by Peter Murphy
But now, her eyes held him and made his mind stand absolutely still, and for an instant there was no Tywysog and no Caernarfon, there were no books to sell, no orders to place, and no visitors lamenting the departure of Madog. There were only the eyes. He began to regain his composure only because she was saying something to him with her gentle voice, in a beautiful formal Welsh, a Welsh quite different from the guttural conversational language he was getting used to hearing day by day. As his mind began to work again, he wondered whether she was speaking in that way as a kindness to him, as if she were afraid that he might not yet have adapted to the local speech sufficiently to understand her. He could not recover fully in time, and had to ask her to repeat what she had said. With a smile, she approached and stood next to where he was sitting at the desk.
‘It’s not important. I was just wondering whether you have heard of this writer, Glenys Gower, and whether she has written anything else.’
He stood and took the book from her.
‘No, I’m afraid not. I haven’t been here very long, and I haven’t had a chance to investigate the local authors yet. I am sure Madog would have known.’
She laughed. ‘Madog would have given me her phone number.’
He laughed too. ‘Yes. All I can offer is a catalogue. It’s upstairs, on the big table. It should have some information about all the authors we sell. At least, that’s what Madog told me. Why don’t you have a look at that, and if you can’t find anything I will make some inquiries for you.’
‘I will,’ she replied. ‘As I said, it’s not important. I only picked it up because you were on the phone. I came in mainly to introduce myself. My name is Arianwen Prys-Jones.’
‘Trevor Hughes,’ he replied and they shook hands, warmly, neither in any hurry to release.
‘What made you come all the way to Caernarfon to take over the Tywysog?’
‘All the way?’
She smiled again. ‘I heard you came from London.’
‘Yes, that’s quite true. I lived in London for many years. I worked at Foyles for a long time. I don’t know whether…’
‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘of course I know Foyles. My parents took us – my brother and myself – to London a number of times when we were much younger. Foyles was one of the places we would always visit. Most parents visiting London would take their children to Buckingham Palace and the Tower of London, but not my parents. My parents took us to Foyles and the British Museum.’
He laughed. ‘I take it they were keen on education?’
‘That would be an understatement.’
‘Do they still live in Caernarfon?’
‘No. They died about two years ago,’ she replied.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Thank you.’
There was a silence.
‘You were about to tell me why you left such a glamorous life to take over a book shop in Caernarfon.’
‘So I was. Well, my parents were Welsh – South Wales, I’m afraid…’
‘I picked that up from your voice. It is part of Wales, it still counts, you know…’
He smiled. ‘I think so. But I’m not sure everyone around here would agree with you.’
‘No,’ she laughed, ‘there are some who wouldn’t.’
‘We were from Cardiff. But my dad worked for the Government and they were ordered around during the War. Somehow they never made their way back to Wales. But I always wanted to come back if I could, and now seemed like as good a time as any. I thought, “If I don’t do it now, when will I do it?” I was keeping an eye on the trade journals, and when the Tywysog came on the market – well, I just couldn’t resist it. I know Madog is a hard act to follow…’
‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘but someone has to, so why not you? You will get used to us in time. We are not such a bad lot.’
A group of three customers had entered the shop and were hovering.
‘I mustn’t keep you,’ she said.
‘Thank you for introducing yourself,’ he replied. ‘Dare I hope that you may be a regular customer?’
She smiled. ‘I will be back,’ she said. ‘You will probably meet my brother next. I don’t think he would survive without visiting the Tywysog at least once a week. It’s almost his second home.’
‘He is a keen reader, is he? Well, I suppose, with the kind of upbringing you both had, spending holidays at Foyles, you would hardly have much choice, would you?’
‘My brother is Caernarfon’s own self-styled intellectual,’ she said. ‘He will buy some books, but he will browse his way through many more, and ask endless questions, and generally make your life a misery. I’m surprised Madog didn’t ban him.’
‘Tell him to introduce himself,’ he said.
‘I will. His name is Caradog.’
They shook hands again.
‘If you are interested in Glenys Gower, and you can’t find anything about her in the catalogue, let me know.’
‘I will.’
Trevor had begun to venture out to the local pubs for a pint after work, as part of his plan to introduce himself to his new local community. Often, he stopped for an early dinner somewhere. But on this evening, he chose to sit upstairs in the flat and subsist on beans on toast. After washing up, he opened a bottle of whisky and sat at the table in the living room, in the dim light of the single bulb which hung down, encased by a white paper light shade, from the ceiling above his head. He thought for a long time about Arianwen Prys-Jones, and did his best to write her off as a passing fancy. It had been some time since he had been involved with a woman, at any rate in any serious way, and it was not his intention to become involved now. It wasn’t the right time. It’s one of those things that happens, he told himself. You got talking, there was an attraction between you. But you know nothing about her. You don’t even know when, or if, you will see her again. Don’t make it into something it’s not. It will all die away. He convinced himself for a few moments. But the trouble was, he knew otherwise.
