfconsciously pulling her skirt down her thighs as Sam’s eyes crept up it.

  ‘My pleasure, Bea,’ he replied, regaining his composure. ‘You look very nice

  tonight, where are you going?’

  To the pub with friends,’ she replied unsteadily.

  ‘Well, you’ll outshine them all,’ he mused appreciatively.

  Thank you.'

  ‘Make sure you’re escorted, I wouldn’t trust any man to keep his hands to himself with a dress like that,’ he said and smirked at her. Her face flushed.

  ‘Really, Sam,’ she muttered, pulling it down again. ‘Is it too short?’

  ‘Not too short, Bea. In fact, it’s too long,’ he replied, imagining what she would look like without a dress on at all.

  ‘You’re too young to make comments like that.’ She laughed and walked out of the room with faltering steps. There you go, girls, Sam will light your fire,’ she said.

  Sam overheard and chuckled to himself. Given half the chance he’d light her fire.

  Chapter 14

  It was late when Bea crept across the shadows and into her bedroom. She didn’t want to wake the children by turning on the light on the landing so she let the moonlight guide her. She had drunk too much wine and flirted too much with the strange men in the pub. It didn’t matter, weekends were for having fun. After all, the rest of the week she was tied to the nursery and all girls needed to let their hair down every now and then. She closed the door quietly and slipped out of her heels, kicking them across the room.

  ‘Ouch!’ came a voice in the corner as one of the flying shoes met with flesh. Bea caught her breath and stood as rigid as a dog that has just smelt danger. With a trembling hand she felt across the wall for the light switch. ‘Don’t turn on the light,’ continued the voice, now so close she could feel his breath on her neck.

  ‘Sam!’ she gasped in relief. ‘What are you doing in here?’

  ‘I had a nightmare,’ he said and she could detect a grin sweep across his face.

  ‘Go back to bed,’ she stammered, trying to blink herself back to sobriety.

  Sam ran a finger up her neck. She shrugged him off. ‘For God’s sake, Sam. What are you doing?’

  ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know,’ he whispered.

  ‘You’re a child,’ she protested.

  ‘Well, teach me then.’

  ‘I can’t,’ she said and giggled at the absurdity of their conversation.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Bec
ause I’ll get the sack.’

  ‘No you won’t.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Who’ll tell?’

  ‘I don’t know that you can be trusted,’ she replied coyly.

  ‘So it’s not that you don’t want to then?’ he said and placed his lips on the soft flesh where her neck met her shoulders. She shivered with a pleasure she wished she had more strength to resist.

  ‘You’re a boy,’ she repeated weakly.

  He took her hand and placed it on his trousers. ‘Is this the behaviour of a boy?’ he asked.

  She felt the solid evidence of his desire and giggled again, more out of nervousness than merriment. ‘I suppose not.’ She chuckled.

  ‘I’m ready for you,’ he breathed into her ear.

  Bea couldn’t help but find the situation amusing. She suppressed her laughter. ‘I’ll bet you don’t know what to do with it,’ she said, gently squeezing it with her hand.

  ‘I’d like you to show me,’ he said. Suddenly Bea felt like a temptress and she liked the sense of power it gave her. The wine had made her reckless, dulled her reasoning so that tomorrow seemed another lifetime and tonight a magical limbo in which anything was possible. She turned and allowed him to kiss her. As his wet mouth descended onto hers she forgot that he was a fifteen-year-old boy, the son of her employers. He kissed like a man. It was only when they fell onto her bed that she was jolted back to reality. He was hard and energetic and yet he was ignorant of the complex labyrinth of the female body. After the initial kiss she lifted his fumbling hand off her breast and resolved to teach him how to make love like a man.

  The following morning Bea was thankful it was Sunday so that she could

  spend the entire morning in bed. Before Sam had returned to his room in the early hours he had boasted that he could have gone on all night and probably all weekend. She had believed him. He was a quick learner and like any child with a new toy had been reluctant to put it away and go to bed. She smiled to herself in that pleasant heavy-eyed limbo between consciousness and unconsciousness and recalled with pride her eager student who by five o’clock in the morning had mastered the art of a soft touch, a slow kiss but not quite managed the patient restraint. That would come, she thought to herself, with maturity. Then she panicked as she remembered he was only fifteen years old and she sunk deeper beneath the blankets.