by Rhys Bowen
“You’re a softie.” Evan stroked her cheek. “Now you’ll be paying more attention to him than to me.”
“Ah, so that’s why you don’t want him here — you’re jealous.”
“Listen, Bron, I just want you to do the right thing. What sort of example would you be setting to your children if you show them how to hide farm animals from the ministry? I’ve already had Owens-the-Sheep today telling me that he was going to ship his prize rams off to his cousin in Anglesey under cover of darkness.”
“And why not?” she asked. “If they are not infected, why slaughter them? This whole thing is ludicrous, Evan. They should test each animal, and those that are healthy should be allowed to live. But they slaughter all herds within so many miles of each outbreak.”
“I suppose they must know what they are doing,” Evan said hesitantly. “Look, I feel as badly as you do about this. I think it’s a wretched business. I felt dreadful today telling Bill Owens that he couldn’t count on me to help him. I’ve been instructed to offer all assistance to the ministry and to the army. I don’t have any choice.”
Bronwen looked at him with a half smile. “I seem to remember several occasions on which you were instructed to keep your nose out of murder inquiries and you didn’t.”
“Well, yes, but I didn’t actually disobey. Circumstances just presented themselves … .”
Bronwen laughed. “Oh yes, of course.”
“But this is different. It’s a national emergency, isn’t it? You and I aren’t experts. We don’t know how the disease is spread or if saving one sheep from a flock will have disastrous consequences later.”
Bronwen went over and put her arm around the lamb. “So you’re saying I shouldn’t keep Prince William here? I should send him back to be k-i-l-l-e-d?” She spelled out the word. The lamb looked up at her and gave a pathetic baa as if it understood.
“You do what you think is right, Bron. You are a responsible person.”
“My children count on me, Evan. They look up to me.” She gazed at him, her eyes pleading. “I can’t let one of them down, can I? Especially not now that—” She broke off. “I had a piece of bad news today, actually. You remember I had a visit from the county education office inspectors last spring. Well, I’ve now seen their official report.”
“They can’t have found anything to criticize in your teaching,” Evan said angrily.
“Well, no. They thought I was doing a good job, considering … .”
“Considering what?”
“That I had to deal with the outdated concept of multiage-level teaching. They feel the children in the village are being deprived of the chance to become world citizens at a young age. The village school is making them grow up with no clear picture of the outside world and its problems. They are being cocooned. So what they suggest is that this school and the one in Beddgelert be closed and the kids shipped down to a new, modern primary school to be built on the outskirts of Porthmadog.”
“But that will be a half-hour’s journey for them. And what’s wrong with growing up sheltered, I’d like to know?’ Evan demanded. “The longer they can be kept away from drugs and violence, the better, if you ask me.”
“Me too,” Bronwen said. “And they’ll be in an environment where not everybody speaks Welsh so they’ll soon think it’s cool to speak English to each other. I think it’s a bad idea all around. It’s not final yet, but this is their recommendation.”
“Stupid,” Evan muttered. “What would happen to you if they closed this school?”
“I dare say I’d be offered a job at the new school on the coast.”
“That would mean you’d lose your house too.”
“Well, I thought I might be moving in with you when we finally get married,” she said, getting to her feet again with a small laugh. “That was the general idea, wasn’t it? And we might find we have to move somewhere else for your work, anyway. You might be assigned to headquarters.”
“And pigs might fly,” Evan muttered.
“Why wouldn’t you?” She looked up at him, startled.
“They’ve postponed all training sessions until the emergency is over. Who knows how long it will take.”
Bronwen moved closer and wrapped her arms around him. “Oh, Evan, I’m sorry. What a horrible blow for you. You were so looking forward to it.”
“That’s not the main thing right now, is it?” Evan said. “Now I’m going to have to betray people who have become my friends. I’m the one who’s going to have to restrain Farmer Owens when they shoot his sheep.”
“That’s just not fair, Evan.”
“I know. But then I’d be petty to grumble about my situation when these poor farmers are losing their entire livelihood.”
