One Hundred Names (Special Edition)

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 still wouldn’t turn around.
    ‘Yes. Do you know her?’ Kitty asked.
    ‘She called me. One time. She asked about a caterpillar.’
    ‘She did?’ Kitty asked, in shock, her mind racing. Had these names got to do with her initial interview? ‘An Oleander caterpillar?’
    ‘That means something to you?’
    ‘Yes,’ Kitty said breathlessly, trying to take it in and process what this could possibly mean for a story.
    Ambrose finally turned round but all Kitty could see was her wild hair. ‘You can wait for me in there.’ She pointed the gardening fork at the open door that led to her house.
    Kitty looked at it in surprise. ‘Thank you.’
    She stepped inside and found herself in the kitchen. It was a modest home, a charming country cottage that had been updated but kept true to