‘Well, how much then?7 she asked.
‘One hundred pounds.7
‘One hundred pounds?7 she gasped. ‘You must be joking!7
‘I had to take the train, return ticket. Besides, it’s a fag. It’s the least you can do. It’s Torquil’s money anyway and he’s rolling.7
Federica watched her brother and barely recognized the Hal she had grown up with. She frowned. ‘You’re strange today. What’s the matter with you?7 she asked, searching his face for an expression she recognized.
‘The money or no telephone number.7
‘Address and telephone, Cachagua and Santiago,7 she said firmly.
‘Okay, done.7
‘Good,7 she replied, shaking his hand. He dug his knife into the steak.
‘I want the money now,7 he said, getting up.
‘Where are you going?7
‘To the men’s room. Won’t be a minute.7 She watched him meander unsteadily through the restaurant and wondered whether their father was keeping an eye on him as well. Then she remembered that Ramon had never written to
Helena was too ashamed to tell her parents the real reason Arthur had locked her out of the house. She moved back into her old room where she paced the floors in rage.
‘Poor Helena,’ Polly lamented to her husband. ‘She’s furious with Arthur.’
‘No she’s not,’ said Jake simply. ‘She’s furious with herself. She’s blown it again.’
Helena wouldn’t hear a word said against Arthur. When she called Federica to tell her, she terminated the conversation abruptly by slamming down the telephone because her daughter had immediately blamed her stepfather.
‘Oh, Federica,’ she sighed impatiently. ‘You know nothing about it.’
She had driven round to see Arthur the following morning, beat upon the door and even followed him to work. ‘Arthur, I can explain,’ she had begged, but he wouldn’t listen.
‘You’ve gone too far, Helena,’ he had replied flatly. ‘You’ve drained me dry. I don’t want you back unless you’re willing to change and you can’t decide that in a day. Go away and think about it.’ Shocked by the apparent stubbing out of
his emotions she had limped back home to wail on her mother’s shoulder that he no longer loved her.
Only Toby was told the truth. ‘I had an affair,’ she confessed as they sat on the windy beach, talking over the rush of the surf and the cries of the gulls.
‘Oh, Helena,’ Toby sighed. ‘Who with, for God’s sake?’
‘A Spaniard.’
‘A Spaniard?’ he exclaimed, shaking his head at his sister’s foolishness.
‘A bloody Spaniard,’ she retorted, folding her arms in front of her chest and sniffing with self-pity.
‘Why?’
‘Because he reminded me of Ramon.’
Toby prodded the sand with a stick. ‘You’re obsessed with a ghost, Helena,’ he said gravely.
‘I know,’ she replied, then more angrily, ‘I know now, don’t I!’
‘You always want what you can’t have.’
‘I don’t need you to tell me that,’ she snapped defensively. ‘I’ve been an idiot, I’m the first to admit it.’
‘Did you ever love Arthur?’ he asked. She looked out across the waves to the
grey clouds moving swiftly towards them and recalled her husband’s fury. ‘Well, did you?’ he repeated.
‘Of course I did. I just didn’t recognize it.’ Toby frowned. ‘It’s not the all-consuming love of Ramon,’ she explained. ‘It’s something quieter. I don’t think I heard it. I was too busy listening out for the roar. My love for Arthur is more gentle. It’s taken me a while, but I hear it now.’
‘The roar always subsides before long, then if you’re lucky you’re left with something much stronger and more lasting,’ Toby chuckled, thinking of Julian. ‘Arthur’s a good man.’
‘I realise that now. I can’t believe that it took an empty, meaningless affair to wake up and realize how much Arthur means to me. I’ve treated him so badly. I’ve been so off-hand with him. He just sat back and let me behave so appallingly. What other man would be so indulgent? I don’t deserve him.’ Then she looked at her brother with big, sad eyes. ‘I’ve lost him, haven’t I?’ she said.
Toby put an arm around her shoulders and kissed her head that smelt of salt. ‘I don’t know, sweetheart. You never seem to learn from your mistakes.’
Chapter 38
Sam watched the rain rattle against the glass windows of Nuno’s study. The flames crackled in the fireplace where Nuno had always stoked the logs with the steel poker when he had needed to gather together his thoughts and Trotsky lay on the rug, breathing heavily in his sleep. But Sam felt the cold in his bones and shuddered. He settled his gaze on the leather sofa where Federica had sat and recalled her eyes, opaque with resignation and her unhappy body that took the brunt of too much comfort food. He felt gutted inside. He had lost Nuno, his beloved grandfather and friend, but he had also lost Federica to another, wholly unsuitable man. He sighed hopelessly; he was fooling himself for he had never had her to lose. When he could have had her he hadn't wanted her.