The Swallow and the Hummingbird

by Santa Montefiore

  In a thin summer dress she cycled over to Bray Cove. In spite of her confidence in her appeal she was nervous. She hadn’t seen him for months. She didn’t know what to expect. She couldn’t bear to be humiliated again. What if her plan failed and he rejected her? She winced at the thought, then banished it from her mind.

  When she arrived at his cottage she left her bicycle on the gravel and crept around to his study window. As she anticipated he was bent over his typewriter, struggling to complete the book that he hoped would make his name as well as his fortune. Maddie’s eyes stung as she watched him. He looked greyer, thinner and more dishevelled than ever. The room was a mess, with papers and books all over the floor and she could even see a thick layer of dust from where she was standing, exposed by the sunlight that managed to penetrate the dirty window. Then, as if subconsciously aware that he was being observed, Harry turned. Seeing Maddie’s radiant face staring back at him he visibly jumped in surprise. His face creased into a frown and he called out her name. From where he was sitting she might well have been a trick of light for the sun shone brilliantly about her head. Flustered, he put up his hand to indicate that she stay right where she was and leapt to his feet, sending his chair crashing to the floor.

  Maddie’s heart hopped about like one of her grandmother’s mysterious Indian jumping beans but his reaction had been encouraging. A few moments later he strode around the corner.

  ‘Maddie?’ he exclaimed. His appearance was hardly that of an adventurer who used women for his own sexual gratification. Maddie realized that she had clearly jumped to the wrong conclusion and set about putting it right immediately.

  ‘Oh Harry, I love you,’ she said, falling into his arms. ‘I don’t care that you’re old and poor. To me you’re rich in everything that matters.’

  Harry was overwhelmed. He didn’t know whether to be offended or flattered by her typically careless remark. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his nose into her hair. She smelt warm and familiar. When she pulled away to look at him he was grinning down at her with boyish delight.

  ‘I’m also divorced. I rarely go to church. I’m a misanthrope,’ he began. Maddie noticed the colour return to his cheeks. ‘I’m sure you have a few more disadvantages to add to the list!’

  ‘If I did it wouldn’t make the slightest difference. I love you just the way you are.’

  ‘And I’ve been an oaf. I’m sorry I hurt you.’

  She pressed her finger to his lips as she had done the first time she had kissed him but this time he took the lead and pressed his mouth to hers.

  It was the middle of August when Max announced to Rita that he was leaving Frognal Point. The sun was intense, which was a relief after so much rain. Trees had had a hard time with the harvest, having to wait until the ground dried to cut the corn, which was still soaking wet and barely ripe, but the countryside had benefited enormously. The leaves sparkled on trees whose branches sagged under the weight of so many birds. Flowers turned their heads to the sun and shone resplendent at the height of their bloom, and the breeze was scented and fresh from having swept in from the coast. Max lay beside Rita on the lawn at Elvestree, watching the sick swallow – now well, but grounded – hop across the grass. Fortunately, the cats were asleep inside the house, but Max kept a keen eye out for any opportunists hopeful of an easy meal.

  ‘When are you leaving?’ Rita asked, surprised. She had taken Max for granted over the last few months. With Maddie spending so much time now at Bray Cove she had come to rely on him as her friend and confidant.

  ‘On the first of September,’ he replied, searching her face for signs of disappointment.

  ‘Where will you stay?’

  ‘With your great-aunt Hazel, Primrose’s sister. She has a house close to Oxford Street which is very convenient as I’m going to work in Broadcasting House.’

  ‘The BBC?’ Her eyes widened with admiration. ‘You kept that to yourself.’ She pushed him playfully.

  ‘I wasn’t sure it had come off. I applied ages ago. They kept delaying it,’ he lied. In fact, he had jeopardized his job there by stalling for Rita’s sake. ‘I would have told you if it had been a certainty. I didn’t want to jinx it.’

  ‘What are you going to do there?’

  ‘Make the tea, probably,’ he chuckled. ‘I don’t know. I’ll do anything to get a foot on the ladder.’

