The Road to Forever

by Jeneth Murrey

  But Owen had believed, that was what had hurt worst, and she had the idea she would never forgive him for that, nor for the things he had said to her!

  It was just before dawn when Owen pulled into the farmyard at Bryn Celyn and Lallie, who had gone to sleep after all, blinked drowsily and roused herself enough to open her door and scramble out on to the cobbles of the yard, wincing as she tried to put some weight on her foot. Owen slammed his own door and came round the car to look at her. 'Forget it,' he ordered peremptorily as she hopped away from him. 'I'll carry you.'

  Lallie would have loved to say 'Over my dead body', but she had to be practical. The cobbles of the yard stretched in front of her like an ocean and after them came the crazy paving up through the sloping garden to the house. She was never going to manage it, not without wrenching her ankle again.

  'The wheelbarrow,' she said brightly, nodding to where one stood against the wall of the barn. 'Put me and my case in that and wheel me up to the door.'

  'We've been carting muck in it—but if you insist…' He was jeering at her, and she changed her mind swiftly. For some reason, she was feeling extraordinarily happy, and the happiness bred a confidence in her. Whatever happened, she felt she could cope with it, come up smiling.

  'Carry me, then, Owen dear.' There was a syrupy sweetness in her voice—she almost coohed. 'Pretend I'm your newly wedded wife—your bride, and you're taking me home…' Her words were cut off abruptly as he grasped her and swung her over his shoulder in a fireman's lift, but she wasn't silenced. 'A bride, I said, not a sack of spuds!' she gasped and then, 'Damn, my hair's fallen down and I've lost all my hairpins. Owen!' as he pushed open the gate on to the crazy paving. 'Carry me properly, please!'

  'Then stop wagging that filthy little tongue,' he snapped brusquely as he lowered her to the ground and lifted her up into his arms. 'You're a bitter little thing, Lallie. What you need is a damn good hiding, and you're going the right way to get it!'

  'Caveman!' she jeered softly, and her arms tightened round his neck desperately as she felt his loosen their grip on her. 'No, Owen, please. I didn't mean it, honestly!'

  'There's a nice apology,' he grinned down at her in the growing light. 'About the first I've ever wrenched out of you. Shut up!' He released one arm to open the door and brought the free hand up to cover her mouth, swearing when she sank her teeth into his thumb.

  'A bitter, biting little thing,' she hissed as he set her down in the hallway, 'and don't bother helping me any more, I'll crawl first!'

  'And I'll have an extra tetanus shot first thing,' he snapped back at her. 'There's enough poison in your spit to kill the entire population!'

  Lallie ignored him and hopped off down the passage to the kitchen door, pushing it open and making her way to the big rocking chair which stood by the solid fuel cooker. She slumped into it gratefully and moaned at the sight of her foot. Her ankle, as an ankle, had ceased to exist.

  'Look at that!' she demanded. 'That's your slight sprain! The one I'm going to be able to walk on tomorrow.'

  'Stop it, nuisance.' Owen sounded weary as he filled the kettle and switched it on, and she looked at him over her shoulder. The chestnut in his hair was much more prominent under the overhead light, but there was a grey look of tiredness on his face, the lines from his nose to his mouth seemed to be cut more deeply and his brows were drawn together over his eyes. 'I'm tired, girl. I haven't the energy or the inclination to spar with you now. You slept most of the way while I was driving, remember?'

  'Mmm,' she was prepared to be generous. 'I'll give you a chance to have a rest before battle commences.'

  'Thanks.' He warmed the teapot and added tea before collecting cups from the dresser shelf.

  'And I'll have a cup of tea and snooze here by the fire while you go to bed for a couple of hours,' she offered. 'Does Dwynny have an early cuppa?'

  'No, don't disturb her.' His head was bent over the teapot and his voice was hushed to almost a whisper. 'And don't make too much noise, keep your voice down, she hears every sound. We won't bother her until later in the morning, after the nurse has been. I want to have a little talk with you first, there are some things you have to know.'

  'Aha!' Her voice started on its normal tone and then dropped to a whisper under his glare. 'So it's not so straightforward after all! What have you been up to, Owen—is it you who's upset Dwynny?'

