A Leap of Faith

by Trisha Ashley

  ‘Where’s the kiln? It must be massive to fire this.’

  ‘Not all my work is fired in one piece, but it is a big kiln: it’s in the cellar under the west turret. I’ve got something firing in it now – first firing.’

  ‘You surely can’t sell any of these to tourists?’

  ‘I don’t try, though I do sometimes get commissions. Mostly I sell through the Crafts Council in London, exhibitions, word of mouth . . . that kind of thing,’ he said vaguely. ‘I don’t work fast, and they take a long time, so I charge a lot.’

  ‘They’re worth any price you put on them,’ I assured him, gingerly stroking the cool, fluid shape. ‘This is finished, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it’s ready for packing. Actually,’ he added with wry self-consciousness, ‘it was ready on Sunday, but I wanted you to see it first.’

  ‘And I didn’t show up? Oh, Nye, I’m sorry. If I’d known about this nothing would have stopped me!’

  ‘I can see I’d have made faster progress with you by showing you pictures of my work,’ he commented drily.

  How much faster did he want to go?

  ‘What kind of progress?’ I asked.

  He ignored that and pointed to the copy of Dark Hours, Dark Deeds. ‘I’ve finished your last book, and now I’m going to read the rest in the right order. Maybe by then you’ll have finished the new one? I suppose you wouldn’t like to give me a hint about what happens to me, would you?’

  ‘Dragonslayer isn’t you, I keep telling you.’

  ‘And Raarg isn’t Dave and Nala isn’t you, I know. It’s all coincidence.’

  ‘Nala’s nothing like me, except for having long hair!’

  ‘And being bossy.’

  ‘I’m not bossy.’

  ‘And I haven’t got a bad temper.’

  We stared at each other. ‘I warn you,’ he said with emphasis, ‘if Nala goes off with Raarg at the end of this book, Dragonslayer is going to cut his nuts off and use them for marbles.’

  ‘He can’t,’ I said quickly, ‘he has to do what I tell him to do. Nala will only marry her equal and not someone who can best her in any way. I think Dragonslayer is a bit too sure of himself, just because they had a little fling while she was under the influence of the evil Laag drink. Dragonslayer needs taking down a peg or two.’

  ‘I think she ought to consider what he’s going through a bit more. When he came from his own country he was trapped in hers, and drawn to her even though he didn’t want to be. Then he protects and rescues her as much as he can, and what does he get? Thanks, but no thanks? Wham, bam, thank you, Dragonslayer? Can’t they agree to be different but equal?’

  ‘Are we arguing about women’s lib here, or the Vengeane situation?’

  Or something totally different?

  ‘I’d just like to know where you’re going with it.’

  ‘I don’t know yet: it just comes in its own time. I think there’ll be one more Vengeane book after this one, and then I’m on to something different.’

  ‘Couldn’t I read the manuscript of this one, so I know the pitfalls to avoid?’ he asked.

  ‘No you can’t. My borrowing your handsome face doesn’t entitle you to an advance preview.’

  ‘Would you prefer me if I had a crew cut and grew a silly moustache?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘You mean, “No, I adore you just as you are”, or “No, it wouldn’t make any difference”?’

  I turned away and fingered the tools laid out along the table edge. ‘No – I mean, you’re fine as you are.’

  ‘Am I?’ he said softly, reaching out a gentle hand to tilt my face up to his.

  ‘Nye, don’t—’ I began, twisting away as I noticed a rapt audience reassembled behind the glass window.

  I’ll never go to the zoo again – and wasn’t that tall, dark shape at the back . . .

  ‘It’s Dave – he tailed us from the courtyard,’ Nye said, following the direction of my gaze. ‘But he’s gone now.’

  ‘Oh, I see! So that was why you—’

  ‘It wasn’t,’ he said, advancing with a light in his eyes. ‘Come round here and I’ll show you!’

  I backed towards the door. ‘Haven’t you any shame?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Are you going to meet me later?’

  ‘No, I’m having tea with Gil and after that I’m going to go home and do something dreadful to Dragonslayer!’ I snapped, and he laughed.

  ‘Watch out for Dave. Come back if he’s still out there.’

