The Swallow and the Hummingbird

by Santa Montefiore

  ‘He’s a writer.’

  ‘What’s he had published?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. But he’s a bird-watcher. That’s how I met him.’

  ‘How boring!’ Maddie sighed. ‘As Aunt Antoinette would say, birds, what’s the point of them?’

  ‘Is he married?’ Rita asked.

  ‘Divorced. I just think it would be nice if we adopted him. Poor thing, he’s all alone in the world.’

  Maddie slouched in the armchair and sulked. Sundays were just like every other day for her, whereas Rita enjoyed having the day to herself. It had been a couple of weeks since she had lost George’s letter to the sea, since Aunt Antoinette had bullied her, since Max had kissed her on the cheek. She had written a four-page letter to George, telling him about Antoinette and the cats, Eddie’s unnatural interest in witchcraft, her new job at the library in town and her father’s campaign to prevent a site of virgin land, not far from Frognal Point, being destroyed by developers. In her large flowery handwriting she reminded him of the summer, those balmy evenings up on the cliff watching the gulls, and their secret trysts in the cave. She confessed that she missed him more than she could express in words. She adored the pendant and the diamond ring, which she looked at every day, and remembered that he loved her. She would wear both on her wedding day. She had asked to borrow Megagran’s dress, by the way, and her mother was going to take it in for her. Not that it needed much altering – her grandmother had been true to her word – and the dress was so much more beautiful than she had imagined, with embroidered vines and pearls and lace. She sealed the letter with her tears and sent it with love. She hoped it would have the power to keep him faithful.

  Bertie’s Jensen arrived at ten, scattering a trio of pigeons fighting over a crust of bread on the gravel. Maddie agreed to go for a drive with him as long as he got her back by lunchtime.

  ‘Mummy wants me to meet an old bird watcher,’ she explained, rolling her cool blue eyes and flicking her hair off her shoulder. ‘Says he doesn’t know anyone. That’s no surprise; bird watchers are a lonely bunch. He’s a writer, apparently, but has never had anything published so he can’t be very good.’ Bertie was disappointed. He had hoped to take her into Exeter for lunch.

  When Harry Weaver arrived at the house in a rusty old banger, Maddie was being kissed and pawed by Bertie in the back of his Jensen in a lay-by five miles outside Frognal Point. Hannah was furious. At least Rita and Eddie hadn’t let her down. Humphrey shook Harry’s hand firmly as if he were an old friend. Harry had that effect on people. He was woolly, affable and ungainly with an easy, natural charm. He smiled and his rugged face folded into lines and creases. He looked weather-beaten, as if he’d been exposed to the elements. His hair was greying at the sides and receding at the front but it rebelled on top and stuck up in triumphant tufts. His eyes were a soft grey fanned by long, dark brown lashes, the envy of many a woman to whom nature had not been so generous.

  Hannah hung up his coat, noticing at once that it was moth-eaten and thinning at the elbows, and led him into the sitting room where Eddie was playing with Harvey and Rita was sitting in front of the fire reading the papers. ‘These are two of my daughters,’ she said, her voice thick with pride. ‘Eddie and her bat Harvey, I’m afraid they’re inseparable, and Rita, whose fiancé is in the Argentine. He was in the RAF, you know.’

  Harry shook their hands, smiling diffidently. Rita warmed to him immediately. He had that quality so often found in men who have been through life’s mangle that made women want to mother him.

  ‘Ah, a Microbat,’ he said, extending his hand and stroking the animal’s furry black head with his forefinger. ‘Shouldn’t he be hibernating?’

  Eddie’s eyes sparkled. No one had ever taken such an interest in Harvey. ‘He doesn’t hibernate.’

  ‘Well, most bats hibernate during the winter months. I suppose your sleeve is so nice and snug he wants to be awake to enjoy it. What do you feed him?’

  ‘In the summertime he flies about and catches his own insects. But there aren’t any now so I give him berries and bread.’

  ‘Try a little fish,’ Harry suggested. ‘They love fish.’

  ‘Oh, I will,’ she enthused, her face extending into a wide smile. Harry sat down on the sofa and chuckled as Eddie placed herself beside him, so close they were pressed together, leaving half the sofa unoccupied.

