The Road to Forever

by Jeneth Murrey

  Owen let out a shout of laughter as he leaned back against the wall.' You with an inferiority complex and basic insecurity! That's the best you've come up with so far. Who spun you that load of codswallop?'

  'I read it in a book.' Lallie kept her smile going with difficulty. 'An American thing—Know Your Hang-ups and How to Overcome Them. It's been of tremendous help to me. I used to cower in corners like a mouse.'

  'I don't believe it.' He put an arm about her shoulders and drew her into the sitting room where the fire which Nerys had lit earlier was burning brightly. 'When you're in a corner, little one, you don't cower, you never did. You come out spitting and with every claw ready to scratch. I see you've swallowed your pride enough to wear my woollies.'

  Lallie fluttered her eyelashes as though she was in an agony of embarrassment. 'You said they wouldn't fit your lady friends, and they do help to cover my flat chest!'

  'Another bit of basic insecurity?' The arm about her shoulders tightened and turned her to face him. 'It's not flat and you know it, so stop flirting with me or you'll get more than you bargain for.' His free hand seized her left one and raised the ruby ring to where she could see it. 'I've the right now and I'll have you down on that couch and carry out my own inspection. Taste and try before you buy, that's my motto. Even if the goods are a bit shop-soiled.'

  'Back to square one,' she sighed, then stiffened as she heard the door open. It couldn't be Jonty, he'd have made much more noise, it must be Stella, and she softened herself, lifting her face to Owen's. 'Please,' she whispered, offering her mouth. She was close enough to see the little yellow flames and for a second—but only a second—she regretted her behaviour. Then his mouth was on hers and regret became a thing of the past. It was all right, she thought while she was capable of thought, this playing with fire, and she wished she hadn't done it, but there had been a devil driving her. Owen's mouth was as hungry as her own, there was a warmth here, a need, and she drew herself closer to it.

  Something inside her was screaming, 'Out of your depth', and reluctantly she drew back, unplastering herself from him. He'd pounce on any sign of weakness, so she manufactured a bright smile that held a tinge of mockery; it was self-mockery, but he wasn't to know that.

  'Missing your conferences, my love?' she whispered. 'You'd better get yourself off on one and quickly, then you won't have to maul me!' She moved languidly to look at Stella. 'Sorry,' she said blandly. 'Owen and I were just discussing the spring-cleaning.'

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Owen pushed his breakfast plate aside and began a search of his pockets for pipe and tobacco before beginning the important ritual of shredding, stuffing the bowl, tapping it all down firmly and then lighting it. It all took time and Lallie looked at him from under her lashes while she buttered her toast. Over the past week or so, she had managed to organise herself into a routine so that most of her household chores were over by dinner time. But Owen was dawdling this morning, wasting his time and her own.

  'What did you think of her?' The pipe was now going satisfactorily and smoke wreathed about his head.

  Lallie raised an eyebrow. 'You mean Vi Turnbull, Jonty's shepherdess?'

  'Mmm.' He leaned back in his chair studying her, watching the expressions flitting across her mobile face. 'Take your time about it,' he advised, 'and we've got plenty of that this morning—time, I mean. I've only one herd of milkers to inspect on a farm just outside Trellwyd, but I'm not due there until ten.'

  She took her time and thought, surprised at how little there was to think about. She could see Vi in her mind's eye quite clearly, a big woman, good-looking but not a beauty—a quantity of curly brown hair; cool, quiet brown eyes; a cool, quiet smile, but apart from that, there was nothing except the nebulous impression that Vi was cautious. Cautious about meeting people and cautious about what she said. Lallie could even have imagined the faint hostility she had thought she had seen in those cool brown eyes. Vi Turnbull had made very little impact. Lallie thought some more and her words came out slowly as though she was choosing them with care.

  'I don't know what to think, because she's not a bit as I expected. I thought, with you saying "agricultural student", that she'd be much younger, more "with-it", but she's not. She's as old as Jonty, maybe even a bit older, and he's thirty, Isn't that a bit old for a student? But I like her, at least I think I do.' She frowned and then brightened. 'But it's nothing to do with me or anybody except her and Jonty, is it? and she seems very good for him, he's matured and much more self-confident. I think she may be exerting a steadying influence on him, he certainly needs it, and she seems to be a good sidekick as well. He needs that.'

