The Swallow and the Hummingbird

by Santa Montefiore

  At that moment George looked up and his eyes seemed to turn directly to where she stood, half-concealed. She saw him smile, a broad smile that transformed his face and he lifted his hand and waved. Suddenly the past seventeen years were swept away and he was reaching out to her as he had always done when they had been the very closest of friends. Rita’s heart fluttered with the delicate quivering of tiny wings. Although her feet were firmly on the ground she felt weightless. She nearly waved back. She nearly cried out, but something made her turn around and catch her breath. Disappointment overwhelmed her as she saw Susan and the children walking up the lane, Rita shrank back and became a shadow that they couldn’t see. She heard their cries as the children ran across the green and up the steps into the churchyard. Susan walked with composure but her expression was thoughtful. George pretended to stagger back as the little girl flung her arms around him and, when Susan joined him, he wound an arm around her waist and kissed her temple. The way he had kissed hers so many times.

  Choked with misery she bent her shoulders and hurried up the lane to her mother’s house, where she had left her car. She couldn’t face lunch with her family now. The questions, the curiosity, the obvious pity. She needed to be alone. Throwing the shopping into the passenger seat she started the engine and reversed out of the driveway. She didn’t notice the pigeons on the roof, basking beneath such a resplendent sky, nor did she take a moment to admire the garden that shimmered with golden shades of autumn. The world Rita looked out onto was murky and grey. George and Susan had eclipsed her sun.

  Squinting through her tears Rita drove up the lanes to her small cottage overlooking the sea and, sobbing inconsolably, hurried onto the beach. She sat down, hugged her knees, and played with the ring on her finger remembering the promises they had made to each other in the cave the day George had left for the Argentine. ‘Every time you look at it I want you to remember how much I love you,’ he had said. Now he no longer did, but those words still echoed across the years, however faintly.

  George left his father’s grave and drove his family to the beach for a picnic lunch. His mother was right, Frognal Point hadn’t changed at all. It still looked and smelt the same, and when he stood on the cliff he was suddenly consumed with nostalgia. The children ran down the path to the beach, followed by Susan with the rugs and George who carried the weight of so many recollections as well as the picnic basket filled with food and drink. Susan noticed he had grown subdued and left him on his own while she walked with the children along the beach. He spread out the rugs, placing rocks on the corners so that they didn’t blow away, and poured himself a glass of wine. He sat down, sheltered from the wind, in the very spot where his family and the Fairweathers had always chosen to picnic and shivered as he began to remember. Memories found him now that he was back in the bay where he had played as a child and loved as a young man and he was at once besieged by mental pictures of Rita. He stared out to sea but his vision clouded and Rita’s gentle face replaced the hypnotic swell of waves. Her sherry eyes and wild curls reminded him of the girl whose heart he had broken and he wondered whether she still lived in Frognal Point or whether she had moved away. Perhaps she now had a family of her own. He didn’t have the courage to ask his mother.

  When Susan and the children returned, George made a conscious effort to put away his wistful recollections and showed them the rock pools where crabs hid in the shadows and sea urchins sat menacingly, waving their spikes in the water. Charlie and Ava were enchanted and dipped their hands in to feel the seaweed and the small shrimps that swam there. Then he showed them how to build in the sand. They constructed a castle, and Susan and Ava decorated it with shells that they collected from the beach. George dug a moat and a tunnel that joined it to the sea so that after lunch, as the water crept up the beach, it served to protect the walls of the castle for a little while longer. Satisfied with sandwiches and chocolate the children fought against the elements to save their creation from ruin. They built dams and walls and tunnels to direct the water away from their castle, but as evening approached the sea overwhelmed it in spite of all their efforts and swallowed it greedily. ‘We’ll make another one tomorrow if you like.’ George promised.

  ‘Maybe Granny will come with us,’ Susan suggested tactfully.

  George took her hand. ‘That’s a good idea. We’ll ask Alice too. I want to show them the farm in the morning, so we can come for an early tea. How does that sound?’ The children ran off, leaping over the sand, sending the gulls squawking furiously into the air.

