‘I suppose it could be,’ said Rhiannon. ‘Although I don’t see how we are ever going to find out now.’
‘I suppose.’ He seemed lost in thought. ‘D’you know, I never thought about it before, but looking at all those old photographs, that looks so like Dad.’
Rhiannon jumped slightly. ‘What does?’
‘King Arthur. Dad when he was young, I mean.’
She joined him and peered at the face. ‘I suppose he does. Funny how you can look at a thing for most of your life and not really see it. But I can’t see how it could be. Unless it was a portrait of your grandfather when he was young, of course. Or maybe even your great-grandfather, come to that.’
‘So could any of the others be portraits of the Merediths too, in that case?’ said Carys.
‘I suppose they could.’ Rhiannon frowned. ‘I’d need to have another look at the family photographs. I met some of the family at Paul and Marianne’s wedding, and later, of course, but I can’t say I really knew any of them well.’
‘It would be fascinating if they were,’ said Carys.
David stuck his hands in his pockets. ‘Unfinished business,’ he muttered, under his breath. ‘That’s what Nainie used to say sometimes, after that last stroke, wasn’t it, Rhiannon? I always felt she was trying to tell us something.’
‘Yes,’ replied Rhiannon, quietly. ‘But Nainie struggled with her speech and her memory during those last years: we don’t know for sure she meant anything to do with the statues.’
Carys cleared her throat. ‘Look, I started this.’
‘You didn’t set out to,’ said Rhiannon.
‘But I still started it, when I went looking for the photographs for Mam.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Gwenan’s coming to stay with Mam next week. I need to go back to Chester for a few days. Work stuff,’ she explained to two faintly enquiring, too-polite–to-ask glances. A girl has some pride, and the split with Joe was too recent, too viscerally painful, to open up to others’ scrutiny. And especially not when David Meredith was about.
David, she noticed, was watching her rather too closely for comfort, almost as if trying to read her mind. She pulled herself together. ‘Anyhow, the thing is that I was thinking of going to Devon for a few days after I’ve finished. Clear my head a bit, you know? A couple of days in Cornwall, doing a bit of private investigating, sounds good to me.’
‘You mean, find this Treverick place?’ said Rhiannon.
Carys nodded. ‘That seems to be where the answers might lie. Or at least, that’s what the Merediths thought. And isn’t it weird that neither of you had seen a photograph of Treverick Hall until I found the postcard in Mam’s attic? Surely the postcard should have been in Plas Eden, not at Willow Cottage at all.’
David toyed with a cluster of fallen leaves around his foot. ‘Yes, I’ve been wondering about that. There might be something in Eden, I suppose.’
Rhiannon shook her head. ‘There was nothing amongst your Dad’s stuff, or Nainie’s. You’re right, Carys; you would have expected at least something.’
Carys walked over to gaze at the statue of Blodeuwedd. She wasn’t more than a girl, she thought. A teenager. Sixteen, seventeen? Eighteen, at the most. That moment – if you’re lucky – before life touches you at all. Innocent.
A double-edged sword, innocence. Sometimes it can mean being so protected, so open to the world, you’ve no idea there is pain and suffering, or how cruel your fellow human beings can be. Carys found herself shivering.
‘It might not have anything to do with this Treverick Hall,’ David was saying dubiously. ‘And nobody seems to have been able to find out anything about a Treverick Hall on the internet.’
‘Except Treverick was where your Mum and Dad were going.’
‘Yes.’ David sounded thoughtful. ‘Dad did go to serious lengths to find out something, and not to let Nainie know he was looking at all.’
‘Looking at Treverick Hall,’ said Carys.
David met her eyes. Something was troubling Carys and he knew for a fact this return to Chester wasn’t anything to do with her work. It couldn’t be. Not with that fragile, deeply wounded feeling he sensed wrestling inside her. No, this was far more personal. She obviously needed company, he told himself. Someone to look after her, if she needed it. As a friend, of course. And who better than someone she’d known for most of her life?
