It wasn’t until coffee was served that he gently tried to break through her facade. ‘You look so different, Fede, I hardly recognized you standing outside your house,’ he said, gazing into her blue eyes that failed to disguise her
melancholy.
‘You haven’t changed,’ she replied, once again diverting the conversation away from herself. ‘You’re still wearing holey shirts and worn-out trousers. Torquil should take you shopping!’ She laughed and dropped two sugar lumps into her cup of coffee.
But Sam didn’t laugh. ‘I’m afraid I have better things to do than worry about the state of my clothes,’ he said, allowing the bitterness he felt towards her husband to seep into his words. He checked himself, aware that if he angered her he would lose her trust. ‘I’m thrilled you decided to do a literature course,’ he said. ‘I hope you’re also continuing your photography, you always had a passion for that.’
Federica lowered her eyes and stared into her cup. ‘Oh, I’ve sort of lost interest in photography,’ she replied quietly.
‘How could you have lost interest? I don’t believe you, Fede,’ he exclaimed, feeling the fury rise in his throat.
‘I just don’t have time.’
‘What on earth do you fill your day with?’
‘Oh, lots of things.’
‘Like?’
‘Well, I have a lot of reading to do . . .’ Her voice trailed off. Sam moved his hand across the table and took hers impulsively. She looked up at him in alarm before scanning the room in panic to see if anyone was looking.
‘Fede, you’re worrying me,’ he said seriously, his face suddenly grey and anxious. She frowned. Sam shook his head slowly then continued in a very low voice, penetrating her eyes with the intensity of his stare. ‘Please tell me, darling, that it was your decision not to take a photography course, that it was your decision to study literature, that it is your decision not to come down to Polperro, to cut us all out of your life, to dress like that and paint your face like that. . .’ His voice cracked. ‘Because if your husband is imposing his will onto you, you’re in danger of being smothered. I won’t stand by and watch your spirit harnessed and controlled.’
Federica stared at him in confusion, suddenly having to confront her fears. She bit her lower lip. Sam watched her, attempting to read her thoughts as she so clearly balanced between confiding in him as she had always done in the past, and throwing up her defences and shutting him out.
There followed a weighty silence. Sam squeezed her hand in encouragement.
Tm only asking because I care,’ he said softly and smiled at her reassuringly. To his disappointment she stiffened then withdrew her hand.
‘I love Torquil, Sam,’ she said eventually. Then she added ‘Anyway, you wouldn’t understand.’
‘I’ll try,’ he suggested, but she was already looking away. The connection had been broken. Devastated, he had no choice but to ask for the bill and escort her back to her house. When he tried to reach her once more, on the marble steps of her home, he realized to his despair that he had lost her again. He wondered if he’d ever get another chance.
Federica curled up on the sofa with a packet of chocolate biscuits and a glass of cold milk. She snivelled into a piece of kitchen roll and reflected on her lunch with Sam. How could he possibly understand her situation? What he didn’t realize was that it was her choice to love Torquil and her choice to want to be the best wife she could be to him. He needed her and cherished her. If he was possessive and controlling, it was simply because he cared. She needed him too. Besides, she thought crossly, the dynamic of their relationship had nothing whatsoever to do with Sam. But, while she dried her eyes and delved
further into the packet of biscuits, the seed of doubt Sam had dropped was slowly settling into fertile ground.
When Torquil arrived home that evening his face was red and harassed.
‘Darling, you look exhausted, let me run you a nice hot bath and bring up a glass of whisky,’ Federica suggested, embracing him warmly.
‘We need to talk,’ he said coldly, pushing her away.
She shuddered and immediately felt consumed with guilt. ‘What about?’
‘You know exactly what about,’ he snapped, stalking into his study to help himself to a drink.
She followed him nervously. ‘Lunch with Sam.’ She sighed in defeat. There was no use trying to hide anything from Torquil because somehow he was as omniscient as the devil.
‘Exactly. Lunch with Sam,’ he repeated, clicking his tongue impatiently. He poured whisky into a tumbler and drank it straight. ‘Were you going to tell me, or were you just going to wait and see whether or not you got away with it?’