  Susan began to pack up the picnic, wondering if she should have told George about Rita in the shop. Too late now. It would sound odd, as if she had deliberately hidden it from him.

  ‘It’s been a lovely day, darling,’ she said, closing the basket and taking the rugs from her husband.

  He smiled at her and nodded. ‘I had forgotten how beautiful it is here,’ he replied, turning to look out across the sea. ‘It’s an idyll for children.’ He placed his hands on his hips and sighed. ‘It was a paradise for us growing up here.’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘It’s strange for me to watch Charlie and Ava, so like Alice and me. We used to run up the beach like that and dip our fingers into rock pools.’

  ‘Until something bites them,’ said Susan with a chuckle.

  ‘They’ll settle in and Argentina will be a warm memory they’ll always have to look back on. It’ll be harder for us.’

  Susan put her arms around him. ‘But we’ll settle in too. Goodness, I’ve moved so many times I can’t count them. Once we move into the farm cottage and make a home for ourselves things will be easier. We won’t feel so rootless.’

  ‘Once I get to work,’ George added, knowing the consolation of hard labour. ‘It’s what Father would have wanted. He’d like to think of us here, keeping an eye on Ma. He never considered leaving Frognal Point. As far as he was concerned everything he loved was right here and so it shall be for us.’

  As they walked back up the beach George couldn’t help but cast his eye over to where the little cave lay hidden behind rocks and long grasses. He wondered whether it was still the same inside and was suddenly gripped with an urge to go in and have a look. Perhaps in the damp darkness of their once secret place the memories would be tangible. He turned to Susan and almost suggested it. But something held him back. An intuitive sense that some things are better kept to oneself. Susan had given up her home to come and live in Frognal Point; the last thing he wanted to do was alienate her on the first day by showing her Rita’s old haunts. It would keep. He would come one evening on his own, light a cigarette and wallow in the echoes of his past.

  While George had been out, Faye had snatched the opportunity to go to visit Thadeus. She had taken the farm Land Rover and parked at the top of the lane, walking the short distance to his house so as not to arouse suspicion. He had been standing by the door, as if he had waited there since Trees’ death. He had embraced her without a word, then taken her inside to where it was warm in the glow of the fire. For the first time since her husband’s death she had cried without shame or guilt, for in Thadeus’ arms it was impossible to feel either. She no longer felt lonely and the dull ache in her head and in her heart eased with each gentle caress and each word of tenderness. His old eyes gazed upon her with understanding and she knew that in spite of her efforts to mourn as befitting a wife, she could never give up Thadeus. He was as much a part of her as the vital organs that kept her body alive.

  The following day at church Faye sat with her chin up. She still wore black but her heart was blazing a shameless crimson and she smiled secretly for she could feel Thadeus’ love consuming her spirit with fire. However, no one noticed Faye for they were all staring at George and the woman he had chosen instead of Rita. Their expressions were full of curiosity, which was natural enough, but as Faye put away her thoughts of Thadeus, she began to feel the resentment that vibrated in the air. She hoped that George hadn’t noticed, but it was impo
ssible not to, as people craned their necks for a better look. Faye turned her attention to Hannah and Humphrey and wondered whether their bitterness would resurface now that George was back. She noticed that Rita wasn’t there. Hannah looked around anxiously as the place next to her remained obviously empty. Rita never missed church. Maddie and Harry sat with their three children who eyed Charlie and Ava curiously. When Charlie caught Daisy’s eye she smiled at him broadly, which completely disarmed him, for fourteen-year-old Daisy, the image of her mother, was far too aware of her pretty features, long red hair and sparkling blue eyes. Charlie was aware of it too and buried his eyes in his prayer book, hoping that at the end of the service he wouldn’t have to talk to her.