  'I told you, it's a combination of things—her age, her physical condition, worry over Jonty,' he brought her a cup. 'Drink that and leave the questions till later. You can have a few hours in bed yourself, but I'll see to that ankle first.'

  'You're wriggling,' Lallie accused in a gleeful whisper. 'There's more than that and I bet you're at the bottom of it. Hoo!' she broke into soft, mocking laughter and sipped her tea with an enjoyment she hadn't felt for ages. 'Owen the Mighty descending to stratagems—but you don't have to worry, do you?' She raised her long grey-gold eyes to his face, they were not laughing now, they held a faint glow of contempt. 'You've always got little Lallie. You can bully little Lallie into helping you out of the mess you've dropped yourself in! Well, let me tell you, my lad, little Lallie's grown up and she's not half as stupid as she used to be and she's way past bullying.' Her voice had risen slightly and he stopped it with a hard hand over her mouth.

  'Drink your tea,' he hissed, 'and I'll carry you upstairs. Nobody's bullying anybody. Dwynwen needs you—and that's an appeal to your better nature, if you have one. She was very good to you when our parents died and despite everything, she still thinks the world of you, she trusts you. Now, come on, cariad, let's have you upstairs and I'll see to that ankle.'

  'I'll never be able to walk on it.' Lallie was sitting on the edge of her bed and Owen was just finishing the fresh strapping. She looked down at his head where he was intent on getting the bandage good and tight, and on impulse she put out a hand to his hair. He felt her soft touch and raised his head.

  'Is that a thank-you?'

  'Certainly not!' All her belligerence returned in a wave of self-distrust. 'You're getting to be quite an old man, Owen, I was just looking at your grey hairs.'

  'You put them there, if it's any consolation to you,' he retorted. 'I've brought up your case, so get yourself into a nightie and give that tongue of yours a rest for a couple of hours. And you will be able to walk on that foot, you haven't pulled a tendon or anything serious, so stop playing the invalid. Just don't wear unsuitable shoes or try flopping round in slippers. You need a bit of support for a couple of days, that's all.'

  'I'd get more help from a proper doctor,' she grumbled. 'He'd have given me some pills and sympathy.'

  'Poor little thing!' Owen bent his head over her and his mouth found hers in a gentle kiss. 'Mmm,' when he raised his head, 'I should have tried that before, it keeps you quiet.' And the door closed behind him, leaving her looking at the panels while one finger touched her lips.

  Oh yes, Owen had it all, he could charm the birds from the trees when he put his mind to it. No wonder he was such a howling success at 'conferences'! But he wasn't going to be allowed to charm her. Her eyes slitted with determination and her mouth firmed as she hobbled to her case and extracted a clean nightie. Owen wanted her co-operation in something and he wasn't going to get it, not unless he went down on his knees and begged for it. She owed herself that—it would be balm to her wounded spirit!

  'Wake up, sleepyhead!' That was Owen being full of life and energy, and she glared at him and then at her watch she'd forgotten to wind.

  'What time is it?' she grumbled. She'd been having a lovely dream, although she couldn't remember what it was about, and if nobody had disturbed her, she could have slept for the rest of the day.

  'Half past one. I've just come back from the surgery in Trellwyd.' He nodded to the old-fashioned washstand. 'I've brought you in some hot water from the bathroom, so wash and dress yourself and don't take too long about it. I'll be back in ten minutes to take you downstairs.'

  Carrying her eas
ily, he went past the door to his office and headed for the kitchen, but she tapped him on the shoulder.

  'I thought you said we were going to have a talk?'

  'After lunch, I think.' He kept on walking. 'Nerys is willing, but she's a long way from being a good cook. I'm trying to catch her before she chars the steak and burns the chips.'

  'So,' she mused. 'I'm to be the cook, am I? What does Dwynny have, surely not steak and chips?'

  'Invalid food mostly.' He pushed open the kitchen door, walked across and dumped her in a chair by the table. 'It's varied with steamed fish or beef tea, that sort of thing,' and he stopped speaking as Nerys came in with a dish of steaks and chips. There wasn't much conversation after that, since Nerys joined them at the table and Lallie knew all about the girl's mother who kept the post office in the village and who was the biggest gossip this side of the Severn.

  Nerys herself didn't gossip, she was a sponge which absorbed information, she soaked it up, stored it and retailed every bit to her mother, but as Dwynny said, she was a good worker.

