The Swallow and the Hummingbird

by Santa Montefiore

  ‘I can’t believe that Lydia lived,’ she said quietly. ‘All this time we thought she was dead.’

  ‘I wish we had known her. The least I can do is look after her child,’ he said in a low voice.

  ‘You’re a very good man, Max.’

  ‘No, Ruth. Rebecca and Mitzi are a blessing.’

  It was true. Max suddenly felt complete. The hollowness of spirit had been filled. He had a purpose far greater than any business could inspire.

  The following morning when Max pulled open the curtains he saw to his amazement a pair of snow geese standing in the middle of the lawn. He blinked, then blinked again. They were still there, the sunlight catching their shiny white plumage as they looked down their short bills at the snowy garden. ‘I thought they lived in Canada,’ he muttered to himself, recalling the famous story of The Snow Goose by Paul Gallico. He shook his head and hastily dressed, smiling as he remembered the details of the evening before. How suddenly his life had changed. In a single moment. No day had ever looked more lovely.

  As he walked down the stairs to the hall, the scent of wood from the dying embers in the grate was as it had been when Primrose had been alive. The house even felt the same again. With a light step he wandered into the kitchen. Mrs Gunter, the cook, would be arriving later to prepare lunch and dinner; until then he had the kitchen to himself and set about making coffee, tea, fruit juice, poached eggs, toast and porridge for Rebecca, not knowing what she would like best and wanting to please her.

  When she came down she looked entirely different. She had washed her hair, applied some makeup, dressed in a pair of jeans and a pale blue sweater. She looked older than her years and her smile betrayed her contentment. In her arms she held Mitzi, who was awake and blinking around with curiosity.

  ‘Is all this for me?’ she asked, when she saw the breakfast laid out on the table.

  ‘I didn’t know what you’d want,’ he replied with a shrug.

  ‘Thank you. I don’t know where to begin.’ Her laugh was soft and woody.

  ‘Why don’t you give Mitzi to me? She won’t mind, will she?’ he suggested enthusiastically. ‘Then you can eat.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure. She’s my great-niece.’

  ‘You’re not a typical man, are you?’

  ‘I don’t have children of my own,’ he replied, smiling sadly. He took the baby from her. She lay in his arms, trying to pat his chin with her small, podgy hand.

  ‘Max, when you said last night that I had come home, did you mean it?’ she gazed at him apprehensively.

  ‘I meant every word. You’re family. You belong here.’

  ‘I don’t know how to thank you.’

  ‘You don’t have to, Rebecca. You see, I have grown up believing my sister to be dead. That thought has haunted me for years. If you hadn’t turned up last night, I would never have known the truth. I would have died an unhappy man. Now I will die happy knowing that she had you and little Mitzi here. She had a future after all and it is my future too.’ He looked at her puzzled face. ‘Do you understand?’

  ‘I think so,’ she replied slowly.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Eat your breakfast because my sister Ruth is coming over to meet you this morning, then I think we should go shopping. Poor Mitzi doesn’t even have a cot!’

  When Ruth arrived she embraced her brother and then spontaneously wrapped her arms around Rebecca. She gazed at her niece with glassy eyes not knowing what to say. In her features she recognized her mother and Max, even herself. She no longer needed explanations. She knew that Rebecca was family. She sensed it in her heart for she had shed light into the dark corner that had contained the same shadows as Max’s. Finally, she was able to speak about the past. The three of them walked around the garden in the snow, sharing stories, igniting memories, asking questions that only Rebecca could answer. They took turns carrying Mitzi, showing their niece her new home, staring into the face of the future, the horrors of the past lost in her innocence. They drank coffee and cried over the photographs. Rebecca remembered her mother, and Ruth and Max were at last able to remember theirs.

  When Rita arrived for lunch she noticed at once something magical had taken place. ‘Do you know the house feels different?’ she said to Max. ‘It smells different.’

  ‘Yes, I smell it too,’ he agreed with a smile.

  ‘Smoky, woody, cosy, like it used to.’

