21
George went back to resume his bartender duties and Beth and Gareth started talking to a middle-aged man at the next table. He was wearing a bright scarlet replica shirt in homage to his national team.
“Don’t get many good-looking girls in these parts”, he said. “Most of the women round here are built like prop forwards. We’ve one or two hookers as well, mind!”
“Stop your blathering, Gethyn Jenkins, you old fool!” The woman next to him immediately disproved Gethyn’s theory. She had the high cheekbones and haughty eyes typical of many Welshwomen, with dark hair drawn back from her forehead. “Don’t mind him,” she went on, “He doesn’t mean anything by it.” Angharad Jenkins obviously had her husband well sorted but her eyes twinkled as she spoke. She was nattily attired in a stylish black trouser suit and although petite, she clearly had her other half well in hand.
Introductions were made and Gethyn stood up briefly. He was a huge man, running a little to seed now but still, you would guess, in pretty good shape.
“You’re Barry-John Llewellyn’s lad? Now there’s a thing. Good player, he was. Yes, I used to play a bit of rugby myself”, he said. “I was a prop forward, for my sins. I played for Maesteg in the 70s and 80s. Never made to the national team like your Dad did, but I did play for the Baa-baas against Wales in ’79. Funnily enough, your Dad was in the opposing team. Now I come to think of it, it might have been his last game before… . you know… sorry.”
Gethyn fell back in his chair under the withering gaze of his wife but Gareth took it all in his stride.
“Really? You’re the first person I’ve spoken to, apart from my grandfather and a few friends in Aberystwyth, who actually knew him. What was he like?”
“As a player? Brilliant. He’d have played for the Lions, no doubt about it. Could have been one of the greats. Pity. Such a shame.”
“And as a man?”
“Well, I didn’t know him that well, like, but he always seemed to be the life and soul of the party, without showing off, mind, if you know what I mean. Good bloke, I’d say. Your Mam was at that game as I recall. Beautiful, beautiful young woman—but you don’t need me to tell you that.”
“Are you still involved in the game now?”
“Not as much as I’d like to be. I do a bit of coaching locally but with work and the family and everything, it’s difficult. These two play, though.” His two sons, Dai and Evan, younger and possibly even larger versions of their parent, nodded shyly.
“Prop forwards, obviously. Evan’s hoping to make the squad for the Six Nations. There’s proud I’d be!” Gethyn stuck his chest out even further than seemed possible and glowed with pleasure at the very thought. “A great day, that would be, a great day. Might even get his Mam to go a game, particularly if it involves a trip to Paris. Can you imagine, Bread of Heaven in front of all those Frenchies? I’ve been before, mind, but it would be different if our Evan was playing.”
They all smiled at his enthusiasm, then Gareth changed the subject.
“I gather there might be some trouble tonight.”
“Yes, got a few local yobbos wanting to cause trouble. Got a thing about the Cat. They seem to think it might actually exist—keep trying to burst in wanting to see it. Never get very far, of course.”
Gareth threw Beth a warning glance, then said: “So why won’t they take no for an answer? Can’t be very pleasant for them, getting forcibly removed every time.”
“I don’t know, really. Something about an inner force driving them.”
Wolenger began to emit his usual whirring warning. Beth produced him. He was scarlet. “They’re on their way!” she said, as the door burst open.
A gang of five or six hoodlums shouting “Where is he, then? Here, pussy, pussy!” tried to force themselves through the crowd. Gethyn and his lads, along with many others, were already heading in the direction of the intruders. George led the charge, shouting “I’ve told you often enough, Pugh. We don’t want scum like you here. This is a decent place.”
The unwelcome guests were evicted with perhaps a little more force than was absolutely necessary. A few well-aimed blows found their target, making sure the gang bore ample signs of their evening’s activities. It was all over in a matter of minutes, but not before the leader of the band, the afore-mentioned Pugh, was able to stare directly into Beth’s eyes with cruel intensity. He nodded at her as if to say “I’ve seen you”, before departing the premises skull first. The show was over.
