by Iris Gower
‘Oh, yes, you did right, of course.’ Dafydd did not look very pleased. He had probably arranged to be with his married woman. Shanni waited, with bated breath, until Dafydd spoke again.
‘Tonight it is.’ He got to his feet abruptly. ‘I’ll have to alter some of my plans. I’d better go and see to things at once.’
Shanni felt a flood of triumph. Dafydd would have to make excuses to Llinos Mainwaring for his absence. At least tonight he would be here with Shanni and not with her. The thought gave Shanni a feeling of pure satisfaction.
Dafydd took his leave with what Shanni could only describe as indecent haste. He was frowning, clearly expecting a scene with Llinos Mainwaring. Well, serve him right: perhaps now he would grasp what it meant to be entangled in an illicit affair.
‘Well,’ Madame Isabelle looked at Shanni, ‘that was a sudden departure.’
Shanni was silent: she was imagining Dafydd’s halting explanation about tonight and Llinos’s reaction. She would be furious that she was being set aside for a meeting with what she would describe as a group of rabble-rousers.
‘You look rather like the cat that’s caught a mouse,’ Madame said. ‘What are you thinking, Shanni?’
‘I’m thinking that Dafydd is very foolish to get mixed up with a married woman.’ The words were spoken before Shanni had time to examine them, and she saw Madame Isabelle frown.
‘Judge not that ye be not judged,’ she said darkly. ‘It is not your place to criticize the private lives of the people who are my guests.’
Shanni knew she had made a mistake in speaking so frankly. As far as Madame Isabelle was concerned Dafydd’s affair was a private matter and nothing to do with the cause. Sometimes Shanni wondered how Madame could allow herself a love life, so committed was she to setting right the wrongs of the world.
Still, for tonight at least Dafydd would be here, and she would see him again, look into his eyes, try to make him realize she was a woman, not a little girl. She had too much pride to be a mistress, and that was all Llinos would ever amount to: the mistress of a younger man.
The pottery was running smoothly, the output of brightly decorated tea-and supperware stacked neatly on shelves ready for the final firing. Dafydd breathed in the smell of paint, watching as the artists splashed colour and light on to the surface of the plain white china. The brushwork was loose, flowing but beautiful, and he congratulated himself on securing the services of an excellent artist. Dafydd had a good team of workers and he was fortunate enough to enjoy a close working relationship with them.
Some of the men fought alongside him in his role as leader of the Rebeccarites. He smiled. How Llinos would laugh if she saw him dressed in his horsehair wig and his long petticoats. His heart missed a beat. He would have to let her know that he would be out for the best part of the evening. He was worried that she might take the opportunity to go and see her son.
He hated the thought of it, of Llinos in the same house as her husband. Joe Mainwaring was powerful, handsome in his exotic way. He had an inner strength that spoke of great self-knowledge. He was a dangerous adversary.
Dafydd left the painting shed, stepping out into the warm sunshine. He stood aside to watch the tail end of the retinue of wagons being drawn towards the gates. Ceri had stipulated that only one horse be used per wagon as a means of economy. Dafydd had disagreed: he thought it would slow down the journey but in the end Ceri had had his way.
Ceri had risen from his sickbed with a new energy. He asserted himself more often and Dafydd, occupied as he was by other matters, allowed his brother to take charge. One of Ceri’s decisions was that when winter came, the carpenters and millwrights were to work until six o’clock, even when it meant using candles. Dafydd frowned. Anyone would imagine that the Buchan family were impoverished, the way Ceri carried on. He had even objected to Pedr Morgan earning more than some of the other workers. He paid no mind to the fact that Pedr was a good potter, swift and talented into the bargain.
As Dafydd walked through the yard the unmistakable smell of tobacco drifted towards him. He walked silently around the pile of broken pottery and into the clay yard. A man was slouched against the wall. His head was turned away but a thin trail of smoke gave him away. ‘Smoking, Barratt?’ Dafydd said quietly. ‘If I were you I’d put away your pipe in case my brother decides to walk around the place.’ The man hesitated. ‘You don’t want a fine imposed on you, do you?’ Dafydd’s voice had a stern edge to it. ‘You can ill afford it, not with your brood of young ones.’