It was the least a friend could do, David told himself. Just be there for her. The fact that it might give the two of them a chance to get to know each other again, far away from the looming distraction of Plas Eden – well, that was purely coincidental. Nothing to do with it at all.
He took a deep breath. ‘Are you really sure you want to go?’
She nodded. ‘You bet.’
‘Then I’d like to come with you.’ He caught the look of dismay that crossed her face. Not exactly flattering. His pride told him to walk away and just let her get on with it. The rest of him dug its heels in. This was, without doubt, a last chance. Let her go now, he sensed, and he’d be letting her go forever. Even if, at the end of the time, they both knew that they had grown too far apart for it ever to work, at least then the question would be answered, and they could both get on with their lives. Besides, he was a Meredith, and a Meredith never gave up that easily.
Carys cursed inwardly. She knew he probably meant well – and it was his family, after all – but this was the last thing she needed. Why had she opened her big mouth in the first place?
It had been hard enough persuading Gwenan to take charge of Mam for a week, and even harder persuading Mam to accept the arrangement, but Carys – feeling horribly guilty – had persisted. She wasn’t ready to tell either of them the sordid failures of her personal life, or face the inevitable questions. First, she needed to retrieve her things from the flat and make the final break with Joe. Most of all, she needed time to herself to get her head back together. A bit of space, a bit of time on her own to do some wound-licking and regain a bit of self-esteem in the process.
A few days investigating the realities of finding affordable land in Devon had seemed a good project. Looking to the future. One step closer to deciding where her ultimate destiny lay. The last thing she needed was David Meredith. Not to mention any sentimental view of the past he might have lurking in the background. He was a man, after all, she muttered to herself, and she was seriously off all men: now, and forever. Unless Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall happened to be passing, of course.
‘Don’t feel you have to,’ she said, knowing she sounded horribly stilted. She didn’t dare glance at Rhiannon, who was probably viewing the whole thing as some deep plot to get David on his own, away from Plas Eden, just so Carys could lure him into her lair with who-knows-what feminine whiles and return, ring safely on her finger. The mere thought sent her scarlet with mortification.
‘I’d like to,’ replied David. ‘If it really was something about the statues that Mum and Dad were trying to find, then I feel I’d like to finish it, if you see what I mean.’
‘Oh.’ There was no argument to that. ‘In that case, yes, that’s fine.’
‘Great,’ said David quickly, before she could change her mind again. ‘Why don’t I meet you in Chester? It seems pointless to take two cars. We can book rooms at the Treverick Arms. At least that still exists.’
‘Um, yes. Of course.’ Carys had an uncomfortable sensation of being swept along, despite herself. Oh, what the hell. At least he seemed to have got the point: ‘rooms’ was unmistakably in the plural. She hoped Rhiannon had noted this, too.
She discovered Rhiannon was watching them both intently. ‘What about Huw? What are you going to tell him?’
‘He doesn’t need to know,’ replied David, firmly. ‘Not unless we really find something. He’ll only disapprove. And what’s the point of upsetting him if there’s nothing there?’
‘So you’re intending to keep this a secret?’ Rhiannon sounded uneasy. ‘Like Paul and Marianne, all those years ago.’
> David blinked. ‘But that was an accident. Everybody said it was an accident. Wrong time, wrong place. One of those things. It couldn’t have been anything else.’
‘No, of course not.’ But the unease was still there in Rhiannon’s voice.
The last of the light was by now fading from under the trees.
‘I’d better get back,’ said Carys. ‘Mam’ll start to wonder where I am.’
‘I’ll walk back with you,’ said David. ‘I want to get to Low-Price before it shuts. Milk, wasn’t it, Rhiannon. Anything else?’
‘Not unless you spot anything particularly exciting for tea.’
‘Okay. Do you want me to take Hodge?’
‘No, you’re fine.’ Rhiannon bent down to stroke the head resting quietly at her knee. ‘He had a good walk this morning. I’ll take him back with me and get him and the cats fed, so we can have peace and quiet when you get back.’
