The Butterfly Box(17)

‘Sí, Señora Mariana,’ she replied obediently, trying to conceal her excitement. She had heard an enormous amount about Ramon Campione, seen his picture in the papers many times and even read a few of his articles. The poetry of his descriptions had stirred her heart and she had longed to meet him from the moment she had realized who her new employers were. She enjoyed wandering about the house, gazing at the photographs scattered over tables and mantelpieces. He was so handsome and romantic-looking, with his long black hair, acute brown eyes and generous mouth that seemed too large for his face but at the same time utterly captivating. She had spent long moments polishing the glass that protected his face from the dust. Now she was going to meet him, she could barely contain herself.

‘Scent the linen with lavender and I want fresh flowers in all three bedrooms. Don’t forget the flowers. Federica appreciates nature. She’s a sweet girl. Clean towels, fresh drinking water and fruit,’ said Mariana, not forgetting a single detail.

‘How long will they be staying, Señora Mariana?’ Estella asked, trying to

control the tremor in her voice lest it betray her.

Mariana shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Estella. Ten days, maybe more. I’m going to try to persuade them to stay for New Year, although it’ll be hard pinning my son down. Ramon takes every day as it comes, he never makes plans,’ she said proudly. ‘One minute he’s here and you think he’s here to stay then suddenly he’ll get up and leave, just like that. Then we don’t see or hear from him for months. That’s the way God made him so I don’t complain.’ ‘Si, Señora Mariana,’ said Estella.

‘My grandchildren love manjar bianco, please make sure there is enough in the house, I’d hate to disappoint them,’ she added before leaving the room.

Estella sighed with pleasure. She set about preparing the rooms at once. She swept through the children’s room like a tornado, making up the beds with real Irish linen sheets, sweeping the wooden floorboards and dusting the surfaces. The marital room she arranged with more care, scenting the linen with lavender and opening the shutters to the fresh sea air and sound of chattering birds hopping about in the eucalyptus trees. When she opened the door to Ramon’s room she breathed in deeply before making the bed slowly and tenderly, smoothing her elegant brown fingers over the pillow to flatten any wrinkles.

She imagined him lying there, gazing up at her, beckoning her to join him. Then she lay on the bed and closed her eyes, breathing in the heady scent of tuberose she had set in a vase on the dresser. She smiled as she thought that perhaps tomorrow his head would lie where hers was lying now and he would never know how close they’d been.

She hoped he’d stay for a long time.





Ignacio put down his book and rolled out of the hammock. He felt sleepy and lethargic. The evening was cool, the shadows lengthening, the tide edging its way up the shore like a nightly predator. He stood on the terrace, leaning against the railings, looking out over the smooth surface of the sea that sighed hypnotically. He felt uneasy. His weathered face crinkled anxiously as he tried to discover the root of his ill-ease. The light had ripened to a warm orange as the sun hovered behind the horizon about to dawn on another shore. Perhaps it was the natural melancholia of sunset that had brought on this feeling, he thought hopefully. But he knew it had more to do with his son than with nature. He sensed things weren’t as they should be.

Mariana wandered out to join him with his nightly glass of whisky and water.

‘Here,’ she said, handing it to him. ‘You’re very quiet this evening,’ she added, smiling at him.

‘I’m sleepy,’ he replied, sipping from the glass.

‘You’ve been reading too much.’

‘Yes.’

‘It can make one subdued, all that reading,’ she said kindly, patting him on his weather-beaten brown arm.

‘Yes,’ he repeated.

‘Still, you’ll have Ramon and Helena to entertain you tomorrow, and those adorable children.’

‘I know,’ he agreed, nodding solemnly.

‘He’s given Fede a box that once belonged to an Inca princess, or so she tells me,’ she said, watching the sun flood the sea with liquid gold.

‘That sounds like one of Ramon’s stories.’

‘Yes, it does, doesn’t it?’ she chuckled. ‘Typical Ramon, his imagination never ceases to amaze me.’

‘An Inca princess, indeed.’

‘Fede believes it.’

‘Of course she does, Mariana, she worships her father,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘She worships him and he just abandons her. It’s too bad.’