The Butterfly Box by Santa Montefiore Read Free Book Online Page A

alone was a false love, as illusory as a mirage. She closed her eyes, blocking out the sad reality of her situation and allowed herself to take pleasure as his hands stroked the curves of her body as if exploring them for the first time.
    It had been many months since they had last united in this way. They had both forgotten what the other’s body was like. As if she had no control over her impulses, her fingers followed the ridge of his spine and caressed the hair on his shoulders like they used to do when they had been driven by love. She ran her tongue over his skin and it tasted of the sea mingled with the scent of man. When he kissed her, his mouth on her mouth, his face only inches away from hers, she opened her eyes to find his were closed. She wondered whom he was dreaming of and whether he too had had opportunities on his travels. She didn’t want to know. Then he was inside her, awakening her dormant desire that had endured many months of hibernation and she thought no more about the other women he might have had. They both forgot the other as they moved like one writhing beast, oblivious to the low groans that escaped from their throats and the delirious sighs that vibrated deep within their bellies. When they lay sweaty and exhausted, the heady scent of their skin mingling with the sweet fragrance of lavender and rose, they both stared up at the ceiling and wondered why they had allowed themselves to get carried away.
    Helena was too embarrassed to look at him and covered her steaming body with the bedspread in shame. A ridiculous action after he had tasted it so intimately. She fumbled in the bedside table drawer for a cigarette. Finding one she lit it with a trembling hand and inhaled impatiently. How strange it is, she thought, that we can be as close as two people possibly can be then suddenly,
    in the space of a second, lie here side by side but thousands of miles apart. She looked over at him and he turned to face her.
    That was nice,’ he said.
    ‘Yes, it was,’ she replied tightly.
    ‘Don’t regret it, Helena. It’s okay to indulge in the pleasures of the flesh, even if you feel nothing but physical desire.’
    She inhaled again. ‘I don’t regret it,’ she said. She didn’t know whether she did or didn’t. Had she really made love without love? She waved the thought away with the smoke. It no longer mattered. She was going home.

Chapter 4
    Ramon watched his wife dress in the dim light of the bedroom. Neither spoke. The smell of cigarettes masked the lavender Federica had pressed into the linen and the garden flowers she had so lovingly picked and placed on his bedside table in the shiny blue vase. The messy bed was all that was left of their passion. He wondered if there was anything left of their love. Then he heard Federica’s soft voice singing in the garden and he realized that his children were the physical expressions of a love they had once happily given to each other, and he shuddered at the thought of being without them.
    Helena’s body was still firm and slim with that translucent pallor that had first attracted him to her twelve years before. She was now thirty years old, too young to be on her own without the attentions of a loving man to nurture her. When he had found her on those cold Cornish beaches she had been young and ready to sacrifice everything just so that she could be near him. They had travelled the world together, united by his thirst for adventure and her desire to be loved. It had worked until domesticity drove them apart. He watched her brush her long blonde hair and pin it onto the top of her head. He preferred it
    when she wore it down her back. Once it had reached her waist. Once he had threaded it with jasmine. She had been beautiful then. Now she looked tired and her disenchantment drained her face of colour so that her pallor, once so alluring, no longer glowed but lay stagnant like a diminishing waterhole in the dry season. If he didn’t let her go