The Swallow and the Hummingbird

by Santa Montefiore

  At eleven George drove the truck home with Rita by his side and Eddie and Maddie in the back, lifting up their hands to catch leaves from the trees that hung over the road.

  ‘God, it feels good to be back,’ he said, placing his free hand on Rita’s upper thigh. ‘It’s good to feel you too,’ he murmured.

  ‘Careful, there are little spies in the back,’ she replied, glancing through the window behind her.

  ‘Only one little one, and one rather knowing one,’ he said with a smirk. ‘Maddie’s lost more than her innocence in the war.’

  ‘How can you tell?’

  ‘A man knows these things.’

  ‘Do I look so naïve?’

  ‘Yes, but I like you that way.’ He squeezed her thigh.

  ‘Maddie gave herself to an American called Hank.’

  ‘He would be, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Called Hank!’ They both laughed.

  ‘She’s wicked. She’s only nineteen. Nice girls aren’t supposed to behave that way. Mummy and Daddy would be appalled.’

  ‘Sex and war go hand in hand, Rita. You can’t have one without the other. People know they could die at any minute so they lose themselves in each other.’

  ‘It’s terribly romantic.’

  ‘In war a man has to love, if only to assert that he’s very much alive in the face of possible death. Girls like Maddie serve a vital purpose, but you don’t work in that department, my love. You’re special.’ She smiled at him, reassured that Maddie’s advice had been wrong. ‘I kept your photo with me all the time and imagined making love to you,’ he continued. ‘You kept me going when little else could. Hank was probably the same. Maddie made him feel alive.’

  ‘I only had eyes for you,’ she said quietly, her face flushing with pride. ‘I had loads of offers. The Americans were everywhere. But I turned them down. All I could think of was you.’

  ‘You’re a very special girl, Rita, and I love you for it,’ he said tenderly. He pulled his cigarette packet out of his breast pocket. ‘Here, light me one, would you?’

  Rita liked the smell of smoke, it reminded her of those early evenings on the cliffs when they’d both smoke together after school, and of her father, who always lit up in the car on his way home after work. Now she lit the cigarette for George, took a drag herself, then handed it over. He held it between his thumb and forefinger and placed it to his lips. She attempted to put the packet back in his breast pocket but it was obstructed by a thick piece of paper. She pulled it out. It was her photograph. She was young. Not more than Maddie’s age. It was black and white and faded somewhat due to so much handling.

  ‘I think this needs replacing,’ she said, slipping it back.

  ‘Absolutely not. I’ll carry that picture until I die.’

  ‘There won’t be a picture by then,’ she replied with a chuckle. ‘It’s faded already.’ He couldn’t tell her that he had taken to kissing it after each flight. Such a sentimental ritual seemed trite with hindsight.

  They pulled up at Lower Farm and tooted the horn. The children ran out of the house and hung onto the gate, squealing in delight at the prospect of a picnic on the beach. Alice emerged with Faye, carrying baskets and rugs which they loaded into the truck, and Mildred scampered out of a barn followed by Trees whose hair was white and fluffy and dancing on the wind like goose down. George and Rita joined the girls in the back and pulled the children up with them while Faye and Alice climbed into the front with Trees at the wheel. As the truck pulled out into the road they all broke into song while Mildred wagged her tail in time, pleased to be included.

  They parked on the cliff next to Humphrey’s Lee Francis and proceeded to walk down the little path to the beach. The sky was choppy like the sea and buoyant with feathery clouds and sea gulls that glided on the fresh westerly wind. George and Trees carried the picnic while Rita took little Johnnie’s hand to guide him down the hill. The salty air was sweetened by the fertile smell of new grass and wild flowers, and Rita turned her eyes to the left where they had walked the evening before and her thoughts were once again drawn away from the present.

  Humphrey and Hannah had set down the rugs near the bank where they’d be protected from the wind and while he stood smoking, gazing out across the ocean, she was carefully laying out the containers of food and thermos flasks of tea and hot cocoa. When they saw the approaching group they waved enthusiastically.

