by Iris Gower
She was pleased that Mrs Paisley had let her take on both Sal and Mrs Jones: it was good to know she would have friends around her when the hotel opened for business.
‘Duw!’ Mrs Paisley looked at Rhiannon as she came into the kitchen. ‘Where have you been till this time? I was getting a bit worried about you.’
‘I stopped to watch the funeral.’ Rhiannon sank into a chair and unlaced her boots. ‘Lord, my feet are killing me.’
‘What funeral was that?’
‘Katie Beynon and her baby. You should have seen the little coffin, Mrs Paisley, tiny it was, made with good shiny wood and gleaming handles, just like the one Katie had, but so pitifully small. It’s frightening to see how quickly two lives can be snuffed out.’
‘I never knew Bull Beynon or his wife,’ Mrs Paisley said, ‘but, then, I’ve always kept myself to myself.’
Rhiannon kicked off her boots. ‘Aye, it was awfully sad – the funeral, I mean, and I was so sorry for Bull. Still, he’s got his work. He’s very well thought-of in railway circles. He even met the great Mr Brunel himself at the grand opening of the Swansea station.’
Mrs Paisley sniffed. ‘Noisy, smelly things, trains. I don’t know why we can’t manage with horse and carriage as we always did.’
‘But just think, Mrs Paisley,’ Rhiannon said, ‘the trains will bring in more business to Swansea. Travelling men will need accommodation and we will be providing it for them.’
‘Aye, I suppose you’re right. You got a good head on your shoulders, Rhiannon, I’ll give you that.’
‘Well, I hope you’ll be pleased when I tell you I’ve put an advertisement in the Cardiff and Bristol newspapers offering rooms on the middle floor. We should be getting bookings any day now.’
‘But we’re not ready for customers yet! The place is in an awful mess!’
‘Well, I’ve offered a special price for now until the alterations are complete. I’m sure the men will put up with a bit of dust to get a good night’s lodging with a hearty supper for less than other hotels are charging.’
‘But the rooms are not ready!’
‘They are. We’ve been working on them, me and Sal, and Mrs Jones has helped a bit too. The pair of them have chosen their rooms already. They’ve cleaned and painted until their fingers were raw. As for the letting rooms, the carpets are swept, there’s freshly laundered sheets on the beds and, thank goodness, the kitchen is practically ready so Mrs Jones can do the cooking.’
Mrs Paisley sank into a chair and pushed her small glasses onto the bridge of her nose. ‘Well I never!’ She looked at Rhiannon as though she’d grown two heads. ‘You’re moving too fast for an old girl like me. And who, dare I ask, is paying for these advertisements?’
‘You are, Mrs Paisley,’ Rhiannon said, ‘but I expect you to be well rewarded by all the trade they’ll bring.’
‘Well, we’ll see.’ Mrs Paisley fanned her face. ‘I don’t know about this advertising business. Word-of-mouth was always good enough for folk around here.’
‘That was when the Paradise Park was little more than a bawdy-house,’ Rhiannon said gently. ‘We need to look beyond Swansea, at least for the time being. Once we’re known to give good value for money the recommendations will see our rooms filled.’
‘You young people today seem to know a lot more than us old folk.’
Rhiannon looked at Mrs Paisley – really looked at her, perhaps for the first time. She saw an old lady, stoop-shouldered and walking with a slight limp. Yet when she talked about converting the Paradise Park into a first-class hotel her face lit up, giving her an aura of youth and enthusiasm that was undeniably charming.
‘Come on now, Mrs Paisley, stop talking as though you’re in your dotage. There’s a lot of ideas and enough hard work left in you to last quite a few years.’ She smiled. ‘There’d better be – I can’t manage this hotel on my own.’
Mrs Paisley looked at her shrewdly. ‘You could manage more than a hotel, if you ask me, girl, but if the good Lord spares me you won’t have to.’
The front-door bell rang out stridently. ‘I wonder if we’ve got a customer already,’ Rhiannon said hopefully.
She hurried to answer it, then stared in surprise at the man standing before her.
‘Bull!’ He was ashen, his eyes were dull and his big shoulders were slumped. ‘Oh, Bull, my love, come in, you look awful.’
