The Swallow and the Hummingbird (26 page)

Maddie made such an effort for church that she looked as if she had stepped right off a Hollywood set. Her hair was beautifully groomed and fell onto her shoulders like shiny curtains, her eyelashes were thick with mascara and she had painted her nails blood red. Her skin glowed with radiance and was as pale as the petals of an orchid. Her lips were glossy with scarlet lipstick and curled into a permanent smile for today she would see Harry Weaver again. She stood in front of the mirror in the hall, arranging her hat and smoothing down her olive-green suit. When Hannah saw her she couldn’t help but gasp in admiration at the beautiful creature she had produced.

Humphrey drove to church. If the weather had been better they would have all enjoyed the walk. The road was wet with slush but the sun was out, doing its best to melt the snow. The trees and bushes glittered as if festooned with diamonds and from the roofs of houses hung icicles which caught the light and twinkled like silver. It was bitterly cold and the girls huddled in the back to keep warm. Only Maddie was hot, her heart aflame in her chest like a burning coal, anticipating Harry.

Humphrey parked the car on the green and was cheered to see Trees and Faye Bolton walking up the path with Alice, her husband Geoffrey, recently returned from the war, and the children, immaculately dressed in little navy blue coats and hats. Maddie looked out of the window, anxiously scanning the faces for Harry, but to her disappointment he was not yet among those now filing into the church.

They settled into a pew, smiling graciously at their friends as they passed. Aunt Antoinette sat looking bored alongside her husband David, who was making a rare appearance in Frognal Point. Emily winked at Eddie but William sat with his nose in the air as if he was too good for such a provincial little place. When Harry Weaver strode in, dressed in a moth-eaten tweed suit, everyone seemed to turn to stare at this gangly stranger. Maddie sat up at once and beckoned with her gloved hand for him to come and sit with them. Harry was grateful. He walked hastily down the aisle, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed, embarrassed to be the centre of so much attention. He nodded formally as he greeted Hannah and Rita then smiled at Eddie.

‘Harvey is dead!’ she hissed melodramatically.

Harry sat down and mouthed, ‘I’m so sorry,’ before smiling rather more broadly at Maddie.

‘She’s lost without Harvey,’ Maddie whispered into his ear.

‘I can imagine, poor child,’ he whispered back and she shivered as she felt his lips brush her skin.

The church was ablaze with holly and bright red berries. The village children had decorated a fir tree with shiny gold balls and little figurines of Santa Claus. Illuminated by candles and the bright sunlight that tumbled in through the windows it looked festive and suitably heavenly. ‘Merry Christmas one and all!’ Reverend Hammond’s voice silenced the low rumble of chat and everyone shuffled in their seats to find the most comfortable position. They knew the service was going to be a long one.

Reverend Hammond surveyed his congregation and was relieved the Elvestree Witch had not decided to grace them all with her presence, or her cats for that matter, and he shuddered as he recalled that spring Sunday, forever engraved on his memory. As he launched into a lengthy welcome, Maddie sat pressed up against Harry, the coal in her chest burning her body more intensely than ever. Harry was aware of his own burning coal and realized to his embarrassment that the hymn sheet in his hand was shaking. He didn’t notice Maddie slip hers into her handbag so that when the organ began to play she had to ask to share his. Rita felt tearful. She looked across at Faye’s sensitive profile and knew that she was also missing George. Trees sung loudly and out of tune. If he was missing his son he didn’t show it. But then Trees rarely showed emotion. The last time she had seen him upset was when someone had sneaked into the farm and stolen a rare black walnut.

Reverend Hammond gave a very long sermon about the meaning of Christmas. Hannah was sure that it was identical to the one that he had given the year before, just longer. The congregation began to cough and stir in their seats. Only Maddie and Harry sat as still as the Christmas tree figurines, more aware than ever of the parts of their bodies that touched.

At the end of the service, after greeting their friends, Humphrey and Hannah gathered their family together to drive to Elvestree for Christmas lunch. The boot of the car was stuffed with presents, all neatly wrapped in brightly coloured paper.

‘Maddie, why don’t you go with Harry,’ suggested Humphrey, climbing into the car. ‘That way he won’t get lost.’ Maddie hurried over to Harry’s car, tottering slightly on her high heels, her breath rising into the air like steam.

‘Wait for me!’ she shouted as he started up the engine. ‘I’m coming with you.’ Harry barely had a moment to sweep the pages of manuscript and old newspapers off the front seat before she got in. ‘Daddy thinks you might get lost,’ she explained breathlessly. Harry looked flustered but delighted.