  The meal over, Lallie brushed a few crumbs from her grey pleated skirt, smoothed back a few tendrils of black hair which were tickling the tops of her ears and stood up uncertainly. She waved away Owen's proffered help with an ungracious hand.

  'I can walk—it may take a little longer, but that's your fault. You made me slip, so you'll just have to put up with it. Where are we going for this famous talk, your office?'

  'It's out of earshot,' he murmured, making allowances for Nerys' ears which would be pricked for the slightest sound. 'And we don't want it getting round the district that, as well as her other shortcomings, little Lallie has a tongue like a fishwife, do we?'

  'Brilliant tactics,' she muttered as she went slowly along the passage. As he had predicted, she could walk without too much pain, but since he'd said it, she wasn't going to let him know he was right, so she gasped a bit and wore a pained expression as she hobbled along, and once in the office, she slid into the chair opposite his desk with a loud moan of relief, but her little act didn't get the applause it deserved, neither did it stir Owen to any tender feelings.

  'Putting on the agony?' And his smile was dangerous. 'Stop appealing for sympathy, girl. I've known a horse run with a worse sprain than you have.'

  Lallie bridled and flushed a bit. 'Talk!' she snapped. 'There's something very fishy here, I can smell it a mile off. What is this "needless" worry, this "little" problem? Aha!' she crowed as she saw his mouth tighten. 'It's something to do with you! Come on, Owen, confess. You can, you know, being so depraved myself, I shall understand.'

  'In a way,' he was grudging. 'I suppose you could say I'm to blame.'

  'Oh, I shall say it,' Lallie's eyes sparkled with a gloating satisfaction. 'But do continue…'

  '… then be quiet while I think of the best way to put it…'

  '… so it won't make you look too bad?'

  'Lallie!' It was a warning growl and she knew from experience that she'd pushed him far enough—as far as it was safe. It would be more politic, at this point, to be quiet in case she went too far and he erupted into a blunt, flaying savagery. She lowered her eyes demurely and folded her hands in her lap, but her busy tongue got the better of her.

  'Tell all,' she said with sarcasm. 'Let little Lallie in on the ground floor. Who knows, if you appeal to my sympathy, I may be tempted to help.'

  'It started last October.' Owen fiddled with a pencil. 'I was in Aber and I met a girl I was in school with. She married an Army bloke and he died a while back, so she came home, hoping to get a job around here. She has a small pension, but not enough to live on, and it was the wrong time of the year for finding work in Aber. She's had some experience in catering and so forth, but as you know, a lot of the hotels in the area close for the winter—she just wanted something to keep her going until spring.'

  '… And out of the goodness of your heart and the corruption of your morals, you offered her a job here. What was she to be, your assistant housekeeper with fringe benefits for a kind employer?'

  'London hasn't improved you,' he said with emphasis. 'You want your mouth washed out with soap, so shut up or I'll do it.' And it wasn't an empty threat, she knew. He was quite capable of carrying it out, he'd done it before when she was little. 'As I said, I offered her a job. I'm the county vet and I don't have time for the paper work of the farm. I thought she could cope with that and maybe give Dwynwen a hand. It was time the old girl took things a bit more easily.'

  'Tell me no more,' Lallie waved a hand. 'You don't have to say another word. But what happened, did Dwynny catch you in bed with her or did the lady get more permanent ideas and start easing Dwynny out—perhaps suggesting that she should retire completely?'

  'You're on the right track,' he admitted, and she was surprised to see that his smile was slightly rueful. 'The lady had very permanent ideas, but not because she occupies my bed, she doesn't. The one time when I've been quite altruistic with not an evil thought in my mind!'

  'It's your reputation, Owen, it goes before you,' she murmured. 'Where is the lady now, have you got rid of her?'

  Owen shook his head, 'She went on a fortnight's holiday just before Dwynwen collapsed, she's due back on Monday…'

  '… All bright and sparkling and waiting with bated breath for you to produce the ring?' Lallie couldn't help herself, she started giggling, the giggles turned to outright laughter and tears of mirth poured down her cheeks. 'S-serve you right! I've been waiting for something like this, but I thought you were too damn clever ever to be caught—that I'd never have the chance to crow over you.'