  ‘Don’t suffocate our poor guest,’ said Humphrey in amusement. ‘I’m afraid you’ve made a new friend,’ he added to Harry. ‘Or should I say two new friends!’

  ‘Bats are fascinating creatures. They’re the only mammals that fly and are more closely related to humans than mice. Look at their hands, they have four fingers and a thumb, forearms, elbows and upper arms.’ He turned to Eddie. ‘Their scientific name is in fact Chiroptera which means “hand wing”. It’s thanks to bats that night-blooming flowers are pollinated and they’re nature’s best insect control. I’ve always enjoyed bats.’

  Eddie sat gazing up at him with eyes full of love. ‘My Aunt Antoinette hates Harvey. He was so hurt when she said she would throw him in the pond,’ she said, blinking up at him. He put his arm around her and patted her gently.

  ‘You must forgive her, she was just frightened of him. She doesn’t know him like you do.’

  At that moment a horn tooted outside. Hannah looked at her watch. About time too! she thought. They all looked at the door in anticipation.

  ‘That will be our other daughter, Maddie,’ she said to Harry. ‘She’s been out all morning with a friend.’

  Humphrey raised his eyebrows at his wife, for he didn’t much like Bertie either, although the boy and Maddie had an awful lot in common.

  Maddie strode into the sitting room. She’d much prefer to be lunching in Exeter. Already scowling, she hovered by the door with her arms crossed defensively in front of her. ‘Sorry I’m so late,’ she said.

  ‘That’s all right, my dear. Come and meet Harry Weaver. Harry is an expert on bats.’

  ‘Not an expert. Just curious,’ he replied, standing up to greet Maddie.

  He was tall and lean like Trees but hunched a little as if uncomfortable with his stature. Maddie stared at him in wonder. To her embarrassment she felt her face burn and her heart accelerate. She shook his hand, which was soft and warm like dough, and was aware that an uncharacteristic grin, which she was quite unable to control, tickled the corners of her mouth. His gentle eyes settled on her, took in her immaculately painted face and sunset-coloured hair and felt, as she did, the invisible force of attraction vibrate between them like the quivering strings of a violin. He smiled back and shook his head slowly, awed by the unexpected allure of this young woman. Maddie blinked out of her daze and hastened to a chair where she was relieved to be able to rest her trembling legs. Everyone could feel the change in the air, subconsciously hearing the music of love that danced about the room, but no one was more surprised than Maddie. She lifted her eyes to look at him again and noticed, to her embarrassment, that he was still watching her, as if she were a rare and lovely bird.

  Chapter 14

  George rode out across the plains, squinting in the sunlight and blinking away the mist of dust kicked up from Jose Antonio’s horse galloping furiously in front of him. But all he could think about was Susan. What strange coincidence was at play? Could some fortuitous twist of fortune have made their paths cross once again? Her face surfaced in his mind and this time he didn’t will it away but allowed his inner vision to dwell on it, hoping with all his heart that he had understood his uncle correctly, that the ‘token’ his aunt had brought back from Buenos Aires was Susan.

  The afternoon seemed interminable. He was too distracted to be of any use on the farm. The gauchos teased him, certain that a woman was to blame for scrambling his brain. They gesticulated to him with their hands, suggesting all sorts of unspeakable sexual acts then laughed raucously, nudging each other in amusement. He was a handsome man; it was unthinkable that he wasn’t taking advantag
e of the whores in Jesús Maria. Finally Jose Antonio dismissed him.

  ‘Go and entertain the women,’ he said, grinning at his nephew. ‘The sun has obviously penetrated your skull.’

  George protested. He didn’t want the gauchos to think him faint-hearted.

  ‘I’m a little tired,’ he explained. ‘But nothing I can’t handle.’ If they only knew what he had been up against in the skies over Britain! His uncle slapped him on the back and winked at him affectionately.

  ‘There’s nothing more for you to do today, gringo. La Gorda will be happy to see you. Have tea, a swim, a rest. Take the afternoon off. You deserve it.’

  George knew he didn’t deserve it at all, but did as he was told. He knew better than to argue with Jose Antonio.

  He turned his horse around and galloped back to the puesto. He hastily removed the tack and brushed his horse down before tying him up in the shade with a bucket of water. His legs felt weak as if he had borrowed them from someone else and was having trouble getting used to them. As he walked unsteadily through the trees to the house he prayed that it was Susan and not some other woman with a scarred face who had come to stay at Las Dos Vizcachas.