‘Good.’ He looked at her and a shy grin crept across his face. Then he turned his attention to the road ahead.

‘Is this your latest book?’ she asked, pointing to the typed manuscript strewn all over the floor.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t had time to clean out the car. It ends up as a general dumping ground for things I should throw away but can’t bear to.’

‘What do you write?’

‘Novels.’

‘Are they any good?’

Harry found Maddie’s directness slightly disconcerting. He wasn’t used to such bluntness.

‘My publishers think so,’ he replied.

‘Are you famous?’

‘No.’

‘Do you want to be?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’ She looked at him sidelong, unable to understand why he wouldn’t want to be famous.

He smiled indulgently. How could someone so young appreciate the pitfalls of fame?

‘Because famous people lose their anonymity and in most cases their dignity too, not to mention their sanity. I don’t want people to know who I am.’

‘Really?’ she gasped.

‘Do you want to be famous?’

‘I wanted to be a film star like Lauren Bacall, but I don’t any more,’ she said hastily. She couldn’t tell him that since meeting him she wanted to be a simple bird-watcher in Bray Cove.

‘You’re very wise.’

‘I want to paint birds,’ she said proudly.

‘Are you any good?’ he asked, imitating her bluntness of tone.

‘Quite. There’s plenty of room for improvement, as Daddy would say. But I like birds. You like birds, don’t you, Harry?’

‘I love all animals. Bray Cove is a delightful place for birds. In fact, Devon is a haven for both animal and bird. I’m very happy I moved here.’

‘Where is your wife?’

Harry remained silent for a moment, amazed that she knew he was divorced.

‘In Scotland,’ he replied after a while.

‘Why Scotland?’

‘Because she married a man called McInty,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘He has a castle and she likes big houses.’

‘She wouldn’t like Bray Cove, then, would she?’

‘No.’

‘But you don’t have children?’

Harry shook his head and Maddie breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She didn’t like the idea of stepchildren at all. Harry stole a quick glance at her while she was staring out of the window, but she turned and caught his eye before he had time to look away. He felt the blood rise to his cheeks and tried to change the subject.

‘Tell me about your sister’s fiancé.’

‘He’s in the Argentine. He’s promised to marry her when he comes back. But I don’t think he will come back.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘As my aunt Antoinette says, if he loved her he wouldn’t have gone in the first place.’

‘Well, there’s some logic in that,’ Harry agreed.

‘But Rita is hopelessly in love. I sympathize with her. I know what love is and how much it hurts.’ She looked across at him and sighed melodramatically. ‘How old are you, Harry?’

Harry shook his head and laughed. ‘For a young woman you ask very strange questions,’ he said in astonishment.

‘Is it wrong to ask?’ She looked hurt.

‘Of course not,’ he replied gently. ‘Only unexpected.’

‘You can ask me how old I am and I won’t take offence. I’m nineteen,’ she said with a broad smile, as if she expected praise for the achievement of reaching such an advanced age.

‘I’m thirty-six,’ he stated. Maddie’s jaw dropped.

‘Only thirty-six! That’s not so old,’ she exclaimed cheerfully, clapping her hands together.

‘I hope not,’ said Harry in bewilderment.

‘Not old at all. You’re only . . .’ she squinted and mumbled. ‘Seventeen years older than me.’ She sat back in the seat, content that at least one of the obstacles in the way of her future happiness was surmountable.

They swept up the long drive lined with trees, naked and crippled by the frost, and parked on the gravel outside Elvestree House. In spite of the winter bareness the house exuded an inviting warmth. The windows blazed with light and life. The sun had melted Jack Frost’s flamboyant sketches and the snow on the roof was now only in patches where there were still shadows. The chimneys choked out smoke and the sweet smell of burning wood reminded Harry of autumn, when his father had set fire to mountains of leaves on Saturdays. A robin played with a crust of bread on the steps that led up to the porch and didn’t bother hopping away when he saw them approaching. Harry followed Maddie through the front door, decorated with a wreath of holly tied up with a red velvet ribbon.

The sound of animated voices rang out from the drawing room and the scent of cinnamon and orange mingled with the overpowering smell of Aunt Antoinette’s perfume. Eddie was telling everyone about Harvey and inviting them all to the burial, which would take place at six in the garden at home, beneath the apple tree he had so loved for all the insects it attracted. Antoinette knew better than to speak ill of the dead, especially a dead Harvey, and bit her tongue as she almost stumbled into asking Rita about George.
Family politics
, she thought wearily,
are so trying
. Her husband, the mysterious David, was standing by the window seat with Humphrey, discussing with indignation the nearby unspoilt land under threat from developers.