Bronwen slipped her arm through his. “Look, we were planning to go and meet each other’s families when your course was over, weren’t we? Why don’t we do it now instead? I’m on holiday after all.”
Evan made a face. “I’m not. They’ve cancelled all leave too.”
“Oh dear. So it looks as if you’re stuck with it, doesn’t it?”
“It looks that way.”
“In which case I’d better open a bottle of wine. We’ll need to drown our sorrows.”
“Good idea.” Evan opened the drawer and got out the corkscrew. “Better get out the large glasses.”
Bronwen lifted a bottle from the bottom of the dresser, then stopped, the bottle poised in her hand. “You know what you could do? Why don’t you ask to swap with a policeman who is usually behind a desk at headquarters. Explain what a lot of harm it will do to your relationship with the community and how much better it would be to send an outsider up here in your place.”
“That would be great,” Evan said. “I don’t think they’d go for it, but it’s worth a try, isn’t it?”
“Go down there and be forceful,” Bronwen said, handing him the bottle.
The lamb trotted up to him and bleated again.
“Oh no. Every time he sees a bottle he’s hopeful,” she said, laughing.
“Well, he’s not getting my Rioja.” Evan turned his back on the lamb. “Oh, and Bronwen, he doesn’t expect to sleep in your bedroom, does he?”
The next morning Evan drove his own car, instead of the police-issued motorbike, down the hill to headquarters. As he was getting out he heard his name called and looked up to see a familiar figure in a fawn-colored raincoat crossing the station car park.
“Hello, Sarge, what are you doing here?” he called. “Oh sorry, I meant Detective Inspector, of course. I keep forgetting.”
“So do I,” former Sergeant Watkins admitted. “One of the girls on the front desk just yelled ‘Inspector’ after me three times before I realized she was talking to me. It takes some getting used to.”
“So what are you doing here? I thought you were stationed in Colwyn Bay now.”
“They’ve sent me back here, now that DCI Hughes is one step away from God and will only take the most important of cases. Bad timing, eh? I arrive back and you’re off to HQ to start your course.”
“Not any longer. All courses have been postponed. I’m stuck here with instructions to help the Min of Ag.”
“Bad luck. It’s a bugger, isn’t it?”
“Especially for those of us who live and work out in the countryside. They all think I’ve turned traitor, but what else can I do?”
“I know. Sometimes our job stinks. But I seem to remember you’ve got a lot of leave piled up, haven’t you?”
“At least five weeks. I didn’t take a proper holiday last year, but —”
“Well then,” Watkins cut in, “why don’t you make yourself scarce for a couple of weeks until the worst is over?”
Evan sighed. “I wish I could, but in case you haven’t heard, they’ve cancelled all leave too.”
“Oh right. Except for compassionate,” Watkins said.
“Yes, but I don’t think they’re likely to be compassionate to me when I tell them it upsets me
to do my job, are they?”
He expected Watkins to laugh, but the inspector was looking at him thoughffuhy. “So how is your mum these days? Last time I heard she was poorly.”
“Yes, she did have a nasty touch of bronchitis last spring.”
“Takes a long time to get over—bronchitis, so I’ve heard.”
“Oh no, she’s up and around again now, just fine.”
“I said, it takes a long time to get over bronchitis,” Watkins repeated patiently. “It can easily turn into pneumonia. You never did get time to go and visit her in the spring, did you? These things can flare up again when you least expect them, you know.”
“Can they?”
Watkins burst out laughing. “Sometimes you’re as thick as a plank, Evans.”
“Oh, I see.” Evan laughed too. “But I couldn’t ask for compassionate leave right now. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Do you want to be out of the area or don’t you?”
“Of course I do.”
“Well then.” Watkins sucked through his teeth as he thought. “Tell you what. I’ll have a word with old Bill Mathias who does the duty roster. He owes me a favor, as it happens. I’ll tell him about your poor mum and let’s see what he can do.”
“If you can pull this one off, I’ll be in your debt for life,” Evan said.
Watkins slapped him on the back. “I won’t forget that, boyo. When you’re working for me in the plainclothes division, you’ll be getting all the three A.M. stakeouts. And I’ll have you writing all my reports for me.”
