It was a warm summer’s day. Gulls flew overhead, the tips of their wings catching the sunlight as they dived and glided over the cliffs. He felt God’s presence in the beauty of the morning and knew that He was with him on this very important mission. Of all his jobs as vicar of the parish this was one of his favourites. Yes, he enjoyed weddings, and funerals were an important part of the cycle of religious life, but individual meetings with members of his flock gave him the most satisfaction.
As he drove into the driveway he was impressed by the pretty home Rita had made for herself. Clematis climbed up the front of the house, tangled with white roses and honeysuckle, and large pots of lavender were placed outside the front door. He breathed in deeply, savouring the sweet smells of summer, and knocked on the door. Rita didn’t hear him for she was in the garden, weeding the flowerbeds. Reverend Hammond waited a while, with his Bible clamped under his arm, then wandered round the side of the house. When she saw him she stood up in surprise and frowned at him beneath her sunhat. Reverend Hammond had never visited her in all the time she had lived there. Someone must have died.
‘Ah, Rita, how nice to see you,’ he said, walking across the grass.
‘Is everything all right?’ she asked.
‘Yes, yes, everything is just dandy.’ He swept his eyes over the garden. ‘What a charming place this is.’
‘Thank you. I’m very attached to it.’
‘Lots of birds I see,’ he stated, noticing the birdbath and feeding trays.
‘I don’t attract as many as Elvestree, but the odd nightingale sings in the hedge and of course there are always swallows.’
‘How very nice.’
She looked at him quizzically, wishing he would get on with his business for she wanted to get back to her weeding.
‘I have come to talk to you,’ he said in a pompous tone, expecting her to be grateful. ‘I hear you’re now a full-time sculptress?’
‘Yes.’ Surely he hadn’t come to talk about sculpture!
‘No longer working in the library then?’
‘No.’
‘Right. Well, I suppose you know what you’re doing?’
‘I think I do,’ she replied coolly. ‘Is that what you want to talk to me about?’
‘Why don’t we sit down?’ he suggested.
She led him to the small terrace where there was a teak bench and table, and watched him settle comfortably. She dropped her shoulders in resignation. ‘Can I get you something to drink?’ she asked, realizing that he was intending to stay some time.
‘A glass of water would be most welcome. It’s a very hot day, don’t you think?’
When she returned with a jug and two glasses he was reading the Bible with his thick round spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose. ‘I gain great strength from God’s word,’ he said, looking up at her gravely.
‘It’s your job to,’ she replied with a grin. There was something comic about the old Reverend beating about every available bush to avoid getting to the point of his visit.
‘You don’t have to have my vast knowledge of the Bible to derive courage from it. I have noticed, Rita, that you no longer attend church. Do you want to talk about it?’
‘Not really.’
He took a gulp of his water and silently asked the Lord for assistance. This was one very stubborn sheep. ‘You used never to miss a Sunday. The place seems empty without you.’
‘I very much doubt that,’ she said crisply.
‘God used to reside in your heart, Rita.’ Now he peered at her over the top of his glasses like a schoolmaster.
‘Oh, but He still does, Reverend. My grandmother says that God is everywhere and that one doesn’t have to go to church to talk to Him.’
He stiffened at the mention of Mrs Megalith. ‘She’s right, of course,’ he said hastily. ‘God is indeed everywhere. I feel, however, that it is not due to a lapse in your faith that you are avoiding worship but due to the presence of George Bolton and his wife Susan.’
Now it was Rita’s turn to look uncomfortable. She closed her eyes in exasperation and shook her head. ‘I suppose you heard that from good Miss Hogmier?’ she asked, her voice steely.
‘No, no, of course not,’ he lied, silently asking forgiveness at the same time.
‘Well she’s right. I don’t go because I don’t want to see George with Susan. That’s very petty of me, I know. But I’m not holy like you, Reverend Hammond. I am a frail sinner.’