  ‘I’ll miss you,’ she said and pulled a pathetic smile. Max’s heart fluttered as if it had wings and was about to fly away.

  ‘I’ll miss you too, but I’m not going for ever. I’ll come down every now and then. You don’t think I could be away from Elvestree for long, do you?’

  ‘Megagran will miss you too. So will Ruth.’

  ‘Ruth has grown so attached to Eddie, she’ll be fine. In fact, she now wants a gerbil like Ezra Gunch but Primrose says the cats will have it in five minutes so she’ll just have to content herself playing with Eddie’s.’

  ‘Will you telephone me once in a while?’

  ‘I’ll write too.’

  ‘You’re brave going to live in London.’

  ‘The war’s over, Rita, the only battle will be with the smog. I hear it’s dreadful.’

  ‘Pea soup!’ she said with a laugh.

  ‘So they say. I’m not looking forward to that. I’ll get lost in a moment. I’m not good at finding my way around at the best of times.’

  ‘Didn’t Hazel’s house get bombed?’

  ‘Primrose says a doodlebug landed right on top of them. It was a miracle they survived.’

  ‘It would take more than a doodlebug to finish off Megagran.’ They both laughed.

  ‘I’m really proud of you, Max. You’re going to make something of your life. Your parents would be proud too.’

  ‘Swallow’s doing well, isn’t she?’ he said with a grin. Rita was surprised at the change of subject but replied, ‘She might even fly one day.’

  ‘If she has the will, she can do anything she wants to.’ He looked at her with those intense eyes of his. Rita suddenly remembered Megagran’s story of the two winged birds and felt herself blush.

  ‘Thanks to you, I think she will fly again,’ she said and turned onto her back so that the sun could warm her face.

  With Maddie back at Bray Cove, Harry’s creativity returned. He no longer stared miserably down at a blank sheet of paper but was inspired as he had never been before. Maddie took the new chapters into the garden to read in the sunshine, while Harry could barely type fast enough to put into words the sheer quantity of his thoughts. In the evenings, when the late summer shadows danced their way up the lawn to the tune of the breeze hissing through drying leaves, he would lead her up into his bedroom and make love to her until dusk. At the end of September Harry finished his book. To celebrate he took her to the theatre in town to see The Importance of Being Earnest, then to dinner in a quaint restaurant overlooking the sea.

  ‘I think this book is going to be a bestseller,’ he said. Maddie smiled indulgently. She was beginning to tire of his talking endlessly about his book, but each time she felt resentful she reminded herself of how lucky she was to have won him back. ‘I couldn’t have done it without you,’ he continued. He looked at her radiant face, her thick and glossy hair, her sparkling blue eyes full of brightness and his heart stumbled at such unrestrained beauty.

  ‘It’s given me enormous pleasure, Harry,’ she replied truthfully. ‘We’re a good team.’

  ‘During the cold war,’ he said, referring to the few months when they didn’t see each other, ‘my creativity dried up. I couldn’t write a thing. Nothing worked. My prose was stodgy and awkward, my thoughts confused, my characters lacked life and became dead fish on the page. When you came back everything changed. You gave me inspiration and confidence, Maddie, and I owe you everything. Don’t ever leave me again.’

  ‘Don’t ever tell me I’m too young for you then,’ she replied with a grin.

  ‘You’re not too young, but you’re too good to live
like this.’

  Maddie blanched. ‘Like what?’ she said, feeling a horrible sense of déjà vu.

  ‘Making love to me then creeping home at dusk. It’s not right.’

  ‘But Harry . . .’

  Harry smiled at her and took her hand in his large, rough one. ‘It’s time I made an honest woman out of you.’

  Maddie’s heart stalled and then started again. ‘Are you asking me to marry you?’ she asked hopefully.

  ‘If you’ll have me?’

  ‘What? An impoverished old divorcé like you?’ Her eyes suddenly brimmed with emotion. ‘Of course I will, my darling Harry,’ she laughed, wiping her cheek with her free hand. ‘Whatever gave you the impression that I wouldn’t?’

