‘I’m fine,’ she said coldly. ‘I’m fine and I’m happy. You’re just emotional because your grandfather has died,’ she stammered, standing up. ‘So am I. I love Torquil and he loves me. I don’t think it’s right for you to criticize me,’ she added defensively before leaving the room.
Sam turned around and stared bleakly out across the lake. The skies were black and dense and a soft drizzle floated on the wind. A few brown leaves swirled
about on the paving stones outside the window. Just like Federica, he thought, being tossed about by the will of something far bigger than herself. He remembered the shy, awkward child who had played with Hester in the caves and melted marshmallows on camp-fires, he hadn’t noticed her then. And the inadequate teenager who stammered whenever she spoke to him and blushed with her first tender infatuation, he hadn’t noticed her then, either. He couldn’t remember exactly when he had first noticed her. Perhaps the feeling had crept into his heart without him even noticing, because suddenly his jealousy had been roused, leaving him bewildered at the surprising strength of his emotions.
He had watched helplessly as she had married Torquil. The signs had been there right from the start in large neon letters and yet no one had tried to make her see them. He remembered Nuno’s wise words: ‘You can teach people knowledge, but wisdom, dear boy, has to be learned through experience.’ So far Federica had learned nothing. How much further had she to fall before she gained some self-awareness and inner strength? He sunk into Nuno’s leather chair and concentrated on devising a way to help her.
Federica returned to the sitting room and attempted to forget about her strange conversation with Sam. She forced a smile and tried her best to listen to what people were saying. But her ears rung with the echo of his words and as much as she made every effort to ignore them she knew in her heart that he was right. She wasn’t happy.
The chauffeur drove her to Toby and Julian’s cottage where she had arranged to stay the night. Rasta sat by her chair with his ageing white face on her lap, staring up at her with adoring eyes the whole way through dinner. Helena, Arthur and Hal joined them and they talked well into the night. When she slipped beneath the sheets she reflected on the family gathering that had been just like old times. The cottage was the same. The damp scent of the sea that mingled with the smell of rotting autumn had swelled her senses and flooded them with longing for those carefree days of her childhood. They had reminisced, laughing at all the old, well-worn stories that had slipped into family folklore. Even Hal had left his teenage angst back at home and joined in with enthusiasm. Helena was happy because Hal was happy and Federica was happy because she felt herself again.
But no one had failed to notice the change in her and they all worried.
When she left Polperro the following morning she felt a tremendous wave of homesickness. She dreaded returning to London, to the monotonous round of dinners and cocktail parties, ladies’ lunches and shopping and shuddered at the thought of Torquil’s persistent attempts to impregnate her. She looked down at her crocodile handbag and manicured nails and sighed. What was the point of it all?
Toby watched Federica leave and wondered when he would see her again. As the months rolled into years she was slowly drifting away from them. A small raft barely afloat on the strong undercurrents of a disappointing sea. Her marriage wasn’t what she had dreamed of. It wasn’t what her family had dreamed for her either. Toby resigned himself to the fact that he was losing her.
‘Seeing Fede makes me feel desperately sad,’ he said to Helena.
‘Oh, she’s all right. We all have our ups and downs,’ she replied, too concerned with the sorry state of her own marriage to dwell for long on that of her daughter. ‘Torquil loves her,’ she added, not wanting to sound selfish. ‘It’ll work itself out.’
‘I’m not so sure it will,’ he replied bleakly, retreating into the house.
Helena was irritated. All anyone could talk about was Federica. How unhappy she looked. How she had put on weight. How her marriage must be crumbling. From the Applebys to the people who lived in the village, no one had anything else to say. When Arthur decided to add his thoughts to the pile Helena lost her patience. ‘For God’s sake, Arthur. You don’t know what her marriage is like. You never even talk to her. I don’t see how you’ve suddenly managed to penetrate her inner world,’ she exclaimed hotly. Arthur’s own patience was being slowly ground down by her incessant ill humour. She seemed to thrive on the drama of an argument. If there wasn’t a reason to fight she invented one, happier to wallow in misery than try to find a way off her shadowy path of self-destruction.