He breathed as quietly as he could, regained his composure, then peered around the wall like a spy. Rita looked beautiful in the burnt light, her face pale and serious with concentration. She was exactly as he remembered her. She didn’t look a day older. Her hair was still long and unkempt, her body fulsome, her clothes carelessly chosen. Even when she had tried to dress well she had looked scruffy. He tilted his head to one side, forgot his nerves and enjoyed the tranquil scene as his spirit remembered and filled his heart with love.
A light breeze rustled through the desiccated raspberry bushes, sweeping away her hair and exposing the side of her face. The face he had so often brushed with kisses and stroked with tender fingers. Where he had tasted the salt of the sea and the bitterness of her tears. How many times had he held that body in his arms? He could feel her now as if it had been only yesterday. The warmth of her flesh, the solid confidence of her affection, the unbound enthusiasm of her youth. He had thrown it all away. It was then that he noticed a small twinkle of light as she altered the angle of her hand. He recognized the little solitaire ring immediately and felt a flutter of pride tickle his stomach. She had kept the ring he gave her. Suddenly the promises they had made to each other the day of his parting came back in words that echoed across the years in ghostly whispers. ‘Every time you look at it I want you to remember how much I love you.’
‘And I want you to remember, every time you look up at that moon, that I love you too.’
Now the titmice began to eat from her fingers. He shrank back against the wall as if he had been scalded. He had made vows before God to love Susan for ever. If he gave into his desire now he would surely lose everything. His heartbeat accelerated and thumped against his ribcage. Choked with regret, his head buzzing with confusion, he staggered across the lawn, desperate to get away before she noticed him. He couldn’t possibly see her now; he didn’t trust himself. How was it possible to love two women? The thought of losing Susan filled him with complete desolation. The thought of coming face to face with Rita filled him with terror.
He hurried to the road and climbed into his car. As he turned on the ignition he saw in the rear mirror the yellow retriever running out of the driveway. He sped away without another backward glance.
Rita called for Tarka. ‘You silly dog!’ she exclaimed as she came trotting back into the garden. ‘What did you see out there?’ She patted the furry coat and shook her head. ‘You’re getting on, old girl. Chasing ghosts!’
She was pleased the titmice were now eating from her hands. She had learned how to tame them from her mother. Maddie used to paint such pretty birds, she thought to herself, such a shame that she had retreated once again into magazines and movies. As she wandered into the house she had no idea that George had only been a few yards away, watching her, or how close she had been to realizing years of futile dreams.
As George drove back to Lower Farm he realized that he could never see Rita again. As his mother had said, it is possible to live close to someone and never see them. Perhaps he would live out the rest of his days in Frognal Point and never come across her. For Susan’s sake and for the sake of their marriage, Rita must simply cease to be a reality.
Susan prepared supper. She was now getting used to living at Lower Farm. Faye had taken all her books and manuscripts, odd photograph frames and trinkets, but it was still full of their family things. Susan planned to redecorate. Faye’s taste was eccentric at best, shocking at worst. A blind person could have chosen better. She was grateful for the excuse for she wanted to make it into their home. At the moment she still felt like a guest, embarrassed to move anything for fear of offending her mother-in-law. George loved it just the way it was, for it reminded him of his childhood, but he understood her need to feel that she belonged. She looked at her watch and wondered when he’d be finishing for the day.
She was distracted by the sound of a car. She looked anxiously out of the window to see George pull up and turn off the ignition. As he climbed out she noticed that he looked different. His cheeks were flushed and his hair ruffled. He seemed younger, like the boy she had met on the deck of the Fortuna all those years ago. She wondered where he had been. And with whom.
He walked through the door to see her standing in the kitchen, leaning against the sideboard. In that moment, she appeared older. Her face was gaunt and lines had formed around the corners of her mouth, dragging it down. How strange that he hadn’t noticed before. They stared at one another warily. Neither spoke. The aroma of her cooking filled the room. Susan had never been a very good cook. In Argentina they had had the fortune to have Marcela. In Argentina they had had the fortune to be happy.