Black Butterfly Read Online Free

beneath one of them, a woman in a well-cut skirt and jacket suddenly appeared.
    I took in her steel spectacles and a heart-shaped face of alabaster loveliness. Lustrous burnt-sienna curls hung to her shoulders. Only a tiny scar just above the mouth marred the perfection. A hare-lip, clearly, though long ago put right. By her parents, I wondered–or by an altruistic lover?
    The newcomer extended a slim white hand.
    ‘Melissa ffawthawte,’ she purred. ‘You must be Mr Box. I’m very pleased to meet you.’
    ‘My absolute pleasure,’ I said silkily, straightening up and smoothing down my waistcoat.
    ‘And here’s my little Christmas!’ She planted a hand on the top of the boy’s beret and he beamed up at her. ‘We are all thrilled and honoured to have such a clever young man as part of our team.’ Her green eyes widened. ‘You must be very proud.’
    ‘Oh, bursting with it,’ I lied. ‘Positively bursting.’
    Miss ffawthawte pushed an errant curl from her face. I couldn’t keep my eyes off the tiny pulse beating in her pale throat. She had the look of a girl I’d fox-trotted across the floor at Maxim’s on Armistice Day, 1918. What a night! The Germans hadn’t been the only ones to surrender.
    ‘To get this far, Mr Box,’ said Miss ffawthawte, ‘your son has passed a huge number of tests and obstacles.’
    ‘Has he?’ I said, pulling a face. ‘Dear me. Sounds rather like schoolwork! Are you sure you didn’t mind, Christmas?’
    The boy shrugged and gazed up at Melissa ffawthawte with cow-eyes. ‘I didn’t mind.’
    She took off his beret and stroked his head. ‘Now, at last, he has joined the elite. The cream.’
    ‘How lovely for him,’ I said. ‘I shall rely on you to ensure that he doesn’t curdle.’
    The beauty managed a small smile and I felt encouraged, just as I had been by Miss Beveridge’s response. This was more like it! If not exactly raging against the dying of the light, I was at least a little cross with it. Miss ffawthawte ushered us on down the path.
    All around the meadow, bell-shaped tents had been erected and there was that pervasive grassy smell one associates with village fêtes and flower shows. Each tent swarmed with athletic-looking youngsters in khaki shorts and absurd sombrero-like hats. I was suddenly rather uncomfortably reminded of another youth group which had gained some little popularity in thirties Nuremberg.
    ‘You must forgive my ignorance,’ I said, stepping carefullyover a guy-rope, ‘but this camp of yours–what exactly goes on?’
    ‘You were never a Scout, Mr Box?’ enquired Miss ffawthawte.
    I chuckled. ‘No, I—’
    ‘After your time, of course,’ she cut in. ‘What a shame.’ Tilting her head, she appraised me with the sort of pitying look that is the special preserve of youth. Miss ffawthawte and her Teutonic tonic, I thought, could stand a little puncturing.
    ‘You have funny names, don’t you,’ I said cheerily, ‘for the wallahs in charge of it all? Something from Kipling, isn’t it–the Kim, the Baloo?’
    ‘Akela.’
    ‘The Mowgli?’
    ‘ Akela ,’ she repeated, with depressing earnestness, rouged mouth setting into a firm line.
    ‘That’s the chap.’ I looked around. ‘Is he about?’
    Miss ffawthawte shook her head. ‘Not at present. We’re very busy–as you can imagine.’
    ‘Oh, I’m sure,’ I chuckled. ‘All that pop to uncork. But you understand I must be content that my boy is in safe hands.’
    ‘Don’t you worry about a thing, Mr Box,’ she said, fondling Christmas’s hair. ‘We’ll take the best care of him. The very best. I wasn’t fortunate enough to have such opportunities when I was a girl, so now I’m keen to spread some of my good fortune around.’
    ‘Very laudable. I’m sure he’ll have marvellous fun.’
    ‘Fun, yes,’ said Miss ffawthawte, gazing down into the lad’s eyes. ‘But he’ll also learn lots of new and exciting things. Ourcharges must “be prepared” in all things.