Julie's Butterfly (3 page)

C
HAPTER
4

Bastian nodded, his teeth gritted in anger. Great. What a knight in shining armor he’d turned out to be. He felt like the world’s biggest fool.

He could already feel the warm blood seeping through his sweater and his jacket. Desperately trying to hide his arm behind his back, he turned to go.

“You’re hurt!” exclaimed Julie when she noticed the blood dripping from his sleeve. “Should I—should I call an ambulance?”

Her voice was full of panic.

“No.”

Julie took hold of his elbow. “Let me have a look.”

Bastian suppressed the impulse to step back and merely pulled his elbow free. “It’s fine,” he muttered.

She looked at him, perplexed. “But you can’t go around bleeding like that.”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” he replied with a shrug. After all, it wasn’t the first time.

“I don’t live far from here,” began Julie.

Bastian raised an eyebrow. “Do you often invite complete strangers back to your place?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then there’s no reason to start now.”

“I may hardly know you, but you’re a good friend of Elena’s, and she seems to think highly of you. Besides, if you intended to hurt me, you wouldn’t have helped me.”

“Maybe I wanted to take you for myself,” observed Bastian quietly, menacingly.

Julie folded her arms, undeterred. “I’ve got nothing against us continuing this discussion here. Or you could just come back with me so I can at least see to your injuries.”

“I’m fine.” Detecting the determined gleam in her eye, Bastian could see that Julie was losing patience with him.

“Will you stop being so stubborn?”

“All right, fine,” he conceded with a sigh. “If it’ll make you happy.”

Julie set her chin. “Yes, it will.”

That didn’t sound entirely true, but it was clear she wasn’t going to give in.

Her apartment was just five minutes away, and they walked the entire way in tense silence. Bastian found it difficult to think of an appropriate way to break the ice. He wasn’t one for small talk, and since he hadn’t exactly shown her his best side earlier that evening, he could hardly blame her for her silence.

As she showed him into her small apartment in a large house, he realized that it was the opposite of his place in every way—even the entryway gave him an idea of the chaos that reigned there. The walls were entirely covered with postcards and colorful framed photos of her life in pictures. He spent a moment considering the photos, which showed Julie in a variety of poses, easygoing and happy—feelings that were totally alien to him.

She hung up her coat and slipped off her shoes. Then she stretched out her toes like a ballerina and closed her eyes contentedly.

Against his better judgment, Bastian let his eyes fall to her bare feet. They were completely unblemished. He would have preferred to see an ingrown toenail or a tiny corn. It would have made things so much easier for him—at least that’s what he liked to think.

A soft meow drew his attention to a small white ball of fluff sitting in the doorway to the living room, yawning heartily. The cat had a black spot on her brow.

Julie crouched down to greet her furry friend. “Hey, little one,” she murmured, stroking her back. The cat arched up to her hand, emitting an amazingly loud purr for such a small thing. When it noticed Bastian, it padded up to him, gave his feet a cautious sniff, and immediately decided that it liked him, which it expressed by rolling over submissively, inviting him to stroke it. Bastian looked down in irritation. It wasn’t that he didn’t like cats, but he didn’t usually come across any that were so friendly.

Julie stood and nodded toward a door. “The medicine cabinet’s through here.”

Bastian followed her and stood uncertainly in the tiny room.

“Here, sit yourself down on the edge of the bath,” Julie said.

She began rummaging through a box in search of bandages. He sank down obediently onto the narrow ledge and, after a moment’s hesitation, removed his jacket and carefully rolled up his sleeve. He kept his gloves on.

He examined the wound with a critical eye. The force of the impact with the asphalt had done its worst. The back of his right arm was covered in scratches, and the skin was grazed from his elbow down to his wrist. It looked like a normal enough scrape, except that it was much more extensive than it would have been on other people. He hoped to God that Julie wouldn’t notice.

“Let me have a look.”

Bastian held out his arm. “As I said, it’s nothing.”

“What a hero,” she said sarcastically. She sat down on the toilet seat next to him and placed everything she would need in her lap. She inspected his arm more closely.

First she took a damp cloth and dabbed the wound lightly to remove the worst of the blood. His arm burned under her touch, and a sharp stab of pain shot through his body. Bastian gritted his teeth and concentrated hard on Julie’s face to distract himself. It helped.

“You’d better take your gloves off.”

“No.”

She looked up, perplexed. “But I can’t clean your wrist properly with them on.”

“There’s no need.”

“But—”

“Are you done?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’ll tell you when I’m done. Now just let me tend to this properly.”

Bastian watched in fascination as she worked. After cleaning the wound to her satisfaction, she applied some ointment and a compress and, with quick, nimble fingers, wound a gauze bandage around his arm to keep it in place.

“How come you’re outfitted like a nurse?” he asked.

