The Swallow and the Hummingbird
Page 38
‘He’s very gifted. Very gifted indeed. Always has been. I recognized his talents when he was a little boy and nurtured them. If you don’t water a plant it doesn’t grow. Look what a fine young man he has grown into. Nurture is everything, Emily. Don’t forget that with . . . what’s his name?’
‘Guy,’ Emily retorted unhappily.
‘Silly name, Guy!’ Mrs Megalith exclaimed, smacking her lips together. ‘You know it’s not too late to change it. Why not call him Denzil after your grandfather? A fine man was your grandfather. He’d be very fortunate to wear his name. With any luck it might endow the child with a bit of character!’ Emily didn’t have the confidence to hold her own with her grandmother and fled the room with the excuse of checking on her son. Mrs Megalith barely noticed she had gone for her attention was firmly fixed on Max. When Rita asked if they could start the present giving, Mrs Megalith withdrew her attention and snorted in disapproval. ‘In my day we only had one present each and that was considered a luxury. Nowadays Christmas is all about gifts. A perfect consumer fest! You hand them out, Rita, or get the children to do it, teach them a bit about giving. If I hear anyone whining because they haven’t received the present they requested I’ll burn the lot of them!’
Mrs Megalith caught Max’s eye and winked. With a smile he got up and went to sit next to her on the sofa. He poured her another sherry and whispered into her ear, ‘Are you bearing up?’
She chuckled and placed her plump hand on his knee. ‘You’re the only person here who spares a thought for me,’ she said.
‘I know you secretly hate Christmas.’
‘Wasn’t Hanukkah always lots of fun? Just us.’ She sighed wistfully.
‘Christmas is a national day of compulsion, that’s why you hate it.’
She looked at him and narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re so right, Max. I’ve always loathed following the pack, just like you.’
‘But it gives your family an enormous amount of pleasure,’ he said, watching the children handing around the presents, their little faces alight with excitement.
‘Today’s young are spoiled. They didn’t live through the war. I have lived through two.’
‘You can’t expect them to appreciate what we went through, how can they? We can only try to teach them that family, love, loyalty and respect are far more valuable than possessions.’
Mrs Megalith gazed at him steadily. ‘You do know that you’re more valuable to me than anyone else in the world?’ she said suddenly. ‘When I die I’m leaving everything to you.’
‘Don’t talk of dying, Primrose. You’ll outlive us all,’ he said, turning serious.
‘No I won’t. You love Elvestree. You understand it. You’re the son I never had. I want you to know that. I don’t want to go without having told you.’
‘Just don’t go yet,’ he said, trying to lighten their mood. ‘You have to marry me off first.’
Mrs Megalith laughed. ‘That’s my boy!’ she exclaimed. ‘But mind she’s good enough for you or you’ll have me to contend with.’
After the presents had all been opened and the champagne bottles drained, Ruth announced that lunch was ready. She opened the door to the dining room and smiled proudly as her decorations were met with gasps of admiration, even from Mrs Megalith who hobbled in first, assisted by Max, the only person she allowed to hold her elbow as she walked. The tables were decorated with Christmas crackers, chocolates in bright wrapping, and holly. She had lit candles and dimmed the lights so that the room glowed with a festive golden radiance. The smell of turkey wafted in from the kitchen as she disappeared with Maddie and Rita to bring in the dishes. Humphrey poured the wine and Mrs Megalith was relieved that Ruth had written place cards seating her between Max and David. The children looked out of the window to see to their delight that it had suddenly clouded over and begun to snow. Everyone sat down, filled with the joy of being all together on such a splendid day. Even Mrs Megalith appreciated the wonder of snow and when she took her first mouthful of turkey her spirits lifted and she raised her glass to Ruth, to family and to the future. Then she added as she did every year, aware that Max and Ruth were guests at their Christmas table. ‘I would like once again to welcome our two Jewish friends to our festival. Let us not forget that there is only one God and in His eyes we are all the same. To Max and Ruth and to those who are with them in spirit.’