  'You can stop crowing,' he scowled at her while his mouth lifted in a reluctant smile. 'This isn't the time for it, we have to work out a plan…'

  'We have to work out a plan?' she interrupted fiercely. 'Oh no, Owen, you have to put things straight, I don't come into it at all. I wasn't here, I didn't know anything about it and I don't owe you anything, remember? I'll just stand by and watch you go down for the third time and I'll laugh while you're doing it. This is my time to crow. I've never forgotten the things you said to me, the names you called me or the way you wouldn't believe me. Now it's my turn to say I don't believe you. I'm not saying you ever had any permanent intentions because I know you too well. I'm sure you didn't, the "bachelor gay" life is too dear to you, but I suppose you couldn't keep your hands to yourself, so it serves you right. Get out of your own mess!'

  There was an angry satisfaction in her voice and her eyes were slitted and gleaming with it.

  'And Dwynwen,' he reminded her. 'You can take your spite out on me as much as you like, I can stand it—but there's Dwynwen. She has this mad idea that I'm going to put her in a home for geriatrics, that's what was the final straw. It made her heart attack almost inevitable.'

  'Then you'll have to tell her you'll do no such thing…'

  'I have,' he cut her off short and he was fierce about it. 'It didn't work, so…'

  'She won't believe me either.' Lallie felt herself growing cold, she sensed danger. 'What had you in mind?'

  'Simple.' Owen made a bit of a fuss about finding his pipe, filling it and using three matches to get it going while Lallie waited with growing impatience. 'You and I are engaged, but we shan't be getting married, not for six months or so.' He came round the desk and clapped his hand over her mouth. 'You have to be given time to see whether you could live here after being in the big city, you might miss the bright lights and your middle-aged beaux. At the end of that six months, you will of course decide you can't stand the place or me and it will be all over, but in that time, we'll have Dwynwen back on her feet and convinced she isn't going to be chucked on the scrap heap.' He removed his hand from her mouth and stood back. 'Now you can talk!'

  'Six months!' Lallie exploded. 'You're out of your mind! What about my job and my flat? I couldn't live here and keep my flat going, I'd have to give it up and I couldn't ask my boss to keep my job open for that length of time.'

&nb
sp; 'He will,' Owen told her serenely. 'I asked him and he said so. Old Tommy's not a bad sort and he understands.'

  'And my flat, what about that?' She thought she was weakening and made a more determined stand. 'I'd have to give it up, and what then? Have you any idea of how difficult it is to get a place in London? And in any case, what gives you the idea that Dwynny will believe me when she won't believe you?'

  'Because she loves you, idiot. Oh yes, I know, she loves us all, but you've always been something special. You're her little white hen that never laid away.' He looked at her sardonically. 'She thought up every excuse in the book for you and it ended up with me in the dirt, I was to blame for what you did, it was my fault you'd fallen by the wayside. I'd always treated you harshly—I hadn't understood you—I'd driven you out into the wide world, alone and defenceless and into that sink of iniquity. Need I go on…?'

  Lallie sat very still and remembered. It seemed she did very little else but remember nowadays. She remembered Dwynwen's warm arms and the comfort of her sturdy body when her own mother had been killed, the housekeeper's unfailing kindness… Yes, she did owe, and she said as much in a quiet voice, looking not at Owen but somehow through him as her mind went ranging back to happier times.

  'All right, Owen, I'll do it. Like you said, I owe,' and then she came back to the present and her soft mouth hardened. 'But don't forget, I owe you as well, and that's one debt I'm looking forward to paying with interest!'

  He ignored the implied threat as though she had never made it and went fishing in the desk drawer to come out with a small, worn leather box. 'You'd better have this,' he tossed it across to her. 'It was my mother's and it should fit, she had very small hands. We want it to look genuine, don't we?'

  'And it's the look of the thing that matters.' Her lips twisted into a bitter smile. 'Thanks for reminding me. Can we see Dwynny now?'

  'Put the ring on first, she'll be expecting it.'

  'Expecting it?' Her voice rose in wrath. 'Do you mean you've told her already, before you came to fetch me, is that it? Well, of all the unmitigated cheek… ! I've a good mind to refuse and let you stew in your own juice. You've actually made her think you could walk in on me, give me a call and I'd do whatever you want…'