  George was too busy scanning the pews for Rita to notice the stares and resentment. If she still lived in Frognal Point she would have definitely been at church, so he concluded with unexpected sadness that she must have moved away. He was surprised when Maddie smiled at him affectionately and felt himself smiling back in gratitude. Reverend Hammond was much aged and had developed a tendency to lose his train of thought and repeat himself. Miss Hogmier had reluctantly given up playing the organ because of her arthritis. Trees’ funeral had been her swan song. She now sat in the front pew in a show of piety, standing up for the hymns and kneeling down for the prayers a moment before everyone else, as if keen to demonstrate how well she knew the service and how devout she was. She sang even more loudly than Hannah, who enjoyed singing with gusto, and her voice warbled so badly Charlie and Ava caught the giggles along with Freddie, Daisy and Elsbeth, joining them in a bond of mutual hilarity.

  Susan was all too aware of the antipathy. She held her chin up and returned the stares with disdain, as one would regard a herd of curious oxen. She felt dreadfully out of practice having spent the last seventeen years on the plain where everyone knew her and no one made a fuss of her scar. She felt less confident, however, than she had been in the past because she wasn’t sure whether people were scrutinizing her because of her face or because she was the scarlet woman who had stolen their boy. Either way, their nosiness was rude and offensive. Satisfied that she had managed to stare them all down, one by one, she turned her eyes back to the hymn sheet.

  At the end of the service, when George stepped into the aisle, Maddie pushed her way through the parting congregation to greet him. ‘Welcome home!’ she enthused, kissing him affectionately. ‘I see our children have already made friends,’ she added, patting the head of her youngest, Elsbeth, who was twelve. George turned to see Charlie and Ava hurrying up the aisle with a gaggle of other children. Elsbeth wriggled free and ran to join them. ‘They’ll all get along like a house on fire. How lovely that you’ve come home at last!’ Susan felt a surge of relief at Maddie’s unexpected geniality.

  They proceeded slowly up the aisle and Susan noticed people moving away as if she had some disease they didn’t want to catch. As her resentment mounted a tall woman with greying red hair tapped her on the shoulder.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ she said, her scarlet mouth curving into a pretty smile. ‘My name is Antoinette. I’m . . . well . . . it’s far too complicated to explain as I’m not related to George, but I jolly nearly was until you came along. I would like to welcome you most warmly to Frognal Point.’ She extended a long, elegant hand, fixed Susan with feline eyes and lowered her voice confidentially. ‘It’s not the most sophisticated of places, which is why I have one foot in London, but it’s very charming in a rural way. They’ll embrace you once they get to know you, I’m sure. Rita’s extremely popular here and everyone feels very badly that George left her for you. However, I don’t care what everyone else thinks. Rita was far too immature for him.’ Antoinette smiled graciously and added, ‘If you feel lonely do come and see me, I live very close by and I can see you’ll be needing a friend.’ She handed Susan a white card with her name and address embossed in pale blue.

  ‘Thank you, Antoinette,’ Susan replied coolly, unimpressed by the older woman’s saccharine charm.

  Antoinette walked out into the sunshine, pleased that she had made friends with George’s new wife – everyone was talking about her but so far, no one had managed to get to the bottom of her scarred face. Poor creature, she thought meanly, beauty is such a valuable asset.

  George was still talking to Maddie and Harry when Susan joined him. At that moment he caught eyes with Hannah who was deliberating whether or not to greet him. On one hand she was fed up with Rita’s foolishness, but on the other she was bound by a natural loyalty to her daughter. But now George was looking at her, his face cast in doubt, and she could see in his eyes the boy he once had been and she felt sorry for him: coming back to all those memories couldn’t be easy.

  ‘Hello, George,’ she said. ‘Welcome home.’ She touched his arm. ‘I’m sorry that your father has died. It must be a terrible loss for you.’

  George was relieved that she seemed to hold no hard feelings. He longed to ask about Rita, but swallowed his words, frustrated that no one mentioned her. It was as if she no longer existed.

  ‘I gather you’re moving into the farm cottage,’ Hannah continued, trying to act naturally.

  ‘It will be strange living there, a few hundred yards from home. But we’ll get used to it.’

  ‘Your children look charming. I see they’ve made friends with my grandchildren.’

  ‘How many grandchildren do you have?’

  ‘Well, as well as these three, Eddie has two children. She lives in South Africa.’