  ‘What a jolly idea, Faye,’ said Hannah happily. ‘Pity about the wind, but at least it’s sunny.’

  ‘We just thought it would be nice to spend the day all together.’

  ‘With dear George,’ Hannah added, smiling fondly. ‘Hasn’t he grown into a handsome young man?’

  ‘I know, I’m very proud,’ replied Faye, turning to make sure that he was out of earshot.

  ‘To think we may share grandchildren.’ Hannah sighed. Then she added hastily, ‘God willing.’

  ‘Oh, wouldn’t that be nice. Grandchildren are such a blessing. Johnnie and Jane give us so much pleasure. I’d like to see George settling down with a family. He’s been through so much.’ Her face suddenly darkened with anxiety. ‘Well, I’m sure he’ll talk to Trees. After all, he served in the Great War. He understands.’

  ‘What a brave young man. Our fighter pilots were the heroes of the war. You must be so proud.’

  ‘I am,’ she said. She couldn’t begin to explain how grateful she was that he had survived and dared not speak of her fears to anyone, not even Trees. ‘Now, let me help you. I’ve got some leftover rabbit stew, the farm is literally hopping with rabbits. Trees takes Johnnie up to the woods in his truck and they spend long evenings shooting them. Johnnie’s riveted. He worships his grandfather. I can’t cook much,’ she said, remembering the welcome home cake, ‘but I can cook a good rabbit stew thanks to your mother’s recipe. Did you invite Primrose?’

  ‘Goodness no! We want a little peace, don’t we?’ They both laughed and looked at Trees, who was sitting on the rug talking to Humphrey. Of all of them, he was the one person who truly appreciated Mrs Megalith, for she was just as passionate about walnut trees as he was, and for such a taciturn man he was remarkably verbose when talking to her.

  After lunch George set up a treasure hunt for the young by drawing trails into the sand with a shell, then burying a bag full of boiled sweets at the very end of one trail. There were many red herrings and it took him half an hour to complete for the lines he drew weaved around rocks, into caves and for long distances across the beach. Finally Johnnie and Jane set off with the help of Eddie, Maddie and Alice. Their laughter and squeals of delight resounded across the bay, carried on the wind with the cries of gulls and the roar of waves. The grownups drank cider, smoked and talked so that George and Rita were able to sneak over the rocks and across the strip of sand to their secret cave without being noticed.

  It was warm and damp inside and quiet out of the wind. He swung her around and kissed her. ‘Careful, they might find us,’ she said, pulling away.

  ‘Not in here they won’t. Believe me, it’ll take them hours to find the treasure.’ He grinned at her triumphantly and kissed her again. He smelt of smoke and tasted of cider. His hands ran over the skirt of her dress, against her thighs and over her bottom and she felt a warm wave of arousal wash over her. ‘They can leave us here and we can walk back to your house later,’ he mumbled, burying his face in her neck and tasting the salt on her skin. But to her dismay, Rita remembered her grandmother.

  ‘I have to go to Megagran’s for tea,’ she said with a heavy sigh.

  ‘Can’t you go tomorrow?’

  ‘You know Megagran.’

  He pulled away and frowned impatiently. ‘There’s no one like Mrs Megalith to dampen one’s ardour.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, running her fingers through his hair.

  ‘Well, no point wasting time,’ and he bent his head to kiss her again.

  Chapter 4

  ‘Ah, Rita,’ said Mrs
Megalith as Rita appeared through the arch in the garden wall. ‘You can help me with these crystals.’ She picked up a large amethyst and handed it to her granddaughter. ‘Careful, it’s heavy. Now, that one goes in the drawing room, on the table as you go in, you’ll see the gap. It’s my favourite so don’t drop it.’

  Rita obediently put it in its place then helped with the others. There were many, of every shape and colour, and Mrs Megalith took great pleasure in telling her the properties of each as they placed them all over the house. ‘Just feel the energy in them now they’ve soaked up the elements. Nothing like a good clean.’ She stood on the terrace, clasped a large blue sodalite to her bosom and closed her eyes. She breathed deeply while Rita stood quietly, waiting for this moment of spiritual ecstasy to end. A ginger cat slipped sinuously between Mrs Megalith’s ankles, rubbing his fur on her thick stockings. Rita picked it up and held it against her until her grandmother finally opened her eyes. ‘Magical, simply magical,’ she breathed enthusiastically. ‘Nature never ceases to delight one.’

