'Ha!' she was still defiant. 'But I went, Owen, and it had nothing to do with you, did it? I went under my own steam just as soon as I could and,' at this point, she became triumphant. 'You didn't send me away either, if I remember rightly, you told me I wasn't to go.'
The pressure on her wrist relaxed and she sat nursing her bruised bones, her mouth in a gleeful curve, although she felt more like crying.
'Exactly!' Owen almost sneered at her stupidity. 'I told you not to go, didn't I? I told you you had to stay on another year in school, get that other "A" level. Lord, Lallie, after knowing you since you were four years old, do you think I didn't know how to manage you?'
'I wasn't that bad,' she protested sullenly.
'You were worse!' he ripped back at her. 'Dwynwen, Jonty, Dorcas, even my father, they all spoiled you rotten. The only person in the house you ever paid any attention to was your mother.'
'And you were always jealous of her,' she glared at him.
'Don't be stupid. Do you think I've been nursing a "wicked stepmother" complex all these years? Your mother was a lovely little lady, she made my father very happy for the few years they had together, and I was very fond of her. Jealous of her? You couldn't be more wrong. The only thing I could never understand was how she managed to produce such a shocking little daughter.'
'Same here but different.' Lallie regained some of her poise. 'I liked your father very much, he was a wonderful man and Mummy was very happy with him too. So it just goes to show that this heredity thing doesn't work, or perhaps you're not the real Owen after all. Maybe you were left out on the hills on Midsummer Eve and the fairies stole you away, because what they left in your place was one of the Lordly Ones. You're cruel, Owen.'
'And I'll be a damn sight crueller if you start up your tricks with Jonty again,' he riposted. 'I want your promise and I'll accept it—you don't usually break them—You won't go messing things up for Jonty and Vi!'
'I thought you didn't approve…'
'Of course I approve,' he broke in on her. 'I only asked what you thought about her to make sure you had no designs in that direction. One word out of you and I'd have…'
'… And what would you have done?' Lallie managed a weak giggle.
'Put Plan B into operation.' He rose and limped round the table to stand over her. 'Now, shall we start all over again, cut out the rough stuff and be sensible. There's no need for us to be quarrelling all the time. Try me, Lallie, you'll find I'm quite easy to get on with.'
'As long as you're getting your own way.' She wasn't beaten and she wasn't going to give too much away.
'That too,' he smiled at her, and she caught her breath on a half sob. Like this, he was damn well irresistible and she could feel herself weakening. He was using her as he used anybody he needed when he needed them, and it wasn't fair. He turned on the charm and she nearly grovelled—nearly but not quite. 'Pax?' he enquired softly.
'Pax,' she agreed but with her fingers crossed.
'Then we'll have some fresh coffee and you can get me another couple of aspirin to take with it.' Owen paused reflectively. 'And don't bother your head about sleeping arrangements, you can have my room, if that's what you want. I'll move across to the old part of the house, sleep where my father used to. Dwynwen did it out last year after we had the roof repaired. You could go there yourself, but it's a long way from the kitchen, it'll be more convenient for you to have mine.'
'So much consideration!' Lallie couldn't help herself and the words came out with bitter force.
'Ah!' he warned. 'Don't start again. We agreed to bury the hatchet, didn't we?'
'It's what I've always wanted,' she murmured, the aggravating sparkle once more lighting her eyes. 'To bury it, I mean—preferably in you! Whoops!' she covered her mouth with her fingers for a second and then removed them to disclose a wide, remorseful grin. 'I shouldn't have said that, should I? You'll have to forgive me a momentary lapse. I can't help it, it's a habit I've got into.'
'I know.' He looked as rueful as she. 'Let's hate Owen! Curb it, Lallie, just make your brain work a little less swiftly. You always were pretty devastating at repartee.'
'It takes the place of brawn and muscle,' she nodded wisely. 'I haven't got either of those, I had to develop something in their stead, I couldn't go about without any defence, could I?'
'No,' he chuckled, 'but you used to smile a lot more than you do now, and if I remember rightly, you weren't quite as cutting. And what's happened to your laughter?'