“Worth every second, if you can spirit me out of here.”
“Well, go on then. Get lost,” Watkins said, giving him a gentle shove. “It won’t do if you’re seen hanging around here. We don’t want them to think it’s a conspiracy, do we?”
Evan hurried back to his car. He had scarcely arrived back in Llanfair before the phone rang.
“What did I tell you?” Watkins’s voice boomed down the line. “I’m a bloody miracle worker, that’s what I am. I told Bill Mathias about your old mum and how poorly she has been, and he said no problem. He’ll just leave you off the roster, quiet like, so that the super doesn’t notice. So there you are. Get packing.”
“Bloody brilliant,” Evan exclaimed. “I’ll go and tell Bronwen right now, and I’d better call my mum to tell her we’re coming.”
“So it’s ‘take Bronwen to meet the old folks at home time,’ is it?”
“That’s right. I’m not looking forward to it, I can tell you,” Evan said. “In fact restraining crazed farmers only just wins out over sitting with my mother and Bronwen in the same room.”
“Bit of a tartar, your old mum, is it?”
“No, I wouldn’t say that. But she’s very good at stirring, if you know what I mean.”
“Knowing how to make you feel guilty? I’ve got a wife who’s an expert at the same thing. She never yells or has tantrums—she just has to give me this pained look.”
Evan chuckled. “Yes, I’d say that describes my mum pretty well. She’s not such a bad old thing. It’s just that she’s never quite forgiven me for moving so far away.”
“Playing on the old guilt, like I said. Rather you than me, boyo. Oh, and Evan, you owe me a pint.”
“Anywhere other than the Dragon. The atmosphere is decidedly frosty at the moment.”
“It can wait till you come back,” Watkins said. “Go on. Bugger off before I realize that I’m getting soft.”
Chapter 4
“It was a good idea of yours to slip away without telling anyone,” Bronwen said as she climbed into the passenger seat of Evan’s car. “We don’t want the whole village speculating that we’ve run away together.”
Evan laughed. “It will be a bloody miracle if we do slip away unnoticed. You know what this place is like. It’s round the village in ten minutes each time I come to visit you—and what time I leave again too!”
“I can’t imagine that anyone is awake at this hour to watch us leave.” Bronwen peered out at the starry night where just a faint glow over the eastern mountains announced that dawn was not far off.
“And a good thing too, seeing that we’re carrying illegal cargo,” Evan commented as he got in beside her.
Bronwen swung around to the backseat where a mournful-looking lamb peered at her from its crate. “We had to take him with us, Evan. What if they had decided to have him slaughtered while we were gone? It would have broken Eirlys’s heart.”
“But it’s still illegal, cariad. You know as well as I do that any transportation of livestock is forbidden at the moment. We’ll be in a hell of a jam if we’re stopped.”
“He’s not livestock; he’s a pet. That’s completely different.”
“He’ll still look like a sheep to any road check that we might meet,” Evan said.
Bronwen nestled up close to him. “You wouldn’t want to see a little girl’s special pet killed, would you?”
“I do things for you against my better judgment,” Evan said. He started the engine. It coughed several times before roaring to life loudly enough to awaken most of the village. “If we’re stopped I shall claim no knowledge of what you’ve stowed in my backseat. I’ll tell them you’re a hitchiker I picked up with dubious cargo.”
Bronwen laughed. “Lucky you haven’t given me a ring yet, or you’d be sunk.”
“Yes, well it’s not official yet, is it? That’s what we’re doing now. Making it official.”
He let out the clutch and the car moved away from the curb. At that moment he saw a strange specter in his rearview mirror. A large figure was flapping its way after them, arms waving in distraught fashion. “Oh no.” Evan stopped the car.
“What is it?”
“Someone’s running after us. There must be some kind of emergency.”
“Hen Diawll,” Bronwen muttered. “Can’t we just drive off and pretend we didn’t see?”
“There speaks the wonderful Miss Price, adored by the whole village?” Evan chuckled as he wound down the window.