“I often look after my nephew. He can be a bit accident-prone.” She held two colorful bandages up for him. “Soccer or dinosaurs?”

The corners of Bastian’s mouth twitched. “You don’t have astronauts?”

She grinned. “Sadly, all gone.”

Julie stuck a dinosaur bandage on the gauze to secure it. “Done.” She stood up.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

With a guarded smile, she turned and left the bathroom. Bastian followed her into the living room and looked around with interest.

At first glance, it looked as though everything in the room had been thrown together without a thought. But the details suggested otherwise. At a round dining table were four mismatched chairs—some upholstered and some not—but each harmonized with the others through recurring ornamentation. The sofa was covered with a huge retro-patterned throw with colors matching the chairs and the pictures on the walls. Even the kitchen nook—deep red and speckled with photos and postcards—reflected her distinctive style.

Bastian was surprised to find that he liked it. Again he felt an unfamiliar tug of longing, a strange desire to find out more about this woman and her life. It scared him.

“Coffee?” The guileless gleam in her dark eyes pained him. “Or would you prefer something else?”

Her voice sounded so hopeful that Bastian was briefly tempted to accept. But where could it possibly lead? Sooner or later, she’d discover the truth about him. Would he be able to bear it when she failed to hide her revulsion, as all the others had?

Before he even had a chance to turn down her invitation, she took a deep breath and asked, “Why did you do that?”

“What do you mean?”

She suddenly looked nervous. “You came to my rescue. But I don’t know why,” she began. “You weren’t particularly chatty this evening. And you made your lack of interest perfectly clear.” She looked at him with a mixture of wounded pride and incomprehension. “And then you suddenly appear, ready to defend me. Not that I didn’t appreciate your heroic gesture. I’m grateful to you for stepping in, but in my experience, there are far easier ways to show a woman that you like her than picking a fight with a crazy drunk.” Her agitation brought a blush to her cheeks. “That is, if you like her.”

He regarded her silently before answering. “First of all, I don’t like to stand by and watch women being assaulted,” he said. “As for the other thing . . . ,” he began, briefly letting his gaze wander from her dark eyes to her seductive lips. “You’re not my type,” he said tonelessly.

“Understood,” she said quietly. “Well. Thanks for your help.”

Julie stared sheepishly at the floor, as though hoping it would open up, swallow her, and rescue her from this embarrassing situation.

Because there was nothing else he could do, Bastian left without another word.

C
HAPTER
5

Julie finally drifted into a restless sleep late that night. It didn’t last.

Far too agitated to rest, she found herself staring at her bedroom ceiling, lost in thought. She had painted the walls of her bedroom a cozy shade of green, and a large, colorful abstract painting—a present from Isabelle—hung above the bed. Next to it stood a small bedside table with a dark-green lamp, an alarm clock, a jar of face cream, and a dog-eared copy of Jane Austen’s
Pride and Prejudice
, her favorite novel. Dark-brown curtains framed the windows, but as the gray dawn was already breaking, the room was bathed in pale light. An antique mahogany chest of drawers occupied one wall, and a wardrobe in the same style stood opposite, draped with scarves and shawls. She had decorated the remaining walls with earth-toned landscape photographs she’d found at a flea market. She usually liked the serenity of the pictures, but that morning, she found them colorless and sad.

Wrinkling her nose, she drew her blankets up to her chin and watched the hands of her alarm clock approach seven o’clock. Its persistent ticking gradually made her aware of a throbbing pain in her head.

Unsure whether her headache was caused by all the champagne she had consumed or the outcome of the evening, she tried to turn her thoughts to other things.

And failed miserably.

She couldn’t get his expression out of her mind. The way he had stared at her silently when they were introduced, the way she had felt his intense gaze on her throughout the evening, the way he had unexpectedly helped her, and then the coldness of his rejection—more than once.

It was a complete mystery to her, why he should be so vividly imprinted on her mind. After all, they had hardly exchanged a word, much less had anything nice to say. The fact was, they were complete strangers, and after his abrupt departure last night, she was sure she’d never see him again.

She inhaled deeply, gathered her strength, and pushed the blankets back with a groan. Her cat, Spot, who claimed her space by Julie’s feet every night, wriggled indignantly as Julie pulled her legs out from under her. “Sorry, sweetheart,” murmured Julie as she dragged herself out of bed.

First, she needed to get rid of her headache. Moving sluggishly, Julie shuffled into the kitchen to fix herself something substantial for breakfast. In search of comfort food, she rummaged through the cupboard until she found a box of chocolate muesli, which she poured into a bowl with a generous splash of milk.

She sat on the sofa and shoveled her cereal into her mouth with determination, impatient for the endorphins to take effect. Only a few bites in, the doorbell rang.

Julie gave a pained sigh. Only one person was tactless enough to pay her a visit at such an ungodly hour.

