When she turned out Federica’s light she told her that she had spoken to Abuelita, that she had sent her love and that she wanted her to paint her a picture of her new home. At first Federica had been pleased. She closed her eyes
and imagined the picture she would draw and the letter she would write. But then she felt her heart lurch with longing. She remembered her grandmother’s gentle face, the summer house in Cachagua that she loved so much, the navy sea and the soft sand so unlike the sand in England. She remembered her grandfather in his panama hat, the horse ride on Papudo beach and Rasta. Then she recalled her mother’s promise of a puppy and she began to cry. Not because she hadn’t been given a puppy but because the promise had been made to distract her from the argument she had overheard. ‘Now you won’t have to come home ever again.’ Her mother’s words echoed about her head until it throbbed with pain. Finally, when she could no longer bear her desolation she opened the butterfly box on her bedside table and allowed her mind to drift into the secret world of her father’s stories. The pain began to subside as she floated across the Andes Mountains, chased lions in Africa and sailed high above the plains of Argentina in a hot air balloon. As she drifted off to sleep she felt the sun on her face and the heat on her body and basked in her father’s love.
Chapter 15
Santiago, Chile
When Mariana told Ramon that she had spoken to Helena, he felt his stomach churn with guilt. He had only written once and he hadn’t telephoned, even though he could well afford the expense of the call. He knew he should have. The only explanation he could give was that he had been busy travelling. Too busy finishing his book. In reality he had deliberately lost himself in India. He had rented a shack on the beach and written his novel. He had tried to forget Helena and the children. He had tried to forget Estella. He had succeeded in the former because things didn’t feel very different. He was used to being alone on his travels so as far as that was concerned nothing much had changed. But Estella was a different matter altogether. He missed her all the time.
In spite of his apparent neglect his conscience was alerted to the misery he might be causing her. He had told her to wait and he had no doubt that she was waiting for him, dutifully, in the kitchen, chopping vegetables, floating through the house leaving the warm scent of roses as she went about her
chores. He didn’t want to telephone her or write to her, he didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t say what she wanted to hear, because he knew he could never commit to anyone ever again. He had hurt Helena and the children and he didn’t want to do the same to Estella. Perhaps he would return in the summer and make love to her again.
When he considered the possibility of Estella falling in love with someone else the jealousy rose in his stomach like an uncontrollable demon to take possession of his mind and torment him to the point where he nearly packed his few belongings and returned to Cachagua to claim her. But then his reasoning had assuaged him. She loved him and a woman in love was as faithful as a dog. So he spent unsatisfactory nights loving strangers, imagining they were Estella, no longer possessed by the demon but looking forward to returning in the summer to find her again.
When he returned to Chile at the end of August he went directly to Santiago where he moved into his new apartment in the barrio of Las Condes. But it didn’t feel like home. In fact, he longed for Viña and he longed for his family. He was bereft without them. Suddenly, after having spent months on his own in India, he was no longer comfortable with himself. He wasn’t used to a solitary existence in Chile and it just didn’t feel right. So he partially moved into his parents’ colonial house in Avenida el Bosque. His mother was delighted to see more of him and took over the domestic side of his life like an adoring wife. His father was less enthusiastic.
‘He’s got a wife, woman. He’s too old to need his mother,’ he growled one evening when he came home to find the sitting room carelessly cluttered with Ramon’s camera equipment, piles of prints and other belongings.
‘Nacho, mi amor, he’s going through a painful time. He’s lonely on his own,’ she protested, following him into his study.
‘Well, why doesn’t he ask Helena to come back? It’s very simple. But if you’re always there for him he won’t make the effort.’
‘He doesn’t know what he wants,’ she said, her voice dripping with pity.
‘He wants the bread and the cake, Mariana. I don’t know where we went wrong, but for some reason he is unable to commit to anything.’ He shook his head dismissively. ‘He didn’t want Helena to leave him, but he wasn’t prepared to change his ways for her or ask her to stay. He would have liked everything to tick on as always like a familiar although somewhat tiresome clock. I don’t