'Beaten out of me,' she admitted mournfully. 'All your fault, of course.' She poured out the fresh coffee and went across to the dresser for the bottle of aspirin.
'Mmm,' his eyes twinkled as she gravely put two tablets by his cup and saucer, 'I'll admit that or part of it. A long time ago, I had a decision to make, and I think—no, that's not right—I know now I made the wrong one. How's that for an apology?'
'A bit loose, if you know what I mean, but I'll accept it knowing I won't get a better.' She gestured at his cup. 'Drink that and take your pills. How's the foot this morning?'
'Bloody awful.' Owen treated her to his famous' smile. 'But we start afresh, is that agreed?'
'Tentatively.' She shrank back within herself, refusing to give very much ground. That smile had gone straight to her heart and if she wasn't very careful, he'd walk all over her. 'We'll see how we go on. When will Stella be coming?'
'Next week. Think you can cope?'
'Oh, I can cope with anything.' Her face took on a sadness and her eyes grew bleak. 'London taught me that—a lesson well learned, if I do say so myself as shouldn't!'
Lallie walked slowly back up the valley, a black and white collie trailing at her heels. It wasn't a nice day, the March winds had blown themselves out and April had come in, dull and misty. There had been several nice spells, though, days when she'd spent afternoons weeding or planting out lettuce in the sheltered kitchen garden at the back of the house, but now April was nearly gone. Time hadn't flown, but it had passed, which was a good thing.
Dwynwen was improving steadily, she was going about with her walking aid, but never beyond the confines of her own flat—and that was because of Stella's presence in the house, Lallie was sure. Once or twice Lallie had tried to coax her into the kitchen, but Dwynwen had refused and Lallie was almost certain she hadn't imagined the lightning gleam of fear in the old lady's sharp black eyes.
'Come on, Dwynny,' she had wheedled once. 'Nobody's going to bite you. We could have a nice cup of tea and it would be a change of scene for you. You must be fed up with just these bedroom and sitting room walls. I should be after all this time.'
'What's the matter with them?' Dwynwen had demanded sharply. 'Nice, aren't they? Suits me, anyway, even if you don't like my roses.' Roses were Dwynwen's favourite and when it came to interior decoration, she went to town on them. They scrambled all over the wallpaper, they clustered round her own private crockery and they embellished the cream curtains in a riotous scramble from top to bottom.
Lallie had shrugged, reluctant to use any further persuasion, and had brought the tea-tray into Dwynwen's sitting room without demur. And yet, as a lodger, Stella wasn't too bad. She was neat, almost to the point of it being a fad, and except for a few times when she had tried to instil instincts of economy in Lallie's unreceptive mind, she didn't interfere too much.
'It would be so much simpler for you,' she had pointed out, 'if you'd think of daily expenses as far as running the house is concerned. Allow yourself so much money, so much food every day. Any decent book will tell you how much a person needs to eat, calories, proteins and things, and if you were to keep that in mind, you'd soon find yourself having less waste. So many slices of meat, so many sprouts per person…'
'And Jonty's pigs would go very hungry,' Lallie passed it off with a smile. 'We waste very little, Stella. What we don't eat ourselves,' she shrugged, 'there's always the dogs, and as I said, Jonty's pigs.'
It wasn't Stella's fault, she comforted herself. Stel
la had been in catering, she was going to manage a fair-sized hotel, and it probably offended her business sense to see extra cooked just in case anybody was especially hungry. What she would have objected to was the implication that she was lining her pockets out of the housekeeping, but Stella was careful, she never implied such a thing, not out loud.
Lallie counted the slow passing days, three weeks and a bit. Quiet because Owen had been busy, spending very little time at home, she sniffed at her own dullness; she missed the fights and she was fed up with keeping a guard on her tongue.
This afternoon she had taken her weekly walk over to Jonty's place, but as usual, he was busy with his dogs, training for the coming trials, and there was only Vi in the house. A Vi Lallie didn't seem ever to get any closer to. Dwynwen, spurred on by a letter from Dorcas, had been on and on about people getting married and Lallie had intended, if the occasion arose, to sound Vi out as to whether there was any possibility of wedding bells in the foreseeable future.
