Maddie was currently sleeping with two different men. One was the son of the local builder, Steve Eastwood. He was strong and muscular with thick blond hair and brown eyes as soft as suede. His hands were rough and calloused but he knew how to caress a woman without scratching her. He spoke with a strong country accent and his smile was wide and confident and deliciously boyish. Maddie enjoyed making love to him. In his arms she felt feminine and vulnerable. The other, Bertie Babbindon, was rich and grand but boring. With sleek black hair and a Jensen he considered himself something of a playboy, sent her flowers, gave her expensive gifts and kissed her like a wet afternoon on the beach.
Maddie had never been in love. She didn’t understand her sister’s pining for George. She only understood lust. Until Harry Weaver arrived in Frognal Point.
‘Who’s Harry Weaver?’ Maddie asked her mother, screwing up her pretty nose. ‘Do we have to stick around for lunch? I was going to spend the day with Bertie.’
Hannah stiffened. She didn’t much like Bertie Babbindon. He was arrogant, selfish and flash at a time when ostentatious wealth was considered tasteless. He had done nothing to help with the war effort, hiding away at the family schloss in Switzerland until it was safely over. He had probably learned German just in case the Allies lost. She looked out of the kitchen window at the thin sprinkling of snow that glittered in the early morning sunlight. A couple of shiny cock pheasants strode across the lawn, scratching the snow with their claws. They had probably flown over from Elvestree where Megagran put corn out for them all winter.
‘I would very much like you all to be here. He’s a charming man and knows no one. He’s bought that dear little white house on Bray Cove.’
‘What does he do?’ asked Maddie. She caught Rita’s eye and pulled a face.
‘He’s a writer.’
‘What’s he had published?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. But he’s a bird-watcher. That’s how I met him.’
‘How boring!’ Maddie sighed. ‘As Aunt Antoinette would say, birds, what’s the point of them?’
‘Is he married?’ Rita asked.
‘Divorced. I just think it would be nice if we adopted him. Poor thing, he’s all alone in the world.’
Maddie slouched in the armchair and sulked. Sundays were just like every other day for her, whereas Rita enjoyed having the day to herself. It had been a couple of weeks since she had lost George’s letter to the sea, since Aunt Antoinette had bullied her, since Max had kissed her on the cheek. She had written a four-page letter to George, telling him about Antoinette and the cats, Eddie’s unnatural interest in witchcraft, her new job at the library in town and her father’s campaign to prevent a site of virgin land, not far from Frognal Point, being destroyed by developers. In her large flowery handwriting she reminded him of the summer, those balmy evenings up on the cliff watching the gulls, and their secret trysts in the cave. She confessed that she missed him more than she could express in words. She adored the pendant and the diamond ring, which she looked at every day, and remembered that he loved her. She would wear both on her wedding day. She had asked to borrow Megagran’s dress, by the way, and her mother was going to take it in for her. Not that it needed much altering – her grandmother had been true to her word – and the dress was so much more beautiful than she had imagined, with embroidered vines and pearls and lace. She sealed the letter with her tears and sent it with love. She hoped it would have the power to keep him faithful.
Bertie’s Jensen arrived at ten, scattering a trio of pigeons fighting over a crust of bread on the gravel. Maddie agreed to go for a drive with him as long as he got her back by lunchtime.
‘Mummy wants me to meet an old bird watcher,’ she explained, rolling her cool blue eyes and flicking her hair off her shoulder. ‘Says he doesn’t know anyone. That’s no surprise; bird watchers are a lonely bunch. He’s a writer, apparently, but has never had anything published so he can’t be very good.’ Bertie was disappointed. He had hoped to take her into Exeter for lunch.
When Harry Weaver arrived at the house in a rusty old banger, Maddie was being kissed and pawed by Bertie in the back of his Jensen in a lay-by five miles outside Frognal Point. Hannah was furious. At least Rita and Eddie hadn’t let her down. Humphrey shook Harry’s hand firmly as if he were an old friend. Harry had that effect on people. He was woolly, affable and ungainly with an easy, natural charm. He smiled and his rugged face folded into lines and creases. He looked weather-beaten, as if he’d been exposed to the elements. His hair was greying at the sides and receding at the front but it rebelled on top and stuck up in triumphant tufts. His eyes were a soft grey fanned by long, dark brown lashes, the envy of many a woman to whom nature had not been so generous.