‘The black on the tips of the left one’s wings are wider, the grey and yellow markings are bigger. The one on the right, the grey is bluer.’
He smiles at me then, a real smile, the way Mama does after she’s played a violin concerto perfectly, the flying scales, the wild note runs, all the double-stops. ‘Spot on. The butterfly on the left is male, the one on the right is female. The male and female of this species exhibit different characteristics.’
‘They’re rare, aren’t they?’
‘More than rare. They’re extinct. The last sightings were in Singapore and Malaysia in 1990.’
I do the maths. Sixteen years ago.
‘But my suspicion is these are older than that. Ms Tan, you said these were your grandfather’s?’
Mama nods.
‘Do you remember seeing him with these butterflies?’
‘No, but I remember my father with them. I was probably five when he inherited them from my grandfather.’
‘This is indelicate but I have to ask – how old are you now?’
Mama blinks, ‘Thirty-three.’
‘Which means these were pinned latest in 1978. To have a pair in this condition, this old, is so, so rare. Not even the Natural History Museum has this.’
‘They’re valuable.’ Mama exhales. I didn’t realise she was holding her breath.
‘Extremely. Museums, private collectors would pay a great deal for these.’
‘How much are we talking?’
‘Ten thousand pounds. More, if we can get a few bidders, drum up an auction.’
‘Ten thousand pounds?’ Her hand covers her mouth. ‘Mr Prior, can you handle the sale, is that something you can do?’
‘I’d be happy to.’
Mama stands up, he does too, they are talking about buyers in Japan, contacts at American universities, German museums. I fall back in the armchair listening to them and then I slip the mount back into the case, spread my fingers over the glass one last time. I’ll never see them again.
Mama hands him the case and announces that she’s walking him downstairs. She is waiting in the corridor when I whisper to him, ‘Mr Prior?’
He looks up.
Later, he will tell me how small I looked on the chair, knees drawn up to my chin, fierce and desperate, unafraid to beg. But I don’t remember it like that. I remember thinking I couldn’t bear to let them go without saying something, without impressing upon him how precious they are. ‘Don’t sell them to someone who won’t look after them,’ I say, haltingly. ‘Sell them to someone who loves them like we do.’
He nods.
‘Promise.’
He crosses the room, crouches down in front of me. He is so close I can see the flecks in his eyes – dark gold, sharded amber. ‘I promise.’
From: Kit McDermott
22:43
The police station was madness. Men flying at the receptionist’s window, women barely conscious. Thank God Cass came to stay with Millie. She would have been terrified. I was terrified.
The policewoman asked what were you wearing and I didn’t know, you weren’t dressed when I went to work, so I guessed and then I had to admit I was guessing. I sounded like a total idiot. They asked for medical information, any reasons you might have left, if you were vulnerable. I broke down when they asked me that.
They said the majority of people return within forty-eight hours, which is Sunday. I’m counting down the minutes, hopeful and terrified because every second is taking me closer to you coming back and never returning.