The wine warmed her and the champagne bubbles exploded and fizzed in her veins. When people came to wish her well, she discovered she could smile real smiles at them, even venture a little joke, so she had another glass of the stuff; the world was looking rosier already!
'How much?' That was Owen being censorious as they were driven back to Bryn Celyn ahead of the closer relatives and the friends who had been invited.
'One glass of wine and three of champagne,' Lallie said sedately. 'I feel better already.'
'On an empty stomach!' He snorted. 'You'll be lucky if you aren't sick!'
'There you go again,' she sighed, 'getting at me. It's your favourite hobby, I think. Why don't you start a "let's put Lallie down" club? This is the first time today when I've felt anywhere near happy, and you have to go and spoil it all!'
The hire car stopped in the farmyard and she scrambled out without waiting for the door to be opened, to run up the garden path as fast as her long skirts and thin satin high-heeled shoes would allow, arriving at the door hot and breathless. Once inside, she gathered up her skirts and took the stairs at a run, and in her bedroom she tore off the hampering veil, threw her bouquet across the room, kicked off her shoes and wriggled desperately to unfasten the zip of her dress.
'Damn,' she swore aloud, crying with vexation. 'Damn, damn, damn!'
'Allow me.' Owen was behind her and under his hands the zip ran smoothly down. He then walked across to the window and retrieved the flowers from where she had hurled them. 'You save these,' he said sternly. 'You put them on your mother's grave, that's the custom.'
'Sorry.' She slumped on the bed in her slip. 'It's been a bit much. All this fuss for a farce!'
Without a word, he lifted her feet and put them on the bed, arranging the eiderdown over her. 'Go to sleep, Lallie, you'll feel better when you wake up.'
She glared at him from the pillow. 'I'll never feel better, never!'
'Yes, you will,' he was emphatic. 'A couple of days and you…'
'I won't know what I was fussing about,' she finished it for him. 'You've shortened the time limit, haven't you? The last time you said that, it was a year, if I remember rightly.'
'A year, a day, what does it matter?' He pushed her back on to the pillows. 'Have a nap for an hour and I'll wake you with a cup of tea and something to eat.'
'But I can't stay up here for an hour,' she protested. 'What will everybody think?'
'What they like.' Owen was unmoved. 'I'll tell them you're changing, and everyone knows how long that takes.' And he was gone, the door closing behind him softly.
Lallie turned her face into the pillows, closing her eyes on the tears that were filling them. An hour, that was time enough to have a good old-fashioned cry, but she didn't. Her eyes closed and she drifted off to sleep.
Owen was a good timekeeper, he shook her shoulder exactly one hour later with a plate of ham sandwiches and a large mug of well sweetened tea.
'Eat them, girl,' he nodded at the plate, 'and keep your mouth busy. I want to talk to you.'
'Talk away.' Lallie had regained a little of her self-confidence, she now thought she could face about anything that came her way. She gulped thirstily at the tea and bit into a sandwich. 'Tell all,' she said with her mouth full.
'We were going away.'
'Mmm,' she nodded. 'A great secret, one I wasn't to know anything about. What was the destination, Devil's Island?' She crammed the last of the sandwich into her mouth and reached for another one, 'Oh, I forgot, there's an egg in one of my shoes in the wardrobe. Will you take it down when you go, throw it away or put it in the pigswill?'
'An egg?' He raised his eyebrows. 'What have you been playing at?'
'It was my breakfast, but I couldn't eat it,' she explained, 'and I didn't want to hurt Nerys's feelings. I thought she would be pleased with an empty tray, especially as she came up here this morning just to bring it to me. A bit mad on my part, though, I forgot about the shell, she'd expect to see that.' She stopped, looking at him. 'You said we were going away?'
'But not now,' he nodded. 'I'm sorry, Lallie, but I had a phone call from Jeff, Dorcas's husband, just before I left for the church. I phoned right away and cancelled our bookings.'
'What's wrong?' She felt herself going cold. 'Is Dorcas all right?'
'She went into hospital this morning—an emergency,' he explained. 'They're trying to save the baby, and Dorcas isn't in a very good condition either.'
