Hannah continued to knit. She didn’t want to encourage her youngest to put her nose into other people’s business, even though Eddie’s news was heart-warming.
‘What were you doing down there?’
‘Collecting shells with Amy. I wasn’t spying, I promise.’ Eddie flopped into an armchair. ‘So does that mean Rita will be leaving us?’
‘I don’t know. We’ll have to wait until she gets back.’
‘She’s always down on the beach. She should have been born a sea gull!’
‘What would that make you, then?’ Hannah laughed and paused her knitting needles to give full attention to her most amusing child.
‘A bat like Harvey.’
‘They’re rather ugly little things, bats.’
‘Not Harvey, he’s beautiful. Daddy always says that beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. I think he’s adorable.’ She pulled him off the sleeve of her jersey and held him in her hands. ‘Look at his little nose and shiny eyes. I swear he smiles at me.’
‘I thought bats were blind.’
‘He can sense me, though. We’re real friends.’
‘Then you’re most certainly not a bat, my dear, for you see far too much for your own good.’
Rita returned home with the good news. Humphrey poured himself a whisky and Hannah telephoned her mother.
Mrs Megalith put down the receiver and shook her head ominously. ‘That was Hannah. George is going to Argentina and Rita is going to wait for him here,’ she said to Max and Ruth. ‘It’ll come to no good. I feel it in my bones.’
‘For how long is he going?’ Max asked, putting down his book.
‘He has no plans. He’s just going to fly out there and take it as it comes. Damned casual if you ask me.’ Mrs Megalith sat down at her card table and plunged her hand into a bowl of small crystals. She breathed deeply, dragging the energy up her arms and into her tense shoulders. When she opened her eyes there were five cats sitting at her feet, licking their fur. ‘Rita should go with him,’ she said, ignoring the cats.
‘It’s not proper to go as an unmarried woman,’ said Max, not wishing to encourage Rita to leave Frognal Point.
‘Damned convention. She should flout it and leave or she’ll lose him.’
‘He might fall in love with someone else,’ said Ruth, who said very little but listened to everything.
‘He might well, Ruth, dear.’
Max rubbed his chin. ‘Poor Rita,’ he muttered.
‘She’s young, young people recover very quickly. A broken heart is a heart ready to be put together again. She’s far more resilient than Humpty Dumpty, I assure you.’ She touched her moonstone pendant thoughtfully.
Max recalled the night before when Rita had cried in his arms. She wouldn’t notice him now that she was happy. He stepped over the cats and out into the dark. He lit a cigarette, the way George did, holding it between his thumb and his forefinger. How he wished that he had been old enough to fight in the war, to wear a smart blue RAF uniform with wings. George was a brave and glamorous man. A hero. How often had he heard it said that it was because of men like George that the Nazis hadn’t occupied Britain? Where would he be now if Hitler had won? Dead like his parents? He would have liked to have blown some Nazis out of the sky. But he was still a boy and boys didn’t impress girls like Rita. He wandered around the garden, illuminated by the lights of the house. It was quiet, except for a cooing pigeon and the odd cough of a pheasant. If the war had continued he could have signed up. Now he’d never be a hero. But one thing was certain, he’d make something of his life, for his parents, for Rita, and then, when he had made his fortune, he’d buy back the Imperial Theatre his father had built and restore it to its former glory.
The autumn passed and winter set in. The day of George’s departure arrived and Rita was reminded of the day he left for Malta. She felt the same hollowness inside, the same wrenching of the gut, the same dread of being left on her own again with nothing but letters to connect her with the man she loved. But she told herself the sooner he left the sooner he would return and the sooner they would marry and begin their life together.
It rained all morning. George picked her up in the truck and they drove to the beach one final time. They hurried down the path and across the sand towards the cave. The sea was tempestuous, the sky grey and dark. There were few birds, black-headed gulls mostly, their barking banter carried on the wind with the salt and sea spray. It was a mournful sight. Looking at the desolate bay Rita felt spring would never again flower on this shore.