  I nodded – let him take it as he pleased – and sidled out of the door rather pink-cheeked and half-expecting a round of applause.

  Of Dave there was no sign, so we might have been mistaken; this isn’t his type of place at all.

  Still feeling generally ruffled I walked around the rest of the studios, lingering over the leather worker’s, inhaling deeply. There was an interesting furniture workshop too, which would repay a visit at a later time.

  Of course, there were oodles of love-spoons and Welsh dragons, but the spoons were beautifully carved, and the dragons desirable hand-made glass ones.

  They reminded me of the carving over my door – soon to be revealed again when the conservatory was removed – and I was considering buying one when I felt that old familiar feeling. The one that laser-burns a line down your conscious (and your spine).

  Dave trailed me outside into the sunlit organic garden, where I tired of the me-and-my-shadow game and sat down on a bench.

  ‘Why don’t you come out from behind that bush, Dave?’ I suggested, sighing.

  Glowering becomingly, he emerged and sat down next to me. ‘How did you know I was there?’

  ‘Elementary, my dear Watson: you aren’t a vampire, so you cast a shadow. I wish you wouldn’t follow me about.’

  ‘I don’t want to. I’d rather come to your house, if you’d let me. Why are you playing hard to get?’ He looked puzzled.

  ‘I’m not playing hard to get: I’m not even playing. I’m simply not interested in you in that way any more. But I do wish you well – with someone else.’

  ‘While you amuse yourself with this Nye Thomas? I don’t think so, Sapphie: I think you ought to tell him to leave you alone.’

  There was that unnerving hint of malevolence about his voice when he added, ‘Everything would have been all right if it hadn’t been for him.’

  ‘Now, look here,’ I said angrily. ‘I’ve only known him a short while, and it’s none of your business, anyway. There’s nothing you could do or say that would make me even want to see you again, much less live with you.’

  ‘You love me,’ he said. ‘You’re a stubborn, independent woman, but you’ve come back at last – to me. He’s just a diversion, to pay me back for the other girls I’ve been with, even though none of them meant to me a fraction of what you do.’

  Words failed me.

  ‘I suppose you’ve heard I’m staying with Lili, but I’m just putting up there. She needed someone around for a day or two, and it was convenient.’

  ‘You’re not around, though, are you? You’re here, bothering me.’

  He smiled that slow, sexy smile, and said softly, ‘Am I bothering you, Sapphie?’

  I closed my eyes: give me strength! When I opened them again he was closer, emitting enough charm to floor a buffalo. ‘Sapphie . . .’ he tried to take my hands, ‘why don’t we start again: we’ve got off on the wrong foot, that’s all. You and me? I could—’

  ‘Am I interrupting anything?’

  Nye stood over us, hands thrust in pockets, silvery hair ruffled and eyes like clouded silver. My heart did a bit of gymnastic wriggling as if warming up for something, but it was probably just from tension.

  Dave sprang up to face him, dark and angry: they looked like positive and negative images, very odd.

  ‘You are interrupting. We don’t want you butting in, do we, Sapphie? Clear out and leave her alone.’

  Nye’s strangely beautiful eyes met mine as if seeking something
– could it be reassurance? Surely he didn’t think I still felt anything for Dave?

  I got up and faced Dave. ‘You didn’t interrupt anything important, Nye. I’ve said everything I want to.’

  Dave’s eyes narrowed. ‘It’s like that then, is it? It’s him and—’

  ‘No it isn’t, it’s me. Nye isn’t important, because I wouldn’t have ever come back to you anyway.’

  ‘You heard what she said,’ Nye said evenly. ‘Give it up – there’s nothing here for you.’

  He might as well have saved his breath.

  ‘Sapphie, let’s talk about this again later, alone. If you shut that damned cat away I could come round and—’

  Nye was suddenly so near that I could feel the muscles bunching under the skin of his arm.

  ‘There’s nothing more to talk about, and I don’t want to see you again. How many times do I have to say it?’ I repeated wearily.

  ‘Leave her alone – leave us alone,’ Nye added, and I thought that intimate ‘us’ might just make Dave lose what little control he had, but the sudden advent of a crowd of schoolchildren into the garden halted his hasty movement.

