Cecelia Ahern 3-Book Collection: One Hundred Names, How to Fall in Love, The Year I Met You. Cecelia Ahern

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СКАЧАТЬ closed the roof.

      ‘That’s unusual,’ Sally said, glancing up at the sky, and Kitty tried to hide her smile.

      An hour and a quarter later they were fully updated on each other’s lives and they had reached the butterfly museum in Straffan. It was situated just outside the village: a charming house beside the museum with plenty of land stretching all around it. Open seven days a week during the summer months, it was composed of a tropical house with a bridge over a small pond, with butterflies fluttering all around them.

      Kitty asked a young girl at the customer desk for Ambrose Nolan and was instead diverted to a bow-tie-wearing man named Eugene, who told her that Ambrose didn’t do tours. On learning Kitty was a member of the media he proceeded to take her and Sally on a personal tour of the museum, which was busy, on this reasonably good-weathered Sunday, with families and children. He was so jolly and full of such joie de vivre that Kitty couldn’t bring it upon herself to stop his excited chatter about the butterflies he seemed to love and know so well. He certainly was up with his knowledge of the various species, and she wouldn’t have been surprised if he was on a first-name basis with every butterfly in the tropical room.

      ‘Many of the tropical butterflies breed here so you will able to observe the entire life cycle of a butterfly,’ he explained as they stepped out to the tropical room. ‘Here you will see where they have laid eggs, caterpillars eat the food plants, then they become well-camouflaged pupae, and if you’re lucky you can watch a butterfly emerge from a pupa to start a new life with wings and set off on its first flight.’

      Sally widened her eyes sarcastically at Kitty.

      Kitty ignored her and looked around for Ambrose. ‘So you said Ambrose doesn’t do guided tours, but does Ambrose work here?’

      ‘Oh, indeed, Ambrose has been working here for the past … well, since she was a child. Her mother and father opened the museum and when Ambrose was old enough she helped run the family business. She has been instrumental in developing what was initially just a small museum into this great centre. She extended the museum, which used to be in what is now the gift shop, into this great big exhibition room, she introduced the café and picnic area, which as you can see was a marvellous idea, and five years ago she opened the tropical room. If it wasn’t for Ambrose, these facilities just simply wouldn’t be here today,’ he said proudly.

      ‘Is she here today?’ Kitty tried again.

      ‘She’s here every day,’ he laughed. ‘She lives next door but she doesn’t see visitors. Now let me bring you through to the museum and I can show you what we do in more detail. The framed butterflies are from surplus captive-bred butterflies; they are not collected in the wild,’ he explained seriously as he led them to the gallery.

      Sally gave Kitty a withered look but Kitty prodded her and they followed him, while Kitty looked around for a way to get to the house next door.

      The gallery consisted of dried butterflies exhibited in sealed timber frames with an internal mount and brass plate.

      ‘These are perfect specimens,’ Eugene explained, and a few customers drew nearer to them to listen to the talk. ‘They haven’t been altered in any way. Specimens last for fifty years but must not be hung in direct sunlight. Many of the butterflies are over one hundred years old and are still as bright as the day they were originally flying.’

      He looked at them, his face flushed with the thrill of the idea.

      ‘Fascinating,’ Kitty said, looking at the wall and wondering how to change the conversation. ‘Is it possible for me to speak with Ambrose today?’

      ‘I’m afraid Ambrose isn’t working in the museum today.’

      ‘Is she at home? Could I call to her there?’

      ‘Oh, I doubt she’s in there on a day like this,’ Eugene chuckled. ‘Ambrose is working on a butterfly conservation garden on her land. She really is extremely dedicated to protecting our butterflies and making sure we don’t do damage to their natural populations or environments.’

      Kitty looked out at the picnic area and saw the ‘Private. Staff Only’ gate leading from the premises.

      ‘She sounds like a wonderful woman,’ Sally said.

      ‘Oh, yes indeed, she is,’ Eugene became a little flustered and he blushed. ‘She has dedicated her life to conserving butterflies. Ms Logan,’ he lowered his voice so that the people listening to his lecture wouldn’t overhear, ‘Ambrose is … very private, you see. If there’s anything you would like me to ask her for you I promise I will do so and get in immediate contact with you. It’s just that … well, Ambrose is private,’ he repeated and then he resumed his normal tone. ‘This beautiful butterfly here is called the Dark Green Fritillary from the Nymphalidae family, also known as Mesoacidalia aglaia. It is a large, powerful, bright orange butterfly, which you often see battling with the breeze on a cliff top, limestone pavement or sand dune. Startlingly visible yet frustratingly evasive, it is a grassland species that breeds on common dog-violet. Both sexes have a greenish underside on the hindwing.’

      As more people gathered around to hear Eugene speak, Kitty slowly backed away from the group while he was distracted. She headed straight to the picnic area, and when she noticed Eugene looking in her direction warily, she pointed discreetly to the ladies’ toilet and he nodded and continued his talk. As soon as he looked away Kitty hurried to the gate that said, ‘Private. Staff Only’. She pushed it open and stepped into a wonderland, a long lawn bursting with colour, butterflies fluttering to and fro, skimming her nose as they hurried to get out of her way. At the end of the garden Kitty saw a stooped figure.

      ‘Excuse me,’ Kitty called.

      The figure stood up straight, turned round, then turned her back on Kitty. She pulled her hair down, long wild red hair, like fire, that fell to the small of her back.

      ‘Stop!’ she called, and her voice was so adamant that Kitty immediately halted.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ Kitty called. ‘My name is—’

      ‘You’re not allowed in here,’ the woman shouted.

      ‘Yes, I know, I’m very sorry, I—’

      ‘This is private premises. Please go back!’

      Her voice was authoritative, but Kitty discerned a note of panic at the periphery of her words, and her posture showed she was afraid.

      Kitty took steps back and then changed her mind. She had one chance to do this.

      ‘My name is Kitty Logan,’ she called. ‘I work for Etcetera magazine. I wanted to talk to you about your stunning set-up here. I’m sorry to have frightened you. I just wanted to talk to you.’

      ‘Eugene deals with press,’ she barked. ‘Out!’ Then she added more gently, ‘Please.’

      Kitty backed away but when at the gate she tried one more time. ‘I just need to know one thing. Did Constance Dubois contact you at any stage in the past year?’

      She expected to be shouted at again, to find the gardening fork being flung at her head, but instead there was silence.

      ‘Constance,’ she said suddenly and Kitty’s heart started racing. ‘Constance Dubois,’ she repeated.

      Ambrose СКАЧАТЬ