  ‘Did you see the snow geese?’

  ‘There are snow geese?’ she exclaimed excitedly.

  ‘Two of them. I opened my curtains this morning and there they were.’

  ‘You know they come from Canada. They migrate to Mexico.’

  ‘Well, they’re right here at Elvestree.’

  ‘That’s miraculous,’ she gasped.

  ‘Not nearly as miraculous as Rebecca.’

  ‘That is true.’ She touched his arm fondly and said a little sadly, ‘I’m so happy for you, Max.’

  Rita wished she could turn her life around, too. She was now in her forties and the hope of having children had gone. George was no more than a memory, a transparent puff of smoke with no substance. She toyed with her ring absent-mindedly and wondered what her future held, now that Max had a family. Once he had loved her. The irony was that now she loved him. It hadn’t come in a flash of lightning but grown slowly upon her so that she had barely been aware of the changing nature of her heart. For a long time she hadn’t dared acknowledge it. But now Max’s life was taking a different course she realized that he was leaving her behind and she minded.

  As Rebecca and Mitzi settled into Elvestree the magic returned with the spring. The blossom was far more spectacular than anywhere else, the rare vegetables and fruit grew in abundance, baffling the gardeners, and birds from all over the world settled to build their nests in the leafy trees that had observed this mysterious corner of England for centuries. Wagtails and puffins, waxbills, even an albatross was seen on the estuary. The house once more resonated with laughter as Rebecca and Ruth watched their children play on the lawn. Rebecca made friends easily and Max enjoyed the sounds of clattering in the kitchen as she invited other young mothers for tea with their toddlers. They grew as close as a father and daughter could ever be. Rita watched them with mounting envy. Although she too had grown to love Rebecca and Mitzi she was saddened that his attention was now diverted. He no longer gazed upon her with longing. She remembered the snowy day on the estuary and wondered whether he had forgotten how to love her.

  Then in the midst of all this joy, George suffered a stroke. Hannah heard it from Faye and told Rita, who was devastated. She longed to go and visit him, but she knew she wouldn’t be welcome. Certainly in his fragile state it would be unwise. She badgered her mother for more news, any news at all, but it wasn’t good.

  The years had caught up with him. The trauma of the war perhaps, or the pressure of living. Or maybe the strain of loving, for George had loved intensely and he had loved too much.

  Chapter 37

  Susan sat on the beach and cried. She rarely cried. At least no one could see her there in the dusk, watching her happiness disappear into the mists on the horizon where the sea flowed into eternity, the gateway of death. She stared into it as if George had already gone. He had been so physical and vital, like a solid oak tree. He had been her strength and her support. Now he could barely speak or move, like a decrepit old man. He was only forty-seven.

  It had all happened without any warning. George had been on the farm, working as usual, when a pain in the head had seized him like a hand of iron squeezing his brain. One of the farm boys had run to the farmhouse for help. Susan had been in the garden with Charlie, now a strapping twenty-year-old, in love with Daisy Weaver. They had called an ambulance and he had been taken to Exeter hospital. Like his father, Charlie had been dependable and levelheaded, but Susan had been too worried to indulge in feelings of pride. Now George was in the Yew Tree Nursing Home down the coast, being cared for by profe
ssionals who knew how to nurse him better than she did. She could barely look at him in that state because she knew how wretched he must feel, like a bear without claws or a lion without teeth. A part of George had died and a part of her had gone with it.

  She let the sound of lapping waves soothe her tormented spirit; like music it had its own rhythm. She allowed her mind the freedom to wander down the alleyways of her past and remembered their meeting on the deck of the Fortuna when she had coldly rebuffed him, then later on the beach in Uruguay when her body had stirred with something uncontrollable and infinitely more primitive than friendship. She smiled at her foolishness, how she had mistrusted him, not knowing that he would be the best thing that would ever walk into her life. How canny she had been to get invited up to Córdoba and what joy they had built there. Her mind focused on the first time he had kissed her scarred face and tears began to tumble for he might never kiss her there again. He had taught her how to love herself and to be loved in return. He had galloped through her soul like a knight on a white horse and slain all her demons.

