by Rhys Bowen
“You better come to my place,” he said. “I’ll put in the call to HQ for you and they’ll send out a squad car.”
“Your place?” Paul looked confused. “So you don’t live up there?” His eyes scanned upward to the gray stone shape of the cottage, perched halfway up the mountain slope.
“Not yet. I’m getting married and we’re moving up there.”
“Rather you than me, mate,” Paul Upfield said. “I like the outdoors, but I don’t think I’d fancy that trek every time I came home from work.”
This seemed to be the universal response to the former shepherd’s cottage he and Bronwen had bought. It had seemed like such a romantic place to live, with its stunning view and solid stone walls. Now as he looked up at it Evan hoped he hadn’t bitten off more than he could chew.
“Come on,” he said, pushing that thought to the back of his mind. “Let’s make that phone call, shall we?”
Chapter 2
“Sorry I’m late.” Evan took a deep breath as he was ushered into the bank manager’s office.
He noticed that Bronwen’s lips were set in a prim, straight line—the closest she would come to showing her disapproval of his being twenty minutes late for an appointment.
“Do come in and take a seat.” The bank manager indicated the leather chair beside Bronwen. “Your fiancée and I have been having a nice chat. I’m Neville Shorecross and I’ve been told that you’re a policeman, Mr. Evans, which I’m sure explains your tardy arrival.”
“It does,” Evan said. “I was just about to leave home when I had to deal with a young chap who lost his girlfriend.”
“Honestly, Evan,” Bronwen said, “don’t tell me you’re playing agony aunt now.”
“No, I mean really lost his girlfriend.” Evan pulled up a chair beside Bronwen. “They were hiking together and became separated. He’s hunted all over and he can’t find her. He was very distraught so I had to stay with him until the squad car arrived.”
“Oh dear, I hope nothing’s happened to her,” Neville Shorecross said. “Where exactly were they hiking?”
“The usual thing. Up to the top of Snowdon and back.”
“Do you happen to know which path they took?”
“It sounded like the Pyg Track from the youth hostel, but I suppose she could have opted for an easier way down. The Pyg does get pretty steep.”
The bank manager frowned. “If you need more members for your search party, I’d be happy to round up some of my boys. I run a local Scout troop, you know, and we’ve practiced mountain rescue exercises. We know the area well. They’d be thrilled to participate in the real thing.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind of you,” Evan said. “I’m not the one organizing the search but I’ll pass on the information.”
“It is the summer holidays, isn’t it?” Bronwen said. “There are loads of people out on the hills. I expect she’ll be found quickly enough.”
“One hopes so.” Shorecross shook his head. “We seem to read about so many bad things happening to young girls these days.” Evan looked at him with interest. He was the archetypal bank manager, a prim, neatly dressed little man with just the hint of a mustache, a signet ring on the little finger of his left hand, and a silk handkerchief in his top pocket. But when Evan studied his face, he wasn’t that old. Around forty maybe. Yet he spoke as if he came from a bygone generation, already frozen in time.
“Yes, there are some strange people around, I’ll grant you that,” Evan agreed.
“Too much disgusting stuff on television,” Shorecross said. “It puts ideas into twisted minds. Even our Miss Jones has had problems with a Peeping Tom recently.”
“She’s told the police, I hope?”
“Oh yes. They’ve had men out there, but they haven’t managed to catch anybody. I have my suspicions, but you can’t slander somebody without proof, can you?” He looked up, suddenly cheerful and businesslike. “Ah well. We’d better get through this paperwork as quickly as possible, hadn’t we? Just in case you are called out again, Mr. Evans.”
Half an hour later Mr. Shorecross escorted them from his office. “I look forward to having you as our customers, Mr. and Mrs. Evans-to-be. And may I be the first to extend my best wishes for your upcoming marriage.”
As they passed through the bank, Evan noticed an attractive girl in one teller’s booth, chatting animatedly with a customer, while in another booth a sallow-faced young man eyed them warily from behind heavy-rimmed spectacles.
