The Swallow and the Hummingbird

by Santa Montefiore

  ‘Her work is selling very well in London,’ she informed him on the telephone. ‘It’s given her a sense of independence and achievement. Why don’t you get rid of that simpering fool and propose to Rita again?’

  ‘She doesn’t want me, Primrose. She said so herself, she’ll love George until she dies.’

  Mrs Megalith clicked her tongue loudly. ‘Women are often conquered with persistence, dear boy. What are you doing with that ghastly poodle?’

  ‘I’m very fond of Delfine. She makes me happy,’ he said lightly.

  ‘She’s a spoilt child. Wait until she’s a spoilt woman and then she won’t make you so happy.’

  ‘Don’t be so cynical. She’s charming, everyone loves her.’

  ‘Except you,’ she stated flatly.

  ‘How’s Ruth?’ he asked, changing the subject. Didn’t she realize how much it hurt to talk about Rita?

  ‘Her pregnancy is beginning to show now. She wears it well.’

  ‘That’s good!’ he exclaimed, dwelling for a moment on his own deep-rooted yearning to create new life for the sake of his family who had lost theirs. He never confided in Delfine the haunting dreams he had about the baby sister who had never lived to grow up. Only Rita knew the remote corners of his heart and the shadows that dwelt there.

  ‘Thanks to you she’s happy and living well. You’re a very generous boy.’

  Max chuckled. ‘Money means little to me, Primrose, you know that. I’m in a position to help. I do what I can.’

  Mrs Megalith knew he would have liked to do the same for Rita. ‘If Rita married you, she wouldn’t have to work so hard,’ she said, continuing her thoughts out loud.

  ‘That was her choice, not mine.’

  ‘Fools, the both of you. Really, you do make life very hard for yourselves. Still, thank God for Mr Bradley. Long may he live!’

  When Max put down the telephone he felt depressed. It was usually such a pleasure talking to Primrose. He knew that she was wrong about Rita. As long as George was alive she would never have room in her heart to love him. Besides, he didn’t want the role of understudy to George Bolton. When his secretary tried to put through a call he snapped at her for no reason. He’d bring her a bunch of flowers at lunch time to apologize.

  To Max’s intense irritation Mrs Megalith seemed to be right as usual. As Delfine grew up she became less charming. All the things that Max had liked about her were discarded like clothes she’d grown out of. Little by little she failed to be impressed by his gifts, the hotels they stayed in weren’t luxurious enough, the parties she went to bored her, and the charities that had launched her into society were time-consuming and dull. Having been like an adoring puppy, happy with the odd pat or smile, Delfine became demanding of his attention and bitter when she didn’t get it, pressing him all the time to confirm a date for the wedding.

  Delfine realized that there was an invisible presence that stood between her and her fiancé. She refused to go and stay at Elvestree because, not only did she get the impression that Mrs Megalith didn’t like her, but she sensed there, more intensely than ever, that invisible but inescapable presence. Max never told her he loved her. He told her he was fond of her, that he adored her, that she made him happy, but he never used the word ‘love’. She hadn’t noticed at first. His gifts had been so generous. She had never expected a man like Max to want her. She was flattered by the simplest of smiles, the smallest of gestures. Now they had been living together for over two years, she had grown accustomed to his wealth and his celebrity. She wanted the man, but she couldn’t have him. Someone stood in her way and she was sure that the secret was hidden behind the locked door to the only room in the house that didn’t belong to her.

  Then one bleak winter day Ruth telephoned Max, her voice heavy with sorrow, ‘Primrose is dying and she wants to see you.’ Max left a message for Delfine with the housekeeper and drove as fast as he could to Devon. When he arrived at Elvestree the house looked naked and cold as if some of the magic were also dying. Choked with misery, he hurried inside to find his sister waiting for him in the hall. ‘Thank God you’ve come. She’s barely holding on,’ Ruth groaned, sinking into his arms. He kissed her affectionately, then bounded up the stairs two at a time. He walked to the end of the corridor where the door to her room was open and expectant. Ruth followed, biting her fingernails and fighting her tears. To Max’s horror the room was filled with cats. They lay on every surface, watching the bed with eyes wide and knowing. Mrs Megalith was sitting up, propped against large white pillows. Her face was as grey as the sky outside and her eyes glistened with rare emotion.