Sulkily, Barratt tapped his pipe against the wall. ‘Right, sir.’
‘Now, I suggest you get back to work while you still have work to do. And if I catch you smoking in working hours again you’ll be dismissed, do you understand?’
Dafydd watched the man walk away. He knew his ill humour was all to do with the meeting Isabelle had arranged. He would much rather be with Llinos tonight. He still could not believe his luck in getting her back. He cursed under his breath. Even thinking about her, her perfect body, her wonderful eyes, the way she loved him, was enough to arouse him. ‘Damn the meeting!’ he said softly.
‘So this is only a visit, Mother?’ Lloyd watched as Llinos stood in the hallway pinning a hat on to her curling hair. ‘You just sail in, pick up some more things and sail out again without thought for me or Father.’
Llinos treated him to a blast from her beautiful eyes, and Lloyd felt his courage desert him. ‘Please stay. I’ve invited Jayne for the evening but when she leaves we can talk to each other, can’t we?’
‘There’s nothing you can say, Lloyd. As for Jayne, well, she’s your guest and you must entertain her.’ His mother spoke in a way that was unfamiliar to him. She was besotted by this man Buchan, bewitched. How else could she do this to them?
‘So you are never coming home again?’ Lloyd was trying to speak reasonably, but he felt as if he could shake his mother. ‘You know he is sick at heart thinking of you and that man? You can’t throw everything away, Mother, not for a man like Buchan.’
His mother turned to face him. ‘Please don’t speak to me in that tone of voice.’ Her eyes flashed fire and Lloyd knew, even though he towered above her now, that his mother demanded respect.
‘You were at college when your father carried on with Sho Ka so you didn’t realize he was never here. He left me alone day and night and no-one was around to comfort me when I cried myself to sleep. You never saw the hours of anguish I suffered.’
Lloyd knew she had a point. His father had been the one to break the marriage vows first but, still, he had thought his mother had more self-control than to become involved with any other man.
‘I will not give up my lover, and if you or your father will not accept that then it’s just too bad. Do you understand me?’
‘So you are choosing him over Father and me?’ Lloyd asked.
Llinos picked up her bag. ‘Give my regards to Jayne, won’t you?’
He watched as his mother was helped into the carriage by Graves. The man was old, he should have been pensioned off by now, but he would be loyal to Llinos to the death. In any case, the young man trained to take over had suddenly left his position so Graves had stayed.
Lloyd watched until the carriage had rolled out of sight along the bend in the road at the end of Pottery Row. His mother was a changed woman: she had left her home and her family for good, and there was nothing Lloyd could do about it.
‘Why, Dafydd, not another meeting?’ Llinos said. ‘That’s the third in little over a week. Not growing tired of me, are you?’
Dafydd held her close. ‘You know I love you with every fibre of my being, my sweet girl.’
She touched his mouth with her fingertips. ‘But this meeting is important, I know that, and I do understand. You’ve been neglecting your business and your friends because of me.’
Dafydd kissed her tenderly. ‘I would give up everything I own to be with you, and if you don’t want me to go tonight then I’ll stay at home.’
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‘You go to your meeting,’ Llinos said. ‘I will sit and wait until you come home and then, my darling, I’ll tear off your clothes and ravish you!’
‘Is that a promise?’ Dafydd tipped her face up to his.
Llinos leaned her head on his chest. ‘It’s a promise,’ she said.
‘I’m glad you managed to make it.’ Madame Isabelle did not look too pleased as Dafydd walked into her parlour a great deal later than planned.
‘I was detained,’ he said. ‘Business, you know.’
He became aware that Hayden Jones was staring at him from across the room. His eyes were narrowed and the expression in them was evil. He blamed Dafydd for the death of his brother-in-law, shot in this very house. Nothing would ever convince him that the shooting had been an accident.
‘Come, sit here beside me,’ Isabelle said quickly, sensing the tension between the men. ‘We’ve been discussing an attack on the town hall, the workhouse too. What do you think?’
‘I think we should be careful,’ Dafydd said. ‘So far we have confined ourselves to legitimate targets, like the toll-gates themselves.’
