Read Online Sound of Butterflies, The by Rachael King - Free Book Online Page B

hand on her waist seems to make Sophie float. He brings out a maternal instinct in the women around him — even in Agatha. She was with him one day when he tripped on the road and she had an urge to kiss the graze on his palm better. Thomas mistook her hand on his and the look in her eye for something far more inappropriate and jumped to his feet, his face exploding with colour. She laughed at him then; she couldn’t help it.
    Agatha hides her cigarette case in her little purse, adjusts her new hat, which she decorated herself last week with silk flowers, and sets out for Sophie’s house. She feels a little guilty that she doesn’t plan to stay long; she has used Sophie as an excuse to leave the house, but she plans to spend the afternoon with Robert. The deception adds to the thrill.
    Mary answers the door and shows her to the parlour. Sophie’s cheeks are pale when she looks up. Agatha wonders how long it has been since she has taken one of her daily walks. She wears her dowdiest blouse and skirt of coarse cotton that verges on hessian; Agatha supposes she has recently returned from church. Her knees are probably rubbed raw from kneeling and praying for her husband. Her hair is scraped into a tight bun, quite out of step with the current fashion, and it gives her the look of a cruel schoolmistress. Agatha feels quite shocked; it’s as if her friend is punishing herself.
    Sophie seems too lethargic to even stand and welcome her, so Agatha bends to kiss her on the cheek and sits.
    She leans forward. ‘So where is he?’ she whispers.
    ‘He’s still having bed-rest,’ says Sophie. ‘He gets up in the evenings and we dine together. But the doctor said he’s to live quietly. To see if it …’ She raises a hand to rub at an imaginary spot on her forehead. ‘To see if it helps his condition.’
    Agatha slumps back in her chair and lets her arms dangle off the sides. Sophie is enormously distracted; she hasn’t even commented on her new hat. She usually teases her about whatever she wears.
    ‘Sophie Bear. My Sophie Bear …’ She doesn’t continue.
    Sophie nods, as if in answer to an unspoken question. ‘I’m fine. Just a little tired, that’s all.’ She manages a weak smile, which broadens, falsely, as Mary brings the tea things in. ‘Thank you, Mary. Down here, please. I’ll pour.’
    Mary backs out of the room. She seems to be trying to make herself as unobtrusive as possible and it’s working. Agatha shoots her a sympathetic look and takes a cup, turning her attention back to Sophie. ‘What are you going to do? Do you have a plan?’
    ‘Dr Dixon said I should try to communicate with him by taking him to do the things he likes. Take him to the park.’
    ‘He hasn’t been yet? But he was always there …’
    ‘Yes, he was. But no, he hasn’t been.’
    ‘And what about his brother? What about Cameron?’
    ‘He’s abroad. I’ve written to him, but as yet I’ve had no reply. But look, there’s this.’ Sophie pulls a folded sheet of paper from the pocket of her skirt. It amazes Agatha, the things that Sophie produces from her pockets: a handkerchief, a letter, a book — she once saw an umbrella appear from seemingly nowhere and was inclined to think that Sophie had been keeping it hidden in her skirts.
    It is a letter. Sophie hands it to Agatha, who immediately recognises the mean, tight writing. ‘From your father,’ she says. ‘Did you tell him Thomas is back?’
    Sophie nods. ‘I had to, really. He might have heard about it from somebody else. I wrote to him straight away.’
    ‘And have you told him?’
    ‘No! Heavens, no. Give him something else to disapprove of? Ugh. I couldn’t bear it.’
    ‘So what did you tell him?’
    ‘Well, naturally I told him that I had moved out of your house and back here.’
    ‘Ah yes, The White Lie.’ They thought of the lie — that Sophie had moved in with Agatha’s family — as quelling Mr Winterstone’s anxiety. He wouldn’t stand for having