The Swallow and the Hummingbird (30 page)

Chapter 19

The following morning Harry arrived at Hannah’s kitchen door in bright sunshine, holding a little cardboard box and a book. There was still a fierce wind but the clouds had been blown away leaving a cerulean sky against which sea gulls wheeled, crying their plaintive song into the icy air. Hannah was still in her dressing gown having just fed the birds and broken the ice in the birdbath. She waved at him through the window. Maddie fled the kitchen to change before he laid eyes on her old nightdress and cardigan, and Eddie ran to the back door to open it for him, thrilled by his unexpected visit. She didn’t suppose he had come for her; no one could talk of anything but Rita’s suicide attempt. But Eddie didn’t complain. She had convinced her mother that she should stay at home to comfort her, so Hannah had made two telephone calls, one to the library where Rita worked and one to the village school. Both the headmistress and the head librarian were most understanding.

‘Good morning, Harry,’ chirped Eddie happily. Then she mouthed secretively that Rita was very pale and quiet. Harry nodded and mouthed back that he had brought her a book to distract her. ‘What’s in the box?’ Eddie asked, standing on tiptoe because the lid was punctured with air holes.

‘A surprise for you,’ he said. Eddie’s face lit up.

‘For me!’ she gasped. ‘Mummy, Mummy, Harry’s brought me a present!’ And she skipped into the kitchen to tell her mother. Harry strode in behind her, slightly bent, almost apologetic.

‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Hannah asked.

‘That would be nice, thank you.’ Then he asked after Rita.

‘She’s still in bed. The first day of the rest of her life, I suppose,’ she replied gloomily. Then she forced a smile. ‘What’s this you’ve brought for Eddie?’

‘I’ve brought a book for Rita. It’s an old favourite of mine.
Fables of La Fontaine
.’

‘How good of you. She loves books and I’m sure that will take her mind off things for a while. Thank you.’

Then he bent down and handed Eddie the box. She took it with great care for she knew it contained something living. With shining eyes she gently lifted the lid. Her mouth dropped in wonder as she looked down at the little creature blinking nervously up at her.

‘A rat!’ she exclaimed in delight.

‘An African gerbil,’ Harry corrected. ‘I’ve got a nice big cage filled with wood shavings and a bag of food in the car.’

‘Oh, Harry! You’re so generous. I love him already!’ She took the opportunity to wrap her free arm around his hips and bury her face appreciatively in his stomach. He patted her back and chuckled.

‘I’m glad you like him. What are you going to call him?’

Eddie didn’t need to think about it. ‘I’ll call him Ezra Gunch,’ she said proudly.

Hannah laughed and her heavy spirits lifted quite unexpectedly. ‘Where did you find a name like that?’ she asked in amusement.

‘I made it up,’ she replied. ‘I was going to find another bat, like Harvey, and I decided that I would call him Ezra Gunch. But Harvey wouldn’t like me to love another bat. He was very jealous, you know. An African rat is much more appropriate. He can’t be jealous of a rat, can he?’

‘Of course he can’t,’ Harry agreed. ‘He’ll like to live up your sleeve and play on the floor in your bedroom. We can make him a run outside, if you like?’

‘Oh, what a good idea. He’ll need fresh air and exercise,’ she enthused, taking him out of his box.

Eddie swung around to introduce Ezra Gunch to Maddie who now stood in the doorway dressed in a tweed skirt and sweater, her hair neatly brushed, her lips shining crimson and pouting shamelessly.

‘What’s that? A rat?’ Maddie asked, screwing up her nose in disgust at the furry little creature that wriggled about in Eddie’s hands.

‘It’s a gift from Harry,’ Eddie replied importantly.

‘It’s adorable,’ Maddie replied silkily, restraining her natural inclination to grimace. She looked up at Harry from under thick black lashes and smiled.

‘Good morning, Harry.’

‘Good morning, Maddie.’ Harry blinked in wonder at her beautiful face and sensual body that seemed to simmer beneath her clothes. He immediately felt awkward and couldn’t think of anything to say.

Hannah handed him a cup of tea and indicated that he make himself comfortable at the kitchen table. Maddie followed him and placed herself in her father’s chair. Humphrey had driven off to work at dawn without saying a word. He hadn’t smiled or even said ‘good morning’, which was most unusual. He had spent a sleepless night devising elaborate plans of revenge on George, which was quite out of character, then imagined Rita’s fragile body falling from the cliff like a stone. Her misery affected him in a way that he could never have imagined. He felt cheated, made a fool of but, more crucially, useless. His child was broken and he was incapable of putting her back together again.

