He stood up and paced the room in order to warm up. He pulled his jersey over his icy hands and hunched his shoulders. He hadn’t written a word since he had returned home to write. He had toyed with the idea of buying a cottage like Toby and Julian’s, a young man of thirty-one shouldn’t live at home with his parents, but he didn’t have the energy or the incentive to find one. While he
was at Pickthistle Manor he didn’t have to go out for company, cook his own food, or pay rent or a mortgage. His father was grateful for his company and talked his theories through with him in front of the sitting room fire where Federica had first toasted marshmallows with Molly and Hester.
Ingrid floated about the rooms like a spectre in her long gowns, leaving a trail of smoke behind her and barely noticing that Sam was there at all. She continued to operate the animal sanctuary which was so overcrowded that when Sam had returned home from London he had opened his sweater drawer to discover a hibernating squirrel curled up in his favourite cashmere V-neck. When he had confronted her about it she had smiled happily and replied, ‘So that’s where Amos is! You know, darling, I’ve been looking for him the entire winter. You won’t disturb him until the spring, will you?’
So Sam had borrowed his father’s sweaters, which all had holes in them, either from moths or mice, for he had never done a day’s manual labour in his life and went out so very little they rarely saw the light of day. When Inigo failed to recognize the ragged jersey on Sam’s back, he patted him firmly on the shoulder and said, ‘Son, if you need money you won’t be too proud to ask, will you?’ Sam had replied that he was more than comfortable. His two younger
brothers came home on weekends. Lucien was at Cambridge and Joey in his last year at school. Molly and Hester came down when they could, as both now had full-time jobs which gave them very little time off.
Molly always managed to find something snide to say about Federica while Hester mourned the loss of her friend. ‘We were once so close,’ she would sigh. ‘We told each other everything.’
‘Well, that’s what happens when someone lets wealth and society go to their head,’ said Molly unkindly. ‘If you and I were grander, Hester, you can be sure she wouldn’t have dropped us like hot potatoes.’
But Sam knew the truth because he wasn’t blinded by jealousy like Molly. He kept his feelings to himself and hid behind the heavy oak door of Nuno's study.
‘Sam’s just like Dad,’ Molly laughed one weekend when he had only emerged for meals, ‘he's growing moody too.’
Sam longed to telephone Federica, but he didn’t know what to say and he didn’t want her to know that he had written the note. After their conversation at Nuno’s funeral he doubted she’d be too happy to hear from him. So, out of
frustration at not being able to communicate he decided to write another anonymous note. He opened Nuno’s book and sat by the fire, shivering with cold, and endeavoured to find a few lines that would be helpful to her. The lines encircled by Nuno were very different from the ones that would be appropriate for Federica, for Violet had needed encouragement to love whereas Federica needed encouragement to live - to live independently and not according to the will of another. He turned the pages, chewing the end of his pencil in concentration. He could use one of the verses on love, but that would be more apt for himself for he was suffering on the ‘threshing-floor’ of love because Federica tormented his thoughts and burned holes in his heart. He could use one of the verses on sorrow for that would teach her that joy and sorrow are inseparable, for without one it is impossible to know the other.
Then he came across a verse on freedom and realized that none other was more suitable. He tapped the page triumphantly with the damp end of his pencil and thought: it is within Federica’s own power to walk away. Torquil treats her according to how she allows him to treat her. She can always say no and she must say no. He read it out loud to Trotsky who opened his saggy eyes, yawned and stretched before cocking his head to one side and pricking his
ears up attentively.
Tor how can a tyrant rule the free and the proud, but for a tyranny in their own freedom and a shame in their own pride? And if it is a care you would cast off, that care has been chosen by you rather than imposed upon you. And if it is a fear you would dispel, the seat of that fear is in your heart and not in the hand of the feared.’
Sam sat at Nuno’s desk in front of his computer and typed it out. Then he spent the next half hour printing it, typing the envelope and sealing it because every action was done with the utmost care as if it were a love letter that contained the secrets of his heart. Excited at the prospect of catching a glimpse of Federica he took the early train the following morning, staring out of the window all the way because he was too distracted to read. He arrived by taxi in time to see her leaving her house and climbing into the awaiting car.