‘God teaches forgiveness,’ he ventured bravely.
‘I’m not ready for that yet.’
‘Rome wasn’t built in a day.’
‘It will take me a lifetime, Reverend.’
‘But you have to start sometime.’
‘When I’m ready.’
Reverend Hammond scratched his head. ‘Then let me leave you with this Bible. I was going to read you a passage or two today, but I’ve suddenly remembered another appointment.’
‘Are you sure? It’s a lovely old one.’ She took it and stroked the leather cover that was rough and worn with use.
‘Perfectly sure. You need it more than I. A man in my position has many Bibles. Return it one day when you no longer have need of it.’
Rita sighed, feeling that she had perhaps been a little harsh. He wasn’t, after all, a bad man. ‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said truthfully. She thought a moment then added in a firm voice, ‘I shall come to church from time to time.’
The Reverend’s face lit up and he quietly thanked the good Lord for His guidance. Rita watched him go, then took the Bible inside, put it on the sitting room table, and forgot all about it.
The following Sunday she kept her word and went to church. Knowing that George would be there, she spent a long time in front of the mirror, combing her hair, trying to remember how Maddie had suggested she wear a little foundation and rouge, choosing which summer dress to put on.
By the time she parked on the green her nerves were in tatters. She sat for a while watching people go in, frightened that she would find herself face to face with George and not know what to say. Finally she saw her parents with Maddie and the children and she quickly got out of the car to meet them. Their surprise was obvious. Humphrey patted her back a little too hard and Hannah persuaded her to join them for lunch, tempting her with treacle sponge and a possible sighting of a spotted flycatcher. Maddie had left Harry at home; he was now working on another book, which kept him deep in his office or in his thoughts. Daisy was looking out for Charlie, who had become her closest friend, Freddie was sulking because he didn’t like sitting through Reverend Hammond’s boring sermons, and Elsbeth had made a flamboyant hat out of some of the feathers she had collected. Rita was happy to be among them and felt stronger as they all walked in together.
‘About time you wore a little makeup,’ said Maddie approvingly once they had sat down. ‘It suits you. You don’t look so pale and sad.’
‘I never look pale and sad,’ retorted Rita in offence.
‘Yes you do. All that pining for George is nonsense.’ Rita felt irritated and opened her hymn book. ‘You should have married Max.’
‘How do you know about that?’ Rita asked in surprise for she hadn’t told anyone of his proposal.
‘Megagran told Mummy.’
‘Typical!’
‘Well, you’re a fool,’ she hissed.
‘Will you mind your own business!’
Maddie suddenly grabbed her arm. ‘Look, there’s George and Susan. You know Daisy has a crush on Charlie. History repeating itself somewhat!’ Rita turned around to see them walk up the aisle, flustered because they were late. Reverend Hammond was already tapping his foot on the floor with impatience.
Susan saw Maddie and smiled before she noticed Rita sitting quietly beside her. To Susan’s surprise Rita’s face had acquired a subtle beauty, quite different from the ashen young woman she had seen in the village shop the previous winter and from the plump child who had grinned out from Mrs Megalith’s mantelp
iece of photographs. Her skin glowed with a delicate translucence and her hair was thick and shiny, cascading down her back in curls. Her cheekbones were accentuated by the weight that she had lost but her loveliness had more to do with her poise than with individual features. Susan’s eyes darted quickly to her husband but he was searching for a place to sit and hadn’t seen her.
Rita felt as if the eyes of the entire congregation were upon her, eager to see her reaction. She remained very still as the sweat gathered behind her knees and under her arms. Reverend Hammond waited for George and his family to settle down before he began the service. As they were sitting a few rows in front of her on the other side of the aisle Rita was able to watch him without fear of him noticing.