'Then why on earth did you go on with this foolishness?' she demanded. 'We'll have to leave straight away for Cardiff—just give me ten minutes and I'll be ready…'
'Not yet.' He put a hand on her shoulder to push her back on the bed. 'Jeff's ringing as soon as there's any news and we can make it in an hour and a half if we have to.'
Fear trickled down her spine. 'Have you told Dwynny?'
'No,' he shook his head. 'She's coming on so well, I don't like to take the chance of upsetting Tier unnecessarily. Time enough for her to know if anything goes wrong. Meanwhile, will you stay up here…'
'But…'
'We've already left, my little bride. We went off quietly about a quarter of an hour ago, without anybody seeing us. The bride was a bit embarrassed and she didn't want any more fuss, she objects to confetti. If we have to go, I'd like you to go over to Jonty's with Vi.'
Instead of intense pleasure, Lallie felt chagrin. 'I'd rather come with you.'
'No.' Owen was firm and there was a hard line to his mouth which brooked no dispute. 'We have to think of the other end. Jeff's spending his time at the hospital and his mother's holding the fort. If we have to go down, Jonty and I can make do with a couch or the floor, if we have to—she knows that. If you go down, she'll feel bound to offer you something better and she has too much on her mind already without going to a lot of trouble for you. Jonty and I will go and you'll stay with Vi. That's settled!'
'Very well.' She was grudging about it. 'But for how long do I have to hide up here?'
Owen didn't answer, his head was cocked as he listened to footsteps coming along the passage. They stopped at the bathroom door and went in. 'You'll keep out of the way until the last of the stragglers have gone,' he spoke very quietly, a murmurous whisper which wouldn't penetrate the closed door. 'And I think you'd better not stay here after all— somebody else is bound to use the bathroom. Get yourself a change of clothes and as soon as the coast is clear, I'll take you where you'll be safe.'
She put out a tentative hand to cover his. 'I'm sorry, Owen. You've been worried about Dorcas and I've been behaving like a first-class bitch.'
'Oh, lord, Lallie, do you realise what you've done? You've made me an apology, about the first ever in your life!'
'Treasure it,' she advised sardonically. 'It may be the one and only. I'm not given to many moments of weakness.'
CHAPTER TEN
While Owen's back was turned, Lallie wriggled out of the long white slip and replaced it with one of daytime length. She also kicked off the white satin shoes and stuffed her feet into a pair of black pumps. He gave her no time for anything more, turning to toss a cotton kimono at her and catch up her case which was standing by the bed, already packed.
'Come on!' he said softly as she pushed her arms into the wide cotton sleeves. 'The coast is clear.' And she found herself swept out, along the passage, past the top of the stairs and into the old wing of the house. Owen threw open the door to the room into which he had moved when Stella came to stay.
'Do you think you can be happy here?'
Lallie looked around. She knew the room, of course, but it was only a casual knowing, she had only ever been in it three or four times and never after her mother had died. It was big, occupying all the top floor of the gable end, and there was plenty of space. There were a couple of chintz-covered wing armchairs and a small table under the wide window, but these pieces of furniture didn't crowd the large bed and the rest of the massive bedroom furniture.
She walked across floorboards unev
en with age and sat in one of the chairs. 'Does it matter,' she enquired bleakly, 'whether I'm happy or not? Surely it's a matter of adjustment, getting used to some-thing different. I've discovered that everything becomes tolerable, given time.' She shivered slightly; the tiny diamond-shaped panes of the window seemed to cut out a lot of the warmth from the spring sunshine.
'At least it's big,' she murmured with a sideways glance at the very large bed. 'We shan't be cramped for space.'
'I want it this way.' Owen bent to put a match to the ready-laid fire, 'and you want it this way as well; so why can't you be honest about it? You'll be happy.'
'But it's all been so unnecessary,' she sighed mournfully. 'You've jumped the gun. Dwynny's better, Stella's gone and now Vi tells me that she and Jonty are getting married. There's no point in all this, no point at all. Why can't you be satisfied with arranging things for everybody else and leave me alone? As for being happy, what's that but saying the things you want to hear and believe?'