She stood up with some effort and opened the door to greet her mother.

Despite her diminutive size, Louisa Hoffmann was a formidable presence. In her expensive navy blue suit, she looked every bit the respectable matron she thought herself to be. As she walked in, Julie could make out the precise lines of her scarlet lipstick and the marked wrinkles on her forehead. Her mother leveled her surprisingly perceptive eyes on her expectantly.

“Good morning, Julietta,” Louisa said in her usual stiff tone, letting her gaze sweep disapprovingly over Julie’s wrinkled, faded pink T-shirt.

Julie forced a smile. “Good morning.” She gave her mother a light kiss on the cheek and stepped aside to let her in. “How are you?”

“Very well, thank you, my dear.” She studied Julie’s hangdog expression. “You look dreadful,” she said curtly before sweeping past Julie and into the living room.

“That could be because it’s not even seven thirty yet,” Julie said sullenly. She braced herself in anticipation of the conversation to come. Her mother would not have come without a reason; she never did.

“So where were you yesterday?” Julie asked in an attempt to delay the real reason for her mother’s visit. At Louisa’s questioning look, Julie explained. “Isabelle’s opening night at the Schubert Gallery. Important social occasion.” She was surprised that her mother appeared to have forgotten about it.

“The opening was yesterday?” she asked before narrowing her eyes in frustration. “Your father suddenly remembered he had a prior engagement.”

“Too bad.” Julie tried to suppress a grin. Knowing her father, he probably hid the invitation and made the excuse of a business dinner to avoid the art-related event.

“How did it go?” Louisa asked.

“Very well. Isabelle sold quite a few paintings.”

An expert at suppressing her anger at her husband’s behavior, Louisa cast a critical eye over Julie’s living room. Julie knew her mother considered her apartment unsuitable for the daughter of successful real estate developer and politician Joseph Hoffmann. Louisa let out a gloomy sigh. Julie was all too familiar with her mother’s expressions by now. Under the constant pressure of her mother’s overwhelming expectations, Julie often felt like retreating to her bed and hiding under the blankets.

“Would you like some coffee, or anything else?” asked Julie, looking longingly toward her bedroom.

“No, thank you,” replied Louisa coolly as she settled regally on the sofa and positioned her overpriced handbag on her lap. She looked soberly at her daughter. “Julietta.”

Julie detected the note of concern in her voice.

“How many times have I told you that you shouldn’t be wasting your time waiting on tables? Your father and I don’t think it’s right.”

“I know. But I’m old enough to stand on my own two feet.”

“You could make better use of your time if you devoted yourself to your studies,” insisted Louisa.

Julie’s heart sank. The fact that she had kept her decision to drop out of law school from her parents weighed on her conscience. But she simply hadn’t been able to bring herself to talk to them about her future, in part because she could never find the right way to get her point of view across to them. She could hardly tell her parents that she had given up her law degree because devoting her life to the minutiae of legal briefs didn’t make her happy. They would never consider that a valid reason. In the Hoffmann world, personal happiness was not high on the list of priorities. What counted was the professional prestige that came from results and success. Since Julie had no idea what she wanted to do, she was more afraid of that conversation than she was of a white lie.

She avoided responding directly. “Do you realize how many students work a bit on the side?” she said as she sank down onto the sofa.

“But those students aren’t my daughter,” replied Louisa brusquely.

At this well-worn statement, Julie took a deep breath. It was time to get to the point. “What can I do for you?” she asked with exaggerated affability.

“I’ve decided to sell a few collector’s items from the villa.” Louisa assumed a bored expression. “I’m tired of looking at them.”

“And what’s that got to do with me?” asked Julie, trying to ignore her sense of foreboding.

“I’ve hired an agency to create a catalogue. A photographer will be taking pictures of each item, and I’d like you to oversee his work. After all, we’re talking about valuable objects, and I don’t trust a stranger with them.”

“But I’ve got to work.”

Julie leapt to find an excuse, but her mother smiled knowingly.

“I happen to know that you’ve got the rest of the week off.”

Julie made an anguished face. “Do I have to?”

“As you know, your sister has other commitments. And since you seem to be neglecting your studies these days anyway, you would be doing me a great favor.”

“I’d actually planned to spend some time with my favorite nephew. I’ve hardly seen Luke since he started school.”

“Well, then I suggest you spend less time on work and visit him in the afternoon after school,” said Louisa. “And while we’re on the subject of family matters, will you be bringing a date to your father’s birthday party next week?”

Wonderful. Another subject that Julie was absolutely dying to discuss with her mother just then.

Louisa clicked her tongue dismissively at Julie’s stubborn silence. “I’ve been planning this party for weeks, and that includes a seating plan. After all, a number of distinguished guests will be coming.”

“I can’t really think of anyone,” Julie said grumpily.

“It’s out of the question that you should be there as a guest without a dinner partner.”