  'What on earth do you mean?' Owen pushed his cup across for refilling.

  'Ha!' she crowed with delight. 'The great Owen Tudor missed something! You mean you didn't notice? Owen, I'm ashamed of you!'

  'If you don't tell me what you're on about, you devious little brat,' he threatened, 'I'll come round this table and give you a leathering!'

  'You'll have to control that nasty temper of yours,' she reproved. 'At least while I'm holding the teapot. I've got a very good aim, a bullseye every time at this distance.' She saw his eyes beginning to glow and continued hastily, 'Jonty talked about sheep, but only in relation to dogs. Sheepdog pedigrees—sheepdog pups—sheepdog training—sheepdog trials— you'd think, to listen to him, that he was a sheepdog breeder instead of a sheep farmer. It's quite obvious who does the actual work while he gets his dogs ready for the trials.' She put her head on one side, pausing for a moment. 'Do you think they really are …?'

  'Living together? Oh, I should think so.' Owen's smile glimmered. 'They're both personable, no wooden legs, false teeth or glass eyes—they're living together in the same house, it's rather small and pretty remote—they're working together. If nothing else, propinquity would do the rest.'

  'She's in love with him, I think, although she's so self-contained, it's difficult to say,' Lallie said thoughtfully as she buttered a second slice of toast and then spread marmalade lavishly. She had been running about, seeing to Dwynwen, and hadn't started her breakfast until Owen had nearly finished his. 'I'm not so sure about Jonty either. They didn't give much away, they talked quite a bit, but never about themselves. Not that they had much chance, your Stella saw to that.' And she bit into her toast with a snap of her white teeth.

  'Not my Stella,' he shook his head at her. 'I've told you about that, she's an old friend, that's all. One who needs a helping hand over a rough patch.'

  'Your 'old friend' doesn't give that impression,' Lallie sniffed in a derogatory way. 'If she'd sat any closer to you yesterday evening, she'd have been in your lap. She was cuddling up to you like a second cardigan. Old friend indeed!'

  'Jealous?'

  'Not in the least,' she said disdainfully. 'She made me mad, that's all. Hanging on until I had to offer her tea, and spoiling everything. I think Vi and Jonty might have talked more about personal things if she hadn't been here. I tried, while we were in the kitchen washing up, but it wasn't any good—your friend detached herself from you and came offering to wipe up.'

  'You sound jealous.' He looked at her quizzically through a cloud of smoke.

  'Not me,' Lallie denied it vigorously. 'And I'd rather leave the subject of your old friend, she sticks in my throat, so let's go back to Jonty's shepherdess.'

  'A lady with a past, do you think?'

  'N-no,' she shook her head, 'and don't ask me questions like that, I'm not an expert on people. Why are you asking anyway? I suppose you've got some wriggly little plan to interfere, and I wish you wouldn't. I know Jonty's your brother, but he's a big boy now and he's happy, so why try to spoil it for him? You'd be better occupied trying to talk Dwynwen round so that she accepts Vi as part of the scenery—and you could, if you put your mind to it.' Lallie's mind flicked back to yesterday and she giggled.

  'Vi's what Dwynny would call a "deep one",' she giggled again. 'All those leading questions your Stella asked, being all wid
e-eyed and innocent about them—she should have taken up the Law instead of hotel work, she'd have made a first rate Q.C. And all she had going home was a description and how they, Vi and Jonty, treated each other, although I suppose it's enough to build a mountain out of a molehill and start another round of gossip.'

  Owen ignored most of this and concentrated on what was, to him, a sore point. 'Stella's not "my" Stella!'

  'Sorry,' Lallie poured herself another cup of tea. 'I forgot—you must forgive me my little failings. You're being altruistic in that direction, aren't you?'

  'I'm being nothing in that direction.' His eyes started to glint. 'How could I, an engaged man and only a blink away from marriage.'

  It was at this point that a thought occurred to her, an unpleasant one and one which she hadn't contemplated before. She tried to dismiss it, but it wouldn't go.