7
It was three days later when the man approached him. It was late in the afternoon and the shop was quiet. He was tall and striking, with a trimmed black beard, and long black hair in a ponytail, held by a clip at the back of his head. He wore a casual grey jacket and black slacks with a white shirt, open at the neck. Trevor had noticed him immediately when he entered and had seen him make his way upstairs, where he had remained for almost an hour. When he came back downstairs he walked across to the desk.
‘You met my sister the other day,’ he said.
Trevor stood. ‘You would be Caradog, then?’
‘I would indeed.’
They shook hands.
‘It’s Trevor, isn’t it?’
‘Trevor Hughes.’
‘I’m glad you’re here,’ Caradog said. ‘I wouldn’t have wanted to see the Tywysog close. It’s been too important to Caernarfon for too many years. We are grateful to you for keeping it going.’
‘Even though I’ve come from England?’
Caradog laughed.
‘Yes, despite that. You’re a Welsh man, and that’s all that matters. I hope we locals haven’t been too unkind to you.’
‘No, not at all. You have made me feel quite at home.’
He gestured to Caradog to sit at the side of his desk, and sat himself.
‘Tell me. Do you really think the Tywysog would have closed if I hadn’t come along?’
Caradog shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It might have. I suppose Madog would have found someone to buy it. It’s hard to imagine him walking away otherwise. But it’s a strange way of life running a small book shop in North Wales, and it wouldn’t be to everyone’s taste. I can’t think of anyone round here who would want it.’
‘I’m surprised you didn’t think about it yourself,’ Trevor said. ‘Arianwen explained about the childhood visit
s to Foyles. She said you were a regular visitor here during Madog’s time. You must like books a great deal.’
‘Very true,’ Caradog smiled. ‘But I like to read books. I’m not sure I want to sell them, and I’m certainly not sure I have the kind of head for business you need to keep a place like this going.’
He paused.
‘I probably shouldn’t have said that. It’s none of my business. But I know about the turnover and all the rest of it. Madog wasn’t any good at keeping secrets.’
‘There is no need for secrets,’ Trevor replied. ‘I know the Tywysog is not going to make me rich. That’s true of any small book shop. I learned enough about the trade at Foyles to know that. Even the big ones have to be careful these days. Small ones are always balanced on the knife edge. But this is a good shop. There is no reason why it shouldn’t do well.’
‘I’m sure it’s in good hands,’ Caradog said. ‘The main thing is to have someone who will love the place just as much as Madog.’
He looked at his watch.
‘You’ll be thinking of closing up soon, I daresay.’
‘I’m in no hurry,’ Trevor replied. ‘Take your time. If you want to go back upstairs, that’s fine.’
‘No. I’ll get out of your way. But look, I’m going around the corner for a pint or two. Why don’t you join me when you’ve locked up?’
Trevor nodded. ‘Thank you. I’d be pleased to. Where will you be?’
‘The Four Alls, in Hole in the Wall Street.’
‘I know it,’ Trevor said. ‘I’ll see you in about fifteen minutes.’
‘Whenever you’re ready,’ Caradog replied.
Trevor locked up as the last lingering customer left, and made his way the short distance to the Four Alls, walking to the end of Palace Street, emerging into the illuminated view of the Castle, then turning left into Hole in the Wall Street, dark and narrow, barely wider than an alleyway. The Four Alls was on the left, a short distance down the street. The pub had low ceilings and was dimly lit. It was not crowded, but in the smoky atmosphere it was almost half a minute before Trevor’s eyes adjusted sufficiently to enable him to see Caradog seated at a corner table on the far side of the bar. He had a pint in front of him. Trevor bought one for himself, before walking over to join him. Caradog raised his glass as he sat down.
‘To the Tywysog and to Madog,’ he toasted.
‘Indeed,’ Trevor replied, clinking his glass against Caradog’s. ‘The Tywysog and Madog. May they live for ever.’
They both drank.
‘So, you’re living in the flat, are you?’ Caradog asked. ‘Not much room, is there? Madog took me up there once or twice.’
‘No. I can’t stay there for ever. But it’s a start. Once I’ve got the hang of the shop, I will start to look around for somewhere a bit bigger.’
‘I don’t know why Madog didn’t do that,’ Caradog mused, ‘especially being with Rhiannon. It was bad enough for one, but for two… well I can’t imagine it. Not that she ever complained. Perhaps if she had, he would have done something about it. But anyway, that’s Madog for you. He’s a strange fellow.’
‘Where do you live?’
‘Arianwen and I still live in our family home in Pretoria Terrace, just outside the city walls, past the Black Boy,’ Caradog replied. ‘Did she tell you that our parents are dead?’
‘Yes. I’m sorry.’
‘Thank you. It was a huge loss to both of us. Having the house is some comfort, but we still miss them. The house is more than big enough for us, fortunately. One of these days, no doubt, Arianwen will get married and we will probably sell it then. But we shall see.’
‘You might even get married yourself,’ Trevor smiled.