‘Aye and a fat lot of good it’s done us so far!’ Hayden Jones said angrily. ‘We are like a fly swatting at an elephant. We’re getting nowhere.’
‘I’m just advising we exercise a little caution,’ Dafydd said evenly. ‘We can’t risk jeopardizing our position by taking the protest into Carmarthen Town.’
‘It wouldn’t be that you’re losing your nerve, would it?’ Jones’s voice was hard. ‘Handy with a firearm when there’s no danger to yourself, aren’t you? Not so brave out there where the real trouble is.’
‘Please,’ Isabelle said, ‘let’s keep to the point, shall we?’ She consulted her notebook. ‘We won’t have the cover of darkness until late in the evening, so perhaps we should talk about the advantages and disadvantages of the summer weather.’
Hayden Jones did not give up easily. ‘I ’spect you’re worried about that pretty face of yours, Buchan,’ he said. ‘Afraid your married lady will go off you.’ He smirked. ‘But she’s no lady, is she, or she wouldn’t be bothering with you in the first place, would she?’
Dafydd moved swiftly. His fist connected with Jones’s jaw and the man went down as if felled by an axe.
‘Dafydd, please!’ Isabelle was agitated but he did not even hear her.
He picked Jones up and frogmarched him out through the narrow hall. ‘Get away from here and don’t come back, do you understand?’ Dafydd pushed him out of the door.
Jones staggered a little on the uneven cobbles. ‘You’re going to meet your match one of these dark nights, Buchan,’ he said, ‘and I’ll be there to see it, don’t you worry.’ He stumbled off into the darkness and Dafydd slammed the door. For a moment, he leaned against the stout wooden panelling, fighting for control. He wanted to kill the man for putting his tongue to Llinos’s reputation.
Then he straightened his shoulders and returned to the meeting. ‘Right, let’s get on, shall we?’ he said, glaring around the room.
There was silence, and Isabelle rang the bell for the maid. ‘I think we’ll all have some tea and take control of ourselves, shall we?’ She stared meaningfully at Daffyd.
He sank back into a chair and wished he had never become involved in the struggles of the farmers. He was a rich businessman, he should be at home minding his own business, living his own life, not sharing it with trash like Jones.
He glanced at the clock. He had a feeling that this was going to be a very long evening.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
‘SO, ISABELLE, THE date is set for our wedding. Are you happy?’ Eynon took her hand and she looked up at him, knowing he would read his answer in her eyes.
It was warm in the conservatory. Trails of vines dripped moisture on to the flagged floor. He had built the conservatory for her – that proved his love for her, did it not? He had asked her opinion before building it on to the back of his house. It was his gift to her.
From the windows the splendid view was a delight. Green fields sloped down to the beach, and beyond the trees, the sea sparkled as if with a million diamonds. Once Isabelle was installed in his home, she would come to love it as he did, though she might find the grandeur strange, a little awe-inspiring at first.
‘I can see you’re happy.’ He bent to kiss her lips lightly. She clung to him, holding him tightly, as though afraid of losing him, and not for the first time, Eynon felt misgivings about the step he was taking. He enjoyed being with Isabelle. He found her an attractive, intelligent woman. They had become intimate, and she thrilled him with her passion. But even though he listed her qualities to himself he knew that in his heart she would never match up to Llinos.
But Llinos did not return his love. Bitterness rose in his throat like bile. Even when her marriage vows were broken, it was not to Eynon she had turned but to a young upstart.
Dafydd Buchan might be rich, successful and undoubtedly handsome, but he was not all he appeared to be. Rumour had it that he was closely involved with the rioters, the hooligans who burned down gates and broke the law without a qualm.
Eynon had some doubts, too, about Isabelle’s involvement with the rioters: she knew the Buchan family well. Dafydd Buchan was a troublemaker, involved in the rioting. His brother Ceri was the complete opposite: a law-abiding, honest Christian gentleman, and he was well respected in the area.
Isabelle drew away from him. ‘What are you thinking?’ She spoke lightly, but she was troubled by his long silence.
‘I wondered if we should wed in Swansea or Llanelli.’ He quickly gathered his thoughts. ‘Not that I mind where we get married, so long as you are happy.’
