The Swallow and the Hummingbird (39 page)

Bobby looked across at him and smiled. ‘Sure feels good, doesn’t it?’ he said into his speaker.

‘Better than anything else in the world.’

PART TWO

Chapter 25

Frognal Point 1963

Faye sat listening to Thadeus play the violin. Outside, the afternoon sun was obscured behind black clouds that rolled angrily across the sky. The autumn wind clawed at the windowpanes as if struggling to get in to where the fire blazed in the grate, filling the small sitting room with warmth. She shivered, not from cold, but because she was afraid of returning home in such a storm.

She watched Thadeus, now seventy-eight years old, his long grey beard and deep-set eyes unchanged by the years, and knew that she loved him more than ever. They had grown together and fused like the branches of a tree, the past decade having only strengthened their affair and cloaked it in secrecy. He closed his eyes for he knew the music by heart and played it often. A sad tune that reminded him of his Polish past and all that he had loved and lost there at the outbreak of the war.

She, too, closed her eyes, felt the heat of the fire on her face and saw the shadows of dancing flames on the backs of her eyelids. The music made her melancholy. George had been away for so long and she doubted, in rare moments when self-delusion didn’t convince her otherwise, that he would ever come home. She focused her thoughts on her son and the life he had chosen at the other side of the world. She and Trees had travelled to see him twice, the last trip being over five years before. They had met their two grandchildren, Charlie and Ava, and spent three weeks staying with Agatha and Jose Antonio. But the years had fallen away like leaves in autumn, so many and so fast that now, at sixty-four years of age, Faye worried that the last leaf might fall and she would never see them again. And even if she did, her grandchildren would be strangers.

Hannah had grown distant. Faye didn’t see much of her and Humphrey these days, except in church and sometimes in the village shop. They never asked about George. Perhaps if Rita had married they would have been able to put the past behind them and forgive. But Rita was now thirty-six, still single and leading an increasingly eccentric life in a rented cottage the other side of Bray Cove. Like her mother, she put out grain to attract the birds and spent hours taming them. Faye had heard that she had cultivated a beautiful wild garden, inviting all sorts of animals, from hedgehogs to hares, to play among the foxgloves and lilac bushes. When she wasn’t in her garden or down on the beach she ran the library in town where she had worked for over ten years. She channelled all her energy into organizing reader evenings with authors with whom Max put her in touch and poetry classes with a retired Oxford professor who had recently moved to Frognal Point. She never dated and took little interest in her appearance, her hair wild and unkempt and her clothes long and flowing. In spite of her chaotic life style she retained a natural beauty; her skin was pale and youthful and her eyes an unusual shade of brown. She retained the naïvety of her youth and seemed not to mature as others did. There was something timeless about Rita. She had never resumed their sculpting evenings, but Faye knew that she still sculpted for, not only was there a rather dark and dramatic statue of a heron in flight in the library, but the lady who ran the crafts shop in town had told her that Rita came often to buy supplies.

Maddie remained friendly, and was lovelier than she had ever been. Happiness had given her eyes a healthy sparkle and motherhood had brushed her complexion with a gentle radiance. She had three children: Freddie, born in 1947; Daisy who came unexpectedly two years later; and Elsbeth, born some eighteen months after Daisy. Maddie told Faye that Rita loved her nephew and nieces as much as if they were her own. When she wasn’t working or sculpting, she was at Bray Cove teaching them about birds, crustaceans and other sea creatures. They sailed out in a small boat and caught crabs, lobster and trout and lit fires on the sand at dusk, the wind carrying their voices as they sang songs to the hesitant strumming of Rita’s second-hand guitar. Rita and Maddie made picnics as they had done as children and ate their sand-filled sandwiches on the beach watching the children make treasure trails as George had done. For Maddie life was an idyll. Harry had published his book to much acclaim and it was now translated into fifteen languages. He had made money, but they hadn’t changed their lifestyle or bought a bigger house. They were happy as they were.

Eddie had surprised everyone by going to Bristol University where she had studied zoology. She had met her husband while working on an African game reserve a couple of years after graduating. Hannah now knew the pain of parting with a child as well as Faye did, but they never spoke of it. Eddie had made her life out there with the beasts of the jungle and it was doubtful that she would ever come back. Frognal Point couldn’t boast lions and leopards and Eddie’s interests had moved beyond bats. But Hannah was proud of her daughter and if she felt saddened by her absence she never let it show.

