The Swallow and the Hummingbird by Santa Montefiore Read Free Book Online Page A

kitchen and into George’s arms, throwing herself onto his knee. He laughed heartily as she pressed her warm face against his and kissed him passionately. ‘I’m so pleased you’re home. I missed you so much. More than Rita, I’m sure.’
    ‘I missed your monkey face too!’ he chuckled.
    ‘You’re a hero. Did you kill lots of Germans?’
    ‘Eddie, why don’t you let poor George eat his toast,’ said Hannah. ‘We’re spending the day all together on the beach, you can plague him with your questions then.’
    Reluctantly, she slipped off his knee and pulled out a chair. Rita wished they could spend the day alone and she linked eyes with George. He grinned, and her body trembled, for in his gaze she recognized the physical longing that she felt too, and the memory of the evening before returned to singe her cheeks with desire.
    Maddie emerged from her bath to the sound of a man’s voice downstairs that didn’t belong to her father. It was deep and grainy like sand and unmistakably George’s. She hastily dressed and did her hair in the mirror, rubbing a touch of rouge into her cheeks. Pleased with the result and with the doll-like prettiness that smiled back at her, she made her way downstairs to the kitchen.
    She was surprised by the change in George. He exuded an animal vigour that now replaced the boyish exuberance of before. She felt momentarily envious of her sister, and couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to lie beneath him. She had to avert her eyes and concentrate on something else in case the lasciviousness in them betrayed her thoughts. She had always liked George; he was witty and funny and charismatic, but she had never looked on him as a man . Now, having experienced physical love she could barely think of anything else. It had been so pleasurable she wanted more. Instinctively, she sensed the sexual tension between George and her sister like a hound smelling the blood of a fox and she wished her American hadn’t left so that he could satisfy her longing in the back of his jeep.
    Hannah took pleasure in preparing the picnic. Hard-boiled eggs from Elvestree House, cold chicken and salad, turkey sandwiches, Spam and cheese. She packed the boot of the car with rugs and took an extra cardigan for herself in case the weather changed, which it often did, quite unexpectedly. While she cooked she looked out of the kitchen window and watched Rita and George talking on the swing chair while Eddie lay on the grass hanging onto their every word. Maddie was on the terrace flicking through a magazine. She adored gazing at photographs of the Hollywood stars like Lauren Bacall, Jane Russell and Rita Hayworth, and spent much time in the bathroom trying to cultivate the same looks with lipstick and curlers.
    At eleven George drove the truck home with Rita by his side and Eddie and Maddie in the back, lifting up their hands to catch leaves from the trees that hung over the road.
    ‘God, it feels good to be back,’ he said, placing his free hand on Rita’s upper thigh. ‘It’s good to feel you too,’ he murmured.
    ‘Careful, there are little spies in the back,’ she replied, glancing through the window behind her.
    ‘Only one little one, and one rather knowing one,’ he said with a smirk. ‘Maddie’s lost more than her innocence in the war.’
    ‘How can you tell?’
    ‘A man knows these things.’
    ‘Do I look so naïve?’
    ‘Yes, but I like you that way.’ He squeezed her thigh.
    ‘Maddie gave herself to an American called Hank.’
    ‘He would be, wouldn’t he?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Called Hank!’ They both laughed.
    ‘She’s wicked. She’s only nineteen. Nice girls aren’t supposed to behave that way. Mummy and Daddy would be appalled.’
    ‘Sex and war go hand in hand, Rita. You can’t have one without the other. People know they could die at any minute so they lose themselves in each other.’
    ‘It’s terribly romantic.’
    ‘In war a man has to love, if only to assert