Authors: Sara Craven
her back. Instead she had gone into one of the stores catering for
the mountaineers and other adventure seekers who came to
Dolgellau. By dint of using her credit cards, she had bought a
couple of pairs of slim-fitting denim pants, some cheesecloth shirts
and two warm sweaters, as well as a pair of tough canvas shoes.
Later she had added a couple of the warm, hard-wearing
fishermen's smocks on sale in the craft shops, and had
supplemented her supply of lingerie.
She wandered along rather aimlessly, glancing in the craft shop
windows with the rest of the tourists. It had not been until after
Gethyn had disappeared that she had realised he had made no firm
arrangements to meet her again. She supposed he assumed she
would meekly return to the car when her shopping was completed
to await his pleasure. Well, that would be the day!
Even the drizzle was vanishing now and in the sky a pale sun was
struggling to make its presence felt. Davina discarded the parka
with a feeling of relief that had nothing to do with the improvement
in the weather. Perhaps a cup of coffee would cheer her up, she
tried to rally herself, and help dispel this strange sinking feeling
inside her when she allowed herself to consider what Gethyn's
reaction might be to her rebellion over her hair. She compressed her
lips. What could it matter what he said or thought about it? she told
herself. It was no longer any of his business, and her action was
merely a timely reminder of the fact that any relationship between
them existed now only on paper.
She marched into a cafe and sat down at one of the tables with its
gaily checked cloth, ordering coffee and a fruit scone home-baked
and still warm from the oven. But delicious as it was, she might as
well have been eating cardboard. Everything seemed to turn to
ashes in her mouth. She had bought a guide-book to the area in a
local newsagents and she began to turn over the pages, trying to
concentrate on the information it contained, the history of the town
little changed over the centuries, the fact that Owain Glyndwr had
once held his parliament there in defiance of the English overlords.
She sighed and closed the guide-book, thrusting it into her bag. It
was all very well for Glyndwr, she thought, her sense of humour
unwillingly reasserting itself. He only had the English nation to
contend with in his rebellion. Once, she remembered unwillingly,
Gethyn had said that she could even make dragons eat out of her
hand, but he had given no indication as to what would happen if she
should be so foolish as to deliberately provoke one to anger, and in
the dragon's own lair as well.
She finished her coffee, but no one seemed in a hurry to move her
from the table, so she sat there quietly, her eyes fixed unseeingly on
an oil-painting of the magnificent sweep of Cader Idris by a local
artist which hung on the wall above her. There was a stark grandeur
about Wales's high places, she thought to herself. Even in her brief
sojourn, she could appreciate the overwhelming feeling of nostalgia
for the mountains and valleys which afflicted expatriates. Perhaps
Gethyn's return to the. land of his fathers was more explicable than
she had at first realised. If she was forced to stay for very long, she
could see that she too might be caught in the spell of these wild and
lonely hills, but even that might be safer than yielding to that frank
bewitchment of the senses that Gethyn seemed to be able to kindle
in her all over again. She gave a little shiver at the thought. It was
all the doubts and fears that had taken possession of her on her
wedding day and afterwards that she needed to remember. They
were the reality. Not those few hours of crazy, soul-spinning delight
that he had woven for her before he had walked out of her life
without a backward glance.
Perhaps he had been realistic then, knowing in his heart that the
sensual attraction which had brought them together was no lasting
foundation on which to build a marriage. His second relationship
would be based far more securely. Rhiannon he had presumably
known since childhood, and there would be no unwelcome
surprises in store for him after they were married. Davina supposed
with a swift pang that they would continue to live at Plas Gwyn,
and that their eventual family would be brought up there.
Pain struck at her anew as she realised Gethyn had never even
asked about the loss of the child she had carried for him so briefly.
It was all part of the same ruthless streak she had once found so
attractive, she thought wearily. She had admired his
single-mindedness, his ability to cut inessentials out of his life. But
that was before she herself had discovered that she was one of
those inessentials. And her inability to mother his child had only
served to underline her uselessness in his eyes.
And as he had had no compunction in reminding her, she had not
even got out of their marriage with her pride intact. In the end, his
victory over her had been totally, shatteringly complete.
Her fingernail scored a crease deep into the tablecloth as unwilling
remembrance of that night forced itself into her brain.
Gethyn's cases had been packed, and he was sorting through his
papers, deciding what to put into his briefcase, when she returned
to the flat from shopping. He had returned her greeting briefly
without even glancing in her direction as she entered and she had
walked into the kitchen, closing the door behind her with a slight
slam. She dumped her loaded carriers on the table and regarded
them sourly. So much for the impulse which had carried her into the
food hall of a well-known department store! She had spent
recklessly on food and wine, telling herself that she might as well
splurge for one last time while she still had two of them to cook for.