Evan took Bronwen’s arm as they stepped out into the warm sunshine. Caernarfon was bustling with tourists. They crowded the narrow pavements, dragging children dripping melting ice cream cones, while others cruised the narrow streets looking hopefully for parking places that didn’t exist.
“Everyone else in the world seems to be on holiday except us,” Evan said to Bronwen.
“In two weeks, we’ll be on our honeymoon in Switzerland,” Bronwen reminded him. “Besides, all these wedding preparations are as good as a holiday, aren’t they?”
“Oh lovely,” Evan said, deadpan. “Never had more fun in my life.”
Bronwen looked up at him and laughed. “You make the whole thing sound like a visit to the dentist.”
“Just a little overwhelming,” Evan said. “You forget you’ve got school holidays at the moment. I’m trying to fit all this in and do my job properly. I really felt bad about leaving that boy to a couple of uniform blokes who seemed totally disinterested. I think I might call Inspector Watkins and see if a search party has been sent out yet.”
“Don’t you think you may be overreacting?” Bronwen took his arm as they threaded their way through the stalled traffic in Castle Square to where their car was parked. “I mean, what’s the terrible rush? If she’s lost her way, she’s bound to bump into someone sooner or later and get down to a road. It’s not as if they were climbing, is it? She’s not likely to have fallen and hurt herself badly.”
“No, I suppose you’re right,” Evan agreed. “It’s just that the young kid was so worried. They’d had a bit of a tiff, you see, so he was feeling guilty. He’d stalked off because she wasn’t walking fast enough.”
“Typical male,” Bronwen muttered. “So he went back to look for her and couldn’t find her?”
“Apparently.”
“That explains it, then. My guess is that she’s not lost at all. She was angry with him, so she’s taken another route down. She may even have given up on the hike and ridden down on the railway. She’s probably sitting in a café right now feeling sorry for herself.”
Evan’s face lit up. “Bron, you’re a genius. I bet that’s what’s happened.”
“And sooner or later she’ll go back to where they are staying and they’ll hug and make up and it will all be forgotten.”
“Do you think I should call HQ and suggest that they check the cafés in Llanberis?”
She put a firm hand on his arm. “I’d suggest you do nothing. This isn’t your problem, is it? The plainclothes division hasn’t been called in.”
Evan sighed. “You’re right. And it is my day off.”
“And if we get to that antiques shop and find that they’ve sold my Welsh dresser, you’ll have a seriously miffed fiancée to deal with.”
“Right. Welsh dressers, here we come!” Evan took her hand and pulled her across the square between two tour buses.
The shop was in a narrow back street opposite the castle. It looked like nothing special from the outside, but once inside it opened into a treasure trove of antiques. Classical music was playing softly in the background. The air was heavy with the smell of old wood and furniture polish, and shafts of late afternoon sunlight shone through a casement window. It was like stepping back into Dickens.
“I didn’t even know this place existed,” Evan commented to Bronwen as they stood alone, waiting for a shopkeeper to appear.
“Well, you’re not exactly the type who goes antique browsing in your spare time, are you?” Bronwen teased.
“And besides, I only found it by accident when it started to rain one day and I took shelter on the porch.”
“Oh dear, that doesn’t say much for my advertising skills, does it?” A tall, skinny man stepped out of the shadows at the back of the store. He had a hollow, rather frail look about him and wore his hair somewhat longer than is fashionable today. He spoke with a cultured English voice with no trace of Welshness. “I’ve placed ads in the local newspapers and the free tourist literature. But I suppose it takes a while to generate business, doesn’t it?”
“You’re newly opened, then, are you?” Evan asked.
“I came here in April. That means four months now. I can’t say that business is booming yet.”
“You have some lovely things,” Bronwen said. “Once word gets out about you, I’m sure you’ll do very well.”
Evan had noted some prices and privately wondered if the folk around Caernarfon could be persuaded to shell out that much for objects that had once sat in their grandparents’ cottages.