Harry drank his tea, aware that Maddie watched him with her sharp, alluring eyes. He knew she was infatuated with him. Even at his most unassuming he could sense when a woman was drawn to him. Not that women fell over themselves to seduce him – in fact, it had only happened on two occasions – but he instantly recognized that predatory, calculating look and the way they leaned towards him breasts first. However, he didn’t dare contemplate a relationship. Maddie was like the forbidden fruit at the top of the tree. The juiciest, softest, most succulent of peaches, temptingly swelling with ripeness in the autumn sunshine. Not only was she forbidden but she was way out of his reach, like the apple in the Garden of Eden. He was not prepared to yield to temptation and pick it.

‘What did you bring for Rita?’ she asked, having overheard his conversation with her mother from her bedroom upstairs.

‘A book.
Fables of La Fontaine
.’

‘That’s nice. When she’s finished with it, I’ll read it,’ she lied.

Harry was eager to get back to his book. The one he had been writing for the last two years: an epic tale of love and betrayal in war-torn France. He was struggling with the love aspect of it. When he got up to leave, Maddie declared that she was going with him. Harry knew she wasn’t intending to paint birds on the beach dressed like that and there was nothing more to do in his study, or his house for that matter. But Maddie was determined.

‘Can I read what you’ve written so far?’ she asked, deciding she’d tackle the problem of actually reading the book once she got there.

Harry was about to shake his head and explain that it wasn’t nearly ready to be seen, but then he was struck with an idea. Maddie was young, intelligent and sensitive. Perhaps she could be of help and give him an honest opinion. Maddie could certainly be counted on to speak the truth without the slightest hint of tact.

‘All right,’ he said, straightening up. ‘Let’s go.’

He left the book for Rita on the table, said goodbye to Hannah, Eddie and Ezra Gunch, and climbed into his car, followed excitedly by Maddie. She was determined to make herself indispensable.

Once at the cottage, Harry lit the fire in his study and settled her onto the sofa with the manuscript of the book so far. She gulped at the weight of so many pages, but was encouraged to see that at least it was typed in double spacing. He put some Tchaikovsky on the gramophone, brought her a cup of tea and a biscuit, then left her to it, while he tapped away on his typewriter, disappearing further and further into the wintry world of war. Maddie noticed to her delight that the painting she had done of the bar-tailed godwit was framed and hanging on the wall above his desk.

She read the first few lines, took a bite of her biscuit then watched his back as he worked. She loved his tufty hair, his broad shoulders, the way his shirts always creased, however well they were ironed. He dwarfed the little desk and chair like a giant in a fairy tale, yet he was gentle and modest as if unaware of the power of his size. He didn’t feel her stare for he continued to type, pausing every now and then to find the right word. During those moments he would lift his chin and search for inspiration out of the window. Then his fingers would type again, very fast and efficiently, before he lost his train of thought. But he never looked around. Maddie resigned herself to the fact that she wasn’t going to get any attention however much she huffed and puffed behind him and began to read again. To her surprise by the third page she was scanning the lines with increasing speed and no longer taking a break to glance longingly over at him. He had an engaging, fluid way of telling a story. She felt she was really there in the small French town of Masmatre. She could smell the smoke in the café, hear the low hum of voices, taste the coffee and croissants. To her surprise she enjoyed it so much her tea grew cold in the mug and the rest of the biscuit remained untouched on the plate.

By lunchtime she had finished the first ten chapters and was reluctant to stop when Harry suggested they find something to eat. She stood up and stretched, leaving the manuscript on the sofa. She found cold meat and salad in the larder and a loaf of bread in the bread bin. She knew her way around his kitchen better than he did and laid the table with all that she could find. Then they sat down to eat.

‘Lie if you don’t like it,’ he said with a shy smile, bracing himself for her commentary. He was used, but not immune, to Maddie’s candour. Maddie was pleased her opinion mattered and chewed on a piece of bread to keep him in suspense. ‘Please say you like it,’ he begged finally. ‘If you hate it, don’t be too brutal, writers are very sensitive.’ Maddie took a sip of water and sat back in her chair.

