Authors: Sara Craven
locked it after collecting her handbag and briefcase. Her suitcase
she left where it was in the boot. Then she started to walk. The
sandals she was wearing with their high wedged heels were not the
most comfortable form of footwear for these conditions, she soon
discovered. The track was deeply rutted and there were loose
stones everywhere as an added pitfall.
Davina thought ruefully that she would be lucky to arrive at Plas
Gwyn with her ankles intact, and was thankful she was not
burdened with the additional hazard of her overnight case.
She rounded a corner and the house lay in front of her. It was a
rambling two-storey building, half-timbered and obviously very old.
Moss and lichen had gathered on the slate-covered roof, and the
small square windows under the heavy eaves seemed to slant at
crazy angles. It was very still, the only sign of life coming from the
faint thread of smoke issuing from one of the chimneys. Davina
walked forward uncertainly. There were two small lawns in front of
the house, bordered by a low white fence. On one of them a
cream-coloured nanny goat had been tethered and she looked up
with bright, acquisitive eyes as Davina opened the squeaking gate
and approached the front door.
The door stood slightly ajar and she pushed it open tentatively and
went in. She found herself in a large square hall. A wide staircase in
dark polished wood curved away to the upper storey on her right.
The walls were panelled in wood too, and there was a big stone
fireplace, swept and polished, its wide hearth filled not with logs
but an attractive arrangement of dried grasses and leaves.
On the left a passage stretched away to the back of the house, and
around the hall were three doors, all tightly closed. Davina looked
around her a little helplessly. A big oak table stood on the left-hand
wall, holding a small brass gong and what appeared to be a visitors'
book. After a moment's hesitation, she trod across to the table and
struck the gong lightly.
Almost before the echoes had died away, a voice behind her said
coolly, 'Yes, can I help you?'
Davina turned sharply, conscious of relief that it was at least a
female voice. The girl facing her was, she judged, younger than
herself, tall and slim with a cloud of dark hair hanging on her
shoulders. She wore a pair of riding breeches, well-fitting but
shabby, and a faded checked shirt. Her glance, while not exactly
hostile, did not reflect the generally welcoming atmosphere of the
house. It seemed to assess Davina and then dismiss her.
'I'm looking for Mr Gethyn Lloyd,' said Davina.
'Oh?' The girl's brows rose interrogatively. 'And who is it wants
him?'
Davina hesitated. Her impulse was to tell this stranger to mind her
own business, but she controlled it. Judging by what the woman at
the inn had said this must be Rhiannon, and Davina had no wish to
start off on bad terms with a member of the Plas Gwyn household.
Things were going to be difficult enough without that. She decided
to play it cool. After all, she had no means of knowing how much
this Rhiannon might know of Gethyn's private life or her own brief
part in it.
'My name is Greer,' she said quietly. 'Davina Greer.'
The girl took a step forward, and her eyes were blazing.
Davina felt herself recoil instinctively before this fierce dislike.
'Oh, is it?' she said with a kind of angry derision. 'Well, you can just
go back where you came from. You're not wanted here.'
'Rhiannon!' The shocked protest came from the stairs. Davina
glanced up and saw they had been joined by an older woman. It
was impossible that she and the angry Rhiannon could be other than
mother and daughter. Mrs Parry's dark hair might be silvering at the
temples, and her eyes full of anxiety instead of sparking with
temper, but their basic bone structure was practically identical.
She came down the stairs, casting her daughter a look of dismay.
'I'm so sorry,' she turned apologetically to Davina. 'It's quite true we
are full at the moment, but that's no reason for my daughter's
discourtesy.'
Rhiannon moved impatiently. 'You don't understand, Mam. She
hasn't come to stay. She's come to see Gethyn. She's his wife.'
The last staccato sentence died away into an awkward silence.
Eventually Mrs Parry said nervously, 'Oh dear—I wonder what... I
suppose I'd better introduce myself. I'm Gethyn's Aunt Beth—his
father's sister.'
It seemed ludicrous under the circumstances to express any kind of
pleasure at the meeting, so Davina contented herself with shaking
hands in silence.
'I'm sorry if my arrival has upset anyone,' she said at last. 'But I am
here on business.' She indicated her briefcase, leaning against one
leg of the table.
Mrs Parry eyed it almost distractedly. 'Yes, of course, only ... It's so
difficult, you see.'
'Mrs Parry,' Davina tried to sound reassuring, 'I haven't come to
stay. I work for my uncle at Hanson Greer and I have some papers
for Gethyn to look at. If I could just see him for a few minutes ...'
'Well, you can't, then,' Rhiannon broke in rudely. 'Because he's not
here and he won't be back until tomorrow or the next day. So you
may as well take yourself off.'
'Rhiannon!' It was her mother's turn to sound really angry now. 'If
you can't be civil, you'd better go to your room. I'll deal with this.'
Rhiannon's lip curled. 'Please yourself. If you want me, I'll be in the
stables.' With a last inimical glance at Davina she walked out of the
front door and disappeared.
Mrs Parry became galvanised into activity. 'Won't you come in,
Miss—er—oh!' She broke off in confusion. 'I don't even know what
to call you.' She threw open one of the doors on the left revealing a
large sitting room furnished with comfortable sofas and deep
armchairs covered in faded chintz. 'Do sit down. I'll go and make
some tea.'
Davina halted her. 'Please—not for me. Was Rhiannon right? Is
Gethyn not here?'
His aunt looked troubled. 'Well, no—not at the moment he isn't.