After lunch Rita and Max sneaked away to walk together down on the estuary. Wrapped in coats, hats and the glow of their own exuberance, they wandered down the garden and onto the sand that stretched for miles across the mouth of the sea. Tarka was thrilled to be let out of the car and bounded down the slope, her tail almost lifting her off the ground like the propeller of a helicopter. They discussed lunch and laughed as they recalled various conversations, especially Aunt Antoinette’s whose lying had taken on a new dimension.
‘It’s a disease,’ said Max.
‘I know, it’s terrible. I don’t know how Uncle David puts up with it!’
‘He’s never there. If you noticed he’s been hiding in the sitting room with your father all day. I don’t think he even likes her.’
‘Some people stay together simply out of habit or because it’s easier than separating. Can you imagine the flak if he said he was going to leave her?’
‘It’s not worth his while, is it?’ They began to walk up the beach. The snow was now falling heavily, like the dove’s feathers stuck to Hannah’s clothes. Rita threw back her head and tried to catch them in her mouth.
‘Haven’t you had enough to eat!’ he teased.
‘The more you eat the more you want,’ she said, running up the sand, followed by Tarka barking at her heels. ‘Isn’t this marvellous! I love snow!’
He ran behind her and grabbed her hand. Suddenly overcome with emotion, he pulled her around to face him. ‘And I love you!’
Rita stared at him, her eyes wide and glassy in the cold.
‘I love you,’ he repeated.
‘Oh, Max!’ she sighed, her face darkening with anxiety.
‘Don’t say anything. Hear me out.’ He took both her hands in his. They were warm but rough from working with clay. Her breath floated up on the icy air like smoke as the snow fell around them and the cloud closed in. The estuary was shrouded in a heavy silence. ‘I have loved you from the first moment I saw you, Rita. I love everything about you. I know you hoped to marry George and that your dreams were shattered when he left for Argentina. But I know I can make you happy. If you agree to marry me you’ll make me happier than I ever dreamed possible.’
Rita watched him nervously. She bit her lip while she hastily worked out what she was going to reply. She had known he loved her as a friend but it had never occurred to her that he felt something more profound. Now her heart buckled because she knew that she could only disappoint him and possibly lose him for ever. ‘Oh, Max. That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,’ she replied, her voice cracking.
‘It’s all true. I can’t tell you how good it feels to tell you. I’ve kept my feelings secret for years.’
‘I can’t marry you,’ she said simply.
‘But why?’ Max felt his stomach plummet.
‘Because my heart will always belong to George.’
Max felt years of hope unravel before him. ‘Oh, come on, Rita,’ he exclaimed in exasperation. ‘He’s married to Susan. He has a family of his own. You can’t hold onto a memory. A memory won’t make you happy, give you a family to love and a life to live.’
She dropped her hands and put them in her pockets. ‘I saw him last week.’
‘And?’
‘He was up on the cliff and I was walking up the beach with Tarka. He was alone for a few moments. We just stared at each other.’
‘Just stared at each other.’ Max wondered what was so special about that.
‘When I stopped and returned his stare he didn’t look away. He stared right back at me. I know he regrets losing me. I could feel it.’ She pressed h
er fist against her heart.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Rita. You’re imagining it.’
‘I wasn’t. I’ve known George all my life. I know what he’s thinking.’
‘Well, why didn’t he walk down and tell you instead of just staring at you?’
‘Because Susan was with him.’
‘That’s hardly the behaviour of a man who feels he’s married the wrong woman!’ Max was intensely irritated by her stubborn refusal to see the truth.
‘I know how hurt you are. I love you as friend. A dear, dear friend. But how can I marry you when I love another?’
‘But he doesn’t love you, Rita. Why can’t you get that into your head?’ He knocked his own head with his fist to emphasize the point.
Rita began to get flustered. ‘Look, Max, whom I love is my choice.’