‘Fine by me,’ said David. ‘And the company is never of the best outside Low-Price this time of night. Might lead you into bad habits, Hodge.’
For a while, David and Carys made their way in silence.
Then David cleared his throat. ‘Your mam seems much better, when I’ve seen her in the Boadicea?’
‘Yes, she is. It seems to have taken a long time, but it feels as if she’s beginning to turn the corner. She’s started washing up and peeling potatoes. I think she’s determined to get back to being independent.’
‘Still, I expect she feels better having you here.’
‘Yes, I suppose she does.’ Carys gave a rueful smile. ‘Although I’m not sure we’d last very long in the same house once she’s well enough to take charge again. And Gwenan’s finally persuaded her she needs a permanent home help. So, for the moment at least, she should be able to cope on her own.’
‘Right.’ He eyed her sideways in the faint orange glow of the nearest street lamp, as they approached the village. ‘Merlin was mentioning about leasing the land around Eden Farm.’
‘Oh?’ murmured Carys. Merlin was nothing if not a fast worker, then.
‘Mmm. He said something about you maybe renting part of the land for a bit? Setting up your own business?’
‘Yes.’ Carys avoided his eyes. Damn. This hadn’t given David the wrong idea, had it? That she was staying in Pont-ar-Eden to be close to Plas Eden and to him? ‘I’m considering my options, that’s all. Setting up a business of my own is what I’ve wanted to do for years. My first choice was Devon, before Mam got ill. It still could be. I was just exploring possibilities up here in case Mam needs me for a bit longer.’
‘Oh.’ They walked on in silence again until they reached Low-Price, where they came to a halt. ‘I’d better go in and get my milk.’ David’s eyes travelled over the small group of hooded youths and scantily clad girls, who appeared to be holding an impromptu party on the bench outside the convenience store. ‘Will you be okay?’ he asked.
‘I’ll be fine,’ she smiled. ‘They’re pretty harmless.’
As a teenager, she’d itched for the freedom of the kids who didn’t have to be in doing their homework, or for the family meal. Funny how you didn’t spot until much later that the kids who roamed the streets unchecked and hung around Low-Price were the ones who, in the end, had the fewest choices of all. At least Mam and Dad had always pushed the three of them. Made sure they had the means to support themselves and made sure they knew they had more choices than to end up with a child to raise before their own life had really started.
‘See you then,’ David muttered awkwardly. There was so much more he wanted to say. But, despite never having been a man who was stuck for words, he now didn’t know where to begin.
Carys fished out her mobile. ‘Give me your number. I’ll ring you back and you’ll have mine. Then I can text you when I know what I’m doing.’ It was her turn to sound awkward. ‘It might not be easy to ring, especially once I get to Chester.’
‘Of course. Here.’ Numbers exchanged, they hesitated a moment, neither of them quite sure what to say again.
‘Good evening!’
Carys turned to find Nesta and Haf trotting down the street in their Sunday best. ‘Hello,’ she replied.
‘Good evening,’ said David, with the hunted look of one who wished nothing more than to dive behind the frozen meals counter in Low-Price until the coast was clear.
‘Lovely evening, isn’t it,’ said Nesta, watching them both with eagle eyes.
‘Going anywhere nice?’ smiled Carys.
‘It’s our scrabble night,’ said Haf, who was clutching a shopping bag bulging with the unmistakable outline of a wine bottle.
‘Best night of the week,’ added Nesta, who was holding a box of German biscuits, hot from the shelves of Lidl on Talarn High Street.
‘Have a good time,’ called Carys, as the sisters set off on their way again, heads suspiciously close together, deep in conversation.
David groaned.
‘Charming,’ said Carys, prepared to see the funny side. ‘Is that all the thanks I get? I’ve just made your reputation as the village Lothario. They’ll be treating you like the real lord of the manor now. I’m the one who’s going to have to spend my days as a low-down hussy.’