  Rita followed her into the kitchen and was given a tumbler of elderflower cordial and a biscuit. At that moment the ginger cat sprang out of her arms. A couple of black ones dashed out from under the kitchen table and three or four jumped off the windowsills and disappeared outside in pursuit of something beyond the senses of human beings.

  ‘Cats never cease to delight one either,’ said Mrs Megalith, watching the last, very fat cat amble lazily through the door. ‘I seem to attract them. Every time I count I have more than the time before. God only knows where they all come from.’

  ‘Cats are most unaffectionate creatures,’ said Rita, thinking of Mildred and how much she loved to be petted.

  ‘There you’re quite mistaken, my dear. They obviously sense that you don’t like them.’

  Mrs Megalith was wrong for Rita loved all animals, even antisocial cats but she knew better than to contradict her grandmother. Biting her tongue, she followed her outside again and took a seat at the table on the terrace. The garden looked splendid, full of colour and the scent of spring.

  ‘You know a damned fox had a go at my Aylesburies last night. The wind blew the lamp out. What a wind there was last night! I found feathers all over the place. Fortunately my ducks escaped with little more than a fright. One’s missing but I suspect she’s sitting on her eggs. So Rita,’ she said, fixing her granddaughter with an intense stare. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m happy, Grandma,’ she replied, averting her eyes, sure that her grandmother could see her innermost thoughts.

  ‘You look well, if slightly apprehensive. What’s on your mind?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m just happy to have George back.’

  ‘And how is he?’ she asked. Rita wondered where her questions were leading.

  ‘Happy too. He wanted to come and see you with me,’ she lied, cringing as the colour in her cheeks exposed her.

  ‘Good gracious, there’s plenty of time for that. I wanted to see you on your own. I feel turmoil and uncertainty.’

  Rita shook her head. Mrs Megalith’s eyes darkened. They often changed colour, which unnerved those who didn’t know her.

  ‘Not at all. I’m very certain about George.’

  ‘No dear. Not you. In George.’

  Rita frowned and lowered her eyes. She wished she hadn’t come. ‘George and I are going to be married. We love each other.’

  ‘I know. You always have. But George will need you to love him more than ever.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Rita was very confused and a little frightened. She looked up to see a large black cat, almost the size of Mildred, staring at her from the roof.

  ‘He will need you to listen to him, Rita. He’s lived through a terrible war. He will need to talk about it. He’s suffered, my dear. He’s seen his friends killed and faced death himself. It will all seem like a horrible dream that he can’t communicate to anyone because they won’t understand. You have to try to understand him. I know, because my Denzil was never quite the same after the Great War, all that mustard gas and mud, a terrible business. The greatest casualty of war, my dear, is marriage and young people like you who are ripped apart by it. Give him time, but then talk to him. Don’t forget that the only relationship he has been able to rely on in the last five years is the one between him and his Spitfire. He has to learn to trust human beings all over again. Don’t let him become estranged to you.’

  Rita listened carefully to her grandmother. She might be an old witch but what she was saying made sense.

  ‘I want to understand him, Grandma, and I want to make him happy.’

  ‘And you will.’ Mrs Megalith smiled and her moonstone eyes softened to a gentle grey. ‘Now where did I put my cards?’

  While her grandmother limped into the drawing room Rita noticed a swallow dancing on the warm evening air. The sunlight was behind her and catching the tips of her wings as she flew. The bird was so light and buoyant she seemed to reflect Rita’s sense of optimism. She remembered how she used to watch them with George. ‘One day I’ll fly like a swallow,’ he had said and she had believed him. She recalled that the swallows returned to Elvestree every year to build their nest, and hatch their young in the top corner of the drawing room. Mrs Megalith enjoyed them so much she didn’t mind the mess they made and curiously they seemed to have grown accustomed to the cats and weren’t bothered by them. Rita raised her eyes to see that the scary black cat had slipped off the roof and disappeared. There was something eerie about Megagran’s cats.