‘What will become of the countryside, I ask you?’ exclaimed Humphrey hotly.

‘Buildings go up with much too little thought,’ David agreed. ‘I suppose the poor buggers have to be housed. But what will people think fifty years from now?’

Maddie strode in with Harry close behind, hunching his shoulders in an attempt to look as inconspicuous as possible.

‘Madeleine, come and help me fill everyone’s glasses. This is not a dry house,’ said Mrs Megalith in a booming voice, waving her becrystalled fingers at her granddaughter. ‘Ah, you must be Harry Weaver, how jolly nice to meet you. Shoulders back, dear boy, or you’ll develop a hunchback!’ she added, handing him a glass of champagne. ‘Had this in the cellar for years. My Denzil kept a bountiful cellar, but was loath to drink any of it himself. All the better for us, don’t you think!’

Harry took the glass and straightened up. He was at least a head and shoulders above everyone else. Mrs Megalith hobbled past him. Dressed in a rich purple dress that fell from her breasts to her feet she looked every inch the witch of village legend. The shining moonstone swung hypnotically as she limped across the room and she had pinned her hair up with chunky square amethysts.

Suddenly she stopped in her tracks, blinked in amazement at the misty image that appeared before her eyes and very slowly turned around, her face a pale shade of pink.

‘Good God!’ she exclaimed under her breath, looking from Harry to Maddie. ‘Well, I’ll be damned!’

‘Is everything all right, Grandma?’ Rita asked, distracted a moment from her lonesome pining.

‘Better than ever. I thought only cats had that kind of luck.’

Mrs Megalith smacked her lips together in satisfaction. Rita looked bewildered. Mrs Megalith shook her head dismissively.

‘Just the ranting of an old woman whose gift still has the ability to surprise her. Think nothing of it,’ she said before looking worriedly at Rita.

‘No more letters from George, Rita?’

Rita shook her head mournfully. ‘Not yet. I’m sure he’s written. I don’t doubt him, Grandma.’

‘Of course you don’t,’ said Mrs Megalith with sympathy, patting her on the arm. ‘Of all the people I know most deserving of luck, it’s you.’ She turned and narrowed her pale eyes at Maddie. Then she shook her head and pursed her lips in disapproval. ‘Sometimes the least deserving win the lot.’

Chapter 17

George wrote to Rita just before Christmas. He decided it was kinder if she received the letter after the celebrations were over. He sat in his bedroom in the early hours of the morning, when sleep resisted the summons of his weary body, having ridden out all day with the gauchos. He sensed Susan in the next-door room and strained his ears, as she did, for a sound. The last he had heard was the closing of the door and then his imagination stirred as he thought of her undressing and climbing into bed, reading perhaps and then turning out the light. He ached for her with every muscle in his body. Of course he wanted to make love to her. He wanted to kiss her all over, to stroke her, to give her pleasure. But more than that he just wanted to lie beside her and hold her in his arms all night long. He wondered how long he should wait. Susan wasn’t an innocent like Rita but she had obviously been hurt. She commanded respect but, above all, she needed to trust. Only time and patience would banish the demon in her past that still haunted her.

Resisting the temptation to knock on her door he sat at the desk and began to write.

My darling Rita. This is the hardest letter I will probably ever have to write in my life. There is no easy way to put it, I only wish that I could say it to your face rather than on paper. Then I could hold you and we could part as friends, understanding one another. I don’t think I’ve been entirely honest with you. I was afraid of hurting you, which is ironic as I’m hurting you more now. I cannot marry you. I still love you. I have loved you for as long as I can remember. But I love you more like a brother loves a sister. I’m no longer the George you knew. He died up there in the skies over war-torn Britain. I have decided to stay in the Argentine indefinitely. Frognal Point was stifling me and I needed to find my feet in a new place. I’m happy here. I cannot express how grateful I am to you for waiting for me during those years when your support meant more than you will ever know. It kept me alive. I’m sorry to let you down. I’m sorry to hurt you. To think of your sad face fills me with terrible regret. Please forgive me, Rita. I wish you happiness. You are young and beautiful and will no doubt find someone to replace me in your affections. I thank you also for giving me the very best of you, my darling. They were the most wonderful moments of my life. George.