simply added that he was concerned by the speed of the romance. ‘If Torquil’s got nothing to hide what’s the harm in waiting a few more months? I’m troubled by his urgency.’
‘It’s called love, Arthur,’ she replied sarcastically and rolled her eyes in exasperation. ‘Look, I really don’t want to discuss this any more. Mama likes him, in fact, everyone likes him but you. The truth is I don’t care what you think,’ she said and stalked out.
When she returned to the kitchen she decided not to mention it to her mother or grandmother - she didn’t want to dwell on negative things. This was the happiest time of her life and she wasn’t going to let her interfering stepfather ruin it for her. He had always disliked her, right from the start.
When the men returned, red-faced from the wind and their laughter, Torquil retreated upstairs to change for lunch. Federica rushed about the kitchen with excitement, putting finishing touches with the same enthusiasm she had once reserved for her father. Toby and Julian stood by the fire telling Jake and Helena about the giant crab that had nearly sent Torquil overboard.
‘He didn’t like the look of it, but give him his due he’s a man who can laugh
at himself!’ Toby chuckled.
Arthur wandered into the drinks room to pour himself something strong. He rattled a cube of ice about his glass in agitation before filling it with whisky. He looked out of the French doors onto the winter garden and felt a bleak foreboding gnaw at his gut. His talk with his stepdaughter had been worse than disastrous. Lunch would be awkward. With a sinking spirit he opened the door and walked grimly onto the terrace. He breathed in the bitter air and watched his breath rise up on the cold as he exhaled. Then to his astonishment he heard a low voice in the window above him. Creeping back against the wall he listened with deliberation as Torquil continued a private conversation on his mobile telephone, leaning out of the window for better reception. ‘. .. The wedding will be the last time I find myself in this godforsaken backwater . . . She loves the city, believe me, she’s too good for these provincial people ... I’m rescuing her from a life of dogs and crabs, I’ve caught her just in time too. Poor girl, imagine growing up here, no wonder she’s so grateful I’m marrying her. . . Don’t start on that again, babe, I’ve told you, I love her to distraction . . . So, she’s not worldly like you, that’s why I like her. She’s pure and innocent, untouched. I don’t want someone else’s cast-off. . . Just wait until you meet
her, then you’ll understand . . . You don’t work in that department, you work in the basement and that’s where I like you.’ He laughed throatily. ‘That’s where you like to be . . . Look, I’d better go. The sooner we have lunch the sooner we can leave.’
Arthur held his breath for fear of being heard and waited a moment before he dared open the door and slip back inside. He felt physically sick, but worse than his nausea was his anger because he had nowhere to vent it. No one would listen.
Feigning a headache he sat quietly through lunch while Torquil acted the perfect guest, expressing his love of Polperro and the sea, forging a false bond with the family Arthur knew he despised. Watching Federica was like witnessing a car crash in slow motion. There was nothing he could do to prevent it.
While Arthur and Sam smarted in the wake of Torquil’s triumphant visit, Federica moved into his luxurious house in The Little Boltons. It was exquisite, decorated by one of the top London designers with rich fabrics and expensive paintings. ‘I can’t believe I’m going to live here for ever,’ she breathed in
excitement, throwing herself onto the bed.
‘Not only that, but you’re going to have my name and then my children. We’ll fill this house with the patter of tiny feet,’ he said, lying beside her and kissing her forehead lovingly.
‘Oh, Torquil. I’ve never been so happy,’ she said, holding his face in her hands. ‘You’re everything I’ve ever hoped for.’
‘And you’re a dream come true, I’ve been looking for you all my life,’ he said, smiling down at her. ‘You’re so good, Fede. I’m not worthy of you. You’re sweet and sensitive. You’re like an angel. Pure like white sugar. I don’t know what you see in me. I’m full of imperfections.’
She gazed deliriously into his pale eyes and wondered why Arthur mistrusted him; he had the most trustworthy expression she had ever encountered.
Later when she admired the tidy cupboards full of Chanel suits, Ferragamo shoes, Ralph Lauren casual wear, La Perla underwear and Tiffany jewellery, she noticed that everything had been bought for her by Torquil. When she asked him where all her old clothes had gone he told her that he had given them to Mrs Hughes, the housekeeper.