  ‘Come to me, Max,’ she said, putting out a feeble arm. She wore a purple dressing gown but her hands were free of rings. Only the moonstone hung against her bosom as it had always done. ‘Ruth, I want to speak to you too,’ she added weakly. Max sat on the edge of the bed and sandwiched her hand between his. Ruth went around to the other side and had to push off a couple of cats in order to make a space for herself. ‘My time is up. Denzil and Trees are waiting for me in the world of spirit with a bottle of the best Dom Perignon, bless them. I bet it tastes even better in spirit.’ She managed a chuckle but then coughed and wheezed with difficulty. ‘You are my children,’ she continued seriously. ‘I love you both more than I love either of my own daughters and I’m not a bit ashamed of it! When you two little refugees arrived in my house, forlorn and fearful, I think I loved you instantly. My Max,’ she said with a long sigh, removing her hand from his and running her fingers down his face. ‘You’re a good boy. Don’t give up on Rita, she needs you. Foolish girl, she has a funny way of showing it, though, doesn’t she?’

  ‘I’ll look after her, I promise,’ he replied, turning to kiss her hand.

  ‘I know you will. That is why I’ve left the house to you. Time will reveal that I’m not as batty as you all think. I have a reason for every one of my actions.’

  She turned to Ruth. ‘Max will make sure that you have everything you need. You’re a good little mother, Ruth. That baby will be big and bonny and blessed with great charm. I leave to you this little fellow,’ she said, touching her moonstone pendant. ‘Barely taken it off in all the years I’ve had it. God knows what you’re going to do with all these cats! Will you make sure that Eddie and Elsbeth share my box of goodies?’ By that she meant her tarot cards, crystals and other mystical objects. ‘I’ve written it all down in that letter over there on my bedside table.’

  She turned to Max again and her voice became brisk and businesslike. ‘Now, I don’t want a funeral. God forbid the pompous old Reverend having the last word! I want to be cremated and scattered in the garden. This body has served me well. I want it treated with respect. No tears and all that mawkishness. I shan’t be gone, just out of sight, though Eddie and Elsbeth will see me, they have inherited my gift. Damn lucky Antoinette didn’t, wouldn’t be so much fun haunting her if she knew the truth about spirits.’ She suddenly raised her eyes and shook her head impatiently. ‘Not yet, Denzil, I’ve got one more thing to say.’ She took both their hands in hers and said with deliberation. ‘All was not lost . . .’

  But before she could finish her sentence her spirit was dragged from its body. She fought it, determined to have her say, but death could not wait. She managed to utter one final sentence. ‘A stranger will come to you for help . . .’ Then she departed with her habitual snort of irritation.

  ‘She’s gone,’ said Ruth, leaning over to close her eyes.

  ‘What do you think she meant?’ Max asked, pressing his lips against her hand.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Ruth wiped her tears on her sleeve. ‘The world suddenly feels very empty, doesn’t it?’

  Max nodded gravely. ‘I can’t believe she was human after all.’

  ‘What are we going to do with all these cats?’

  Max scratched his head. ‘That’s not a priority. First, we must tell Hannah and Antoinette, Maddie . . .’

  ‘And Rita?’

  ‘And Rita.
’

  Ruth looked at him with sympathy. His face suddenly looked so desolate. ‘Go and see her, Max. So much water has gone under the bridge since that Christmas. Life is too short.’

  When Max parked the car outside Rita’s cottage he was heartened to see smoke rising from the chimney, signalling that she was at home. He looked about at the frozen trees, gnarled and twisted by the wind, then at the white sun that shone weakly down from a pale, watery sky. He felt a gentle thawing in his heart, inspired by memories of the countless times he had drawn up outside her front door. He imagined the warmth of her kitchen, the smell of coffee, the familiar chaos, and he smiled inside. Outside, however, his mouth twitched nervously.