‘What about St Mary’s Church in Swansea?’ Isabelle’s face was bright with happiness.
‘That suits me but it’s your day, after all.’
‘I’m very happy with St Mary’s,’ Isabelle said. ‘It is one of the best churches in Swansea.’ She clutched his hand, and he felt irritated: she seemed to have changed from the confident, self-controlled woman he had first known and had become too dependent on him.
‘What about your friends? Will they be happy to travel to Swansea for the day?’ he asked.
‘I have few friends,’ Isabelle said quietly, ‘but there is another issue we have to discuss.’
‘Oh dear, this sounds serious. Let’s sit down and talk.’ He smiled, as he released himself from her grip. ‘I’m sure there is nothing we can’t resolve.’
‘It’s about the Buchan brothers,’ Isabelle said. ‘I would like to invite Ceri and his family to the wedding.’ She held up her hand. ‘I know your views on Dafydd’s politics but I want him there, too. Please try to understand.’
‘Well, I’m not keen on the idea. He’s a hothead by all accounts and I don’t like the man’s lack of moral scruples either,’ Eynon said.
‘He’s not all bad, I assure you.’ Isabelle’s tone was more than a little pained. ‘Dafydd is a gentleman, remember. His manners are impeccable.’
‘And he’s running around with a married woman, ruining her life.’
‘That’s not fair,’ Isabelle said. ‘I think two are to blame in that situation but, of course, you would take the side of your dear friend Llinos.’
‘Are we bickering already?’ Eynon said. ‘Have Buchan there if it means so much to you. Now, let’s talk about bridesmaids, shall we?’
‘We’ll have Jayne, of course,’ Isabelle relaxed, ‘and I would like Shanni too.’
‘There, then, that’s settled,’ Eynon said. But nothing was settled in his mind. He was in a quandary: it would be unthinkable to marry without Llinos being present, but if Buchan was there could he bear to see them together? In any case, what about Joe’s feelings? He was the cuckolded husband.
‘What’s the matter?’ Isabelle asked. ‘You’re still thinking of Llinos, aren’t you?’
She was more perceptive than Eynon had given her credit for. ‘Well, yes. How will Joe react if th
ey both come to the wedding?’
‘You must invite Llinos whatever happens. Remember, they are all adults and surely know how to conduct themselves in public. And there’s the son, too. I know Jayne wants him to be at the wedding.’
‘I want Lloyd to be my best man as it happens.’ Eynon shook his head. ‘Look, we’ll invite Joe and Llinos, and leave them to decide what they want to do.’
‘So we’ll set the date as June the tenth, then, shall we?’ Isabelle asked, her head on one side. A tendril of hair was coming loose from the pins. She looked adorable, a lovely, intelligent woman. He was a fortunate man to have won her love, so why did he feel he was locking himself in a prison and throwing away the keys?
‘June the tenth it shall be.’ He slid his arm around her shoulders enjoying the feel of softness against him. He was doing the right thing: he had no intention of living out his old age as a lonely man. Isabelle would give him everything he desired, warmth, affection, love. She could not give him children but he had his Jayne: she was enough to fulfil all his needs in that direction. Yes, Isabelle was giving him all she had, but what was he giving her?
He rose and opened one of the conservatory windows. The sound of the sea filled his ears. In his mind’s eye he could see her, Llinos, his love, with her dark tumbling curls, her eyes from which fire flashed when she was angry. He had never held her, never made love to her, yet he felt as bound to her as though she was his wife.
‘What does she see in him, Isa?’ he asked, unaware of the bitterness in his voice.
Isabelle was silent for a moment. ‘I imagine you’re referring to Llinos Mainwaring.’ She spoke in a hard tone. ‘How can I answer for the foolishness of women? Perhaps I am one of them, believing that you are marrying me out of love.’
‘I am marrying you for love,’ he protested quickly. ‘I think you are wonderful, beautiful, talented. I am lucky to have you.’ He kissed her fingers, then her mouth.
‘And with that, I will have to be content,’ Isabelle said. She smiled suddenly. ‘Let’s have a picnic, shall we?’