George was now forty-two. He still had a thick head of curly hair but it was greying at the temples and receding a little at the front. His shoulders were broader and he had certainly filled out around the waist. No longer the lean hero of the Battle of Britain, he was still handsome and charismatic and Rita believed she still loved him. Rita transferred her gaze to Susan. The tidy blonde hair pulled back into a shiny chignon at the nape of her long white neck reminded her of Faye, and the neat pearl necklace, elegant dress and understated hat betrayed a sophistication that she could never acquire. She now noticed the scar but time had done much to heal the wound that had once sliced through Susan’s face so cruelly, making it fainter and less harsh. Rita thought it detracted nothing from her beauty and couldn’t help but envy her, for she had everything that Rita wanted. It was like watching someone else living her life for her. Someone lovelier, more urbane, making a much better job of it than she could ever have done. She didn’t feel Susan’s discomfort or sense the hostility that surrounded her, preventing her from becoming a real member of the community. She wouldn’t have guessed it was out of loyalty to her, because she was one of them and Susan was a usurper. Only when she went up for communion did George see her and his look of surprise made her falter as she walked back down the aisle.
George’s face drained of colour and turned as sallow as wax. Time had done nothing to diminish her loveliness, in fact, it had enhanced it. She wasn’t the tragic creature his mother had described, but the confident girl he had dreamed of, running up the sand with her arms outstretched, chasing the birds into the air on the tail of the wind. He could only watch helplessly as she floated towards him, a few feet away but so out of reach as he stood in the queue for communion with Susan and the children right behind him. Rita steadied herself and drew her shoulders back. She felt as if she were walking in slow motion for the moment seemed unnaturally extended. As she moved closer she saw something in his countenance that unsettled her. Something alien. Something unfamiliar. Hastily she searched beneath the surface for the insouciant young man she loved but couldn’t find him. He was no longer there.
She settled back into her seat beside Maddie, who took her hand and held it for support without realizing that she no longer needed it. When George walked back down the aisle he cast a fleeting glance in her direction then swiftly withdrew his eyes and turned into his pew. His face was grim. Susan followed him but she didn’t look at Maddie. Determined not to let Rita cause her any more anxiety she tried not to dwell on the intense manner in which she had gazed upon her husband. She had no reason to feel insecure. George had made his choice a long time ago and they were very happy together. If Rita made him feel uncomfortable it was simply that seeing her so obviously alone must make him feel guilty indeed.
At the end of the service the congregation spilled out into the aisle and George was unable to reach Rita. He longed to talk to her. Perhaps that would do something to settle his rattled spirit. He saw the top of her head as she made her way out of the church with Maddie and struggled to move past the gossiping villagers. Susan watched him closely. She knew what was on his mind and she tried to convince herself that it would be a good thing if they spoke. Perhaps it would exorcize the ghost once and for all. She noticed that Charlie had already squeezed past his father and was talking to Daisy outside in the sunshine with her mother and grandparents while Ava had found Elsbeth doing pirouettes on a gravestone.
Frustrated that he couldn’t move any faster, George was tempted to throw people out of his way with brute force. Finally the slow-moving herd fanned out into the churchyard and he squinted in the bright sunshine. He scanned the faces for Rita’s. Susan saw her husband scour the yard and the disappointment that caused his face to sag. Then the rumble of an engine caught his attention and he cast his eyes across the green to where Rita was starting her car. Susan walked up behind him but she didn’t slip her hand into his as she once would have done. They both watched the car pull out. They both saw Rita turn and look at them. Her eyes settled on George for what seemed an interminable moment. Then she drove away.
Chapter 33
Rita sat on the beach with Pepper, one of the young bohemians who had been camped up on the bank in their orange Volkswagen all summer. It was early September. The amber glow of sunset seemed all the more wistful through the wafting cannabis smoke. The low strumming of a guitar resounded across the bay, carried on a gentle breeze that brought with it the cool undertones of autumn. Pepper’s friends were at the other end of the beach, building the fire and setting up for the night. Rita had grown tremendously fond of them all, especially Pepper, whose positive, untroubled nature reminded her of herself as a young girl, before George had returned from the war.
