The Swallow and the Hummingbird(55)

Rita was desperate. She shed tears of fury and frustration. Having waited a month for such a letter it was now gone. Mortified, she touched the pendant with gratitude and consoled herself that at least the wind hadn’t taken that. She walked slowly back up the path downheartedly, her head bowed low to protect her face from the icy gale. She sniffed miserably and tried to remember exactly what George had written. She decided to write it down the minute she got home so that she wouldn’t forget.

As she walked back through the village, her eyes lost on the road in front of her, she bumped straight into the mad Pole, Thadeus Walizhewski. He too had his focus fixed on the ground. He rarely met anyone’s eyes for he hadn’t the need or desire to make friends. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered. He noticed at once her tear-stained face and blue lips and was filled with compassion.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked, and his voice was so deep and gentle it took her by surprise. She felt an expanding lump lodge itself in her throat.

‘Yes,’ she replied unconvincingly.

‘You look cold. Come.’ He took her elbow and led her up a narrow lane and through a small gate almost hidden in a thick hedge. ‘Let me make you a cup of something hot. You are in no state to be walking alone on a day like this.’

For an instant, when she gazed up at him with her large, sad eyes, he was reminded of his daughter. He felt a stab of pain in his chest, but was quick to dispel the memory. It was not healthy to dwell on those moments of fear and anguish for they were past, and only became present in the mind if one allowed them to.

Thadeus’ cottage was warm and vibrated with a strange tranquillity which gave Rita the feeling that she had been there before. It smelt familiar. Even the clutter of manuscripts and books was reminiscent of somewhere else. Then she made the connection. Lower Farm had the same sense of cosy chaos. The same scent of burning wood in the grate, of kindness and hospitality. She felt she could throw off her boots and curl up on the sofa. That Thadeus wouldn’t mind. She had never really spoken to him before. If she hadn’t been so utterly miserable she probably wouldn’t have now, but he had sounded so understanding and it was dreadfully cold out there in the wind. She took off her coat and settled into an armchair beside the fireplace. She breathed in the smoky air and found it pleasantly comforting. Thadeus came back with a pot of tea on a tray. None of the china matched and the teapot was chipped. Without saying a word he walked over to the gramophone and put on a record of Strauss’s Alpine Symphony. At once the notes filled the room, injecting her with the cheerfulness that she had lost out there on the cliff top.

‘“If music be the food of love, play on,”’ he said, sitting down on the armchair opposite.

‘Shakespeare, Twelfth Night,’ she replied with a smile.

‘You see, you are already feeling better.’ He nodded gravely. ‘Only love can make a woman weep so.’ Rita poured herself some tea.

‘You have a lovely home,’ she said, stirring in the milk.

‘I am very happy here,’ he replied. ‘You must be Rita Fairweather.’

‘Yes, I am.’ She laughed because it seemed absurd to be sitting in his house having never been properly introduced.

He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. Then his eyes fell onto the pendant that hung about her neck.

‘That is a very pretty necklace,’ he said admiringly. ‘Did George give it to you?’

‘Yes, I received it today. I was out on the cliff and the wind blew away his letter.’

‘Had you not read it?’

‘I had read it. Several times.’

‘But you are a sentimental woman and like to keep all his letters to read over and over, am I not right?’ He chuckled. ‘I thought so. I don’t imagine you ever found the letter?’

‘It’s at the bottom of the sea,’ she replied forlornly.

‘Imagine how much worse it would be had you not read it. Besides, I’m sure there will be more.’

‘I feel so foolish.’ She sighed and drank her tea.

‘But the dove is much more valuable. Words fade, but that is made out of silver and will be with you for always. You know, the dove speaks its own language if you listen to it.’ Rita laughed at the ridiculous thought, but Thadeus was serious. ‘You may think me a little eccentric but it is true. The dove speaks of peace, of love and reconciliation. It speaks of forgiveness, serenity and joy. In fact, George has sent you a message in a symbol. Much more original than a letter, don’t you think? When you are up on the cliff next time, when it is not so windy, take a good look at it and listen.’