He stepped into the foyer. ‘Rhiannon, I need someone to talk to. I can’t stand being on my own in that house a moment longer.’
‘You know you’re always welcome here,’ she said quickly.
‘You’re the only true friend I’ve got, Rhiannon. All the others are workmates or casual acquaintances. I can’t talk to them about my grief – they’d tell me to act like a man.’
‘Go upstairs to my room,’ Rhiannon said. ‘It’s the first door on the right when you reach the second landing. I’ll tell Mrs Paisley I’ve got a visitor.’
She opened the door to the kitchen. ‘It’s a friend, Mrs Paisley,’ she said. ‘He was Katie’s husband and he’s in sore need of company.’
Mrs Paisley looked doubtful for a minute then nodded. ‘I think I can trust you to be discreet with your friends, Rhiannon, but I don’t want any unseemly goings-on. We mustn’t give folk the wrong impression of the Paradise Park.’
‘You can trust me,’ Rhiannon said. ‘Bull is only after company, someone he can talk to about his wife.’
‘Go on, you. I’ll fetch you a drink up in a minute or two, perhaps a drop of brandy. Then I can meet this Bull Beynon for myself.’
Rhiannon nodded then went to her room. Bull was sitting with his head in his hands, oblivious of where he was. She glanced around her, at the good curtains beside the windows and the candle-holders on the table. It was a fine big room, facing the front of the hotel, and at first Mrs Paisley had demurred about Rhiannon occupying it. ‘We could make this a double room with a sitting area for gentlemen guests and their wives.’
‘But it could be my office as well as my bedroom. I can keep the books, write the notices and all sorts of things here. It will save me finding another room for an office.’
In the end Mrs Paisley had given in. ‘Well, mind you look after the place. It’s one of the best rooms in the hotel.’
‘And the one in most need of refurbishment,’ Rhiannon had added drily.
Now she studied Bull. From the colour of his face she knew he was in a bad way. ‘Bull, I know you’re sick with grief, but are you coming down with something too? You don’t look well.’
‘All I know is that I feel like death itself.’
Rhiannon laid her hand on his forehead. ‘You’re real clammy, Bull. You must be sickening for something.’ She let her hand rest on his brow a moment longer. ‘There’s a lot of illness around just now, and a child’s just died of the whooping cough. Are you feeling poorly, Bull?’
He shook his head. ‘No, just sick at heart. I’ve just put my wife and child into their graves and I can’t bear it.’
‘Oh, Bull, my lovely!’ Rhiannon put her arms around him and he laid his head wearily against her breast. ‘That’s right,’ she whispered, as he began to sob. ‘Let it all out.’
Bull clung to her crying like a baby and Rhiannon felt tears burn her own eyes: she’d never seen Bull like this before, so vulnerable, so helpless. She held him close and brushed back his hair as if he was a child. After a time, his sobs ceased and he lifted his face to look at her. ‘I’m sorry to put you through this, Rhiannon.’ He looked like a small boy, lost and bewildered. ‘I’ve been trying to act like a man, to take the blows life has dealt me as a man should, but, oh, Rhiannon, I can’t believe I’ve lost Katie for good.’
‘There, there, who said a man can’t be allowed to cry?’ She brushed away his tears with her fingers. ‘You’re the bravest man I know, Bull Beynon, and if you can’t bring your sorrows to me who else can you bring them to?’
He caught her hand. ‘Thank you, Rhiannon, I needed to shed s
ome tears. They’ve been making my throat ache ever since I put my sweet wife and baby in the ground.’
‘I know, Bull, I know.’ Rhiannon wondered where Mrs Paisley was with the drinks. ‘I’ll fetch you some brandy. It’ll make you feel better. I won’t be a minute.’
As she opened the door, Mrs Paisley was just reaching the top of the stairs with a tray. ‘Oh, there, take this off me. I’m fair winded, coming up them stairs. I’m not as young as I was and my legs are letting me know it.’
Rhiannon turned back to the room. ‘Bull, this is Mrs Paisley. She’s saved me a trip and brought some brandy up for us.’
Bull got to his feet and Rhiannon, looking up at him, realized she’d forgotten just how big he was. His presence seemed to fill the room as he moved forward to shake Mrs Paisley’s hand. ‘You’ve got a good girl here, Mrs Paisley,’ he said. ‘Rhiannon is one of the truest and best, you won’t go far wrong with her helping you.’
