The Butterfly Box(194)

‘Yes, please, it’s freezing,’ she said, rubbing her pink hands together.

‘How did you get here?’

‘By taxi.’

‘Does your mother know you’re here?’ he asked anxiously.

‘No.’

‘Good.’

He handed her a cup of tea then sat down opposite her. Federica added milk and watched as it disappeared into the brew.



‘I’ve left Torquil,’ she stated simply.

‘Right,’ Arthur replied with care.

‘I should have listened to you.’

‘No you shouldn’t,’ he said quickly, disarmed by her sudden change in attitude. ‘It was none of my business.’

‘Yes, it was,’ she insisted. ‘You’re my stepfather.’

‘Was,’ he interjected sadly.

She looked into his anguished eyes and realized that she had never really known him. ‘You still are,’ she said kindly. ‘Mama misses you.’

His face flushed with hope. ‘She does?’



‘She thinks she’s lost you.’ Federica watched his small eyes glisten.

‘I don’t know,’ he said, shaking his head and pressing his lips together. ‘I just don’t know.’

‘I’m not coming here to negotiate a peace treaty. I came to apologize because I’ve treated you badly. You’ve been wonderful to Mama. I know she can

be a nightmare,’ she chuckled. ‘But you handled her really well.’ She looked at him steadily. ‘You have to take her back, because no one else would know how to cope with her.’

‘She is difficult, but never dull.’

‘What attracted you to her in the beginning?’ she asked out of curiosity, but unwittingly she unlocked the door to the happy memories that he had wilfully subdued.

He sat back in his chair and smiled. ‘I could tell she was difficult. She had

had a rough time too, so beneath the frost was a little girl desperate to be loved

>

Federica sipped her tea and listened while Arthur related the story of their meeting and their marriage, the good and the bad, until he realized that what he had was worth fighting to keep.

It was late when Arthur drove Federica home. He dropped her off at her uncle’s house then hesitated at the wheel, debating whether to drive on to Helena’s or to return to his own empty home. He still felt the warmth from his conversation with Federica and smiled inwardly at so many tender recollections. Yet he knew that if a reconciliation was to take place, it had to be on

Helena’s initiative or the balance of power would weigh in her favour and he’d lose her again. What’s more, she had to learn from her mistake and be willing to change. He hoped she hadn’t given up on him.

Sam accompanied Federica down to the beach where he’d gather wood for the fires he made and insist on toasting marshmallows just like they had done in the old days. He lent her books to read then discussed them late into the evening beside the happy fire in Nuno’s study before driving her home in his father’s car. He’d sit in his shirtsleeves on the cliffs as much as in the study because he constantly felt warm inside whether or not there was a fire. As long as he was close to Federica he needed little to exist, just the shared air between them and the knowledge that she was there. Little by little he became as comfortable and as familiar to Federica as Nuno’s old chair. She looked forward to their walks and their excursions, to the dinners they had with his parents and the discussions about literature and history. As the weeks tumbled by Federica thought less and less about Torquil and only suffered the occasional nightmare which reminded her in her waking moments of why she had left him.

But she couldn’t forget the notes from her father and she knew she wouldn’t rest until she found him.

It was a strange telephone call that made up her mind to fly out to Chile. She was just about to leave the house when it rang. She was always reluctant to pick it up in case it was Torquil, but she reassured herself that it couldn’t be him, she hadn’t heard from him for weeks. Still, her hand trembled when she lifted the receiver. ‘Hello,’ she said tentatively.

‘Hello,’ replied a young woman. Federica’s shoulders relaxed. ‘Am I speaking to Federica Jensen?’

‘Federica Campione, yes, I am she,’ she answered firmly. ‘Whom am I speaking to?’

‘My name is Claire Shawton. I’m a friend of Hal’s.’

‘Oh, hello,’ she said in a friendlier tone. ‘How can I help you?’

‘Well, it’s a bit of a delicate subject really,’ she began. ‘I didn’t want to talk to your mother, because I know how Hal feels about his mother.’