Beth could see that Gareth hadn’t noticed and decided not to burden him with her fears for the moment, especially as Gethyn and his boys were sitting down again. “I enjoyed that”, the older man said. “Nice to know I can still inflict pain when necessary!”
“You old fool!” his wife said scathingly. “One of these days you’ll hurt yourself. Then you’ll be sorry.” She dusted down her younger son’s jacket as he sat down. “Time that lot were properly sorted”, she added. “Keep coming round here, trying to disrupt decent people’s evenings!”
“Don’t spoil our fun, Mam”, Dai grinned in reply. “There’s not much else to do round here of a Saturday night. Let’s get some more ale in!” Drinks were ordered and they settled down to enjoy the rest of the evening. The conversation, and the drink, flowed in agreeable fashion and before they knew it, last orders were being called.
“Time for one more,” Gethyn said, “And then we’ll be on our way and let you good people get some rest.
I’m sure you could do with it. You both look very tired.”
As the pub emptied, Beth and Gareth were led into the back part of the inn, which turned out to be a huge kitchen. The room obviously ran the whole length of the building. It had a low ceiling but was well-ventilated. The area where they entered was clearly where the food for the pub customers was prepared. The staff were tidying up, putting crockery away and wiping down surfaces. The girl who had served them gave them a smile and a wave.
Two interesting characters were standing at the far end of the room, with shy but welcoming smiles. George made the introductions as Beth and Gareth walked over to them.
“Igor”, he said, indicating a giant of a man. “Hungarian, we think, though could be Russian. He doesn’t speak a lot of English as yet.” The Goliath seized their proffered hands in a bone-crushing grasp.
“Wife,” he said proudly, pointing to a tiny fair-haired woman standing with great dignity beside him. “Tatiana.”
“What’s their story?” Gareth half-whispered to George.
“We got word from central Europe that there might be Custodians in the family. They were in a travelling circus and having a bad time of it, apparently. He was a strongman and she performed a tightrope-walking act. We managed to get them out and here they are. They’ve settled in quite well, as you can see.” He nodded towards a corner of the kitchen. Two tiny cots stood to one side of the fire. Inside were two little girls, one fair, one dark, about six months old. Gareth and Beth both felt an immediate bond with them and looked at each other to confirm the fact.
“Natalia, Anya,” Igor stated proudly. “Good babies. Sleep well.”
“Oh, they’re gorgeous!” Beth slipped instinctively into Mother Hen mode. “So beautiful. So good.”
“Tatiana was pregnant when we brought them here. We were a bit concerned at first but everything went well. The locals love them and everyone rallied round.” George smiled proudly.
The dark-haired baby stirred, frowned and then started crying. Something had obviously disturbed her. “Shh, Anya, is ok, is ok”, her mother whispered quietly. Natalia slept on unbothered, with a soft smile on her face.
“Can… can I hold her?” Beth asked tentatively as the baby’s mother picked the tiny tot up.
“Yes, you take. Is ok.” Tatiana proudly handed her precious child over to the young woman. There was at onc
e an obvious rapport. Gareth knew Beth came from a large family and had numerous nephews and nieces but even he, who had no experience whatsoever in such matters, could tell that a chord had been struck between the two. Anya smiled dreamily up at Beth and went back to sleep in a matter of moments.
“Thank you,” Beth smiled gratefully at the baby’s mother as she handed her back. George said:
“I’ll show you to your room. Igor will come up in a few minutes with a hot drink for you and will bring down any dirty washing you might have.”
“There’s no need. We can manage…” Beth was quietly interrupted by George saying:
“Please. I insist. It’s all part of the service.”
They went upstairs and were ushered into a low-ceilinged room consisting almost entirely of a large bed.
“Bathroom next door”, George informed them. “Sleep well. Come down in the morning when you’re ready. No hurry.”
They looked at the bed and then at each other and smiled. To-night would be somewhat different from their experience at Paradise View!