‘Don’t be daft, man! I’ve worked that out for myself.’ She looked at him sagely. ‘You come to Rhiannon for a bit of comforting, then, have you? I heard you lost your wife and child. There’s sorry I am for any man bereaved like that.’
Bull swallowed hard. ‘It’s all right other folk feeling sad for me, but I can’t go on feeling sorry for myself, can I?’ He smiled suddenly, and Rhiannon’s heart lifted with love for him: she knew he was being brave to put the old lady at ease. ‘I’ll have a drop of that good brandy now that you’ve been so kind as to bring it up for me. Will you do me the honour of joining us, Mrs Paisley?’
‘Oh, aye, a right charmer, this one.’ Mrs Paisley looked almost coquettish as she allowed Bull to pour her a glass. ‘I’ll sit here in the window and watch the world go by for a few minutes.’
Rhiannon listened as Bull talked to Mrs Paisley about the business of the hotel. ‘I can see this place will be a goldmine,’ Bull said. ‘The improvements you’ve made already give the place a bit of style.’
‘I’m glad you approve. Don’t want to put money into it, do you, Mr Beynon?’
‘I’m no speculator,’ Bull said gently. ‘I’m a plain man working on the railway, grafting for a living.’
‘More than that, if I’m to believe what Rhiannon says. It seems you’re very clever with plans and things. Perhaps you could advise us on a few ways to make the building more comfortable.’
Rhiannon sat back in her chair, her untouched drink in her hand, and watched with pride as Bull discussed the design of the new bathrooms being built along each landing. She could almost believe she was Bull’s woman again, happy and safe with him to take care of her. The dream evaporated as Bull put down his glass and took Mrs Paisley’s hand.
‘I’d better get home now. I’ve a dozen jobs to do around the place.’ His face was shadowed.
Rhiannon could read him like a book – hadn’t she lived with him long enough to know his thoughts almost before they were formed? ‘If you want any help packing up clothes and that sort of thing, don’t be afraid to ask, mind.’ She touched his arm. ‘But I’d leave it for a bit, if I were you.’
‘I would be grateful,’ Bull said at once. ‘I don’t relish the thought of seeing to Katie’s things or of packing away the baby’s clothes. Perhaps you could give them to someone needy?’
Rhiannon felt his grief as if it was her own. ‘It will get easier,’ she said softly. ‘You can’t believe it now but pain does fade, given time.’
‘Maybe.’ Bull moved towards the door. ‘Thank you, ladies, for your company and for sharing that fine brandy with me.’
‘Come to visit us any time. A good man is always welcome under my roof.’ Mrs Paisley’s voice was unusually gentle. ‘Go on, Rhiannon, see your visitor out, then come down to the kitchen. It’s time we had our supper.’
At the door Rhiannon paused and looked up at Bull. ‘Any time you want to talk, come to see me. I’m always here.’
She wished she could reach up and kiss him, hold him in her arms as she used to when they were lovers.
‘You’re a good girl, Rhiannon.’ Bull took her hands. ‘I’ll never forget your kindness to me.’ He straightened his big shoulders. ‘Now, go back indoors to Mrs Paisley. Good luck to both of you. I’m sure between you the hotel will flourish. Good night, Rhiannon.’
As Rhiannon watched Bull stride swiftly away she felt tears run down her face. She loved Bull as much as ever and to know he was alone with his terrible pain and grief was like having the heart cut out of her.
‘Good night, Bull, I love you,’ she said, but her words were carried away on the soft night air.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE WEDDING, WHICH Llinos had thought would be a quiet affair, turned out to be the highlight of the year for the inhabitants of Swansea. It was as if, by marrying Eynon, Llinos had become an honoured and honourable member of the community once more. People crowded around the lychgate of St Paul’s, waving and cheering, and as she looked round her at the happy, smiling faces, Llinos held back her tears with difficulty.
She clung tightly to Eynon’s arm as they left the church and when, at the carriage steps, he bent to kiss her lips, the crowd went wild, throwing flower petals and rice over them.