‘But the years will roll by and you’ll be old and childless and bitter. I can’t watch you waste yourself. We’re given one life. One life!’ He thought of Lydia, denied that precious gift and here was Rita thoughtlessly throwing it away. She didn’t understand what it was she was discarding. He felt his throat tighten with fury and resentment. ‘What do you hope for, Rita?’ He was aware that he was now shouting. ‘That George will leave Susan and marry you? You don’t believe in divorce any more than I do. Even if he did love you how could he look at himself in the mirror and respect himself if he were to leave his wife and children? Do you want him to? Is that what you want? To destroy all those lives?’
There was silence as Rita digested his words. They stared at each other, chewing on their anger, fighting their disappointment. Rita knew that their friendship would never be the same again after this, but at that moment she was too affronted to care.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said huffily. ‘I know you don’t understand. No one does. I love George and always will. I’ll die loving him.’
Her words struck Max at the very centre of his being. ‘No, I don’t understand,’ he groaned. ‘One day, Rita, you’ll wake up and realize that you made a grave mistake today and I’ll be gone. I have offered you a real chance at happiness but you have chosen to remain in your dark world of make-believe. If that is where you want to stay I cannot help you. But I can no longer be your friend. I must learn to live without you.’
With that, he walked back towards the house, disappearing into the fog that had now swept in from the sea. Rita watched him go. A part of her wanted to run after him. He was the only real friend she had. But the stubborn, angry part of her, the part that clung to George like bindweed, held her back. She stared down at the little solitaire diamond that twinkled on her finger and wondered whether she had made the right decision.
Max couldn’t remember the last time he had cried. There had been many times when he had wanted to. But he had always braced himself, strained his throat against tears until it ached with the effort, bit his lip until it bled. He had always had to be strong for Ruth. But this wasn’t about Ruth, his parents or his little sister who perished in the camps. Now he sobbed for Rita, and for himself. He bowed his head and cried into the collar of his coat, relieved that the fog was so thick that no one could see him. He climbed back up to the garden and walked straight past the children without saying a word. They barely noticed him, continuing to build their snowman as the fog crept up the lawn to engulf them too.
It didn’t take Max long to pack his bag. He wrote Mrs Megalith a note explaining the reason for his hasty departure. Then he climbed into his car and drove back to London.
Chapter 32
When Mrs Megalith read Max’s note her forehead darkened into a frown and she shook her head in bewilderment. ‘This isn’t right,’ she muttered, taking off her spectacles and staring out at the white fog and snow that fell silently outside her window. She read the note again then pursed her lips with impatience. ‘Silly girl!’ she sighed, unable to understand her granddaughter. She stood up, grabbed her walking stick and paced the room slowly and unsteadily. Max and Rita were a natural partnership. They always had been. How Rita could prefer to love a man she could never have rather than marry Max was beyond Mrs Megalith’s comprehension. What frustrated her more than anything was that she was unable to help him. She wanted to shake some sense into her granddaughter but knew she must not intervene. Destiny had other plans and she knew better than to meddle.
When Rita returned to the house she realized from the expression on her grandmother’s face that she knew what had happened. It didn’t surprise her that Max had fled back to London, though it saddened her. Unable to meet the disapproval, incomprehension and pity in Megagran’s eyes, she went about the drawing room tidying up all the wrapping paper and hiding her misery behind a bustle of efficiency. She was relieved when Maddie and Harry decided to leave after tea. The children were weary and the snow was now falling heavily, which would make the roads dangerous.
Max returned to the New Year and to a bleak future. He buried himself in his work, leaving home early and staying in the office until late. He missed Rita dreadfully but felt angry towards her. He had many friends and a busy social life: dinners, cocktail parties, theatre, opera and ballet. The invitations weighed heavily on his mantelpiece and yet he had never felt lonelier in his entire life. Friends introduced him to beautiful women. Girls even approached him on their own initiative. He could have had any he wanted, but only Rita would do. ‘I have everything and nothing,’ he would say when his friends commented admiringly on his success and his wealth: none of them understood what he meant.