“I’m not exactly a
guest
.”

“There’s a gifted architect who works at your father’s firm,” Louisa continued, ignoring her daughter’s remark. “I met him recently. A really nice young man.”

Julie gave her mother a look that needed no words.

Louisa raised her hands in a gesture of appeasement. “It’s only because I care about your future, my dear.”

“My future’s looking fine.”

“Really?” Louisa raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “At your age, Joanna had already been in a promising relationship with Maximilian for ages. As far as I know, you haven’t got your eye on a single man.”

Julie clenched her jaw in irritation. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her older sister with all her heart. But Jo had always sought to abide by their mother’s wishes, even when she didn’t share her opinion. Julie had never understood why Jo hadn’t put her foot down about pursuing her own ideas—at least when things came to a head. When they were younger, Jo had always dreamed of traveling around Australia. But instead she had fulfilled her parents’ wishes and gone to business school. Now she worked part-time for their father’s company—when she was not stuck at home as a housewife and mother in their fine middle-class house, where she was becoming more like their mother every day. At least on the outside.

Julie had to admit that Jo’s husband, Maximilian, and son, Luke, were both lovely. Max seemed to be a good man, and the fact that he was also a successful businessman who satisfied their parents’ aspirations was ultimately not his fault.

“So shall I invite that young man?” pressed Louisa. “He really is quite charming. You know you can trust my judgment in these matters.”

Julie was not so sure about that. But since she couldn’t think of anyone who could accompany her in his place, she merely shrugged. “I’ll think about it,” she said finally, in the hope of winning a little time.

Watching her mother drum her ruby-red fingernails on her handbag, Julie sensed that Louisa was gradually losing patience with her.

“As for this afternoon,” Louisa said sharply, “will you do me this small favor?”

Julie gave another resigned sigh. “OK.”

Without a word of thanks, Louisa began rummaging in her handbag. “All the items are currently being loaded up and taken to a warehouse that has enough space for taking photos.” She handed Julie the key and a scrap of paper with the address. “I’ve already informed the agency that you’ll be there. Mr. Colbert will expect you at two.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’ve agreed to do it,” muttered Julie.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing.”

“So we’re all set.” Louisa zipped up her handbag energetically. “Seeing as you’ll be there already, would you be so kind as to put together a few details about the items for the agency to work with?”

She knew from experience that any further argument with her mother would be futile, so Julie didn’t bother to reply.

Louisa stood up, finally satisfied. “I have to go now. Your father’s gift table still needs some work.” Louisa marched toward the door without a backward glance. In the entry, she presented her cheek to Julie and accepted a brief farewell kiss. “I’ll see you on Sunday for coffee at three sharp.”

“As you do every week.”

“Don’t be late.”

Following her mother’s departure with a sullen gaze, Julie leaned against her door. If only she’d stayed in bed.

She returned to the living room and fell wearily onto the sofa. She had hardly caught her breath when the phone rang. Cursing, she heaved herself up again. The display showed Jo’s number.

“Morning,” Julie muttered into the receiver.

“Hi, Sis. I just wanted to warn you, the matriarch’s on her way over to see you.” Julie detected a clattering in the background and guessed that Jo was loading up the dishwasher with the breakfast dishes.

“You’re a bit late. She just left.”

“Oh.” Jo paused. “She can certainly move quickly when she’s got an idea in her head. I only popped out to take Luke to school.”

“Thank you for telling her about my leisure plans.”

“Sorry,” replied Jo. “She had me there.”

“How so?”

“She asked Luke at breakfast this morning what he was doing this afternoon. At first I thought she actually intended to spend some time with him.” She sighed. “It wasn’t until she pressed me about how you had enough free time to take him to the zoo that I began to wonder what she was getting at, but by then she’d already made her decision to put you to work. I take it you couldn’t think of an excuse in time.”

“Unfortunately not.”

“I figured,” said Jo.

“How’d she manage it?” asked Julie as she headed into the kitchen to fix herself some hot chocolate.

“You know Mom’s tactics. She asked Luke if he wouldn’t rather come with me to the office and have a look at Dad’s latest project. He told her that he was looking forward to your trip to the zoo. He knows his own mind—you’d have been proud of him. So then she pursed her lips, you know, like she does when she can’t get her own way, and said she understood.” The sound of rattling dishes continued in the background, and Julie heard Jo take a gulp of what she assumed to be her morning coffee. Then Jo continued. “I thought that would be the end of it, but then she suddenly started telling him about the new water park that Dad’s building and about the plans and models and all that. She said Grandpa was sure to want his opinion on it. Then, almost as an afterthought, she added that she needed your help this afternoon for an important job and that she was sure he’d understand. He just looked at me with his big wide eyes. I was struck dumb.”

After Jo had finished giving her all the details, Julie took a deep breath.