Read Online The Swallow and the Hummingbird by Santa Montefiore - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Santa Montefiore
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surprise Mrs Megalith narrowed her eyes.
‘Not this one,’ she replied with a grin and George raised his eyebrows. Was it possible that she was being flirtatious?
‘You’re a bright star shining through war-torn Britain, Mrs Megalith.’
‘Thank you, George. You certainly know how to flatter an old girl. Now where’s your father? I hear he’s had some more information on that rare variety of French walnut.’
‘What is so special about walnut trees?’ Rita asked. Then when Megagran launched into a lengthy explanation she wished she hadn’t asked.
‘Dear girl, how much time have you got? They are very special trees with a fascinating history. Really, I’m surprised George hasn’t already told you. Walnut is so precious it was believed to belong to the Gods, that they ate it! The Persians referred to the nuts as “Royal Nuts” and it was a crime to touch them. The Greeks brought the tree to Rome in about one hundred BC where they grew at the time of Christ and the Romans brought them to England. It’s the most beautiful timber, deliciously rare and expensive. You have to guard your mature walnuts with your life, like Trees does, bless him. The one that overlooks your house, George, is a real corker! There’s nothing batty about your father, he’s a genius, a wonderful, much misunderstood genius. I bet he has one of the largest collections of walnuts in the country. Oh, and squirrels love them and we love squirrels, don’t we?’ Rita nodded, remembering how she used to feed them as a child in Megagran’s garden. ‘Especially barbecued with a little bacon,’ she added, smacking her lips.
‘Pa’s over there,’ said George, pointing to his father, towering at least a head above everyone else. When she moved regally on, Rita rolled her eyes.
‘Why did I get her going? I was simply humouring her.’
‘You need never humour a witch. They humour themselves. It must be a hoot to live like she does, with cats and cards and crystal balls.’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps she gets lonely,’ Rita said. ‘Even with all those cats.’
‘Not with Max and Ruth. They must be saints to live with her.’
‘They have no choice, poor lambs,’ said Rita with a smile.
‘But she’s never dull. The world has enough dull people in it. She’s a spark of colour in a grey world.’ For a moment his face clouded and he looked sad. She touched his arm and remembered her grandmother’s advice.
‘I’d like a glass of cider,’ she said. ‘I want to toast your homecoming more than anyone.’
‘Right, follow me,’ he said, smiling once again, and they weaved their way to where the drinks were set out at the far end of the barn.
Max and Ruth had arrived with Mrs Megalith but had got left behind in her wake and swept to one end of the barn where the barbecue was cooking. After a moment of hesitation, Ruth was dragged off by Eddie and her friends, leaving Max alone with a glass of cider. He watched his sister and felt heartened by her happy face. He was aware that, although Mrs Megalith was like a mother to them, they were very much alone in the world and he felt desperately protective of her. She was still a child and he was now seventeen. He ran a hand through his hair and surveyed the room. His eyes settled on Rita who was nuzzled up against George, and he suffered a pang of jealousy. He was ashamed that he had hoped George might not come back from the war. Shocked that he was capable of such a thought. He took in her long wild hair and pale face scattered with freckles like a thrush’s egg and wished that she would look at him with the same devotion she reserved for George. He wrenched his eyes away for the sight only caused him pain and observed with amusement the rapacious eyes of the Elvestree witch.
Mrs Megalith had the rare ability of being able to concentrate on many things at the same time. While she listened to Trees telling her about the French walnut trees he hoped to import to Devon, she noticed
‘Not this one,’ she replied with a grin and George raised his eyebrows. Was it possible that she was being flirtatious?
‘You’re a bright star shining through war-torn Britain, Mrs Megalith.’
‘Thank you, George. You certainly know how to flatter an old girl. Now where’s your father? I hear he’s had some more information on that rare variety of French walnut.’
‘What is so special about walnut trees?’ Rita asked. Then when Megagran launched into a lengthy explanation she wished she hadn’t asked.
‘Dear girl, how much time have you got? They are very special trees with a fascinating history. Really, I’m surprised George hasn’t already told you. Walnut is so precious it was believed to belong to the Gods, that they ate it! The Persians referred to the nuts as “Royal Nuts” and it was a crime to touch them. The Greeks brought the tree to Rome in about one hundred BC where they grew at the time of Christ and the Romans brought them to England. It’s the most beautiful timber, deliciously rare and expensive. You have to guard your mature walnuts with your life, like Trees does, bless him. The one that overlooks your house, George, is a real corker! There’s nothing batty about your father, he’s a genius, a wonderful, much misunderstood genius. I bet he has one of the largest collections of walnuts in the country. Oh, and squirrels love them and we love squirrels, don’t we?’ Rita nodded, remembering how she used to feed them as a child in Megagran’s garden. ‘Especially barbecued with a little bacon,’ she added, smacking her lips.
‘Pa’s over there,’ said George, pointing to his father, towering at least a head above everyone else. When she moved regally on, Rita rolled her eyes.
‘Why did I get her going? I was simply humouring her.’
‘You need never humour a witch. They humour themselves. It must be a hoot to live like she does, with cats and cards and crystal balls.’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps she gets lonely,’ Rita said. ‘Even with all those cats.’
‘Not with Max and Ruth. They must be saints to live with her.’
‘They have no choice, poor lambs,’ said Rita with a smile.
‘But she’s never dull. The world has enough dull people in it. She’s a spark of colour in a grey world.’ For a moment his face clouded and he looked sad. She touched his arm and remembered her grandmother’s advice.
‘I’d like a glass of cider,’ she said. ‘I want to toast your homecoming more than anyone.’
‘Right, follow me,’ he said, smiling once again, and they weaved their way to where the drinks were set out at the far end of the barn.
Max and Ruth had arrived with Mrs Megalith but had got left behind in her wake and swept to one end of the barn where the barbecue was cooking. After a moment of hesitation, Ruth was dragged off by Eddie and her friends, leaving Max alone with a glass of cider. He watched his sister and felt heartened by her happy face. He was aware that, although Mrs Megalith was like a mother to them, they were very much alone in the world and he felt desperately protective of her. She was still a child and he was now seventeen. He ran a hand through his hair and surveyed the room. His eyes settled on Rita who was nuzzled up against George, and he suffered a pang of jealousy. He was ashamed that he had hoped George might not come back from the war. Shocked that he was capable of such a thought. He took in her long wild hair and pale face scattered with freckles like a thrush’s egg and wished that she would look at him with the same devotion she reserved for George. He wrenched his eyes away for the sight only caused him pain and observed with amusement the rapacious eyes of the Elvestree witch.
Mrs Megalith had the rare ability of being able to concentrate on many things at the same time. While she listened to Trees telling her about the French walnut trees he hoped to import to Devon, she noticed
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