That would be good, Papa,’ mumbled Hal, whose ability to express himself had been inhibited by the heat and the alcohol that still contaminated his liver.
Ramon told them about the time he had gone to England to see them and how Helena had protected them from him. How he had seen Federica on her bicycle but driven away following Helena’s advice. ‘But don’t ever blame your mother for that. I was insensitive, popping into your lives when it suited me just to make me feel better. She was right, it wouldn’t have done you any good.
‘Estella’s death taught me the value of life,’ he continued solemnly. As much as Federica tried to remember the pretty young maid who had floated through the rooms of the beach house, filling it with the gentle scent of roses, she could not. ‘I didn’t set out to love Estella. She quenched a physical longing,
which then grew into something more urgent, something deeper. When I was with her there was nowhere else I wanted to be. I had never experienced that before. I had spent my life running away from people, yearning to be on my own, not wanting to commit to anyone. Estella was different. She made no demands. She didn’t suffocate me with neediness. All she wanted was my affection. So I wrote on the beach instead of travelling the world. I didn’t need to go anywhere, for she was my inspiration and I wrote my best work with her. Ramoncito is a living expression of our love. When she died in the road I felt as if my whole world had suddenly imploded. I was consumed with regret. I should have married her but it was more convenient for me to remain single. I should have told her more often I loved her. I should have told you both that I loved you too and made more of an effort to be a part of your lives. But now I can. By coming out here you’ve both given me a second chance. I’ll never have another with Estella.’
‘Papa, we forgive you,’ Federica whispered, taking his hand in both of hers and squeezing it. ‘We’re together now and we can get to know each other all over again, can’t we, Hal?’ Hal nodded. ‘If it hadn’t been for your poetry I would never have had the strength to leave my husband,’ she continued.
‘Really?’ said Ramon in surprise, wondering which ones she meant. Then she told him about her marriage and how the butterfly box, which contained his letters, had sustained her through unhappy times.
‘You didn’t know it, Papa, but you were ever-present. You were there when I needed you most,’ she said.
Ramon smiled at her but he was aware that Hal said very little.
They sat on the cliff top until the sun grew too intense and they had to retreat beneath the pine trees. They talked about the past, bridging the years that had widened the distance between them, until the rumblings of their stomachs distracted them from their emotions and alerted them to the rapid passing of the day. ‘Gertrude will be furious that we’re late for lunch,’ said Ramon and winked at Hal.
Gertrude was indeed more sour than usual. They had lunch out on the terrace and this time the atmosphere was one of celebration. They reminisced about the past and Federica told them about their life in England, the beauty of Cornwall and the eccentricities of the people who lived there. Hal made a valiant effort to resist the flasks of wine that circled the table, quenching his thirst with
endless glasses of water. Weary from the heat and the journey he retreated to his room to sleep a siesta.
Ramon took the opportunity to ask Federica about the state of his health. ‘He’s very unwell, I’m afraid,’ she said.
‘He looks terrible, pobrecitol1 Mariana sighed sympathetically, remembering the little boy who used to love eating ice cream, manjar bianco and riding on the shoulders of his grandfather.
‘Mind you, he ate enough to sustain an army,’ said Ignacio.
‘He’s deeply unhappy,’ Federica admitted. ‘He’s been slowly destroying himself by drinking too much and leading a useless, decadent life. I thought coming here might take him away from his problems.’ Then she looked at her father. ‘I hoped you might be able to get through to him. After all, you helped me.’
‘I’ll try,’ he replied sincerely.
‘How did Ramon help you, Fede?’ Mariana asked curiously, longing to discover that he hadn’t completely deserted his children as she had supposed.
‘He sent me notes of poetry,’ she said and smiled at him tenderly. ‘You may think it strange that a few lines of verse can change someone’s life, but they
really did. I had been so blind to my own situation, they opened my eyes. Knowing Papa was thinking of me gave me the courage to leave Torquil. I knew I wasn’t alone.’