“I hope so,” the shopowner said. His voice was light and slightly tremulous. “Coming here was a big risk in the first place. When I had to give up my job, I asked myself what I really wanted to do with my life and the answer was to own an antiques shop. It’s always been a hobby of mine. Well, to cut a long story short, I found out that I couldn’t afford the property prices in the most desirable places—the Cotswolds, Devon—way out of my price range. Then I discovered that Wales was still affordable. I came to look and liked what I saw.”
“So you’re not from Wales, then?” Evan asked.
“Do I sound as if I am?” The man laughed. “I came here once on holiday when I was a boy. It rained the whole bloody time, I seem to remember.”
“I hope you like it here,” Bronwen said.
“As long as I don’t have to learn the language.” He made a face. “How does anyone get their tongues around all those hissing and spitting sounds?”
“Born to it,” Evan said. “But you’ll be able to survive here without speaking Welsh. Everybody speaks both languages.”
“You’re most reassuring.” The man smiled. “I recognize the young lady, of course. You’ve been in here before, haven’t you? Is there anything particular I can help you with today?”
“This.” Bronwen went over to a handsome dark oak Welsh dresser and stroked it lovingly. Evan watched with apprehension. He didn’t know much about bargaining but he did know that rule number one was not to show how keen you were on the item you wanted. Now here was Bronwen almost drooling over it.
“Ah yes. A very fine piece.” The shopkeeper nodded with enthusiasm.
“We’re getting married and moving into a restored shepherd’s cottage,” Bronwen said. “This will fit perfectly into our kitchen.”
“How splendid,” the man said. “A restored shepherd’s cottage. I love the sound of that. Do they come up often for sale? I’m stuck in a miserable flat over the shop at the moment.”
“I don’t think they do,” Evan said. “We were lucky because we were able to buy one cheaply from the insurers after a fire. But miner’s cottages in the villages come on the market quite often at a good price.”
“Excellent. If I can make a go of this shop, then I’ll want to buy my own place. I hate the idea of paying rent.”
“That’s exactly what Bronwen has been telling me,” Evan said.
The man turned sharply to her. “Bronwen? What a pretty name.”
Bronwen blushed. “It’s fairly common in Wales.”
“It suits you perfectly.” He smiled at her.
“Do you think you can lower the price a little for someone with a pretty name who’s about to get married?” Bronwen asked him sweetly. “I’m afraid it’s just out of our price range as it stands.”
Evan looked at her in amazement. He hadn’t thought of Bronwen as the type who used feminine wiles. The man was now smiling sheepishly and mumbled, “I’m sure for you, at this auspicious time, we can do something, fair lady.”
“Mr. Cartwright is a nice man, don’t you think?” Bronwen asked as they made their way back toward Castle Square. “Always so pleasant.”
“I’m sure I could be pleasant if anyone had paid me that much money in one afternoon,” Evan said.
“Ah, but you have to admit he did come down a lot when we started negotiating.”
“When you turned on your feminine charms, you mean.”
“Feminine charms?” Bronwen bristled. “I was just being nice to him.”
“You barely stopped short of fluttering your eyelashes.”
“I did not! You do exaggerate.”
Evan grinned.
Bronwen had to smile too. “Well, anyway, it worked, didn’t it?”
“It still cost an awful amount,” Evan said. “I had no idea people paid that much for furniture.”
“But it’s a special piece, Evan. It’s a part of our history and it’s in beautiful condition.”
“My nain used to have one in her kitchen,” he said. “When she died I’ve no doubt it was thrown out as old junk.”
“Most of them were,” Bronwen said. “Luckily we’ve come to appreciate old things again. The next thing I want to find is a brass bed and an antique Welsh quilt for it.”
“Hold on,” Evan stammered. “I know we’ve just signed for a line of credit at the bank, but that doesn’t mean we actually want to use it up.”
“It’s all right. Don’t worry. Mummy is giving us some money to set up house.”
Evan frowned. “You know I don’t like accepting money from your parents. First they take over the wedding and now they’re apparently furnishing our household for us.”