But right now her thoughts weren’t for George but for Max whom she missed as much as if she had lost a vital part of her body. What bothered her most was that their friendship had ended so viciously. They had shouted at each other, said things they regretted and they were both too proud to extend the olive branch. Rita longed for him to telephone her and apologize. She had played the conversation over and over again in her mind, imagining what she would say. However, she hadn’t yet the courage to acknowledge her deepest feelings.
‘You’re thinking of Max, aren’t you?’ said Pepper in her aristocratic voice. Christened Petruska she had been born in the highlands to an eccentric Scottish earl who left his staid English wife for a famous Russian dancer he had met in Moscow between the wars. Pepper was the product of that union. She had more money than she could spend and parents who were a great deal more interested in each other than in her. ‘Why don’t you just telephone him and apologize?’ she asked, running a hand through her long red hair.
‘He should apologize to me,’ Rita replied indignantly. She patted Tarka who lay sleeping by her side and dragged on her joint. ‘After all, he walked off and left me.’
‘One of you has to do it or you’ll end up a lonely old maid.’
‘I’m not lonely, I have all of you.’
‘We’ll be leaving soon.’
‘Leaving?’
‘Well, you didn’t expect us to hang around here indefinitely, did you?’
Rita was shocked. ‘I thought you liked it here.’
‘In the summer when the weather’s good. It’s getting colder now. I thought I might go to art school. I like painting. Mother wanted me to be a dancer like her, but my feet are too big. She would have preferred me to be pretty and petite like her. Sadly, I take after Papa. Maybe I’ll go to Florence.’
‘I’ll miss you,’ said Rita truthfully. Pepper had become a good friend. Someone she could confide in who was nothing to do with Frognal Point.
‘Come to Florence. You can learn to sculpt with the masters, surrounded by the best works of art in the world.’ It amused Rita that Pepper thought everyone had as much money as she did. In fact Rita was having trouble paying her bills now that she had given up working in the library.
‘I couldn’t leave Tarka.’
‘Bring her with you. Florence is the city of love. You’ll forget all about George and Max with all those delicious Italian men.’
‘That’s my problem, Pepper, I don’t want to forget. I like it here, surrounded by my memories and my family. If only Max hadn’t g
one and ruined it all by proposing.’
‘He’ll have got over you by now. You know what men are like. Fickle. Archie gets through women like an anteater on an ant hill.’ She giggled at the thought of her friend who drove into town every evening in search of fresh blood. ‘He’s got to go back to Oxford. Term starts in October. I don’t want a boyfriend or a husband. They just complicate your life.’
‘Love complicates everything. To think that all the time I thought we were best friends, he was in love with me,’ she said. ‘I had never looked on him in that way. Now I’ve broken his heart.’
‘And George’s,’ Pepper added.
Rita sighed. ‘I have loved George all my life. Or have I?’
‘What do you mean?’ Pepper scrunched the butt of her joint into the sand.
Rita narrowed her eyes as the blinding sun slowly began to sink into the sea. ‘Maybe Max was right about George.’
‘What did he say?’
Rita frowned. ‘That for all these years, I’ve been in love with someone who no longer exists.’
Autumn swept in with gales and storms and Rita’s small band of drifters packed up and left, returning to their privileged lives. The winter months were dark and cold. Rita thought about Max often, picking up the telephone before losing courage and replacing the receiver. She didn’t see George again for Susan had convinced him to attend church in the neighbouring parish and, little by little, he ceased to occupy her thoughts as he had done before. Once or twice she visited their secret cave to feel the warmth of his presence there, as if he too had sought the comfort of memories in that special place only moments before. Now the bittersweet taste of those memories was distant and intangible for she had learned that she could never bring them back, or the George with whom she had grown up: Max had been right.
The Swallow and the Hummingbird Page 39