  ‘You’ll both regret this!’ he threatened, turned abruptly on his heel and walked away with long, angry strides.

  I let out a long breath, and Nye suddenly caught me in a hard bear hug, which squeezed out any air remaining in my lungs. ‘You looked so deep in conversation . . . so close,’ he muttered, kissing the top of my head.

  Most men would need a stepladder for that.

  I disengaged myself, wheezing slightly. ‘Well, hopefully, that’s that. Now Lili can go to work on him, and once she’s got her hooks into him we can have a monumental argument and not have to see each other again.’

  ‘I don’t mind arguing with you, and I hope Lili eats Dave alive like a spider, but I draw the line at not seeing you again. I intend spending as much time as possible with you, and when I’m not there, Dragonslayer can take over.’

  Dragonslayer? Little did he know the plot complication I’d just that second thought up for him!

  Something about my smile seemed to worry him. ‘You won’t go out tonight, will you? Just in case this isn’t the end of it.’

  ‘I’ve no intention of going out tonight – but not from any fear of Dave. Miranda’s coming for dinner.’

  How did he manage to look hungry and dejected simultaneously? Why did I weaken?

  Who is the potter, pray, and who the pot?

  ‘How do you feel about fish fingers?’ I asked.

  Chapter 30

  High Tea

  Mu phoned soon after I got back. She was feeling well and not chewing coal, or road tar, or whatever it is pregnant women are supposed to crave. I was glad Ambler was so delighted – and so unsuspecting.

  I don’t have any cravings, other than my usual ones for dark rum and chocolate with almonds in it, which is not surprising, since with those eyes Nye just has to be an alien and we’re therefore genetically incompatible.

  After jotting down my Vengeane ideas before I forgot them, I went to tea with Gil. He lived in a tiny, neat bungalow like a dolls’ house, overlooking the sea near Rhossili, and his garden contained more bird boxes and bird baths per square foot than you would think possible.

  Inside it was very chintzy, in a full-blown way, and crammed with knick-knacks. I hadn’t felt so big and clumsy since I visited Japan.

  Gil brought out a very high high tea: I was quite touched – no one had gone to so much trouble since one of my editors took me to tea at the Ritz a couple of years ago.

  There was tea with milk or lemon along with little sandwiches and cakes on flowery china, laid out on the table on a matching flowery cloth with – you’ve guessed – flowery paper napkins.

  Even the carpet was covered in overblown roses – you’ve never seen such a blooming room in your life. A flower fairy would have been perfectly at home there, but they don’t come six foot tall with imposing bosoms and a deficiency in the wing department.

  And a flower fairy would have disliked the most peculiar and off-putting aroma hovering about even more than I did.

  ‘If you don’t mind me asking, Gil,’ I said, as he came back from the kitchen with a bowl of that pretty, lumpy brown sugar that looks as if it ought to be set into silver jewellery, ‘what’s that smell? Are your drains off?’

  He put down the bowl and set out cups and saucers, placing a little paper coaster under each one. ‘Oh, no, it’s not the drains: my freezer’s broken and the bodies are rotting. I hoped to have my new one delivered before they went off, but it hasn’t arrived yet.’

  I thought, great, I’m alone in a remote bungalow with a man whose wife is missing, and he’s confessing to a freezer full of rotting bodies.

  ‘I’ll have to throw them out, and I’ve got some great specimens in there. All picked up or given to me after natural or accidental death,’ he added hastily, misreading my expression. ‘I wouldn’t kill any birds or animals just to study them, believe me.’

  ‘No, I’m sure you wouldn’t.’

  ‘I was really sorry about your cat being hurt, but I hope she made a complete recovery?’

  ‘Fine. It was very odd, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, very.’ He looked nervously down into his cup, as if something might be lurking in there, and then suddenly called out in a sickly falsetto, ‘Muff, Muff, Muffkins! Where are you? Cream!’

  The unfortunately named Muff was a white swansdown powder puff on legs. Her smug face was flat, which probably accounted for the messy way she spattered bits of cream and smoked salmon sandwich over the carpet.

  Gil was very hospitable and continually pressed dainty morsels upon me, which I sincerely hoped hadn’t come out of the defunct freezer.