  He climbed out and slammed the door. He heard Tarka barking in the hall, then footsteps as Rita came to open the front door. When she saw his grim face she blushed in surprise, not knowing how to react. She had been so furious that he hadn’t spoken to her since that day on the estuary, not even to tell her of his engagement, but his sad eyes and hunched shoulders caused her heart to stumble and she shook her head in resignation.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ he ventured, putting his hands in the pockets of his coat. He lowered his eyes in shame. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been a rotten friend.’

  ‘I’ve missed you too,’ she replied softly. ‘Although you made me angrier than I’ve ever been in my entire life.’

  They stared at each other for a long moment. The muscle in his jaw began to throb, anticipating her fury, but her mouth extended into a shy grin and she began to laugh. Max’s relief was overwhelming.

  ‘We’ve been friends for too long to let a proposal of marriage come between us,’ he said, walking up to her and drawing her into his arms. She still smelt of violets.

  ‘What fools we’ve been!’ she sighed, winding her arms around him and resting her head on his shoulder. She savoured the feel of his embrace, like the familiar sense of home, and wished she could remain there a little longer. ‘I’m glad you’ve come back.’ She withdrew and studied his face, bleak in spite of his smile. She frowned. ‘What is it, Max?’ She stood aside as he walked past her into the hall where Tarka sniffed his trousers excitedly.

  ‘I’m afraid I’ve come with some very sad news,’ he said. ‘Your grandmother died this morning.’

  There was a long pause while she digested his words. Her sadness was tempered by gratitude, for it was obvious that her death had inspired their reconciliation.

  ‘I was very fond of the old witch. She was good to me,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and put the kettle on.’

  He followed her into the kitchen, where they had so often sat and shared secrets. It smelt so much the same – of fudge, baking bread and coffee – that Max felt the years melting away like the frosted trees outside in the sunshine. He took off his coat and sat in his usual place at the kitchen table just like old times. For a while neither spoke. He watched her as she boiled the kettle, took the mugs down from the cupboard and searched around for clean teaspoons. She hadn’t changed in all the years that he had known her, rather like her grandmother. Her skin was still as pale and speckled as the egg of a thrush, her hair was still wild and knotted; only her eyes had lost their innocence and were now cast in shadow. She might as well be a child of the sea, he thought wistfully, and he was suddenly gripped with longing to hold her.

  She turned and caught him gazing at her. She smiled shyly and brought over the tea. ‘Were you with her when she died?’ she asked, pulling out a chair and sitting down.

  ‘Yes, Ruth and I,’ he replied. The desolation he suffered at the loss of her grandmother seemed to pull down his whole face. Rita was filled with compassion and extended her hand to touch his.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Max. I know she was a mother to you.’

  ‘She was old. She’d had a good life. But I’ll miss her.’ His eyes shone as he smelt the familiar scent of mothballs and cinnamon as if she were in the room with them. ‘She was the only link Ruth and I had with the past. Now she’s gone, I feel as if a little of me has gone with her. But I mustn’t keep looking back. Yesterday is only memories, after all. Today is real and each moment is precious. It was just so unexpected. I never thought she’d die.’

  ‘Her life is to be celebrated, not mourned.’

  ‘You’re right. She wouldn’t want us all to mope around feeling sorry for ourselves.’

  ‘I can’t imagine she went quietly?’

  ‘She said Denzil was there waiting for her but she was determined to have her say before she went. I think he had to drag her off.’

  ‘That sounds like Megagran.’ She laughed affectionately. ‘I hope she forgave me before she left. We didn’t really get on in the last few years.’

  ‘She told me you’re selling your work in London now,’ he said, changing the subject.

  ‘Yes, this wonderful old man called Mr Bradley buys about thirty sculptures a year to sell in his shop. I can barely keep up with his orders. I can’t imagine who buys them.’

  ‘You’re very talented. Don’t put yourself down.’

  ‘At least it pays the bills. I never thought I’d make it. Thought I’d have to go back to the library.’