  And what of his demon? Had he managed to slay his own or had he allowed it to get the better of him? To curl up at the very bottom of his soul in the form of a snake, waiting its moment to uncoil and strike him down? The past had tortured him. Memories of the war and of Rita. Perhaps he still loved her and it was that suppressed, unrequited love that had choked his heart. It didn’t really matter now. Their love had endured even though Frognal Point and its ghosts had robbed it of its intensity.

  She remained on the beach until darkness wrapped cool arms around her, until the stars studded the sky and twinkled down reassuringly. The sea swelled and crashed against the rocks and a whisper of wind swept across her face. She felt part of nature, like a shell on the beach or a crab sitting watchfully in the sand, and suddenly she sensed the presence of God, telling her in those windy whispers that everything in life has a purpose, that nothing is left to chance, like the rise and fall of the tides. This was George’s destiny. His stroke was meant to happen. She now felt relief because she accepted that fighting it wasn’t going to make any difference. It was all out of her control. She would simply have to surrender herself to this higher power and pray. So she prayed hard that He would be merciful because she didn’t know how to live without George. She had forgotten how to be on her own and she had grown dependent on his love.

  On that dark beach she realized, for the first time, that she now truly belonged in Frognal Point. To her surprise, after an unsettled life, she had managed to build a home there out of memories and affection, a home that would last. She would never belong in quite the same way that George belonged – his footprints were embedded in the sand while hers were fresh – but they felt right there, beside his. She watched her son and Daisy, and hoped that one day they might marry and show their children the tidal pools and sea birds as George and Maddie had shown them. She took pleasure in Ava’s friendship with Elsbeth and knew that it was one that would sustain her throughout her life. In spite of her fears her children were as much part of the place as their father and this small, coastal village had affixed upon her soul.

  When she returned home Charlie and Ava were in the kitchen waiting for her. Ava had cooked dinner while Charlie had spent an hour on the telephone to Daisy. They saw their mother’s tearstained face and barely recognized her. She had slowly wilted over the last few weeks. Each visit to their father seemed to squeeze another ounce from her, but they didn’t understand her love for they were too young and their love was too green. Charlie planned to marry Daisy. He had been able to forget his devastation and sense of helplessness in the white plains of her flesh down in the secret cave that they had discovered by chance, hidden among long grasses and by the rise of the tide. Ava knew because Elsbeth spied on them occasionally and told her when they took the little boat out together to fish and share secrets.

  Susan was grateful for the support of her children. Ava did the shopping and made sure there was always food on the table. Charlie drove her to the nursing home so she didn’t have to go alone, and sat outside on the terrace smoking while she spent time alone with his father, reminiscing, sharing news of the children or simply reading to him. He liked short stories best of all. Oscar Wilde and Maupassant in particular. He would gaze upon her with sad eyes and she would strain all the muscles in her face in order to appear cheerful when her heart just wanted to fold up and go to sleep.

  Now Charlie and Ava watched her come inside. Her cheeks were red from the wind and her hair, that she now wore shoulder length, was unkempt.

  ‘Can I get you a glass of wine, Mama?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘That would be nice, thank you,’ she replied, wandering into the room. ‘Something smells good,’ she added, turning to her daughter.

  ‘Roast chicken and roasted vegetables. I’ve done potatoes too for Charlie. He needs his strength if he’s going to keep up all this exercise.’ She grinned mischievously, trying to lighten the atmosphere by making a joke about her brother’s love-making in the cave.

  Susan frowned but she was too drained to ask questions. Charlie and Ava were constantly teasing each other and most of the time she ignored it. Charlie handed her a glass of chilled Chardonnay and she sank into a chair. In spite of their company she felt alone. Their futures were spilling over with the possibility of love and fulfilment whereas hers was slowly dying in the Yew Tree Nursing Home. She knew she would never love again.