There was no fun and little point in making elaborate meals when
one was eating alone. Or that was what she had told herself as she
signed the cheque at the end. She had even bought a pair of
miniature wooden candle-holders, and two long elegant red candles
to put in them. Now she surveyed her purchases despondently and
told herself she had been ridiculous, and also not quite honest. Why
wouldn't she admit to herself that there was more to her motives
than simply a future filled with solitary meals—that she intended to
give Gethyn an evening meal to remember before he departed for
the States the next day? It would serve her right if she found he was
due to dine with Alec.
She unpacked slowly, putting the food away in the refrigerator. She
wished she had simply bought something unremarkable like chops.
As it was, the meal she had planned—a fillet of beef smothered in
pate and cooked in a pastry case—suddenly savoured too much of a
celebration. That was undoubtedly how Gethyn would regard it
anyway, and she found herself wishing that they could part without
any of the barbed remarks and long electric silences which had
become a feature of their lives in recent weeks.
Perhaps he would see it as a peace-offering, she thought, trying to
cheer herself up—a timid expression of the fact that although their
marriage had turned out to be a disaster, she nevertheless wished
him well—even wished that things could have been different
between them.
She stopped abruptly, her heart thumping suddenly. That was
something she had never admitted to herself before. She had always
explained this crushing feeling of regret that had oppressed her
lately by telling herself she was mourning for the mess she had
made of her life by her reckless marriage. Now she knew that it was
not as simple as that.
Almost imperceptibly, she had begun to grieve over the bleak facts
of her relationship with Gethyn. During these taut, uncomfortable
weeks at the flat she had slowly begun to recapture that
overwhelming awareness of his maleness which had been her
downfall when they first met—had begun to listen with something
approaching eagerness for the sound of his key in the lock. It had
occurred to her some time before how quiet and deadly the place
was going to seem without the clatter of the typewriter in the living
room, a sound she had once dragged the bedclothes over her head
to escape. Now she knew how much she was going to miss that
particular piece of aggravation.
But at the same time, she was forced to admit that her deepening
regrets were far from being reciprocated by Gethyn himself. His
own attitude was coldly indifferent and always had been. In fact, he
seemed to go out of his way to avoid even the slightest physical
contact with her, and oddly this was the most hurtful thing of all,
though she had to admit that life in the small flat could have been
well-nigh unbearable if he had behaved in any other way. Now, she
found herself wondering what might have happened if Gethyn had
once—just once—allowed that iron self-control he seemed able to
assume at will to slip.
Her face flamed as the memory of their wedding night returned to
torment her. It had been easy at the time to swear she would never
forgive him for his treatment of her, but not so easy to maintain in
the face of his own indifference. Whether she loved or hated, it
seemed' to mean the same to him. And as the hostile barrier she had
tried to erect between them seemed to crumble, his own attitude
remained unchanged. Her only crumb of comfort was the way he
looked at her—sometimes.
She sighed, then caught at herself. If only she felt better in herself,
she thought, then her prospects might not seem so bleak. As it was,
the thought of having a meal to prepare was a nauseating one. For
some weeks now she realised she had been suffering from a
constant feeling of slight sickness, generally afflicting her at
mealtimes. Obviously she had picked up some sort of lingering
virus, she thought, resolutely ignoring the slight quiver of her
stomach as she began to prepare the steak.
When she eventually went back into the living room to set the table,
there was no one there, and she stood very still for a moment while
disappointment lashed at her. Were all her painstaking preparations
to go for nothing after all? she wondered despairingly as a
mouth-watering aroma drifted after her from the kitchen. Then she
saw the papers still scattered on his worktable and relaxed slightly,
guessing that he had merely gone out to buy some cheroots.
She had laid the table and the candles were in place but not yet lit
when she heard his step outside. She tensed involuntarily as the
door opened. Gethyn walked in, then halted, his eyes sweeping the
table and her own rather defensive stance beside it with frank irony.
'Expecting a guest?' He shrugged off his coat and dropped it on to
the sofa. 'Shall I make myself scarce?'
She flushed and bit her lip. 'It was intended for you,' she said in a
low voice. 'A farewell dinner. But it was obviously a bad idea, so
let's just forget about it.'
She turned away towards the kitchen, anxious to hide the chagrin
on her face, knowing too that her eyes had suddenly filled with
tears.
'Wait.' He caught her arm, forcibly holding her back. 'I was just
being bloody ungracious. I knew before I went out what you were
up to, and it's far from being a bad idea.' He lifted a finger and
flicked away the one tear which had escaped on to her cheek. 'So
we'll call a truce in the cold war—just for tonight?'
The sudden gentleness in his voice was even more disturbing than
his previous cold arrogance, and there was an answering shyness in
the swift nod she gave him before she gently released herself and
went back to the kitchen.
She was arranging the dishes of grapefruit and melon cocktail in the
place settings when Gethyn emerged from the bedroom, stripped to
the waist. He sent her a faint grin, pushing his hand across his chin.
'As you've been to all this trouble the least I can do is shave and put
on a clean shirt in your honour,' he remarked as he disappeared into
the bathroom. Her hands trembled slightly. Although they had been
living here together, moments of such intimacy had been rare
indeed, and a source of awkwardness when they had occurred.