  ‘I’d hate to think of you still toiling away in that stuffy old place. I’m glad you’re creating. It’s good for the soul.’ He cocked his head and swept his eyes over her face with an intensity that made her stomach swim. ‘You look well. You look happy.’

  ‘I am well and I am happy,’ she said with emphasis. ‘Now you’re here.’ It was his turn to blush. ‘I was lonely without you. The old cliché is true: you don’t appreciate people until they’re gone.’

  ‘I won’t leave you again, I promise.’

  ‘What are you going to do now? I’m pleased that Megagran has left Elvestree to you. You love it more than anyone else. I love it too, but now we’re friends again I can come and visit as often as I like.’

  ‘I don’t know. I have to sort things out with Delfine. She hates it here.’ The name Delfine grated and Rita felt herself bristle like an animal suffering a threat to her territory. She had completely forgotten about his fiancée. She withdrew her hand. ‘One thing is for certain, I’ll spend far more time down here. Elvestree is a house that needs to be lived in. Who’s going to feed all those cats for a start?’

  Rita recovered her composure, grateful that Delfine would never belong in her grandmother’s house, and screwed up her nose. ‘Let’s pretend Megagran left them all to Antoinette!’ she said with a mischievous smile.

  When Max returned to Elvestree all the cats had gone. Ruth had been busy telephoning and organizing the cremation. Mrs Megalith’s body had been taken away and the house suddenly felt empty as if its spirit had gone too. Ruth was as bewildered as Max. ‘Where could they all have gone?’ she exclaimed, raising her hands to the sky.

  Not far away in the rectory the telephone rang. Reverend Hammond picked it up to hear Miss Hogmier’s screeching voice. ‘Calm down, Miss Hogmier, I can’t understand a word you’re saying.’

  ‘They’re everywhere! Everywhere! Making a mess of my shop!’ she wailed.

  ‘Who are? Shall I call the police?’ he replied in alarm.

  ‘Cats. The witch’s cats.’

  ‘Mrs Megalith’s cats? Are you sure?’

  ‘You have to come down with a shotgun. They’re destroying my business as well as my sanity. I, who have no husband to protect me. I’m alone in the world. No one cares for an old spinster like me.’ Her voice resonated with a heavy vibrato.

  ‘I’ll be over at once, after I’ve called the RSPCA.’

  ‘Don’t be a bloody fool, Elwyn, shoot the buggers!’

  But when he looked out of his own window, he was shocked to see at least twenty cats playing among the borders of his own garden and rolling around on the grass. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Mrs Megalith must have finally passed away.

  Delfine was not happy that Max had gone to Devon without her. Although she hated the place she didn’t trust him there on his o
wn. She paced the drawing room deliberating what to do. She thought of the invisible presence and the locked door and knew that all the answers lay behind it. Resentful that he didn’t trust her with his innermost secrets, she set about searching for the key. She would take a quick look and he would be none the wiser. As she was rummaging through the drawers in his study the doorbell rang. The housekeeper had left for the day due to a bad cold so she had to answer it herself. She huffed with frustration and strode across the hall, her high heels clicking briskly on the marble chessboard floor.

  ‘Yes?’ she enquired impatiently when she saw an old man in a three-piece suit standing on the steps in the cold. He was tall even with his shoulders bent. In his hands he held a large package.

  ‘My name is Benjamin Bradley. Are you the lady of the house?’

  ‘Yes. Is that for me?’ she enquired crisply.

  ‘It’s for Mr de Guinzberg.’

  ‘What is it?’

  Mr Bradley masked his hesitation behind a kindly smile. ‘Is Mr de Guinzberg at home?’

  ‘No.’ Her voice betrayed her annoyance.

  ‘Then I’ll come back another time.’

  Delfine narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘There’s no need, I’ll make sure he gets it,’ she said, taking the package from him.

  Mr Bradley frowned, but there was nothing he could do. He watched helplessly as she closed the door in his face, then turned and walked down the steps to the pavement. He knew he had made an error. He usually gave his packages to the housekeeper. He hoped Mr de Guinzberg wouldn’t chastise him for it. He paid him well and he certainly needed the money. Who else would employ a retired butler of his age?