'You'd find it a relief…' He came towards her, very big under the low, raftered ceiling—almost menacing.
'Here we go again!' she gave an exasperated snort. 'Confess your wicked doings, Lallie—your falls from grace. Spit it all out and Owen will magnanimously forgive you your trespasses. He won't throw it in your face more than once every five minutes—but never mind that. Comfort yourself with the thought you've told all.' Her tone changed and became defiant. 'I told you the truth, if you don't want to believe my first story, believe the second. It's no skin off my nose.'
'You used to be an honest little thing,' he reminded her. 'You always owned up when you were to blame…'
'… So, I've changed.' Courage was seeping back into her, stiffening her backbone and making her waspish. 'And I won't take this "holier than thou" attitude, not from you, Owen. I wouldn't mind so much if you'd been particularly virtuous, but you haven't. The pot calling the kettle black! Don't you dare to criticise anything I've done!'
'But I've been honest about it,' he reminded her.
'So was I,' she snorted, 'and where did it get me? Go away, and since I have to hide up here because of that honesty of yours, see if you can find me something more to eat. I'm still starving.' The fire had caught well and she dragged her chair across to it. 'If you'll kindly go, I'll get dressed, it's a bit chilly sitting here in a robe.' She kicked off her shoes and held her feet out to the blaze. 'You'll let me know if you hear anything from Dorcas, won't you?'
'Of course.' Owen made no attempt to leave. 'But you and Dorcas, you were never close, were you?'
'No, not very.' Lallie wave a deprecatory hand. 'My fault, I suppose—at least, that's what you'll say, but she was always so good, so easy, and not a prickle in sight.' She stared at the flames. 'I used to envy her, though—she really belonged, I was just a stray.'
'A bit more self-pity!' He raised an eyebrow. 'You were both treated alike by all of us, weren't you? And after our parents were killed, if you found any difference in that treatment, it was because it was long overdue. You'd been allowed far too much of your own way!'
'Oooh!' Lallie clenched her hands until her nails bit into the flesh. 'What a nice way of saying I was spoiled rotten! That's what you said before, and coming from you, I prefer it,' and she glared savagely at the door as it closed behind him.
Ten minutes later, she was dressed in a grey skirt and a pink jumper, but she was still shivering. It had nothing to do with the temperature, the room was warm—it was sheer nerves, a nasty sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that wouldn't go away, not even when Vi tapped and came in with a tray, her mouth stretched in a wide smile.
'At last I've met Dwynwen. Formidable, isn't she?—reminds me of my gran.'
Lallie huddled back in her chair and stretched cold fingers to the fire. 'How did it go?'
'Much as I expected,' Vi chuckled. 'A stern lecture on the errors of my ways and then an abrupt volte-face because we are getting married, which will put everything right, and she's decided that Jonty was probably as much to blame as me. It takes two to tango, although she didn't quite put it that way.'
'She barks a lot,' Lallie murmured, her eyes fixed on the tray. 'But there's not much bite to it. It's her chapel morality warring with her devotion to the family. Now you're going to be a Tudor, you're above reproach. Is that soup?'
'Mmm; and some more ham sandwiches. I'm sorry it isn't anything more exciting, but Jonty's only just managed to get rid of the stragglers, two distant cousins, I believe, who've been inspecting the wedding presents. He's just driven them back to Trellwyd. I do think he's improving, he did it alone and unaided—no mean feat, I might add, they looked as though they'd taken root in the parlour. Do you want me to stay with you for a while?'
'I'll be glad of the company.' Lallie glanced at her watch. 'Oh dear, it's only half past seven—it seems like a lifetime since this morning. There's no news about Dorcas yet?'
'Not yet.' Vi dragged the other chair across to the fire. 'There are some things that can't be rushed, you know, although human beings aren't as bad as sheep. Ewes can put it off for ages if they're disturbed.'
'Sensible creatures.' Lallie drank her soup and started on a sandwich, but her appetite had gone, lost in nervousness, and she started to shiver again. Vi looked at her compassionately.