But the opportunity hadn't arisen. Vi was her usual guardedly friendly self, not the sort of person of whom one could ask such a thing straight out. They had eaten scones fresh from the oven and drunk strong tea before the kitchen fire, but it hadn't been a rewarding visit.
Vi had been perfectly willing to talk about her youth in Northumberland, but she had gently steered the conversation away from the present, and with no Jonty there, Lallie just didn't have the courage to bring up the subject. If he'd been present, she could have made a joke of it, but not with Vi.
Lallie pushed open the farmyard gate and then looked up towards Bryn Celyn, then she shook her head. She didn't want to go back, not yet, so she turned aside to push open the doors of the old barn. In the dimness, she skirted a tractor, Owen's Bentley and various pieces of farm equipment, and found herself a quiet corner where she dropped onto a pile of sacks, drawing her knees up to her chin.
'Home soon,' she comforted the dog, who lay down beside her and put a cold wet nose on her foot while she sank into dejection. After about ten minutes while her brain did mental athletics, trying to find a solution to being in two places at the same time, here with Dwynwen and away from Owen, she heard the Land Rover draw into the yard, there came the slam of the door after the engine had coughed and died and then no further sound until a shadow appeared in the square of light which was the barn door and Owen was walking towards her.
'Can't I get any peace anywhere?' Lallie demanded bitterly.
'Peace? What do you want peace for?' He dropped his long length beside her and stretched out on the sacks.
'I'm having a little brood on the injustice of life in general and mine in particular, so go away, I brood better on my own.' She kept her chin on her knees and refused to look anywhere but at the barn door.
'Injustice!' Owen seemed to find the idea rather silly, because he snorted, choking back laughter. 'Don't be so dramatic, anwylyd. Just because you've had a quiet time these past few weeks, that's no reason for you to go into a decline and start talking about injustice as though everybody's been getting at you!'
Lallie still didn't look at him, she began talking, more as though she was speaking to herself and she didn't have an audience. 'I like a peaceful life, and I had one, in London. I had a good job, a nice little flat, although you turned up your nose at it, and I had no worries. There was nobody to bother me.'
'And who's bothering you now?' He didn't sound sympathetic.
She picked up a piece of straw and started to pull it between her fingers. 'I had enough money to live on, I could even save towards my holidays. I was going to Greece this year, did you know that? That old trouble had been forgotten, nobody kept harping on about it or saying 'Lallie, what a naughty girl you were'. And then you came and turned everything upside down.'
'Cry on my shoulder,' he offered cynically, 'and I'll shed a few tears for you—poor little Lallie, she can't stand the quiet life.'
'Wrong again,' this time she turned to look at him. 'I like a quiet life, it's just that I'm not getting it, and it's all your fault,' she added morosely.
'When wasn't it my fault?' Owen raised an eye-brow at her. 'Ever since you were about fourteen, you've been blaming me for anything that went wrong in your little world, and I'm fed up with it.'
'So!' she sniffed. 'You generally were to blame, but I'm not going to talk any more about it, not to you—you haven't a scrap of sympathy or understanding in your whole body.' And she dropped her chin back on to her knees and stared once more out of the doorway.
'I went over to see Jonty and Vi this afternoon,' she continued. 'I thought I might ask Vi why they didn't get married, but when I arrived there, when she invited me in, gave me scones and tea, I couldn't. The words just wouldn't come out.'
'Very wise of you, not asking.' He was unsympathetic about that as well. 'You'd only have landed yourself in trouble. Some people are more private than others, and I think Vi's one of them.'
Lallie resumed her straw pulling, this time with a longer piece. 'It would have helped, though,' she muttered. 'I might have been able to quiet Dwynny down a bit.'
'Oh lord! Has she started on that again?' Owen arranged himself more comfortably, rolling over until he was flat on his back. 'I thought she was beginning to accept…'
'Which just shows how much attention you pay to her!' Disturbed out of her lethargy, Lallie said it with a snap. 'You go in to see her a couple of times a day and yet you don't see what's in front of your eyes. Men!'