  As the house came into view he was able to make out two women sitting on the veranda taking tea. He squinted to see them better. The woman facing him was without doubt his aunt. Her large form was unmistakable. She sat holding a teacup with her arms on the table, her solid bosom resting heavily on the tablecloth. The other was at an angle, talking to her. Her hair, tied into a neat chignon at the nape of a long and elegant neck, was pale yellow, almost white, and shone with health. With graceful fingers she curled a stray wisp around her ear then stroked the skin of her neck absent-mindedly. He felt his heart stumble. It was Susan. It couldn’t be anyone else. As he got nearer he saw that she was wearing a white dress imprinted with blue flowers and he was sure he could smell lily of the valley, carried above the scents of the park on a warm breeze. He wondered whether he should go and change first – he imagined he looked grubby with dust and smelt of sweat and horses – but, before he could decide, his aunt spotted him and began to wave at him vigorously. He had no choice but to walk over.

  Susan turned around and smiled at him. She extended her hand and greeted him formally. ‘Hello,’ she said in a polite voice. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you. Your aunt has told me so much about you.’ George understood at once that she was pretending they had never met. He took her hand and held it for a little longer than was necessary. He gazed into her pale eyes, silently questioning her. But she looked away and said to Agatha, ‘He’s obviously settled in well, one could almost mistake him for a gaucho.’

  ‘My husband is delighted with him. A quick learner with a good sense of humour. Jose Antonio is very hard to please.’ George was irritated that they were discussing him as if he wasn’t there. He felt gauche standing like that while they appraised him. His excitement drained away, leaving an aching disappointment.

  ‘How was your trip, Aunt Agatha?’ he asked, trying his best to act casually, as if Susan meant nothing to him.

  ‘You won’t believe the difference in Dolores. She’s been transformed into a placid human being. She even smiles. In all the time I’ve lived here I have not once seen her smile.’

  ‘She sounds like she’s making up for lost time,’ said Susan.

  ‘Well, she’s got a lot of making up to do!’ Agatha laughed. ‘I found Susan languishing in the heat in Buenos Aires. Thought she would enjoy spending Christmas with us. More the merrier and all that.’

  ‘It really is stifling in the city in December,’ Susan agreed. ‘It’s lovely up here.’ George noticed that Susan didn’t really look at him. Her eyes might settle on him every now and again as they conversed but they seemed not to see him.

  ‘George has learned Spanish,’ said Agatha. ‘He learned much faster than I imagined he would.’

  ‘Enthusiasm is the best incentive,’ said Susan. ‘Does he ride like a gaucho too?’

  ‘I think he even castrates like a gaucho!’ Agatha replied with a snort.

  George felt the irritation rise in his chest and clenched his fists. Defeated he put his hat back on.

  ‘Please excuse me, I would like to clean up,’ he said, resting his eyes on Susan once again. She smiled up at him, but her smile was remote as if she had forgotten their intimacy on the Fortuna.

  ‘Have a swim, George,’ Agatha suggested. ‘Then come and join us for tea.’

  George closed the door to his bedroom and stood leaning against the wall, breathing through his nostrils like a furious bull. Once again she had treated him like a little boy. He was maddened by her and frustrated. If his aunt hadn’t been there he would have confronted her. What was she doing at Las Dos Vizcachas? If she hadn’t come for him, why had she come? He didn’t believe for one moment that it was a coincidence. She knew he was there and had been expecting him, for her reaction was flawless. As cool and impenetrable as she had been the first time they met on the deck of the ship.

  He scrambled out of his trousers and shirt, leaving them on the tiled floor in a pile of dust for Agustina to pick up. He wrapped a towel around his waist, grabbed his packet of cigarettes and strode back up the corridor and out of the back door to the pool. He was so angry he didn’t notice the light clamour of birds, the lucid sunspots that danced about on the grass at his feet, or the intoxicating scent of gardenia. At the edge of the pool he shed his towel and stood a moment contemplating the limpid water. The afternoon sun bathed his skin, now brown like the gauchos’, and caught on the newly formed muscles that swelled beneath his flesh. He’d show her how much of a man he was.