‘I love it,’ she replied truthfully. ‘I really feel as if I’m there. I am Molly Cosgrove, the spy, the adventuress, the brave heroine of your story. She’s daring yet sensitive, capricious yet vulnerable, beautiful but not in a conventional way. It would make a terrific film.’ Harry seemed to swell with gratitude.

‘You really do like it?’ he asked, and finally Maddie felt important to him.

‘I love the way you write. You don’t go into too much detail. You keep the momentum of the story going. I’m dying to know what happens. I can’t stand it, I’ve got pages and pages to go. I’m dreading the sad bits. Does she fall in love? Have I met him yet?’ Harry grinned, a wide, infectious grin that consumed half his face.

‘I’m not telling you,’ he teased. Maddie giggled.

‘Oh, please. Tell me she doesn’t fall in love with Klaus the Nazi?’

Harry shook his head. ‘I said, I won’t tell you.’

‘There’s a dark chemistry already. He’s handsome and cold, attractive but dangerous. Very dangerous and predatory. I hope she doesn’t have an affair with him, she’ll get hurt.’ Then her eyes glittered. ‘Oh no! She’ll have an affair with him to glean information, won’t she?’ Harry raised an eyebrow. ‘Tell me I’m right?’

She moved her face closer to his, but he simply smiled at her secretively. Then her impulses got the better of her. In her excitement she kissed him. The smile suddenly disappeared and a worried frown darkened his face. They stared at one another for a moment, Maddie in surprise and Harry in panic. Neither spoke. For once Maddie couldn’t think of a clever thing to say. She waited for him to either kiss her back or tell her to leave. She suddenly wished she hadn’t ruined the moment. He studied her face anxiously and she searched his eyes for an indication of his thoughts. She could hear their breathing and feel the heavy thud of her heart as if they were cymbals and drums in her ears.

‘Maddie,’ he began, but his voice was little more than a croak.

She was quick to take action. Instead of backing away she suddenly realized that the best form of defence was attack. She placed a finger over his lips and shook her head. Then slowly she removed it. His mouth remained shut but his eyes communicated his fears. Maddie leaned forward and pressed her lips once more on his. She opened them very slightly and traced her tongue over the inside of his mouth. Harry was unable to resist. He wound his hand around the back of her neck and drew her to him. Then he was kissing her passionately to the sound of Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concerto pounding loudly from the sitting room next door. She felt his rough cheek with trembling fingers. In that moment, when the lines of reality and fiction misted, she was Molly Cosgrove and he Klaus the Nazi. With one movement of his arm he swept the remains of the lunch to the other end of the table. A glass fell over and water spilt onto the floor but they didn’t care, it simply enhanced the drama of their encounter. To Maddie’s delight and amazement, she discovered that Harry was as impatient as she was. He didn’t carry her up to the bedroom, as she had imagined, or make love to her on the sofa in front of the fire, but right there on the kitchen table. Under the influence of his sexual desire Harry Weaver became a different person. The lover so often found in fiction but rarely in reality. He was commanding, sensitive, generous and sensual. He made Hank Weston, Steve Eastwood and Bertie Babbindon look like amateurs. By comparison with Harry they were gauche and fumbling, their awkward attempts to excite her like the heavy-handed exploring of schoolboys. Harry had the slow, gentle touch of a man who knew exactly how to pleasure a woman and Maddie writhed and moaned beneath him like a brazen whore experiencing true orgasms for the first time after years of faking them.

When they lay together, bathed in each other’s sweat and the juice of that forbidden fruit now picked and devoured, Maddie sighed with happiness, unaware that her lover’s sighs were heavy with guilt and regret.

‘Good morning, Miss Hogmier,’ said Reverend Hammond as he popped into the village shop to post a parcel to his brother-in-law in Nottingham. ‘Lovely morning, isn’t it!’ he exclaimed heartily.

‘Quite beautiful. I hope Rita Fairweather doesn’t walk out on the cliffs today.’ She raised her thin eyebrows at him provocatively. Reverend Hammond nodded slowly.

‘Quite so,’ he replied cautiously as if he were afraid of being overheard.

‘Fancy that! Wanting to kill oneself over a man!’ Miss Hogmier had never been loved or in love so the very idea was alien to her.

‘Poor Rita. It’s a harsh blow indeed to have one’s dreams shattered so young.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I don’t believe she really wanted to kill herself.’ Miss Hogmier tut-tutted and rolled her eyes at his naïvety.