  ‘She always did love animals,’ George commented with a grin.

  ‘She moved on from bats the minute she saw a lion, I think.’ They both chuckled, but George hovered expectantly for her next sentence. ‘Rita has . . .’ she began and George leaned forward with eagerness.

  At that moment Susan said goodbye to Maddie and Harry and turned to join in her husband’s conversation. As Hannah’s voice trailed off George couldn’t help but gasp with disappointment. He wished she had finished her sentence and satisfied his curiosity. Has what? he thought in desperation. Died? Four children? Moved away? What? He suppressed his frustration and put his arm around Susan’s waist.

  ‘Hannah, let me introduce you to my wife, Susan.’ Hannah blanched and backed away.

  ‘Welcome,’ she said in a thin voice, then excused herself awkwardly. When she was gone Susan turned to George.

  ‘That was Rita’s mother, wasn’t it?’ she said. George nodded. ‘I’m sorry that she still feels bitter. Darling, I have to confess something to you . . .’ She was on the point of divulging how she had met Rita in the village shop when Miss Hogmier and Reverend Hammond bustled over to greet them like a couple of self-appointed village officials.

  ‘We’ve already met,’ said Miss Hogmier briskly and Susan felt her skin prickle with anger.

  ‘Only in the shop,’ said Susan, acknowledging the old woman with forced politeness.

  ‘Well, you haven’t met me,’ interjected Reverend Hammond, extending his large, sweaty hand. Susan shook it reluctantly.

  ‘What a charming service,’ she said, desperate to distract Miss Hogmier from their previous meeting.

  ‘Thank you, Susan. How very nice of you to say so. I’ve been a vicar for a good many years now so I’ve had some practice. But it’s always nice to hear that one is doing a good job. I knew George as a little boy. How time flies. How long have I been a vicar, June?’ he asked Miss Hogmier.

  The old woman squinted and frowned. ‘My mind’s failing me,’ she complained gruffly. ‘Forty years, Elwyn? Not only am I losing the mobility in my fingers and the agility of my joints but I’m now losing my mind as well.’

  ‘You’ve run the shop since I can remember,’ said George, endeavouring to humour her.

  ‘That I have,’ she replied, lifting her chin and displaying three long black whiskers. ‘There’s not a customer I don’t know by name. Frognal Point is full of good people. Most appreciate what I do for them.’ She fixed Susan with a hard star
e.

  ‘Well, it’s been very nice talking to you,’ said George, stepping away. ‘We really should be getting back for lunch.’ But Miss Hogmier grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and leaned towards him. Susan held her breath.

  ‘What of Rita?’ she insisted. ‘When she saw your wife she dropped all her shopping. Poor unhappy girl, what a state she was in. She lives alone, see. I know what it’s like. No one to look after me either. Who’d have thought she’d end up on the shelf! Thought it was mine exclusively!’

  George took Susan’s hand. ‘Oh it is, Miss Hogmier. Rita’s far too generous-spirited to knock you off it.’

  His smile was so charming that Miss Hogmier didn’t know whether to be offended or flattered. She did, however, look disappointed and chewed on her dentures in dissatisfaction.

  ‘Darling, I was going to tell you,’ said Susan as they walked down the little path to the green where the children were playing with Freddie, Daisy and Elsbeth.

  ‘It’s of no consequence. Gossiping old vampire!’ They both laughed. But George felt as if Miss Hogmier had just gutted him.

  Chapter 29

  That night George crept out of bed, leaving Susan sleeping soundly, and tiptoed down the stairs, avoiding the squeaky floorboards. He took his father’s old coat from its peg and put it on. It still smelt of Trees, that musty smell of dust and farmyard and his own unique scent. He grabbed his cigarettes and lighter from the kitchen table, then wandered out onto the terrace. To his surprise he saw the small figure of his mother sitting huddled in the dark on one of the damp garden chairs, her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of hot milk. Her fingers shone white in the phosphorescent light of the moon. When he appeared in the doorway she looked up, but she was not surprised to see him. How often they had met on that terrace in the middle of the night, unable to sleep, tormented by dreams.