Hester listened with deep sympathy. ‘I knew you were miserable, Fede, I could tell. What are you going to do now?’
‘Go home to Polperro and start again,’ she said simply.
‘You mean, you’re going to leave Torquil?’ Molly exclaimed, lighting a
cigarette.
‘Of course she’s going to leave Torquil,’ Hester said. ‘He’s a monster. You deserve so much better,’ she added, squeezing Federica’s arm affectionately.
‘Oh, I don’t want to look at another man as long as I live,’ Federica sniffed. ‘I want to be on my own for a while, make my own decisions. I need to work out who I am. I don’t think I’m very sure of anything any more.’
When the telephone rang they all froze. Molly and Hester looked at Federica who stared back with fear. ‘You answer it, Molly,’ she said and her voice thinned with anxiety. She put her thumb to her mouth and bit the skin around her nail. ‘You haven’t seen me,’ she added gravely.
Molly got up from the floor and the wine flushed from her head to her toes, restoring her swiftly back to sobriety. She took a deep breath before picking up the receiver. The shrill tones ceased leaving the room in a silence that hung heavy with anticipation.
‘Hello,’ Molly responded, trying her best to sound normal. Her shoulders dropped. ‘Sam! What the hell are you doing calling me now? We’re in crisis, that’s why . . . What, now? Oh God! You’ll have to sleep in the sitting room,
Federica’s in with Hester. . . it’s a long story, we’ll tell you when you arrive . . . Okay, see you in a minute.’ She hung up with a smile on her face. ‘One more for the party,’ she laughed. ‘Let’s get out another bottle of wine.’
‘Sam’s missed his flipping train,’ Molly announced, skipping through to the kitchen.
‘Well, that’s typical,’ Hester sighed. ‘He’s in a world of his own these days, ever since Nuno died.’
‘Poor Sam,’ said Federica. ‘He really loved Nuno, didn’t he?’
‘More than anyone else. More than Mum and Dad, I think,’ Molly said, returning with another Bordeaux. ‘You see, Nuno spent most of his time with Sam. He never had a son, and being the chauvinist that he was, he probably wished he had. So Sam was a kind of surrogate son for him. Dad gave him Nuno’s study to write in. God knows what he’s writing. But he spends all day locked away just like Dad. The only person allowed anywhere near him is Trotsky,’ she added, opening the bottle.
‘He should find a girlfriend,’ said Hester. ‘He used to have so many girlfriends.’
That was when he had hair.’ Molly laughed unkindly.
‘He’s not Samson, Mol,’ Hester reproved in his defence. ‘I think he looks lovely with less hair. He doesn’t look pretty any more. He looks rugged and handsome.’
Molly scrunched up her nose in distaste. ‘Each to their own, I suppose,’ she sniffed, blowing smoke out of her mouth in rings.
‘One thing I’ve learnt from Torquil,’ said Federica sadly, ‘looks can be deceptive. No one’s as beautiful as Torquil, or as selfish. I’d rather a plain outside and a beautiful inside.’
Molly lowered her eyes, ashamed that she fancied him.
When Sam arrived at the flat Federica was at once struck by the rapid deterioration of the young man who had once been golden-haired and glossy, like a handsome Greek statue. He shuffled in with his shoulders hunched, shivering with cold. His face was as grey as it had been at Nuno’s funeral and his eyes betrayed a certain weariness, for his longing had drained him of all enthusiasm and energy. When he saw her he smiled sheepishly, though he wanted to run to her and hold her against him. Federica recalled their awkward conversation
at the funeral and smiled back, indicating that she had forgiven and forgotten. She stood up to greet him.
He placed his hands on her upper arms. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked seriously.
‘I’m fine now,’ she replied, pulling away and nursing the bruises he had left on her skin. ‘I’ve left Torquil,’ she added, sitting down again on the carpet in front of the fire.
‘You’ve left Torquil?’ he repeated incredulously, turning away in case she saw the light return to his eyes and the joy curl his lips into a triumphant grin. ‘You’ve left Torquil?’ he repeated.
‘It’s over,’ she stated.
‘We’re celebrating with wine,’ Molly added with glee.
‘I’d say we were commiserating with wine,’ said Hester. ‘Poor Fede’s really been through it.’