seemed to desire her more. After all, sex was his way of telling her he loved her.
Within two years Federica had tuned herself to Torquil’s pitch without even noticing the gradual relinquishing of her liberty. It was such a steady shift she didn’t even realize she was unhappy. In her limited understanding Torquil was the same, sensitive man she had married - just a little harder to please. She didn’t buy her own clothes because she knew he liked choosing them for her. She didn’t buy him presents because she learned that if he wanted something he would go out and get it himself. She met Lucia for lunch and was soon included in a small circle of women, who, like herself, had nothing else to do all day except lunch, gossip and shop with each other. Yet, Torquil’s controlling nature had taught her how to deceive. She learned to splash the soap with water when she was in a hurry after using the bathroom, because she knew Torquil would check it after to make sure she had washed her hands. She learned to ask the chauffeur to wait for her outside Harrods while she sneaked out the other side and wandered up Walton Street just for the sheer pleasure of doing something without being watched. She called her family from public
telephones in shops and met Hester once or twice in the ladies’ powder room in Harvey Nichols. She managed to justify Torquil’s behaviour to her family, using his arguments without realizing like a well-trained parrot.
Then Sam rang her up, out of the blue.
‘Hi, Fede, it’s Sam.'
‘Sam!’ she exclaimed in surprise. ‘My God, I haven’t seen you since I got married.’
‘I hear you’ve barely seen any of us since you got married,’ he replied. ‘I gather that husband of yours is hiding you away.’
‘No, not at all,’ she replied breezily. ‘I’ve just been so busy. Time has flown.’
‘Two years?’
‘Is it really that long?’ she gasped.
‘So, how are you?’ he asked.
‘Well. Very well. Actually, you’ll be impressed, I’ve been studying literature with an old Cambridge don,’ she said proudly.
‘I am impressed. What’s his name?’
‘Dr Lionel—’
‘Swanborough,’ he interjected in admiration. ‘Lucky you, he’s a very learned
man. What have you read?’
‘Oh, I’ve studied everything from Zola to Garda Marquez.’
‘In Spanish?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I forgot my Spanish years ago.’ She laughed.
‘Shame.’
‘Isn’t it.’
‘So, he’s treating you well, is he?’ he asked, conjuring up the silky face of Torquil Jensen with distaste.
‘Enough of me, how are you?’ she asked.
‘Hating the City. In fact, I’m going home.’
‘Home?’ she asked in surprise.
‘Back to Polperro.’
‘To do what?’
‘To write.’
‘How lovely,’ she said, suffering a silent pang of nostalgia as she envisaged those windy cliffs and choppy sea. She hadn’t been back since the previous Christmas.
‘Yes, Nuno’s delighted, he says I can use his study to write in.’
‘That’s an honour.' She sighed, recalling Pickthistle Manor and the golden days she had spent there. Sam detected the wistful tone in her voice and longed to know how she really was.
‘Oh yes it is. He never lets anyone into that room.’
‘How is old Nuno?’
‘Old.’
‘That’s sad. He’s a one-off’
‘He certainly is,’ he chuckled. ‘God broke the mould when he’d made Nuno.’ ‘Tell me, why didn’t you ever call him Grandpa?’ she asked curiously.
‘Nonno is grandpa in Italian, Nuno just stuck.’
‘I’ve always wondered about that.’
‘Well, now you know.’
‘I don’t see so much of your sisters.’
‘I know, so they tell me.’
‘Things are hectic.’ She sighed, glancing around her tidy sitting room and feeling lonelier than ever.
‘I’m ringing up to see if you can make lunch. I’d like to see you before I disappear into the depths of Nuno’s study.’
‘Oh, I’d love to,’ she enthused. ‘I really would. Can you make it this week?’ ‘What about tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow’s great.’
‘I’ll pick you up at your house,’ he said. ‘Remind me of your address?’
When Sam saw Federica waiting for him on the doorstep he immediately noticed the change in her. She was wearing an elegant summer suit in blue with a short skirt and high heels, revealing a larger body and heavier bust. Her hair, scraped back into a ponytail, betrayed a rounder face cloaked in makeup. To anyone else she would have looked sensual and glamorous, but to Sam she looked like a sad clown smiling bleakly through a thick layer of paint. He felt his heart stagger as she walked towards him. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and take her home to where she belonged. But she kissed him warmly, commented on how wonderful it was to see him again and climbed into the waiting cab.