  We had quite a pleasant little chat over the teacups. He seemed very fond of Miranda – he mentioned her about six times in half an hour. And as well as birds he was very up to date on all the local gossip, but I expect it’s a two-way street with the Dukes. I got the impression that his desperation to find Dorinda was partly guilt, because he’s so much happier now he’s got used to doing his own thing again.

  He told me Violet Duke had returned yesterday to help him search Dorinda’s computer and they’d discovered lots of hidden files, but unfortunately they needed yet another password to get in and they couldn’t guess what it was.

  Still, even if they did, she was unlikely to have left a message saying: ‘Today I parked my car in a remote spot where it will be a target for car thieves and hid in a hole,’ or anything helpful of that kind.

  ‘We tried everything we could think of, but with no luck,’ he said, so once we’d finished tea I suggested he put the computer back on and have another try, but to no avail. Pity, I’d had high hopes for ‘Muff’.

  The cat went over and tried to sit on the keyboard and Gil very gently removed her. ‘Naughty little Muffkins, doesn’t she want to know where her mummy’s got to?’

  ‘Try Muffkins,’ I said, suddenly inspired.

  ‘What?’

  ‘As the password. Go on, try it.’

  It didn’t work – but Muffkin did.

  We couldn’t believe we’d actually cracked it, but our euphoria was short-lived because all the files were written in gibberish: it had to be some sort of code.

  Yes, Dorinda was the Enigma of South Wales. Surely you have to be anally retentive to put your journal and notes in code, under a secret password?

  Gil went all reserved after this find. He said it was so like his Dear Dorinda, and he hated trying to read what she’d obviously meant to keep secret, but he had to see it if it helped to find her. He also claimed to be brilliant at codes, so I said I’d leave him to it.

  ‘I’ll let you know if I find anything useful,’ he promised. ‘And thank you for finding the password.’

  ‘Perhaps you ought to tell the police?’ I suggested.

  ‘I will if there’s anything helpful to them.’ He looked terrified – all that grilling,
I expect. ‘Otherwise I don’t want them reading Dorinda’s diaries.’

  The new freezer was being trundled up the path from a van as I left, and it’s too small to get a body in. I have a nasty, suspicious mind.

  It had been a tiring day, but once I got home I settled right down to sorting out my neglected novel and promptly forgot everything else until the phone jerked me rudely out of my fantasy.

  Phinny (as I’d begun to call her, Sphinx being a bit sibilant), who had been reclining at my feet like a rather odd heraldic beast, leaped off the lounger and raced round the room, tail in the air.

  ‘Oh God!’ I said as my eye fell on the clock – five thirty already, and Miranda and Nye coming for dinner!

  It was Gil who’d phoned, rather distraught, since he’d cracked the code to Dorinda’s diary, which was full of detailed information about her methodical cliff searches, but then the thunder and lightning had started (I must have missed that!) and the computer suddenly went off on its own.

  He’d switched it off at the mains, too, but now he was afraid to switch it back on until the storm stopped.

  ‘And I just can’t settle, so I wondered if you’d like to go out for an early dinner with me?’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Gil, but I’ve got guests coming.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, managing to invest such pathos and desolation into the one word that before I knew what I was doing I’d invited him to come round tonight, too. (Yes, it’s Singles Night.)

  ‘It’s only Miranda, and Nye Thomas – you know Nye, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh, yes – but I’m sure you don’t want another guest at such short notice and—’

  ‘No, really – it would be lovely if you could come, though I’m sure you’d much rather—’

  But he’d enthusiastically accepted and rung off before I’d finished the sentence, leaving me wandering round the kitchen looking for something to cook. My freezer was full of delicious single-portion ready meals, most of them readied by Miranda, so they were out.

  In the end I trotted down to the village stores and bought peas and prawns for risotto, and a tray of that Greek shredded-wheat type dessert, glistening with honey and nuts, which was the unlikeliest thing to find in a Welsh minimart. I wasn’t surprised when Llyn said Miranda had made it, and it sold very well, but – here she tapped the side of her nose – ‘Mum’s the word, or they’ll be sending Food and Hygiene people round to search her kitchen.’