  Mrs Megalith emerged from the dark drawing room just as the swallow flew in. She was shuffling the twenty-one cards of the Major Arcana. She only required her granddaughter to pick three for she had a specific question in mind. She sat down and settled her glasses on the bridge of her nose. Then she handed the pack to Rita, looking at her over her lenses.

  ‘Shuffle these for a while. Did you see the swallow?’ Rita nodded. ‘What a delight they are and what a privilege it is to offer them a home, year in year out.’ Rita shuffled the cards. ‘When you’re ready, think of George and pick three, giving them to me as you choose them.’

  Rita did as she was told. She visualized George’s face and remembered how cross he had been that their afternoon had been interrupted. Then she chose three cards from different parts of the pack. Mrs Megalith took them in her jewelled fingers, placed them on the table and turned them over one by one. The cards were brightly painted with elaborate pictures and Megagran always referred to them as ‘tools for spirit communication’. ‘They’re not magic in themselves,’ she would explain to a new sitter. ‘Spirit will lead you to pick the cards that will answer your question and guide you. My job is simply to interpret them and for that I follow my intuition for it is never wrong.’

  She stared at the cards for a long while then tapped the first one with her finger. ‘Temperance. My dear, this card is about you, at this present time. It is a card of emotional indecision. You see a woman in a virginal white dress, with a red cloak that represents the base vibration and a blue one – that represents a higher vibration – pouring water from one golden goblet into another. This represents a battle between sexuality and virtue. I don’t need the cards to tell me that, it’s written all over your face. My dear Rita, let it go and enjoy him. There is nothing wrong with making love as long as it is with love.’

  Before Rita had time to blush her grandmother tapped the next card. ‘The Fool,’ she stated, then sniffed knowingly. The card depicted a man at a crossroads, looking backwards with a grave face. ‘This is the card that reveals the circumstances that surround you.’ Rita looked at it. She wondered whether the white cliffs and the sea were representative of Devon, but Mrs Megalith continued stridently. ‘You will have a choice to make. It will not be an easy one. In fact, it will be life changing. You will not want to let go of the past for the past is your security. But trust your instincts and follow them for they never lie. I sense that the sea is literal; one path leads to it and to the ho
rizon beyond. That is the road that I feel you should take. You see the dog who accompanies this man?’ Rita nodded and thought of Mildred. ‘You won’t be alone. George will look after you.’ Rita didn’t think George would appreciate being the dog in the picture. He was a small white dog with short hair, not a big shaggy one like Mildred.

  ‘Ah, The Moon.’ Mrs Megalith picked up the third card and nodded knowingly. ‘A man gazing to the moon with his back to a woman who sits on the step looking up at him sadly. My dear, this is the card of illusion. The man is chasing the moon, which he will never attain. Don’t let George leave you behind, holding the cup of love like this poor girl.’

  ‘Thank you, Grandma,’ said Rita, relieved that it was over and nothing dire revealed. The only part that she remembered was the fight between her sexuality and her virtue. Her mother would be appalled to know that her own mother was encouraging sex outside marriage although she had heard it said that Megagran had enjoyed quite a colourful past before Denzil had made an honest woman out of her. Rita looked at her watch and wondered whether it would be rude to leave. After all, she had to prepare herself for the party.

  Mrs Megalith was aware that her granddaughter hadn’t paid much attention. She had watched her eyes glaze over for the second and third card. Unfortunately, the first card had diverted her attention from the two other more important ones. She took off her glasses and stood up. ‘I suppose you need to slip into your glad rags for the party,’ she said with an impatient sniff.

  Rita nodded. ‘I’d love to stay, but it’s getting late.’

  ‘Yes, yes. Quack quack jabber jabber and all that. Well, if you must. But don’t disregard the cards, Rita, or you’ll make a grave mistake.’ Mrs Megalith wondered why she bothered with such an unenthusiastic sitter. ‘If you ignore my advice, my girl, it will be at your peril.’