  'And what are people saying about us?' she asked in a hesitant tone, and then, as her courage built up, 'Wouldn't this propinquity thing apply to us, or does it only operate for Jonty and Vi? Is the great Owen Tudor above suspicion? Damn you, Owen, you've started a whole new train of thought, and I don't much like what I'm thinking. We're living here, in the same house, we're both quite personable, we're not related in any way, and as a chaperon, Dwynny's about as much good as a piece of cold haddock. There's also the matter of your reputation and mine as well; if they remember it. Is everybody drawing the same conclusions about us?'

  'You haven't been here that long.' Owen relit his pipe which had gone out while they walked. 'But, given time, say another couple of weeks, and I should think they will.' He sounded quite serene. 'Would it bother you? After all, the blame is partly yours as well, you know. That little act you put on yesterday, for Stella's benefit, I presume,' his voice went up a couple of octaves as he mimicked her in a high falsetto. 'We were just discussing the spring-cleaning. You did that deliberately, Lallie, to give the worst possible effect.'

  'I get carried away,' she grinned, and then sobered, retreating into her shell and refusing to let her distaste show. 'But it shouldn't worry you, your reputation's about as black as ink already, and I shall be back in London as soon as Dwynny's fit, so it won't affect me.'

  'As you say, my pretty.' His lips folded in a hard, tight line. 'After all, who am I to contradict you? You're the expert, you've been there before, haven't you?' And he rose and slammed out of the kitchen.

  Lallie waited until she heard the front door slam as well and then started on her morning chores. It was something she didn't want to think about, that time in London. It had been painful enough, and that had been among thousands of strangers, people who didn't know her, who couldn't have cared whether she lived or died. It would be much worse here, where she was known, but—she shrugged her shoulders. She'd been through it once, she could do it again if she had to, and in any case, as she had said, she wasn't a permanent fixture. It would all blow over and she wouldn't even hear about it. There was nothing to worry about.

  This comforting thought kept her reasonably happy until eleven o'clock when Stella came into the kitchen for coffee. There was an air of suppressed excitement about her and Lallie was glad Nerys was comfortably established in with Dwynwen. Stella's look was enough, and any comforting thoughts Lallie might have had vanished immediately—blown away in a gust of despair and indecision. Stella looked like a cat that had discovered a bowl of rich cream and who had gobbled the lot. She was almost licking her lips.

  'A very nice tea yesterday, Lallie.' Even her tone was sardonic and condescending. 'I was able to tell my sister all about Jonty's woman.'

  'Jonty's woman?' Lallie eyed Stella glacially. 'I presume you mean Miss Turnbull, but I don't see how you could have so much to tell. Vi seems very discreet.'

  'Mmm.' Stella looked even more pleased. 'But every little helps, don't you think? My sister doesn't get about very much and she's interested in people, she likes to know what's going on. Did I tell you, one of her hobbies is a great scrapbook—she's also interested in the theatre. She had a very good voice, you know, and she was in several productions when she was younger, nothing in London, of course, although she did a whole season in Cardiff once, that was before she was married and the children came. After that, she couldn't take an active part any longer, so she started her scrapbook. She says it keeps her up to date with what's happening in the theatre world.'

  'How nice. I've always said everybody should have a hobby, and this is a whacking great scrap-book, I suppose.' Lallie felt a chill creeping over her.

  She would have liked to run away, to hide in with Dwynwen and Nerys, but pride stopped her. 'And thousands of cuttings,' she continued, 'all pasted in, probably a complete record of every show or play put on since she retired. It must make her quite an authority.'

  'As you say, a complete record. She was showing it to me last night, we both found it very interesting.'

  'Get to the point.' Lallie feigned uninterest. 'I suppose you do have a point?'

  'The newspaper clippings were interesting, as I said.' Stella was enjoying every long-drawn-out moment. 'Especially the ones about Marla Lake, a firm favourite of my sister's. She used to be in musicals, you know, before she married, that's when her husband persuaded her to go straight. The cuttings about her cover five whole pages all to themselves. Of course, I didn't realise, not straight away. I was used to thinking of you as one of the Tudors—and then I remembered, you said I could call you Miss Moncke if I liked. But the photographs of you were very good, weren't they? You're quite photogenic. And what was it they called you, a pert little typist who'd been having, a grubby affair with a successful man.'

