The Butterfly Box(15)

Helena’s body was still firm and slim with that translucent pallor that had first attracted him to her twelve years before. She was now thirty years old, too young to be on her own without the attentions of a loving man to nurture her. When he had found her on those cold Cornish beaches she had been young and ready to sacrifice everything just so that she could be near him. They had travelled the world together, united by his thirst for adventure and her desire to be loved. It had worked until domesticity drove them apart. He watched her brush her long blonde hair and pin it onto the top of her head. He preferred it

when she wore it down her back. Once it had reached her waist. Once he had threaded it with jasmine. She had been beautiful then. Now she looked tired and her disenchantment drained her face of colour so that her pallor, once so alluring, no longer glowed but lay stagnant like a diminishing waterhole in the dry season. If he didn’t let her go there’d be nothing of her left.

She caught him watching her in the mirror but she didn’t smile like she once would have done.

‘When do you want to go to Cachagua?’ she asked.

Tomorrow. I’ll call my parents, tell them we’re coming.’

‘What will you tell them?’

‘About us?’

‘Yes.’

He sighed and sat up. ‘I don’t know yet.’

‘They’ll think I’m heartless. They’ll blame me,’ she said and her voice quivered.

‘No they won’t. They know me better than you think.’

‘I feel guilty,’ she said and stared at her reflection.

‘You’ve made your decision,’ he said impassively and got to his feet.

Helena wanted him to beg her to stay. She had hoped he would fall to his knees and promise to change like other men would. But Ramon wasn’t like other men. He was unique. It had been his uniqueness that she had fallen in love with. He was so self-sufficient he didn’t need anyone. He just needed the air to breathe, his sight to take in all the wondrous places he travelled to and a pen to write it all down. He hadn’t needed her love but she had given it to him, desiring nothing in return except his acceptance. But it is human nature to always want more than one has. Once she had won his love she wanted his freedom too. But he had been unwilling to relinquish it. He still was. He had been as difficult as a cloud to pin down, she should have known he would never change, that there would come a time when she would be alone, for the world possessed his soul and she hadn’t the strength to fight for it any more. But she still wanted him to fight for her. How could he still love her but refuse to fight for her? He made her feel worthless.

Helena stepped out into the garden, squinting in the white glare of the sunshine, to find Hal asleep in the shade of an orange tree while Federica sang to herself on the swing. She knew Federica would be broken-hearted leaving Viña, but her parents’ separation would hurt her so much more. Helena watched her

swinging in the sun, ignorant of the dark undercurrent that swelled beneath her perfect day. When she saw her mother standing in the doorway she leapt off the swing, picked up her magic box from the grass and ran towards her.

‘Have you finished talking to Papa now?’ she asked.

‘Yes, I have, sweetie. We’re going to Cachagua tomorrow,’ she replied, knowing how happy that would make her.

Federica grinned. ‘I told Hal the story of the Inca princess. He’s asleep now.’ She laughed. Hal lay on his back, his arms and legs spread in blissful abandon, his chest gently rising and falling in the afternoon heat.

‘Well, let’s not wake him,’ Helena said, watching her child with tenderness. Hal was so like his father. He had Ramon’s dark hair and conker eyes without that maddening glint of self-sufficiency. Federica was happier on her own but Hal needed constant attention. He was the part of Ramon she had loved and been allowed to hold on to. Hal needed her and loved her unconditionally.

Federica skipped into the house to find her father in the sitting room, talking on the telephone in Spanish. She walked up to him with her box and perched on the armrest, waiting for him to finish so that she could talk to him. She listened to the conversation and realized he was talking to her grandmother. Tell

Abuelita about my box,’ she said excitedly.

‘No, you tell her,’ he said, handing her the receiver.

‘Abuelita, Papa’s bought me a box that once belonged to an Inca princess . .

. yes, a real princess ... I will, I’ll tell you tomorrow ... so am I ... a big kiss to you, yo tambln te quiero,1 she said and blew a kiss down the telephone, which made her father chuckle as he took back the receiver.