Faye opened her eyes as a sudden flash of lightning filled the room with a white phosphorescent light. She sat bolt upright as a crack of thunder ripped the sky apart and the clouds gave way to heavy rain. Thadeus stopped playing and put down his violin. They looked at each other in amazement at the unexpected viciousness of the storm. Another flash and Faye stood up.

‘I had better get home,’ she said anxiously. ‘Trees will be wondering where I am.’

‘You can’t drive home in this storm. It’s not safe.’

‘Then I’ll wait for it to pass. The thunder’s so loud it must be right above us.’

‘It won’t be long. Let’s watch it, shall we?’ he suggested, walking over to the window. It was almost dark outside. Another blaze of lightning illuminated the garden for a moment with a shuddering flash of silver. Faye stood beside him and took his hand.

‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ she said quietly. ‘When I was a child, my father once told me that thunder was simply clouds knocking into each other. I believed it until not so long ago. It seemed so logical.’

Thadeus chuckled. ‘Children accept what they are told, then adults forget to put them right. I laugh at some of the things I believed as a boy and continued to believe into manhood.’

‘Adults try to make their children less fearful with stories.’

‘Or more fearful in order to prevent them hurting themselves or going where they shouldn’t.’

‘I miss George,’ she said suddenly.

Thadeus put his big arm around her and drew her against him. ‘I know,’ he replied and his voice was little more than a groan. He too knew what it was to miss one’s children. ‘Children belong to God and are put temporarily into our care. Still, it doesn’t make it any easier, does it?’

‘Love hurts so much,’ she said, nuzzling her face into her chest. ‘Loving you hurts, Thadeus.’

He cupped her face in his strong hands and stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. ‘But it is through suffering that we can experience joy, Faye,’ he said with a smile and a tear trembled on his lashes like a ball of dew on the web of a spider.

When the storm had subsided a little, Faye drove home. She focused on the road but Thadeus was all she really saw. If only Trees would disappear, she thought disloyally, then she could spend the rest of her days with Thadeus. He needed her. Trees, on the other hand, needed no one but his walnuts.

When she arrived at Lower Farm the wind was still strong. Leaves were strewn all over the ground and were being blown up against the farm buildings like waves crashing against rocks. She ducked her head and ran inside, her shoes splashing through puddles that had collected on the pathway. Once inside, she shouted for Trees and, when there was no reply, she assumed he’d fallen asleep reading the papers by the fire in the little sitting room. She put the kettle on the Aga and took a couple of mugs down from the cupboard. The kitchen was silent, like a dark cavern. She made the tea and carried the mugs through the hall to the sitting room, only to find it empty.

‘Trees!’ she shouted into the hall, frowning in bewilderment. He couldn’t possibly be out on a day like this, but there was no question about it, he was not in the house. She sat down in his armchair and drank her tea alone, wondering where he had gone and feeling a little afraid. Then she was struck by an idea. It was not unlikely that, even on an afternoon such as this, he was out with his walnut trees. ‘Damn those bloody trees!’ she swore, maddened that she had wasted time worrying when he was quite obviously nurturing his stupid trees. No doubt one of them had fallen over in the storm or been struck by lightning.

She decided to go and check. She put on her coat and strode across the grass to the copse where walnut trees of all sizes grew in more than an acre of lovingly cared for grounds. She shouted his name but there was no answer. Fear began to wind its fingers around her throat. Sensing something ominous, she walked faster. ‘Trees!’ she shouted again. Still no answer. Then she saw ahead a sight of terrible devastation. One of the thick branches of a mature tree had been struck by lightning and had fallen to the ground directly beside Mildred’s grave. She swallowed hard and placed a trembling hand over her mouth. As she got closer she saw two booted feet, brown trousers and finally the inert body of her husband, his head beside Mildred’s headstone. She ran to him and crouched down in an effort to resuscitate him. She pressed her ear to his heart, praying with all the force she could muster that she might hear a faint beat, but only the heavy silence of death filled his chest. He was gone. He must have fallen and hit his head on the gravestone. Cradling him in her arms she sobbed quietly and hoped it had been quick and that he had suffered no pain. She couldn’t bear to imagine him calling out for help while she was in the arms of her lover.

News of Trees’ sudden death spread around Frognal Point like sea mist in winter. No sooner had Faye watched his body depart in an ambulance than a car turned into the farm and drew up outside the house. It was Hannah. Faye was so distraught that Hannah forgot her resentment and embraced her old friend. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, her voice cracking with sincerity, for suddenly, in the face of death, she realized that their feud had been petty. The two women stood embracing in the gale and the drizzle, then walked inside where it was warm but silent and empty.

