‘Her daughter is your age and they have very little money, sweetness. Besides, you’re different now you’re with me,’ he explained, drawing her into his arms. ‘You’re shedding your old skin along with your old name. You’re going to be Mrs Torquil Jensen and I want you to have the very best of everything.’
Although she would like him to have asked her first, she didn’t want to appear ungrateful. She replied simply that he was too generous and that she was undeserving of him. His obvious delight and approval allayed her fears and her spirits rose again. She wanted nothing more than to please him. When she admired her new maturity in the mirror she marvelled at the distance she had come since that morning in Viña, now over ten years ago, when she had gazed upon her childish reflection with distaste. After so many disappointments, she deserved Torquil.
She longed to share her news with her father, but she resented the fact that he hadn’t communicated in years. In spite of her joy she felt desperately let down. Now she had Torquil she no longer searched for happiness within the glittering splendour of the butterfly box. She didn’t need to. The shadows of the past were exchanged for the brightness of her new life. She didn’t need her memories any more; she was going to build new ones with Torquil. So she
Sam had spent the night before Federica’s wedding in Nuno’s leather chair rereading Alexandre Dumas’ The Count of Monte Cristo, the most satisfactory story of revenge ever written. The early birds had awoken him at dawn. He had looked about, bewildered that he had managed to sleep on such a night. He rubbed his weary eyes and gazed out of the window onto a fragile foggy morning. The garden was draped in a tender summer mist like a tent of glittering cobwebs. A frail mist that held in the sheer transience of its nature the promise of a magnificent sunny day.
For Sam it promised nothing but misery.
When Nuno shuffled in at eight he found his grandson staring out of the window in gloom. ‘I would like to think it was one of my tomes that has kept you up all night,’ he said, glancing down at the heavy book on Sam’s knee.
Sam turned around slowly and blinked up at his grandfather. ‘I’d like to lock Torquil Jensen in the Chateau D’If,’ he groaned.
‘Ah!’ Nuno sighed knowingly and nodded his head. ‘Young Federica’s getting married today.’
‘Quite,’ Sam replied, removing his glasses and cleaning them on his shirt.
“‘Love is the wisdom of the fool and the folly of the wise,’” Nuno said and raised a thick eyebrow.
‘Nuno, I don’t have the patience for this today, but to satisfy the demands of your ego I’ll tell you it’s William Cook, Life of Samuel Foote.1
‘Mo/to bene, earn. Even in times of great despair you are able to keep your wits about you and indulge an old man.’
‘I’m not in love with Fede, Nuno, I’ve told you before, I just don’t want to see her hurt.’ Then he added crossly, ‘I don’t think I can go to the church, the sight of Torquil Jensen’s self-regard might just push me to do something I’ll later regret.’
‘Dear boy, if you cannot recognize your anger as fuelled by jealousy you’re less of a man than I thought you were. If you ask me, you had that gentle creature’s admiration for years and you chose to reject it. Now pull yourself together and accept defeat with honour. I suggest a bowl of porridge and a cup of tea, then put on your coat and come along to the church with the rest of us, with good grace. These things are sent to test us and this might be your biggest test yet, I trust you don’t want to fail.’
So Sam ate his porridge in silence while the excited chatter of his sisters and mother grated on his nerves and pushed him further into his troubled thoughts. Joey wandered in from the garden with a gigantic toad cupped in his trembling hands, explaining that he had found him drowning in the swimming pool. When Ingrid attempted to take the creature from him the toad leapt into the air with the zeal of an acrobat and proceeded to jump about the kitchen floor, outwitting everyone’s efforts to catch him.
‘Oh, leave him,' Ingrid sighed wearily, pouring herself another cup of tea. ‘He’ll find his way back to the pond without our help. I think Mr Toad is quite capable of looking after himself!’
Molly and Hester were to be bridesmaids, or as Molly preferred to put it: ‘maids of honour’.
‘I wish I were marrying Torquil Jensen instead of walking five steps behind the bride,’ Hester sighed enviously. ‘I can’t believe Fede’s luck.’
‘Fede of all people!’ Molly exclaimed, shaking her head in wonder that a man such as Torquil could fall for someone like Federica, when she was so much more attractive and charismatic. It should be me, she thought to herself resentfully.