22
Gareth woke next morning after a deep, dreamless and most refreshing sleep. Was it the excitement of the previous day or the amount of amber liquid he had partaken of? Perhaps their brief but strenuous bout of love-making in the wonderfully comfortable bed had had something to do with it. Then again, it was more than likely that the hot drinks they had consumed had contained an extra ingredient. Whatever the reason, Gareth was more than ready to do battle with whatever the day might throw at him. Beth too was similarly refreshed.
“I wish I could do something with my hair, though,” she fretted. Gareth did not reply, knowing that any remark about her looking beautiful as she was would just be ignored, or worse, railed against.
George was at an old-style range when they appeared in the kitchen, deftly manipulating a large frying-pan. A wonderful aroma of cooking bacon filled the place. The gloriously inimitable smell of freshly-ground coffee made its presence known also, together with a hint of newly-baked bread. Beth was reminded of trips to France and the wonderful continental breakfasts she had enjoyed there.
No measure of prompting and encouragement by George could persuade Beth to sample the delicious pig-meat on offer but she compensated with eggs and fresh bread and jam. Gareth had no such reservations and tucked into vast quantities of the food available.
After breakfast, George advised them of the quickest way to Aberystwyth, including a short-cut through the woods which would reduce their journey by several miles. He pointed it out on a local map. “Theeth wants you to know that you are doing well. The arrangements still stand. Head for the station at Aberystwyth and proceed to London from there. Good luck!” The gap-toothed grin and the firm handshake sent them cheerily on their way.
At least the snow had stopped when they set out on their journey again but it was still bitterly cold. The thought of making it back to the comparative comforts of city life spurred them on, though, and they began making good progress. Towards the end of the morning, they found the footpath they were looking for and turned off into the woods. They had gone a few hundred yards, when, to their consternation, Wolenger started uttering a warning. His appearance was now bright red again, which presaged a strong enemy presence. They looked about in alarm but could not see anyone or anything. This was not a good situation. They were in the middle of nowhere with no escape route and no likelihood of immediate assistance.
As they stood there puzzled and concerned, a group of youths wearing stockinged masks on their faces and shouting and whooping unpleasantly leapt out at them.
* * *
They had sped through the winter cold, the two of them and Oliver’s trusty Bentley had not let them down. It had made short work of the miles on the motorway. They arrived at a “safe” house near Aberystwyth at about midnight and had met the local troops on the Sunday morning. The leader was called Phil, apparently, and there were sundry Darrens and Waynes with a Tracy or two thrown in. They had armed themselves with sticks and coshes and the wherewithal to cover their faces. Altogether they were a motley and somewhat unpleasant crew, bent on doing serious mischief.
“Damage, but not too much”, Peter had told them. “Just rough ’em up enough to scare them. And remember, we’re looking for a painting of some kind.”
Thus it was that this disagreeable rabble hurled themselves on a young couple more than a little taken aback by the suddenness and aggressive intent of the assault, despite Wolenger’s attempt to prepare them. In no time at all they both found themselves with their arms pinioned and unable to defend themselves in any way. Their rucksacks were abruptly emptied and the contents summarily despatched across the muddy ground, One or two of the more unhinged thugs could not prevent themselves from waving scraps of Beth’s more intimate garments around and leaving her in no doubt with their obscenities as to exactly what they were prepared to do her. Then the pair of them were brutally frisked and their contents of their pockets sent to join the rest of their possessions in the mud.
“There’s nothing here, like,” Phil growled. “You sure they got it on ’em?”
“That’s what we’ve been told,” Patterson snarled back. “Where is it? Where is it, eh?”
“If I knew what it was you were looking for, I might be able to help you,” Gareth replied smoothly, trying to sound a lot calmer than he felt.
Patterson gazed at him through his mask and then smacked him hard across the face. “Bastard! I’ll make you talk!”
Gareth yelped in pain, then said: “I recognise that voice. Next time we meet, I’ll take you on one-to-one, Patterson, you fucking coward.”
