The Swallow and the Hummingbird (49 page)

Rita missed Max more than she had anticipated. An empty, Max-shaped space echoed in her heart and no one else could fill it. She retreated again into her sculpting. Once she had moulded clay in order to maintain her links with Faye and indirectly, with George, but now she sculpted to ease the pain of losing her friend. She didn’t notice that as spring brushed off the winter pallor and painted the countryside once again with colour, the shadow of Max’s absence began slowly to eclipse George.

Reverend Hammond was aware that Rita no longer attended church. He knew it was because of George and Susan, which he considered a weak excuse for not worshipping as one ought. As God’s mouthpiece he felt it his duty to teach her about forgiveness and to guide her back into the light. After the Christmas service when her non-attendance had been shamefully noticeable he resolved to pay her a visit. Miss Hogmier wasted no time in filling him in with the details of the latest developments. ‘That Jew-boy asked her to marry him,’ she said with a snort when he went into the village shop to buy tea-bags for his wife.

‘Max?’ Reverend Hammond exclaimed in surprise.

Miss Hogmier folded her arms in front of her and nodded. ‘And she refused him.’

‘Was that not a foolish move?’

‘I would say so. A girl like Rita should be grateful for small mercies. She’s not getting any younger and a Jew-boy is better than none.’

‘Perhaps a quiet word from me might change her mind. I would hate to see her growing old alone. Not that there’s any stigma attached to that,’ he added hastily when he noticed Miss Hogmier’s nasal hair begin to twitch.

‘I don’t think even God can change that girl’s stubborn mind,’ she said huffily.

‘She’s one of God’s lost sheep, Miss Hogmier. It is my job to lead her home.’

‘Do what you will, Reverend Hammond, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. She has quite a tongue on her at times, like her grandmother.’ She shifted her eyes about the shop for cats, then added in a low voice, ‘About time the old witch met her Maker and took all her little spies with her.’

Reverend Hammond waited for a suitable moment to approach Rita. His opportunity came in the summer, after Ruth Kahan was delivered of a rosy little girl whom she named Mitzi, after her mother. To his dismay he heard from Miss Hogmier, who made it her business to know everyone else’s, that Rita had left her job at the library to become a fulltime sculptress.

‘She’s cavorting with a group of scruffy-looking rich kids who have set up camp down on the beach for the summer,’ Miss Hogmier informed him, pursing her lips in disapproval. ‘They’re leading her astray. It’s because of them that she feels she no longer has to work for a living, as if the good Lord will rain down manna from the heavens. They sit around camp fires, singing and playing guitars. I don’t know who she thinks she is these days with those strange dresses and beads. I imagine her mother despairs of her with her uncombed hair. It’s practically reached her waist. In my day women took more pride in their appearance. Look at me, it might be the nineteen sixties but I still sleep with my hair in rollers and wouldn’t be seen dead in the street without a little makeup. I’d scare off my customers if I didn’t make an effort to look my best.’

Reverend Hammond drove up the coast, beyond Bray Cove, to where Rita lived in her little cottage overlooking the sea, with the intention of persuading her to open her heart once again to God. On the passenger seat sat an old Bible with faded gold edging and a frayed ribbon marking the place from which he was going to read to her.

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 mantelpiece 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.