The moment he returned to London he had set about transferring money into his sister’s account, lavishing his wealth on her because now she was all he had. He bought her a pretty manor house in Frognal Point, with a large garden complete with an old barn and duck pond, where she moved with Samuel Kahan after marrying him in the Register Office in Exeter. Mrs Megalith threw a small party for them, but didn’t invite Rita. Max was happy for his sister. He knew his parents would be proud of them both. But he felt bitter envy. Ruth had everything he wanted for himself.
Ruth kept in close touch by telephone. Although she knew about Rita’s rejection, she didn’t dare mention it, for her brother shied away from discussing his personal life. So she supported him as best she could by being a constant presence in his life. Mrs Megalith was saddened that he didn’t come down to Elvestree as often as he used to. She understood that it was painful for him to be so close to Rita, but she missed him. Angry with Rita for having hurt Max, she sought her company as little as possible. When she did see her, she was impatient and brusque, leaving Rita feeling more isolated and misunderstood than ever.
Rita missed Max more than she had anticipated. An empty, Max-shaped space echoed in her heart and no one else could fill it. She retreated again into her sculpting. Once she had moulded clay in order to maintain her links with Faye and indirectly, with George, but now she sculpted to ease the pain of losing her friend. She didn’t notice that as spring brushed off the winter pallor and painted the countryside once again with colour, the shadow of Max’s absence began slowly to eclipse George.
Reverend Hammond was aware that Rita no longer attended church. He knew it was because of George and Susan, which he considered a weak excuse for not worshipping as one ought. As God’s mouthpiece he felt it his duty to teach her about forgiveness and to guide her back into the light. After the Christmas service when her non-attendance had been shamefully noticeable he resolved to pay her a visit. Miss Hogmier wasted no time in filling him in with the details of the latest developments. ‘That Jew-boy asked her to marry him,’ she said with a snort when he went into the village shop to buy tea-bags for his wife.
‘Max?’ Reverend Hammond exclaimed in surprise.
Miss Hogmier folded her arms in front of her and nodded. ‘And she refused him.’
‘Was that not a foolish move?’
‘I would say so. A girl like Rita should be grateful for small mercies. She’s not getting any younger and a Jew-boy is better than none.’
‘I don’t think even God can change that girl’s stubborn mind,’ she said huffily.
‘She’s one of God’s lost sheep, Miss Hogmier. It is my job to lead her home.’
‘Do what you will, Reverend Hammond, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. She has quite a tongue on her at times, like her grandmother.’ She shifted her eyes about the shop for cats, then added in a low voice, ‘About time the old witch met her Maker and took all her little spies with her.’
Reverend Hammond waited for a suitable moment to approach Rita. His opportunity came in the summer, after Ruth Kahan was delivered of a rosy little girl whom she named Mitzi, after her mother. To his dismay he heard from Miss Hogmier, who made it her business to know everyone else’s, that Rita had left her job at the library to become a fulltime sculptress.
‘She’s cavorting with a group of scruffy-looking rich kids who have set up camp down on the beach for the summer,’ Miss Hogmier informed him, pursing her lips in disapproval. ‘They’re leading her astray. It’s because of them that she feels she no longer has to work for a living, as if the good Lord will rain down manna from the heavens. They sit around camp fires, singing and playing guitars. I don’t know who she thinks she is these days with those strange dresses and beads. I imagine her mother despairs of her with her uncombed hair. It’s practically reached her waist. In my day women took more pride in their appearance. Look at me, it might be the nineteen sixties but I still sleep with my hair in rollers and wouldn’t be seen dead in the street without a little makeup. I’d scare off my customers if I didn’t make an effort to look my best.’
Reverend Hammond drove up the coast, beyond Bray Cove, to where Rita lived in her little cottage overlooking the sea, with the intention of persuading her to open her heart once again to God. On the passenger seat sat an old Bible with faded gold edging and a frayed ribbon marking the place from which he was going to read to her.