The Butterfly Box(136)

way down the moonlit Thames.

Torquil settled down beside her and opened the basket. ‘Let’s start with a glass of champagne, shall we?’ he said, handing her a crystal glass. ‘Have you ever been on the Thames?’



‘Only in the car along the Embankment.’ She laughed.

‘Good. I’m glad this is a first,’ he said, pouring the champagne into her glass.

‘It’s such a stunning night, did you organize that too?’

‘I did my best.’

‘You did well.’

‘I did well finding you,’ he said softly, tapping her glass with his. ‘Here’s to us.’

Federica sipped the champagne and swallowed her reservations. ‘I gather you met my uncle,’ he said, raising an eyebrow.

‘Yes,’ she replied carefully, not wishing to comment on the toad-like man who stalked the shop with an inflated self-importance that was both unnecessary and absurd.

‘He liked you.’

‘Oh?’

‘He has very good taste. He’s perceptive about people. That quality runs in the family.’ Then he looked at her with predatory eyes, admiring her lack of sophistication. ‘You’re too innocent to have been brought up in London. Were you raised in Chile?’

‘Only until I was seven, then I was brought up in Cornwall.’

‘From the sublime to the ridiculous,’ he chuckled. ‘That’s why you’re different. A bit Latin, a bit Cornish. Something of a mongrel,’ he joked. ‘I like mongrels,’ he added, draining his glass. ‘I’m not a mongrel. I hope you like pure-blooded Englishmen.’

‘Of course I like Englishmen. I don’t know many Latin men. I left when I was young,’ she explained.

‘And now you’re old,’ he smirked. ‘I’d hazard a guess that you’re eighteen,’ he said, taking the bottle out of the basket and refilling their glasses.

‘You’re right,’ she replied in surprise. ‘Do you know everything?’

‘Like I said, I’m a perceptive old devil.’ He put on a cockney accent.

Federica laughed. ‘Then, I guess you’re about thirty-five,’ she said and sipped the champagne.

‘Wrong, I’m afraid, I’m much older than that. I’m thirty-eight. Far too old for you.’

Federica felt her stomach plummet with disappointment. She wondered what he meant by that and if he really felt he was too old for her, why had he asked her out in the first place?

‘Let’s have something to eat,’ he suggested, pulling out a couple of plates of toast, foie gras and caviar.

The boat moved slowly down the Thames, under bridges which cast ominous shadows over the water, past the Tower of London and on into the darkness. They ate the picnic and opened another bottle of champagne. ‘I was brought up by my father and stepmother, my natural mother died when I was a little boy,’ Torquil said casually.

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Federica, feeling the full extent of his loss. Although her father hadn’t died he had barely shown much sign of life in the last ten years.

‘Oh, I was too small to understand and then Cynthia came along. She’s been a good mother to me. You see, she was unable to bear children so she adored me to compensate. Being an only child I’ve been spoilt all my life.’ He said this

with a chuckle, omitting to mention that Cynthia’s love was at times claustrophobic and his father’s overbearing.

‘I think you probably deserve it. You must have suffered terribly,’ she said, and squeezed his arm compassionately.

He frowned at her. ‘You’ve suffered, haven’t you?’ he said gently, tilting his head to one side. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

Federica found herself letting him into her life. Her tongue loosened with the alcohol and the beauty of the surroundings, allowing all the pain to slip out uncensored. She hadn’t meant to, but there was something in his eyes and his smile that drew her to him. He seemed to see right through her, slicing away her defences with each piercing gaze and understanding what he saw. ‘You poor darling thing,’ he said, noticing that she had begun to shiver and putting an arm around her shoulders. ‘You need someone to look after you. I grew up with too much love, you’ve grown up with too little.’

‘Not at all,’ she said, attempting to blink away the light feeling in her head. ‘I’ve been very lucky.’

‘Don’t fool yourself, sweetness, everyone needs a mother and a father. If

you’re lucky like me to have a wonderful stepparent, that can make up for the loss of a natural parent in many ways. But Arthur’s obviously not a patch on your father.’