  'So,' Lallie shrugged and raised her eyebrows, 'you've found a juicy little titbit for everybody to rake over again. I should have thought they'd not find it so spicy the second time around.'

  'But you aren't thinking of Owen.' Stella looked reproachful.

  'Thinking of Owen!' Lallie snorted. 'It was my reputation that was in tatters, not his. Owen can look after himself, he's been carrying on a pretty successful double life ever since he was old enough to misbehave himself, and he's always come up smelling of roses. You don't have to worry about him, he's practically bullet-proof by now.'

  'But I do worry.' Stella's eyes glittered like pale blue glass. 'He's coming up for re-appointment, and what will be the effect if the Council decides against him? You know what it's like in this part of the world, they could easily choose somebody else. I heard one of the Councillors has a relative who wants the job.' She sighed. 'There's bound to be talk—people are so narrow-minded—his brother living with that woman—and now you, living here with Owen. People are going to say…'

  'They're going to say that what I did once, I could do again,' Lallie interrupted. 'Is that what you mean?'

  'It's Owen's career at stake,' Stella reminded her gently. 'And it could very well affect his private practice as well.'

  'My career was at stake once,' Lallie reminded her hardily. 'It's one thing I learned, you can get over a thing like that.'

  'But you didn't have a social position to lose.' Stella was getting angry. 'You and Owen—you can't compare his job with yours. He has a great deal of responsibility, he's in daily contact with people, people who matter.'

  'And Shire Hall might turn up its nose at the smell?' Lallie snorted again. 'Let them—and now, if you don't mind, I think we've wasted enough time this morning and I'm sure you have some typing to do,' and she swept the untouched coffee pot from the table and tipped the contents down the sink before starting on a bowl of potatoes. She heard the kitchen door close and dropped her hands in the icy water with a groan of despair. Owen had let himself in for a load of trouble, if Stella was to be believed.

  Poor Owen, only trying to do his best for Dwynwen. Her lips twitched into a softer curve and then straightened out into a hard line. Serve him right! Thinking he knew better than anybody, bulldozing people around to serve his own purpose.

  One thing she was grateful for, that Nerys had been
in with Dwynwen. The girl might have the mental age of a ten-year-old, but she would have absorbed every word said and retailed it faithfully. The twiddly bits would have been put in, adding to the impact of the original, and it would all have been passed over the counter of the post office with each pension book, stamp and postal order.

  Lallie was still cold and impersonal when Owen returned for dinner. She had crept back into the hard little shell she had built for herself after the debacle in London. Stella joined them at the table, sitting opposite Nerys, and Lallie hoped that the woman would have the sense not to say anything. She found herself quite unable to sit with them, making polite and meaningless conversation as she loaded Dwynwen's tray, added her own plate to it and went into the housekeeper's room.

  'Come to have a picnic,' she announced as she arranged the tray over Dwynwen's knees and sat on the edge of the bed to eat her own meal.

  Dwynwen gave a soft cackle of laughter. 'Falling out again, you and Owen?'

  'Certainly not!' Lallie looked virtuous. 'You know how Owen and I have always been. Never a cross word that wasn't meant.'

  'Jonty was here yesterday.' The old lady wasn't asking a question, she was stating a fact. 'No, that Nerys didn't tell me—heard him, I did. I've got good ears even at my age.' Lallie decided to brazen it out.

  'And his shepherdess,' she said quietly. 'She's rather nice.'

  'Can't be,' Dwynwen said definitely. 'Not doing what she's doing. They should be married—living like that—get the whole family a bad name.'

  'I think Jonty wants to marry her, I believe Vi's the one who's holding back.' Lallie laid her fork down and looked serious. 'She's a nice person, Dwynny, not at all what you think, and she's a hard worker. What's more important, she seems to be making Jonty very happy. She's not a young girl, you know. I believe she may be a bit older than he is and I think she's just the sort of person he needs. If she comes again, will you let me bring her in to see you?'