The Swallow and the Hummingbird(13)

‘Not exactly,’ Rita replied carefully. ‘But he said we’ll marry soon.’

‘Words are cheap,’ said Mrs Megalith, knocking back her sherry.

‘Give him time, poor lad, he’s only just got back,’ Hannah interjected.

‘I think a quiet celebration is in order,’ said Humphrey happily. ‘Hannah, let’s open that bottle of wine we’ve been saving up.’

‘Oh, do let’s,’ she agreed, bustling over to the cupboard. ‘Maddie, hand out the glasses. Now where’s the corkscrew?’

Hannah had cooked a large shepherd’s pie, which she served with carrots and turnips from her vegetable garden. Rita soon warmed up although her feet remained as cold as a couple of frozen fish, reminding her of walking back up the beach with her toes in the sea. In fact, she could barely join in the conversation, so distracted was she by thoughts of their kisses in the cave.

‘Rita, come for tea tomorrow, I want to give you a reading,’ said Mrs Megalith darkly, watching her granddaughter with a perplexed look on her face.

Humphrey rolled his eyes. ‘Primrose, is it absolutely necessary?’ he asked, shaking his head and frowning with impatience. He didn’t want her frightening his daughter at this happy time.

‘Absolutely,’ she stated firmly. No one ever opposed Mrs Megalith.

‘I want one,’ chirped Eddie. ‘You never read cards for me.’

‘My dear child,’ replied her grandmother, ‘you’re too young to think about anything other than schoolwork. I don’t need to consult the Tarot to tell you that.’

‘But I might be about to die. You’d want to save me from death, wouldn’t you?’

Mrs Megalith dug her jaw into spongey chins. ‘Well of course I would, but the tarot has no death card, Eddie. That sort of thing comes to me in the form of intuition and I’m glad to say I’ve already looked into your future and am in no doubt that it’s going to be a long one — and a hot one!’ She grinned knowingly.

‘Well, I’m delighted by that,’ said Humphrey drily. ‘We wouldn’t want a funeral and a wedding, that would dampen everyone’s enjoyment.’

‘Really, Humphrey, sometimes your sense of humour is quite inappropriate,’ retorted Mrs Megalith.

‘Can I bring George?’ Rita asked.

‘No, you must come on your own. I want to talk to you in private.’

‘You haven’t seen something awful, have you?’ Rita was suddenly gripped with panic.

‘You see, Primrose, you’re filling the poor child’s head with unnecessary worry.’ Humphrey’s voice was crosser now.

‘It’s all right, Daddy,’ said Rita diplomatically.

‘Grandma wants to tell Rita about the birds and the bees,’ said Eddie with a giggle.

‘By the look in her eyes I think she knows enough about that already,’ said Mrs Megalith, draining her glass. Rita blushed and looked to her mother for support. ‘That really is very good wine, Humphrey.’

‘Yes, isn’t it?’ he agreed, holding up his glass. ‘It was water this morning.’

Hannah gasped and turned on him. ‘Humphrey!’

‘It’s even better if you dine on snails and spiders’ legs,’ he continued, chuckling.

Mrs Megalith’s mouth curled up at the corners and she looked down her nose at her son-in-law. ‘You may mock me, Humphrey Fairweather, but believe me when I say that I will have the last laugh.’ She turned to Rita. ‘Don’t blush, my dear, there’s no need. One should enjoy the attentions of a man without shame, after all it’s perfectly natural, isn’t it?’

Hannah tut-tutted and changed the subject. She knew her mother’s opinions and believed her an unhealthy role model for her impressionable daughters. She certainly wasn’t representative of her generation and Hannah was anxious for her to keep her dubious sexual history to herself.

Rita was tucked up in bed when Maddie knocked on the door. ‘Can I come in?’ she whispered, poking her head through the gap. When Rita nodded enthusiastically, Maddie walked in and sat on the end of the bed. ‘Was it wonderful?’

Rita smiled happily. ‘Oh Maddie, I’m so in love,’ she said, sitting up. ‘I only just managed to stop myself.’

‘What held you back?’

‘Well, you know. We’re not married.’

Maddie laughed. ‘For goodness’ sake, Rita, you’re not the Virgin Mary.’

‘But what if I get pregnant?’

‘You won’t if you use French letters. Or “rubbers” as Hank used to call them.’