He'll be back, of course, but it's difficult to say when. He comes and
goes as he pleases, you see.'
'He hasn't changed,' Davina said quietly. She made herself smile
briefly. 'Well, that makes things—rather awkward. I had rather
counted on seeing him. My uncle will be very disappointed.'
Mrs Parry appeared to think quickly and make up her mind. 'Well,
if you'd like to stay and wait until he returns, you'd be very
welcome.'
Davina hesitated. It was obviously the most sensible course to
pursue under the circumstances, yet she felt uncertain. For one thing
she was putting Gethyn's aunt in a difficult position, and for another
she would have to cope with Rhiannon's open hostility. Gethyn, it
seemed, had not been reticent about the past with his young cousin.
'I don't know,' she said eventually. 'It's very kind of you, but I
thought you said there was no room.'
'Oh, but you're family.' Mrs Parry gave a quick, rather shy smile.
'That makes all the difference. We can find a corner for you.'
Davina bit her lip. To describe her as family under the
circumstances was pitching it a bit high, but Mrs Parry clearly
meant well and it would be churlish to reject the relationship or the
hospitality, so she merely thanked her quietly.
The room she was shown to was quite a large one at the back of the
house, overlooking a small orchard with a glimpse of the river in
the distance, and beyond that the steep outline of the mountain. It
contained a wide brass bedstead covered in a Welsh tapestry
counterpane, and matching curtains hung at the windows. There
was a tall dressing chest in one corner topped by a mirror on a
swivel, and a matching mahogany wardrobe on the other side of the
room. There was a small table under the window and an elderly
easy chair close beside it. The floorboards and furniture gleamed
with polish and a faint fragrance of lavender hung in the room.
'It's delightful,' Davina said after the first appreciative glance
around.'
'It's a lovely old house,' Mrs Parry agreed. She walked to the
window and pulled back the curtain. 'Nice view, too. It's clear
today, so you can actually see the Dragon.'
'What did you say?' Davina stared at her.
Mrs Parry smiled. 'Moel y Ddraig—that's what it means. The bare
hilltop of the dragon, and there he is, the old thing.' She pointed
upwards and Davina, intrigued, came to her side.
It was quite true. The enormous crag which jutted out above the
house could, with very little imagination, have been a petrified
dragon. It was all there—the great thrusting head with its menacing
horns, and the long clawed foot raised threateningly just beneath it.
And if you half-closed your eyes, the great shadowy bulk of the hill
seemed to become huge spreading wings ...
Davina wrenched herself back to reality with a jerk. She smiled. 'I
hope he's a friendly dragon, otherwise he'd be rather too close for
comfort!'
Mrs Parry's eyes twinkled suddenly. 'Well, he's never done me any
harm. Now I am going to make some tea.' She paused. 'Would you
like to have yours up here, perhaps?'
Davina guessed that Rhiannon would probably be coming in to
have tea and that this was a tactful intimation of the fact, and she
agreed. The prospect of seeing Gethyn again had made her more
keyed up than she had realised, and now she felt almost weak from
anti-climax. She needed to relax and unwind for a while, and it
would be far preferable to do so up here, out of Rhiannon's hostile
sight.
Mrs Parry hesitated at the door. 'I'm sorry Rhiannon's behaving like
this,' she said frankly. 'But she is very fond of Gethyn—always has
been. But she'll come round, I daresay. Maybe this is the best thing
that could have happened.' And on that, she vanished.
Davina sat down in the easy chair and looked out on to the apple
trees, their leaves moving gently in the slight breeze. She still could
hardly believe that she was actually at Plas Gwyn. She leaned her
head back on the cushions and closed her eyes, absorbing the
sounds and silences of her new surroundings. She could hear the
distant sound of the river, and superimposed upon it, closer at hand,
the bleating of sheep and the sharp bark of a dog. Somewhere a
horse whinnied with a restless stamp of hooves, and below her she
could hear the homely clatter of cups and the rising whistle of a
kettle.
Presently, when she had had her tea, she would walk up to the car
and fetch her case. It contained her night things and a change of
underwear, but little more, and she wondered rather restlessly what
she would do if Gethyn's absence was a prolonged one. She sighed.
That he would be away from home when she arrived was the last
thing she had bargained for. It was almost as if he had guessed her
intention and timed his absence accordingly, but that was nonsense,
of course. He could have had no idea she was on her way.
The bedroom door banged open and Rhiannon made her
appearance, carrying, somewhat surprisingly, a tray of tea. Her eyes
lowered sullenly, and her lips set, she marched across the room and
deposited the tray on the table at Davina's elbow.
Davina decided to try another friendly overture. 'What a charming
room this is,' she commented. 'I hope I'm not putting anyone out by
being here.'
Rhiannon shrugged. 'Only Gethyn, and he's not here at the moment,
it hardly matters, does it? Who knows? When he comes back, he
may be putting
you
out.'
The bedroom door slammed on her departure and Davina sat bolt
upright on her chair, her attention utterly arrested by what the other
girl had said. Then she jumped to her feet and went over almost
feverishly to the dressing chest, tugging open a drawer at random.
Her worst fears were confirmed. A pile of shirts, neatly folded and
unarguably masculine, was revealed. The contents of the other
drawers only served to hammer the lesson home. This was Gethyn's
room.
A bright spot of humiliated colour burned in her cheeks. What
could Mrs Parry have been thinking of? She must know what the
situation was between Gethyn and herself— might even be aware