‘I’m not the …’
‘Okay. Heathcliff, then.’
He struggled with his dignity for a few moments, but she could see the old familiar twitch of his mouth. ‘Don’t be daft,’ he said. But he was laughing, all the same.
It was the laugh that did it. That warm, rumbling laugh of his when he was trying his best not to. Carys swallowed as her stomach leapt instantly into one of those familiar high-dive somersaults and her toes began to tingle.
Oh no. Definitely not. Not again. Not ever. The last thing she needed was complications – and particularly complications of the David Meredith kind – in her life.
‘See you,’ she said hastily. And with a wave, she was off, careful not to look back once.
This was definitely not the time to prompt any of the old oops-they-only-had-a-double-room wheeze. She wasn’t born yesterday, thank you very much. And, besides, she had a heart to keep safe.
Rhiannon sat for a while amongst the statues after David and Carys had gone, until there was scarcely any light left under the trees.
She couldn’t quite get rid of the sense of unease that hung around her. But surely that was only natural, with the recent conversation bringing back memories, and the ring of the doorbell of her London flat all those years ago that had changed her life forever.
The statues seemed closer in the darkness. As if they were gathering around her, stone faces flickering into life. Was that hostile, or sorrowful? She had always been certain of their mood before. But not tonight. A night breeze stirred, sending a sigh of leaves around the little glade. Tonight, she would not have been surprised if a stone hand had appeared on her shoulder, like the commodore in Don Giovanni, dragging her down to hell for her sins.
Through the gentle sway of trees the lights of Eden flickered, its shape rising like a ghost through the darkness. Houses were like people, thought Rhiannon: living, evolving beings, formed from their past and always being reformed for their future. And nothing can stay still forever.
‘I’ve changed, too,’ she said aloud, the realisation flooding through her. Her memory of Nainie was still as strong, but now it was the good memories that were surfacing above the painful ones: as if, over the past months, a healing had finally taken place.
She missed her like crazy, of course she did, along with the precious moments when they had giggled together like schoolgirls for no particular reason at all, and even the long hours of listening to the same stories over and over again that, at the time, she had felt would drive her mad.
But at ninety-seven, Hermione Anne had simply had enough. She had lived through most of the twentieth century and seen it turn into the twenty-first. She had outlived her only child and most of her friends. Her hearing was failing, her sight was almost gone, and onc
e she no longer had the energy to potter round the courtyard of an evening sipping her ‘gin and it’ (a lethal combination of gin and dry white Martini, without hide nor hair of tonic water to soften the blow), she didn’t see much point any more.
Much as she loved her, Rhiannon could not wish her back. It would have been like torture to the gentle, delicate woman who had been the centre of Eden from before the Second World War to punk rock and the iron lady. An agony to the woman who, even in her seventies, had wandered her beloved gardens daily, and every evening, sunshine, rain or hail, had taken generations of Labradors up to the rusting iron bench overlooking the bay.
She would not, Rhiannon knew, have missed those final months, not for the world. They might have drained her and left her with a hollow in her heart, but for Hermione Anne it had been a gentle closing down, a pulling of her life around her, like a shawl, closer and closer, until there was a shell that looked like Nainie, but wasn’t her at all.
It had been a time when Rhiannon had seen that nature can have kindnesses as well as cruelty, making her feel she would never be afraid of the fact of death again. It was a time when every brief flicker of the old Hermione Anne had been unbearably precious, urging Rhiannon to take every moment as it happens and not waste a second regretting the past or worrying about the future. And it had been a time when life had been stripped down to its simplest, its most straightforward, when nothing else had mattered outside the easing out of a life well lived.
Rhiannon took a deep breath, steadying herself. Time to let go, she acknowledged. Time to move forward. Nainie would always be with her, as the boys were. As Marianne was. As all the people she had ever known and loved were still alive and with her, and would always be, for as long as she lived.
But now, she finally understood, it was time for her to move on beyond Eden, into wherever life might take her. ‘This is my time,’ she told herself.
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