'And what should I see?' He sounded amused, as though he was humouring a small, sulky child.
'Fear!' She sat up straight. 'You've never known what that was, have you, Owen, but Dwynwen's full of it, and it's worse since you had Stella come to stay.'
'I had your permission,' he pointed out, 'and then it was only on your conditions. Do you know what the cooker and dishwasher cost me?'
'And I think she's just beginning to realise how inadequate I am,' Lallie continued as though he hadn't spoken. 'I mean my appearance is inadequate, so you can't blame her, not really. She takes a look at me, remembers what Stella looks like and she knows that nobody in their right mind would prefer me. It was a mistake you made, you should have hired a glamour puss for the job.'
'Instead of which I presented her with a dream come true, and you say she's still not satisfied?'
'Sometimes she is and sometimes she isn't,' Lallie shrugged. 'She's old, Owen, and she's feeling insecure. She's still afraid she'll be put away, somewhere where she can't be of any use to anybody. She's either changing her mind or she can't make it up. She wants Jonty married—you and me married—that's why I went over to Jonty's today trying to get something concrete for her to bite on. I thought I might be able to get rid of one of her worries, settle her mind about one thing at least, and I couldn't even do that for her.'
'Come along.' Owen rose to his feet and pulled her up with him. 'It's cold here and you'll soon be dissolving in a puddle of your own misery. Did you take her Dorcas's letter?'
'I took in the packet of photographs and things showing all the arrangements for the coming event, the snaps of the house before and after it had been done up, the nursery before and after it had been decorated, the frilly cot, the pattern for the knitted shawl and the bits of pink ribbon and blue which are going to trim little white things according to sex, but I didn't give her the letter, I read most of it out to her. Dorcas had forgotten to ask after her.'
'Too taken up with approaching motherhood,' after he grinned down at her as he led her towards the garden path. 'Dwynwen would have understood that, you silly thing.'
'Something else I've done wrong!' Out in the open air, some of Lallie's depression was evaporating.
'Not at all, just a small error in judgment.'
'It comes of having a sensitive nature myself,' she was rapidly regaining her normal tartness. 'I feel for others.'
'Tender-hearted little Lallie,' he mocked. 'Then start feeling for me. I'm hungry and I want my tea—or does your super-sensi
tive little soul exclude me, the arch-villain of the piece?'
She put her nose in the air and came in fighting. 'For those who need it, I'm all consideration. Work the rest out for yourself!'
'Mmm, I know you'd cheerfully watch me starve to death, wouldn't you? But please remember, I'm employing you as a stand-in housekeeper, the fact that you're supposed to be the light of my life and the darling of my heart doesn't apply. It's your business to see I'm fed, it's what you're drawing a very large salary for.'
'Now that's the first time I've heard anything about a salary, large or otherwise,' she retorted.
'Enlighten me, please. Who negotiated this enormous wage and who agreed to it?'
'Knowing you'd never agree to anything, not with me—you'd have thrown my offer back in my face and very likely spat in it at the same time—I negotiated with myself. Three and a half thousand a year, less your keep—one half day off a week and holidays at my discretion and convenience.'
'That's slave labour!' she gasped with outrage. 'Have you any idea of what I earned in London? And with a thirty-five-hour week and four or five weeks' holiday a year!'
The arm which had been hauling her up the crazy paving tightened about her, bringing her to a full stop. 'It's about right for full-time domestic staff, I might even have erred on the generous side.'
'But in London…'
'In London,' he interrupted silkily, 'there, you were exercising your talents, or at least one of them, you were doing a job for which you'd been trained, at which you were an expert—whereas here,' he paused reflectively, 'you could say you're serving an apprenticeship. You're learning to run a house—the domestic side of your education was sadly neglected when you were young—but you're not making a bad job of it. I should think that in another few months you'll be worth at least half of what I pay you, but I don't complain.'
The Road to Forever Page 10