Bronwen paused and turned to face him. She took his hands in hers. “They can afford it, Evan, and it gives Mummy pleasure. She’s so delighted that her daughter, whom she considered to be a hopeless failure, is not going to wind up as an old maid after all.”
Evan noted the touch of bitterness in her voice. He slipped his arm around her shoulder. “If furnishing the cottage the way you like it makes you happy, then I won’t say another word,” he said.
She wriggled away from him. “Oh, and how would you like it furnished? A threadbare armchair, a couple of crates to put the TV and your beer on?”
“Sounds about right to me.” He laughed and bent to give her a kiss.
Bronwen looked up at him. “It’s going to be lovely, Evan. The cottage is going to be a perfect little home and we’re going to have a beautiful wedding and a splendid honeymoon and everything’s going to be absolutely bloody marvelous.”
Chapter 3
The sun had dipped behind the mountains, plunging the narrow valley into deep twilight as Bronwen and Evan finally drove up the Llanberis Pass to Llanfair.
“It’s later than I expected,” Bronwen said.
Evan turned to glance at her. “I wasn’t the one who had a wild impulse to stop off at the church and go over the service with the vicar for an hour.”
“It had to be done,” Bronwen said. “I wanted to make sure I knew what I was going to be asked and what I was agreeing to.”
“I noticed you heaved a sigh of relief when the vicar said they’d cut out the honor and obey clause.”
“He seemed a pleasant person, didn’t he?”
Evan smiled. “You’re finding everybody pleasant at the moment. It must be that pre-wedding glow. If you want to know, I thought he was a bit creepy. A little too gushy for my taste.”
“But then you’re used to the ministers at the two chapels, spouting hellfire and brimstone.”
“And quite right too.” Evan slowed the car to a halt outside a row of plain stone cottages, some whitewashed and some not. The one he was living in was not, but sported a red door, which the locals considered sinfully ostentatious.
“It’s almost dark.” Bronwen looked up the mountain. “I had planned to get one room of the cottage sorted out enough to sleep in. Now I’m not sure what I should do. I presume my bed is alr
eady up there?”
“It is, and you can’t go up there tonight,” Evan said. “It’s a proper mess. Charlie Hopkins was a wonderful help in carrying stuff up the mountain, but it’s all just dumped willy-nilly in the living room. I had planned to start getting things in order before I met you at the bank, but instead I had to deal with the hiker and his missing girlfriend.”
“I hope he’s found her by now,” Bronwen said.
“I’ll call HQ and see if there’s any news,” Evan said. “But first we’ve got to decide what to do with you. I’ve cleaned out the schoolhouse, which means you’d better stay here, I suppose.”
“That’s probably one of the most romantic proposals I’ve had in my life.” Bronwen gave him a sardonic smile. “Is it my reputation you’re thinking of, or yours?”
“Oh, come on, Bron.” He turned his key in the lock. “You know what I mean. I’ve only got the one single bed, haven’t I? You’re welcome to take that and I’ll sleep in my sleeping bag on the floor.”
Bronwen slipped her arm around him as they went inside. “Don’t be such a martyr. I’m sure it will be very cozy if we snuggle up.” Then she went on down the hall into the kitchen. “More to the point, what are we going to eat? If I know you, you’ll have one tin of baked beans and some cheese in the larder and that’s it.” She opened the fridge. “Oh, and some eggs. Amazing. Well, I can always whip us up an omelette then.”
“I thought we might have something over at the Dragon,” Evan said.
“Oh Evan. If we’re going to eat out, let’s splurge and go up to the Everest Inn. At least their food isn’t reheated in microwaves.”
“They do a decent bangers and chips at the Dragon. And the fish and chips isn’t bad either,” Evan defended. “And besides, I promised Charlie Hopkins that I’d treat him to a pint for helping me carry all of your possessions up the mountain today.”
Bronwen shrugged. “In that case, I suppose I’d better admit defeat and resign myself to Betsy’s microwaved shepherd’s pie.”