Faye slumped into a chair while Hannah put the kettle on the Aga, then leaned back against it. She folded her arms and her face crumpled with sympathy. ‘I can’t believe it, Faye. What was he doing out there on a day like this?’

Faye raised her bloodshot eyes and sighed. ‘His blasted trees.’ She gave a bitter laugh. His obsession had finally killed him.

‘He so loved his walnuts.’ Hannah shook her head in disbelief. There was a long pause while she took a couple of cups down from the cupboard and two teaspoons out of the drawer.

Faye’s lips had turned very pale and began to tremble. ‘I wasn’t even there,’ she said in a whisper.

‘Where were you?’

‘I went into the village to see Thadeus.’

‘That old Pole?’ Hannah frowned. She had no idea that Faye even knew Thadeus.

Faye nodded. ‘He commissioned a sculpture, a bear, and I had completed it. I took it over and stayed for hours. He’s a fascinating man. If I had known . . .’ She bent her head, guilty that lying came so easily. Hannah narrowed her eyes. She sensed there was more to Faye’s story than she was letting on. ‘He might have been calling for me,’ Faye continued miserably. ‘Perhaps he didn’t die instantly. What if he had shouted for help? There I was enjoying a cosy tea with Thadeus.’

Hannah turned and poured boiling water into the teapot. ‘Don’t torment yourself, Faye,’ she said soothingly. ‘There was nothing you could have done. He’s in a better place.’ She filled the cups and went and sat opposite Faye at the kitchen table. It was then that she noticed Faye was wearing her hair down. Hannah couldn’t recall the last time she had seen her friend with her hair loose.

‘What are you going to do?’ Hannah asked, taking a sip of tea. Faye stared into her cup.

‘George will have to come home and run the farm. I can’t do it on my own.’

Hannah stiffened. ‘Do you think he’ll come? Surely he’s made a life for himself out there?’

‘He’ll come,’ she said, smiling a little at the thought of being reunited with her son. ‘He was only supposed to be away for a year to learn about farming, then he was planning on coming back here to work with his father. Things didn’t turn out as any of us had hoped.’ She raised her eyes and looked imploringly at Hannah. ‘We didn’t wish any of what has happened on either Rita or George. I wanted George to live here with us. He had been away at war for so long, it hurt me to watch him leave again. I love Rita like my own daughter and now I never see her. I only hear about her from Maddie.’

‘It’s all in the past,’ said Hannah.

‘I know it is. Eighteen years have passed since George came back from the war. We’re old now. Who’d have ever thought it? I never imagined I’d live to the ripe old age of sixty-four. Trees was nearly seventy years old, that’s ancient. It’s the nineteen sixties, for God’s sake!’ She shrugged. ‘It’s right that George should come home and take over from Trees. He’ll want to, I know. He loved his father. He’ll be devastated.’

‘Tell me,’ Hannah ventured in a soft voice, her mind whirring with worry about how Rita would react to the news of George’s homecoming. ‘Does George have children?’

‘Two, a boy and a girl.’

Hannah breathed sharply. ‘How nice. Grandchildren are a blessing.’

‘I only wish I could have watched them grow up. Now Trees will never know them.’

When Hannah left she felt downhearted. She was saddened by Trees’ death and because she had allowed her friendship with Faye to unravel, but more acutely because George was coming home. She wondered how Rita would take the news. Why the girl hadn’t married someone else, she couldn’t understand. Things would be much less complicated if she had a family life of her own, rather than sharing Maddie’s. She seemed happy enough, though. Kept herself busy. Max was a loyal friend. He was now an extremely successful producer in London. Her mother never stopped telling her how brilliant he was and how well-known he was becoming. He was spreading his tentacles into television, but Hannah couldn’t see the advantages in that, she was more than satisfied with her wireless. More important than his career, to her, was the fact that he made Rita laugh in a way that no one else could, a deep, throaty laugh that made her eyes water and her cheeks flush. In those fleeting moments, Hannah saw Rita’s potential, what she might have been had she made different choices. Max seemed to bring out the confident young woman whom George had sent into hiding. When he was around it was as if George had never existed. Of course, some day he would find a nice girl and marry and then he’d have no time for Rita. He was an attractive, successful man. If there had ever been a chance of a sexual attraction between them it would surely have happened by now.