  When Maddie and Harry announced their engagement Humphrey and Hannah were delighted, if a little surprised. But in the wake of Rita’s crisis they welcomed the good news with warm embraces and a bottle of champagne from Mrs Megalith’s bountiful cellar. They liked Harry enormously and were relieved that Maddie’s ambitions were now reduced to a quiet life in Bray Cove. Eddie was excited to be a bridesmaid with Ruth and she planned to sew a little jacket for Ezra Gunch who would sit proudly on her shoulder throughout the service as she had trained him to do. Reverend Hammond clapped his hands at the thought of a wedding and began to prepare a lengthy address at once, kneeling quietly in the chancel in order to call upon the good Lord for divine inspiration. When Mrs Megalith offered Maddie her own wedding dress that she had worn at the same age Maddie screwed up her pretty nose and laughed out loud at the very idea of wearing one of Megagran’s tents. But when she went with her mother and Rita to Elvestree to try it on she was pleasantly surprised.

  ‘It’s in my bedroom. Go upstairs with your mother. Rita and I will wait for you down here so you can make an entrance,’ said Mrs Megalith, sitting on the sofa surrounded by a patchwork of cats. She held a glass of sherry and a faded red box. Rita perched on the fender in front of the dark chimney for the weather was warm enough not to have a fire. She watched her grandmother gloomily, wondering if she sensed her unhappiness, but Megagran was too preoccupied with Maddie’s wedding to notice. Did it not occur to her that all this preparation and excitement should have been for her? If George hadn’t gone off to Argentina she would have been trying on the dress today. After all, Megagran had offered it to her first, but she had obviously forgotten. They all had. She felt that familiar sense of hate writhe at the very bottom of her belly like a sticky black beast, then slowly rise up to her heart where it gnawed away at love, converting it into jealousy and resentment. But this time she wasn’t at all ashamed of its ugly face. When Maddie appeared at the door, resplendent in ivory silk and lace, tailored as if it had been made especially for her, Rita surrendered entirely to the beast. She watched bitterly as Maddie walked up and down the room with a straight back and a long, elegant neck. Her fulsome body was restrained by a dress so exquisitely modest and feminine, she could almost have looked ethereal had she not smiled with such earthly pride. She knew it enhanced the smooth curves of her breasts and hips and the soft undulation of her belly. She was thrilled with the way she looked and waded through the cats to kiss her grandmother. ‘I love it, Grandma. Thank you!’ Mrs Megalith embraced her granddaughter.

  ‘I’m very proud of you, Madeleine,’ she said firmly. ‘To be honest I always thought you were something of a drifter, but you’ll make a fine wife and a mother a lot sooner than you imagine. You’re a sensible girl, after all.’ Maddie blinked down at her grandmother in surprise. She couldn’t remember the last time she had praised her. She wondered whether she ever had. Rita had always earned her admiration and Eddie her amusement. But she only ever seemed to provoke disapproval and raised eyebrows. ‘I think this will complete the look,’ she added, handing her the little red box. Maddie opened it impatiently.

  ‘Diamond and pearl earrings!’ she exclaimed in delight. ‘For me?’

  ‘For you to keep. They belonged to my own grandmother and she gave them to me when I got engaged. I wore them on my wedding day with that dress. You will see they are a perfect match.’ Mrs Megalith took them in her thick hands and clipped them onto Maddie’s ears. Maddie jumped up to admire her reflection in the large gilded mirror that hung on the wall above the fireplace. Rita could only watch helplessly as if in a nightmare. This should all have been hers.

  Then, just as she was beginning to wish she had followed that lone gull to heaven after all, Max telephoned her from London. She was so happy to hear his voice that her misery lifted and was replaced by a tender feeling of being loved.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she replied, but her voice betrayed her sorrow.

  ‘No you’re not. I know what you’re going through. This wedding should have been yours.’

  ‘Oh, Max, you understand.’

  ‘I care about you, Rita. I hate to think of you there without anyone to talk to. Is the whole village going mad over the wedding?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It must be horrid for you.’