  He dived naked into the water, which was deliciously refreshing against his warm skin. It seemed to wash away all his fury. He swam energetically up and down, kicking with his feet, splashing the water into the air. After a while he draped himself over the edge, gazing across the park. He was reluctant to return to the veranda. If his aunt were there he wouldn’t be able to talk to Susan. The idea of pretending they had never met now seemed tiresome. He decided to spend the evening in the pool, that way he would avoid tea altogether. Perhaps he would have a chance to talk to her alone before dinner.

  He pushed himself off the edge and began to swim lengths again. He did backstroke, front crawl, breaststroke and one or two entirely underwater. He was a beautiful swimmer and recalled for a moment those summer evenings in the sea at Frognal Point. Finally, exhausted, he paused at one end and raised his eyes. To his surprise Susan was sitting patiently on the bench watching him. She smiled when he looked at her. This time her smile was warm and full of affection. He swam slowly to the other end and rested his arms on the tiles in front of her.

  ‘How long have you been here?’ he asked.

  ‘For some time,’ she replied, amused. ‘I knew you were a fine swimmer. I was right not to tell you my secrets.’

  ‘What have you done with Aunt Agatha?’

  ‘Dolores was calling for her. I thought I would take a walk. I could hear your splashing from the other side of the park.’

  ‘Good.’ He grinned up at her. His crooked grin that had haunted her dreams ever since she had left him on the Fortuna. ‘Will you throw me my towel?’

  She stood up and held it out to him, unable to tear her eyes away as he climbed naked up the steps. His body was honey-brown and perfectly proportioned and toned as she had imagined it would be. He took the towel and wrapped it around his waist, pushing his curly hair off his forehead with his hand.

  They sat on the bench and George lit a cigarette. He offered her one but she declined.

  ‘I think I have some explaining to do,’ she ventured.

  ‘Yes, you do,’ he replied. She tilted her head and frowned.

  ‘I’m sorry I was so cold. I was nervous.’ George had thought her incapable of feeling nervous. She was always so composed and in control. ‘I met your aunt at a dinner party. She spoke about you. I’m afraid I engineered the whole thing.’ She tu
rned and looked at him with the same sad eyes that had gazed out across the ocean and said in a quiet voice, ‘I haven’t stopped thinking about you since we parted.’ George’s spirits lifted. He felt his whole body tremble, but this time with joy.

  ‘I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, either,’ he replied. ‘I didn’t think I would ever see you again.’ She chuckled, and touched his arm with nervous fingers.

  ‘Neither did I. But fate interceded.’ He put his hand on hers and squeezed it.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re here, Susan.’ She visibly relaxed as if she had needed confirmation that he still wanted her.

  ‘I think your aunt took pity on me when she saw my face. It has its advantages, you know.’

  ‘I like your scar because it’s you,’ he said and watched as she fingered it with her other hand. ‘To me, you’re more beautiful because of it.’ She turned her eyes away and blinked uncomfortably.

  ‘If you’re lucky your scars are on the inside,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Still, it got me here with you so I’m grateful.’

  ‘So we’re pretending to Agatha and Jose Antonio that we’ve never met?’ She blushed.

  ‘I know it’s absurd but I didn’t know what to do. By the time your aunt asked me up here I had feigned ignorance about you. It was then too late to tell her the truth. Besides, perhaps she would have suspected I had ulterior motives and not invited me.’

  ‘You’re a better actress than I am,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘Only when my future depends on it.’

  He looked at her steadily for a long moment. She turned and settled her eyes on his. He felt a sudden urge to trace his fingers down her scar but Agatha’s loud, booming voice resounded across the park, causing them both to sit up with a start.

  ‘George! Susan! Your tea’s getting cold!’

  They stood up and George stubbed his cigarette into the grass and threw it beneath the bushes. ‘Act one, scene one,’ he said, grinning happily and taking her hand. They walked towards the house but George, overcome with impatience, suddenly pulled her behind a tree and kissed her ardently on her lips. She giggled like a young girl and wound her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his. She kissed him back, without inhibition. ‘That will keep me going, but only for an hour or so!’ he said, stroking her smooth cheek. She put her hand against his chest and gazed up at him with eyes that no longer looked sad.