Llinos felt like a young bride as she smiled up at her new husband. ‘I love you, Eynon Morton-Edwards, do you know that?’ She felt the tears brim over and hurriedly climbed into her seat before they flowed down her cheeks.
‘Crying on your wedding day, my darling? We can’t have that.’ Eynon took out a spotless handkerchief and dabbed at her face. ‘There, now, let’s see you smile. All brides should be smiling on their wedding day.’
‘Oh, Eynon.’ She buried her face in his shoulder. She was as nervous as a virgin and that was absurd: she was with Eynon, her dear friend, he would take care of her and love her and she would never be alone again.
Jayne watched from a distance as the carriage rolled away along the road. So he had done it. Father had married the woman he had always loved, and by the look on both their faces they were going to be very happy. Well, now it was time to think of herself. With her father happily settled, she could begin to plan her future with Guy.
Her face softened as she thought of him. Guy Fairchild, her lover. It might be shameless to revel in her faithlessness but Jayne no longer cared: she and Guy had met secretly ever since she’d returned to her father’s house. She realized now how stupid she’d been even to listen to Dafydd’s claim that Guy only wanted her for her shares. Guy had proved over and over again that he loved her. But for now she wanted to keep him and their love to herself.
Guy brought her gifts, diamonds and rubies and emeralds as big as pigeons’ eggs, but the one gift she treasured above all was the plain wedding band he had slipped on her finger in place of the one Dafydd had put there.
It was good to feel so alive, so much in love. Tonight she would see Guy again – he would come to the woods to find her, and they would lie in the grass beneath a canopy of trees and make love.
‘Lovely day for a wedding, isn’t it?’ The voice startled her out of her thoughts.
Jayne spun round to see Dafydd standing uncomfortably close to her. ‘Go away, Dafydd, I don’t want anything to do with you.’ She moved away from him but he kept pace with her. ‘What are you doing here anyway?’ she demanded.
‘I have every right to see the mother of my son get married, don’t you think?’
‘I think you should go away and leave me alone.’
‘You are still my legal wife, or have you forgotten that?’
‘I’ve forgotten nothing about you, or about the long unhappy years I spent with you. I’m glad it’s all over between us and that there’s nothing more you can do to hurt me, Dafydd.’
‘We’ll see about that.’ He caught her elbow and propelled her along the path. Two men appeared as if from nowhere, flanking Jayne and cutting her off from prying eyes.
‘Dafydd, this is madness! Stop it or I’ll start screaming!’
He clamped his ha
nd over her mouth and pushed her towards his waiting carriage. He thrust her up the steps so violently that she fell in on her knees. Then he climbed in after her and the two men seated themselves at either side of her so she could hardly move. Jayne began to panic as Dafydd called to the driver to move on.
Jayne struggled to sit upright, pushing aside Dafydd’s hand. ‘How dare you treat me like this?’ she said. ‘You know I don’t love you, Dafydd. However many times you make a prisoner of me you’ll never have me.’
‘But whatever you do, whoever you run to, you are my wife in the eyes of the law. Any judge would uphold my rights over you.’
Jayne stared at him, hating him. ‘You will never keep me, Dafydd. The minute you turn your back I’ll be gone. And once my father realizes what’s happened he’ll send his men to fetch me home.’
‘The way he did before?’ His voice was heavy with sarcasm. ‘I don’t think he’ll get very far, not if I call the constables and tell them I’m being threatened.’
Jayne stared out of the window, wondering if it was safe to jump clear but the road was rolling past at a remarkable speed. Still, anything was better than allowing Dafydd to imprison her again.
She made to open the door of the carriage but Dafydd caught her in his arms and pressed her back into the seat. ‘You don’t escape that easily, my dear wife.’ He pressed his mouth to hers in a cruel kiss, which held no passion and certainly no love. Jayne tried to struggle but he was too strong, so she became passive, neither reacting to nor repelling his advances.
When he moved away from her she looked into his eyes. ‘You will never possess me again, Dafydd. I’d rather kill myself than stay with you for the rest of my life.’
‘As for possessing you, I don’t want to,’ Dafydd said easily. ‘You’re a cold woman and once Fairchild has had enough of you he’ll toss you aside, as if you were one of the common whores with whom he usually finds his pleasure.’