The flapping figure caught up and paused, holding on to the roof of the car, gasping for breath. “I thought I’d left it too late, Mr. Evans.” The words came out between gasps.
“Mrs. Williams,” Evan exclaimed, recognizing his former landlady. “Whatever is wrong?”
“Wrong? Nothing at all. I didn’t think you’d have time to make yourselves any proper food for the journey, so I made you one of my egg and bacon pies you like so much, and a bara brith, and a few sandwiches, just in case you got hungry.”
“That’s very nice of you, Mrs. Williams, but you really didn’t have to—” Evan began, but she cut him off in midsentence. “Swansea is a dreadful long way away.” She poked her head in through the window. “Good morning to you, Miss Price. I hope you have a lovely trip, just.” She handed Evan a large shopping bag. “There’s a thermos of tea too. You’re going to need some breakfast.”
“Mrs. Williams, I don’t know what to say.” Evan gave an embarrassed laugh. “How did you know we were going to Swansea?”
“Well now, that was easy enough. Evans-the-Milk told me that you’d stopped your delivery for two weeks and so had Miss Price, and then Evans-the-Post said you’d had a letter from your mother saying how she was looking forward to seeing you and to meeting Miss Price.”
“I never thought he’d have the cheek to read my mail. There’s no way of keeping secrets in this village there?” Evan gave Bronwen a look of amused despair.
“And no reason why it should be a secret, either,” Mrs. Williams said. “What could be more natural than taking your betrothed home to visit your mother? Go on, off you go and have a lovely time. We’ll want to hear all about it when you come back.”
She stood there waving as they drove away.
“So much for our secret getaway,” Bronwen said. “Now the whole village will know.”
“If they don’t already. My, but that food smells awfully good, doesn’t it. Is that egg and bacon pie still
warm, do you think?”
“If anyone wanted to bribe you, all they’d have to do is know how to cook well.” Bronwen opened the bag and extracted the pie.
“Well, I have been trying to survive on my own, but it hasn’t been easy after Mrs. Williams’s cooking.”
“I must say, it does smell heavenly,” Bronwen said. “And she’s even provided plates and a knife. I’ll cut you a slice.”
“Look, I see Mrs. Powell-Jones has taken over as usual.” Evan pointed at the banner, draped across the front of Capel Beulah, where the Reverend Powell-Jones was minister. “Village meeting tomorrow night. Foot-and-Mouth Contingency Plans. Let’s all pull together and do our bit!”
The billboard outside the chapel had a new text on it: IT IS REQUIRED OF A STEWARD THAT HE BE FOUND FAITHFUL! Across the street, Capel Bethel’s billboard text was not in sympathy. I KNOW MY SHEEP AND MY SHEEP KNOW ME. A GOOD SHEPHERD LAYS DOWN HIS LIFE FOR HIS SHEEP.
“I don’t think Mrs. Powell-Jones’s village meeting is going to run very smoothly, do you?” Evan said. “I’m glad we’re going to be far away.”
As they drove south and the rugged mountain scenery gave way to gentle green hills and distant seascapes, the sun came up over the horizon and the whole eastern sky flamed pink.
“Rain before tonight,” Evan said, glancing at it.
“You’re such a pessimist sometimes.” Bronwen slapped his hand.
“No, just a realist. Let’s hope we get there before it starts in earnest.”
Bronwen’s gaze swept across the countryside, taking in the hillsides dotted with fat lambs and wooly sheep. “It looks so beautiful and peaceful, doesn’t it?” she asked. “It’s hard to believe that only a few miles north of here they are already starting to slaughter whole flocks. Do you think this mass slaughtering actually does any good?”
“I’m not an expert,” Evan said. “But nothing else seems to stop it. They have to try everything, don’t they?”
“It seems like overkill in the true sense to me. Killing healthy animals—that’s just not right.”
As if in agreement, Prince William gave a plaintive baa from his crate.
“You wouldn’t think it would take all day just to drive a hundred miles across Wales, would you?” Bronwen commented as the first road signs to Swansea in English and Abertawe in Welsh appeared.
