The Butterfly Box(65)

blame her for leaving him, though I suspect she had hoped she might force his hand.’

‘What do you mean?’ Mariana asked slowly, sitting down on the worn armchair that Ignacio used for reading in the evenings after dinner.

‘I think she hoped that by leaving him he might be forced to change in order to keep her. I hoped he might make the effort. But he’s an avoider. He let it happen and then disappeared for months to pretend it hadn’t. That’s why he’s come home to live with us, because he misses them now he’s back in Chile.’

‘I wouldn’t have believed you had I not had that strange call. I think Helena misses him too.’ She recalled Helena’s strained tone of voice and now recognized it as an unspoken cry for help.

‘I bet she does.’

‘Do you think she regrets leaving?’

‘The grass is always greener.’

‘Perhaps not as green as she had hoped.’

‘Perhaps not.’

‘We have to force him to question what he has done. Something’s got to jolt sense into him. He hasn’t quite grasped the seriousness of it all. He just can’t treat people in this way. Someone’s got to teach him the value of life.’

‘You’re right,’ she said, lowering her eyes. ‘What do you want me to do, Na-cho? Turn him away?’

‘That would be the best thing. He’s not going to miss his wife if you’re buzzing around him looking after him.’ He noticed the dejected expression in his wife’s grey eyes. He sighed and shook his head again. ‘I’m not going to insist that you do it. How can I? You’re his mother.’

‘I want what’s best for him,’ she said and pulled a thin smile.

‘Then tell him he can’t move back in with us.’

Mariana laughed bitterly. ‘Oh no, Nacho, I’m not going to tell him. It’s your idea so you tell him.’ She left the room.



Ramon arrived on time for dinner. Ignacio rolled his eyes at his wife as if silently to indicate his exasperation at his son’s ever-increasing presence in their house. Mariana pretended she hadn't noticed and poured Ramon a glass of whisky on the rocks. ‘There you are, Ramon, have you had a busy day?’ she asked kindly. But Ignacio spoke before Ramon had time to.

‘Have you decided what you’re going to do about Helena, son?’ Ignacio sank

into an easy chair opposite Ramon who managed to take up most of the sofa with his long legs and arms. Ramon sipped at his whisky as if playing for time. Ever since childhood he had been unable to avoid his father's questions and he still felt pathetically weak every time he answered them, like an obedient schoolboy.

‘I think my next trip will be to England, Papa,’ he said, trying not to give too much away.

‘When will you go?’ he persisted.

‘Oh I don’t know, perhaps in a couple of months,’ he replied vaguely.

‘A couple of months? Why can’t you go sooner?’

‘Ramon is very busy with his work,’ Mariana interrupted in her son’s defence.

‘I’m not asking you, woman,’ said Ignacio firmly. ‘Ramon is old enough to answer his own questions. For God’s sake, you’re forty years old.’

‘Forty-one,’ said Ramon and grinned at his mother.

‘Exactly. You’re a man. You should have settled down by now, not be wandering the globe like a gypsy.’

Ramon wanted to tell his father to mind his own business, but then he

remembered that he was virtually living in their house so he had a right to know his plans. ‘I’d like to spend some time in Cachagua, start a few projects. The weather’s getting nicer now ...’

‘You can take the house,’ Ignacio said breezily. ‘It’s yours when you want it,’ he added, avoiding the confused expression that had alighted across Mariana’s face.

‘But there’s no one to look after him,’ Mariana protested, still frowning.

‘What about Estella?’ Ramon asked quickly. He then checked himself to avoid showing too much. He knew his father well enough to know that the slightest change in the tone of his voice would be noticed and analysed.

‘Oh poor, dear Estella,’ Mariana sighed, dropping her shoulders. ‘That dear child, she was such a sweet girl. No one looked after the house like she did. I don’t know what we’ll do without her.’ She looked at Ignacio accusingly. Ramon’s eyes darted from his mother to his father, aware that his heart had plummeted to his stomach, leaving only a throbbing anxiety in its place.

‘It had to be done, woman. She can’t look after us and a baby at the same time,’ he replied, shrugging off her accusations. ‘Ramon, she’s pregnant.’