'Hinny, you're out on your feet—don't bother about that sandwich, go and lie down for a while. When I get married, it's going to be as quick and simple as possible, this long-drawn-out business is far too traumatic. I'd never stand it.'
'What will you wear?'
'This, I think.' Vi gestured at her bronze silk. 'Quite suitable, don't you think, and I'll have an orchid spray to make it look festive. Come on now,' she took the remains of the sandwich from Lallie's unresisting fingers, tossed it on the tray and urged her towards the bed, 'strip off and have a rest.'
'I've only just dressed!' Lallie fought off inactivity.
'Then undress,' Vi said firmly. 'Have a nap, and when you wake, there may be some news. You'll be able to come downstairs and we'll eat properly, something hot.'
Lallie allowed herself to be persuaded, stripping once more down to her underwear and sliding beneath the eiderdown. 'Go back downstairs,' she muttered. 'Jonty'll be back soon and he'll be missing you.' She smothered a yawn of mammoth proportions, her eyes closed and although she thought she would never be able to, she slept.
It seemed only minutes later that she was awakened as Owen dropped his large frame on to the edge of the bed. She blinked at him, at the unfamiliar room, while she orientated herself. The window was quite dark now and the fire had died to a dull glow which barely illuminated his face. He put out a hand and switched on the bedside lamp, and she looked at him speculatively, with new eyes, wondering if any other newly-wedded wife felt as she felt—nervous but somehow not afraid, either of him or of the future.
She had been dragooned into marriage—no, that wasn't correct. If the idea of it had been that distasteful to her, nothing, but nothing, would have made her marry him—she wasn't the stuff of which martyrs were made. It was very nice, very propitiating to think of herself as being pushed around against her will, but it was a long way from the truth. If she hadn't wanted to be pushed around, she could have thought of some other way out of the mess.
Owen kept on and on about honesty; she tried to be honest. The truth was, it was a mess she wanted to be in, a nice mess, a lovely mess, and she would enjoy as much of it as she could. There would be bad patches, but she thought she could cope with them. A little frisson of excitement made her shiver.
'Something going round in that clever little brain of yours, Lallie?' Owen sounded amused.
'Some,' she admitted, and then, 'Have you heard from Dorcas?'
'Mmm, five minutes ago, A boy, caesarian section, rather small and a bit frail, which was to be expected—he's come very early into the world, and Dorcas isn't all that bright and sparkling, but they're both out of danger.'
'Oh.' The tension in her released
as though a spring which had been wound too tightly had been slackened off. 'Then it's all right, you won't have to go down to Cardiff.'
'No, Jonty's taken Vi home and the only place I'm going is to bed.' Owen lifted a corner of the eiderdown and examined her semi-clothed state. 'You're surely not intending to sleep like that, Lallie?' He inserted a long finger under the clip of her bra. 'You'll find it very uncomfortable.' He tipped up the lid of her case and examined the contents, grimacing at the two printed cotton nighties she had packed.
'Not glamorous,' he murmured, 'or very seductive. Is this the best you could do, or don't you think I'm worth anything better?'
Without waiting for a reply, he put the contents of his pockets on to the bedside table, discarded his jacket and stripped off his tie. 'There's a bathroom just down the passage, I'll use the other one for tonight. Be back in about ten minutes.'
Owen was being calm and matter-of-fact; it chilled her, but it effectively steadied her nerves. If he could treat this as an ordinary, everyday happening, so could she, so that when he returned to the bed-room she was standing by the darkened window, apparently calm.
'Lallie.' She looked back across the room, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the light, and her heart gave a leap in her breast at the sight of him in a short towelling robe and with the russet of his hair slicked back to darkness with water.
'Yes?' She had meant her voice to be calm, unruffled, but it came out as a gasp.
'Come to bed, Lallie,' and quietly, she allowed him to take her hand and lead her away from the window, back to the dying glow of the fire. 'I don't like it,' he gestured at the cotton nightie. 'How does it come off?'
The Road to Forever Page 14