“I don’t think so, matey.” Patterson thumped Gareth viciously in the stomach and grinned as the Welshman grunted and doubled up in pain.
“Maybe I’ll have better luck with this one, old boy!” Etheridge drawled, as he ran his hand down the front of Beth’s coat. “I’m sure she could say plenty if she’d a mind to.”
Beth spat in his face and said: “Don’t touch me, you bastard! Filth!”
“Mmm, feisty one, egad! I like that!” Etheridge forced his lips on to Beth’s and tried to kiss her, forgetting Pierre Poivre’s emphasis on restraint. That’s what happens when a man thinks with what’s in his trousers rather than with what’s in his head. Beth retaliated with a ferocious kick in the shins which left her assailant reeling. Others approached to assist the stricken fop when Patterson suddenly said:
“Listen! Dogs barking. I thought you said it would be quiet round here. Come on, scarper! Let’s get out of here!”
The pack of wolves disappeared as quickly as they had arrived, trampling through the undergrowth and could soon be heard starting and revving up a number of cars and motor-bikes before charging off into the Welsh countryside, completely shattering the piece and quiet of the December Sabbath.
“My God, Beth, I’m so sorry. Are you all right? I should never have led you into this.”
“It’s not your fault. We’re in this together. What about you, more to the point? You ok?”
“Yes, yes, bit bruised, but nothing broken, I don’t think.” Gareth felt his ribs rather tenderly.
“I take it those were your two old pals and their friends. They obviously haven’t forgotten you.”
“No, nor me them. I will have my revenge on them. I will make them suffer… .”
“Easy, Gareth, easy. You don’t want to do anything stupid.”
“Nobody touches you like that and gets away with it.”
Their discussions were cut short by the arrival of two beautiful red setters, which bounded up to them enthusiastically, their tails wagging with great gusto. They were followed by an elderly man of average height, clad in a green anorak, brown boots and a deerstalker and wearing wide-rimmed spectacles. He had an amiable expression which quickly turned to a look of con
cern when he saw them.
“Oh my goodness. My dear good people. Are you all right? What happened?”
“We were set upon by some local thugs. They were after something—not sure what, as they didn’t get the chance to find it, thanks to you and your delightful canine friends.”
“Ah yes. Spick and Span. They wouldn’t hurt a fly actually, but people don’t know that. My word, you are in a bit of mess, the pair of you. Shall I run you both up to Casualty?
Beth smiled wanly. “No, no, no need. We’ll be ok.” As if to prove the point, she brushed herself down and started picking up her scattered clothes.
“Well, the Police at least. It’s not the first time we’ve had this kind of trouble.”
Gareth was secretly pleased that this was not an isolated incident, although he doubted if his two old adversaries had been involved in previous sorties. It meant that the attack would seem a little less conspicuous.
“No, no. Honestly, we’re fine. We’ll just regain our composure and our possessions and then we’ll be on our way.”
“Oh tush and pish,” the mild-mannered gentleman exclaimed unexpectedly. “Back to my modest establishment for a cup of tea at the very least. I’m sure I could rustle up some lunch too if I put my mind to it. Come on, I only live a few minutes away.”
They concurred—after all, they had been about to stop for lunch anyway. They gathered their belongings and stuffed them back into their rucksacks. “All Tatiana’s lovely washing and ironing gone for nothing”, Beth sighed in typically thoughtful fashion. “We’ll have to sort something out when we get to London.”
Introductions were made. The gentleman’s name was Arthur Penfold. He doffed his hat in acknowledgement of Beth’s reply to reveal a bald pate surrounded on either side by cotton-wool tufts of white hair which were obviously not in the habit of responding to any kind of grooming. His face was kindly and its roundness was emphasised by his spherical glasses, which gave him an owlish professorial look. He was, it appeared, divorced and had been so for many years. His wife had not taken to the peace and tranquillity of country life and had sought solace in Australia, taking their young son with them. She had since died but Arthur had had precious little contact with his son thereafter—his wife had made sure that he took the blame for everything that had gone wrong in their relationship.
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