to.’
‘My dear Rita . . .’ began her mother, walking towards her with arms outstretched.
But Rita stiffened. ‘I’m fine, really. I’m going to have a bath.’ And she hurried out of the room.
The moment she had gone, Maddie burst into commentary. ‘What do you think has happened? They were quite happy this afternoon, ask Eddie!’ Hannah looked at Eddie hopefully.
‘They were kissing in the cave on the beach,’ said Eddie.
‘Which cave?’
‘You know, the one on the left as you walk down the path.’
‘I know the one. The swallow cave. They always used to build their nests there when I was growing up. Year in, year out. But what of it?’ she waved her hand dismissively and shook her head. ‘I wish Humphrey were here. He’d know what to do. I hope she’s all right. Should I go up and talk to her?’
‘Do you think he really doesn’t want to marry her?’ Maddie asked. ‘How dreadful. She’s waited years for him. What a bastard.’
‘Maddie, don’t use that sort of language please,’ Hannah chided gently. ‘I’m sure they’ve just had an argument or something. It’s probably nothing serious.’
‘But why’s he going all the way to Argentina when he’s only just got back?’ said Maddie, biting her bottom lip.
‘I don’t want Rita to leave,’ said Eddie in a small voice. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without Rita.’
‘Dear child, if Rita goes to Argentina we will all miss her, but we will all support her choice. Besides, they won’t stay there for ever, I’m sure.’ She picked up the chicken unenthusiastically. ‘When she comes down I think it would be better if we don’t talk about it. Unless she wants to, of course.’
When Humphrey returned from the office Hannah briefed him discreetly in his study. His face turned the colour of the plums in the garden and he knocked back a swig of Scotch. ‘He’ll marry her, by God,’ he said in a quiet voice. ‘She’s not going out to Argentina without that ring on her finger.’ Hannah felt more confident now her husband was back. Besides, when Humphrey spoke in such low tones he meant business. When the girls were growing up he never shouted at them when they caused trouble, just spoke to them with that icy calm and they trembled right down to their toes.
‘Have you talked to her?’ he asked.
‘No. Not yet.’
‘Well, let’s not make a mountain out of a molehill. After all, the boy’s just come back from the war, he needs time to adjust.’ Then just before he left the room he turned to her and added, ‘But I’ll tell you one thing, he’s not leading our Rita a merry dance and then not marrying her.’
No one mentioned George Bolton at dinner. Rita was aware that Eddie and Maddie were longing to discuss it, but she kept her thoughts to herself. She didn’t even tell them that she had been to see Megagran. When things got bad, Rita liked to lick her wounds in private.
Unable to sleep, she sat on the window seat and stared up at the moon. She wondered whether George was staring up at it too and thinking of her.
Max wandered across the garden and down to the estuary, his path illuminated by the bright, phosphorescent moon. In his hand he held a worn book of poetry that had once belonged to his mother. He thought of Rita and their conversation in the kitchen. At times like this he missed a mother’s advice. He’d like to tell her about Rita. He imagined she would have approved his choice, in spite of the fact that Rita wasn’t Jewish.
His mother had been an actress, a bohemian in long flowing dresses and soft fur stoles; his father a wealthy banker, ennobled by the last Emperor Charles for giving the imperial house its final loan. Max could remember hanging around the Imperial Theatre which his father had built especially for his mother after he had first seen her perform as a young girl. He used to relish telling them how he had lost his heart to her the moment she first floated onto the stage. So bright was
‘My dear Rita . . .’ began her mother, walking towards her with arms outstretched.
But Rita stiffened. ‘I’m fine, really. I’m going to have a bath.’ And she hurried out of the room.
The moment she had gone, Maddie burst into commentary. ‘What do you think has happened? They were quite happy this afternoon, ask Eddie!’ Hannah looked at Eddie hopefully.
‘They were kissing in the cave on the beach,’ said Eddie.
‘Which cave?’
‘You know, the one on the left as you walk down the path.’
‘I know the one. The swallow cave. They always used to build their nests there when I was growing up. Year in, year out. But what of it?’ she waved her hand dismissively and shook her head. ‘I wish Humphrey were here. He’d know what to do. I hope she’s all right. Should I go up and talk to her?’
‘Do you think he really doesn’t want to marry her?’ Maddie asked. ‘How dreadful. She’s waited years for him. What a bastard.’
‘Maddie, don’t use that sort of language please,’ Hannah chided gently. ‘I’m sure they’ve just had an argument or something. It’s probably nothing serious.’
‘But why’s he going all the way to Argentina when he’s only just got back?’ said Maddie, biting her bottom lip.
‘I don’t want Rita to leave,’ said Eddie in a small voice. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without Rita.’
‘Dear child, if Rita goes to Argentina we will all miss her, but we will all support her choice. Besides, they won’t stay there for ever, I’m sure.’ She picked up the chicken unenthusiastically. ‘When she comes down I think it would be better if we don’t talk about it. Unless she wants to, of course.’
When Humphrey returned from the office Hannah briefed him discreetly in his study. His face turned the colour of the plums in the garden and he knocked back a swig of Scotch. ‘He’ll marry her, by God,’ he said in a quiet voice. ‘She’s not going out to Argentina without that ring on her finger.’ Hannah felt more confident now her husband was back. Besides, when Humphrey spoke in such low tones he meant business. When the girls were growing up he never shouted at them when they caused trouble, just spoke to them with that icy calm and they trembled right down to their toes.
‘Have you talked to her?’ he asked.
‘No. Not yet.’
‘Well, let’s not make a mountain out of a molehill. After all, the boy’s just come back from the war, he needs time to adjust.’ Then just before he left the room he turned to her and added, ‘But I’ll tell you one thing, he’s not leading our Rita a merry dance and then not marrying her.’
No one mentioned George Bolton at dinner. Rita was aware that Eddie and Maddie were longing to discuss it, but she kept her thoughts to herself. She didn’t even tell them that she had been to see Megagran. When things got bad, Rita liked to lick her wounds in private.
Unable to sleep, she sat on the window seat and stared up at the moon. She wondered whether George was staring up at it too and thinking of her.
Max wandered across the garden and down to the estuary, his path illuminated by the bright, phosphorescent moon. In his hand he held a worn book of poetry that had once belonged to his mother. He thought of Rita and their conversation in the kitchen. At times like this he missed a mother’s advice. He’d like to tell her about Rita. He imagined she would have approved his choice, in spite of the fact that Rita wasn’t Jewish.
His mother had been an actress, a bohemian in long flowing dresses and soft fur stoles; his father a wealthy banker, ennobled by the last Emperor Charles for giving the imperial house its final loan. Max could remember hanging around the Imperial Theatre which his father had built especially for his mother after he had first seen her perform as a young girl. He used to relish telling them how he had lost his heart to her the moment she first floated onto the stage. So bright was
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