‘No one would have me,’ Caradog replied. ‘I’m too immersed in my books and thoughts. I would drive a woman mad. I drive Arianwen mad at times, as it is, but she puts up with me, fair play to her. But she has to, if I’m her brother, doesn’t she?’
They laughed together. Trevor took a long drink from his glass and replaced it on the table. He leaned forward confidentially.
‘Caradog, listen, can I ask you about something that’s bothering me?’
‘Of course.’
‘I take it you have been down to the basement in the Tywysog at some point?’
‘Why would you assume that?’
Caradog picked up his glass and drank. He then held the glass close to this chest. Trevor waited silently. Eventually, Caradog replied.
‘Yes, I have been in the basement. Madog took me down there several times. What’s the problem? Damp getting to the books? Woodworm in the bookcases? Wouldn’t surprise me at all.’
Trevor swirled the remains of his beer around in the glass for some seconds.
‘Caradog, I’m talking about the materials Madog had stored down there. Look, so that you know where I stand, I have no problem with books on any subject, whether it’s politics or anything else. I’m against censorship. The public should have access to all shades of opinion, however controversial. What else are book shops and libraries for? In fact, most of the stuff down there I would be happy to have on display upstairs in the shop itself. That’s what we would do at Foyles. I can’t see any reason to keep it hidden away in the basement.’
Caradog had not moved. ‘Fair enough,’ he said.
‘But there are some materials down there which are different. They are different not just because they are controversial, but because there may be a question of whether it is even legal to have them at all. I don’t know. I’m not a lawyer, but I’m concerned about it.’
‘We have one or two decent solicitors in town,’ Caradog said. ‘Why don’t you ask them?’
‘I’m sure you do, and I can find them for myself. The reason I’m asking you is that Madog had these materials locked away in the cabinet in the basement. I assume he had a reason for doing that. I think it means that he sometimes had customers who were interested in seeing those materials discreetly.’
Caradog shrugged.
‘Perhaps he did. What does that have to do with me?’
‘Nothing. But there is obviously a chance that the same customers may contact me, now that Madog is gone, and I want to know what to do about it, how to deal with it, if they turn up one day and ask me to let them loose in the basement. You were a regular visitor to the Tywysog, and you knew Madog as well as anyone. It occurred to me that you might be able to give me some hints.’
Caradog drained his glass.
‘I seem to need another pint,’ he said.
8
The bar was busier now, and it took Trevor several minutes to buy two more pints and return to the table. Caradog was seated in exactly the same pose, as if he had not moved at all.
‘There are some things which are not to be talked about in the pub,’ he said, acknowledging the pint with a nod. ‘Besides, I’m expecting someone to meet me here. He’s coming to supper at the house. You should come as well. It will give us the chance to talk.’
‘And your friend?’
Caradog smiled. ‘Dai Bach? No need to worry about him. He’s heard me talk about such things many times before.’
‘All right,’ Trevor replied. ‘Thank you. As long as I’m not imposing. Are you sure Arianwen won’t mind?’
‘She won’t mind. There is always room for one more. And, if I’m not mistaken, here’s the boy himself now.’
The boy himself was a short, heavily built man, probably mid-to-late twenties like Caradog, Trevor thought, but with chubbier cheeks and younger looking, wearing an off-the-peg brown suit, a blue shirt open at the neck, and a brown and yellow tie hanging loosely down below the top buttonhole. He had an unruly mop of black hair, and his chin showed signs of a dark late afternoon stubble. He was carrying a pint, expertly, no danger of spilling even a drop.
‘I saw you were bot
h all right,’ he said, ‘so I just got one for myself.’
‘Quite right,’ Caradog said. ‘Dai, this is Trevor Hughes. He’s just taken over the Tywysog from Madog.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ Dai Bach said. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you, of course.’
‘This is Dai Bach.’
They shook hands.
‘Good to meet you too,’ Trevor said.
‘Dafydd Prosser I am, really,’ Dai said, ‘but Dai Bach they call me. It’s because of my slight, lithe build, see.’
They laughed.
‘I will try to remember,’ Trevor said.
‘So, how is it going at the Tywysog?’ Dai asked. ‘It’s hard to believe that Madog is gone. I remember him there from when I was a little mite.’
‘It’s early days,’ Trevor replied. ‘Everybody is being very nice to me. We shall see.’
‘I haven’t been in there as often as I used to, lately. I live in Bangor, see. I teach chemistry there, Menai Strait Grammar School.’
‘That must be a challenge,’ Trevor smiled.
‘You can say that again. I spend most of my time trying to make sure the little bastards don’t blow the bloody school to smithereens. You can’t turn your back for a minute when they’re in the lab. If the parents had any idea how many dangerous chemicals their children have access to, I don’t think they would allow them to take chemistry, or even come to school.’
‘He coaches the under-15 rugby team, as well,’ Caradog said.
Dai Bach laughed. ‘I’m not sure “coach” is the right word. Stand on the touch line and swear at them, mostly, that’s what I do. I can’t run around as much as I used to. I’m past my playing days now. I used to be a tight-head prop, though, in my day, and I could give as good as I got.’