  As they ate dinner, Charlie declared that he wanted to marry Daisy, but didn’t feel he could ask her until their father’s health improved.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Susan. ‘It would cheer him up. He needs good news at the moment.’

  Charlie’s eyes shone with excitement and Susan realized that, as much as they grieved for their father, they both had their own lives to think about. She envied their youth. If only she could start all over again with George. Would she do anything different? Would she stay at Las Dos Vizcachas? She observed her children’s happiness and knew in her heart that their decision to come to Frognal Point had been the right one, however hard it had been for her.

  The following day dawned bright and warm. The August sun blazed down with more enthusiasm than it had during the entire summer. Charlie and Ava accompanied their mother to the nursing home. They both wanted to see their father, Charlie to tell him of his intentions with Daisy, and Ava because she hadn’t been for a few days. They drove in silence, watching the light catch the waves and glitter as they meandered down the coast. George was outside on the terrace, which looked over a sheltered bay of smooth sand and dark blue sea. He was in his wheelchair with a blanket over his knees, a pad and pen ready, his only means of communication. When he saw his family he managed a crooked smile, more crooked now due to the stroke. He blinked at them and Susan was sure his eyes shone with unusual cheerfulness. Her spirits lifted with hope. Perhaps this was the turning point. A new mental attitude that could kick-start his recovery. She kissed him affectionately on his cheek and took his hand in hers. Inside his useless body his heart swelled with love.

  Susan noticed the change in him. She didn’t know the cause of it, but suddenly George seemed to have accepted his condition and his enthusiasm for life radiated from him like a warm aura of light.

  ‘I’m going to ask Daisy to marry me,’ said Charlie, anxious to tell his father his news. How little children notice, thought Susan to herself. George’s transformation seemed to her as obvious as if he had suddenly begun to speak, yet Charlie was only interested in talking about himself. George blinked at his son in encouragement and scribbled in his wobbly handwriting ‘Hope she says “yes”.’ Charlie chuckled, sure that she would. George hadn’t failed to notice the parallel, but there was no war to distort Charlie’s values and scramble his mind. George had a strange sense that Charlie and Daisy would live the life that had been meant for him and Rita, that they would achieve the happiness that had eluded them. ‘I want to marry in the church in Frognal Point,’ he
continued.

  ‘Thank goodness Reverend Hammond is no longer preaching there,’ Susan said, lowering her voice for he had also taken up residence in the nursing home. ‘He was a rather arrogant man, I always thought. The young vicar is extremely nice.’ George pulled a loose smile and nodded slowly in agreement.

  ‘You can be bridesmaid,’ said Charlie to his sister with a smirk.

  ‘Not if you paid me!’ replied Ava with a giggle.

  ‘I’ll pay you to keep quiet,’ he hissed at her.

  Ava smiled and whispered in her father’s ear. ‘They’ve found a cave on the beach.’ She looked at him and raised her eyebrows suggestively.

  ‘Shut up, Ava!’

  ‘Papa’s amused, silly!’ she chided, pulling a face. For an instant George’s eyes misted over. So they had found their secret place and indented the sand with their own special brand of love. He felt wistful, as if the tide had crept up and washed his and Rita’s footprints away. And they had believed them indelible. Soon there would be no trace of them left at all, just new prints and new memories all belonging to other people; that is the immutable fact of life.

  Soon Charlie and Ava went for a walk up the beach, leaving their mother alone with their father. She sat beside him, watching their children wander off and squeezed his hand.

  ‘You seem better today, George.’ She sighed. ‘I know it must be frustrating not being able to talk, but you will in time because your spirit is so strong, you’ll overcome this. I know you will.’ She turned and looked into his eyes, now shadowed and forlorn. Her heart buckled at his helplessness. ‘We love you so much,’ she said, appalled that her voice had been reduced to a mere whisper. He blinked back at her and a single tear caught in his long eyelashes. With a tender hand she gently wiped it away. Bending forwards she kissed him. He gazed into her face for a long while, then scribbled on his pad, ‘I don’t deserve you.’