  ‘It is. No one notices though. Not even Mummy. Suddenly, everyone’s attention is on Maddie. Mummy’s even invited Faye and Trees to the wedding. I think they’re calling a truce. It’ll never be the same, but at least they’re talking again.’

  ‘Does that bother you?’

  ‘Yes, it does,’ she replied, debating whether she should have admitted it.

  ‘But Rita, Faye and Trees are guilty of nothing. You can’t blame them for what George has done to you.’ She said nothing. He endeavoured to fill the pause, for every minute cost money. ‘I think it’s terrible that the families should suffer because he let you down. They can all wring his neck when he comes back.’

  ‘Max, if I tell you a secret, do you promise not to tell anyone?’

  ‘I promise,’ he replied, wondering what on earth could be so bad that her voice should lower in tone and turn so grave.

  ‘I discovered Faye in the arms of Thadeus Walizhewski.’

  ‘What? That old man in the village?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Certain. She had her hair down. She looked beautiful. Now I can’t look her in the face without despising her. Do you think infidelity is in the blood?’

  He chuckled. ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Are you shocked?’

  ‘Surprised but not shocked,’ he said truthfully. ‘It’s none of my business and it shouldn’t be any of yours, either. You can’t let Faye’s infidelity destroy your belief in love, Rita. Everyone’s different.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll ever love again.’ This time he hesitated and she filled the pause that followed. ‘I don’t trust it any more.’

  ‘Someone will come along one day and love you so intensely you won’t have any room for doubt,’ he said after a while.

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘I know. Trust me.’

  ‘When?’ Max’s heart at once ignited with a spark of hope.

  ‘When you want him to,’ he replied and shuddered at the realization that he had just come very close to declaring himself. But Rita knew she would always love George and for as long as she did, there would be no room in her heart to love another.

  Chapter 22

  It was a perfect, sunny day for the wedding. An autumnal breeze swept gently across the countryside, but the sun was still hot as if reluctant to yield to the inevitable changing of the seasons. Agatha had enjoyed every moment of organizing the event, ordering her army of staff around like a hearty general on parade. Rows of white chairs had been set out in front of the house forming pews, and a canopy of flowers had been erected under which George and Susan would exchange their vows. Father O’Bridie, an old Irish priest from Dublin who had been preaching in Buenos Aires for fifty-eight years, had agreed to perform the service of marriage even though neither the bride nor groom were Catholic. Fuelled by the promise of alcohol he would have agreed to marry anything so long as it
professed belief in the one God. Agatha had arranged a morning wedding, in the hope that he wouldn’t have time to get drunk. Dolores and Agustina had spent weeks planning desserts for the lunch, which was beginning to look more like a banquet, and the gauchos had slain three cows for the barbecue. Agatha had sent out invitations to all their friends, of which there were many, but she knew guests would bring their own friends and people she hadn’t invited would turn up, such was the custom in the Argentine. Susan had given her a few names but George knew no one.

  Agatha and Jose Antonio had been struck dumb when George and Susan had told them of their plans. Agatha hadn’t expected him to return to England to marry Rita but she hadn’t predicted he would fall in love with Susan. George was such a devilishly handsome young man and Susan was, well, so unfortunately disfigured. She would have understood him better had he lost his heart to a beautiful Argentine girl. Jose Antonio patted George so firmly on the back he nearly winded him. He now understood the young man’s unwillingness to visit the whores of Jesús Maria and was relieved that his nephew was a normal red-blooded male. Susan was spirited and intelligent. She had an icy allure and was as mysterious to him now as she had been the day he had met her. He still didn’t know the secret behind her scar and neither did his wife. He wasn’t attracted by her blonde northern looks and slim, boyish figure, preferring more generous curves, but he understood the attraction of an older woman, and Susan was obviously as capable as Agatha, although she wisely left Agatha to organize the wedding. He had arranged to let them a pretty white house with stunning views of the plains and mountains which suited them both. George wanted to farm and Susan didn’t want to live in the city. She had grown to love the languid life of the countryside and the gentle people who inhabited it.