by Nicola West
'Just listen. I want you to go back to London—leave Wales. You've been there over a week, haven't you? Carver can manage without you now, I'm sure.'
'No, he can't, he's only just begun modelling. Richard, I can't leave now ‑'
'You've got to.' His tone was peremptory. 'I don't want any arguments about this, Linzi. Just get packed now and leave. You can be back in London by this evening.'
'But I can't do that!' Linzi was irritated by his assumption that he could order her about. 'I've signed a contract. Anyway, I wouldn't want to run out halfway through the job. It's important to Jason ‑'
'That doesn't matter.'
'It does matter. And it's important to me, too.' She took a deep breath. 'Richard, if you want me to leave you've got to give me some reason. I can't just pack up and go without some idea why. You seemed quite happy about things last night when I spoke to you. What's made you change your mind?'
'Linzi, I don't want to spend a lot of time and money arguing. But if you won't just do as I ask—-and I hope you're not going to behave like this after we're married— then I'll tell you this. I was talking to a man on the plane from Hamburg last night—a man who knows Carver. Apparently the fellow's a rake, a womaniser, totally untrustworthy. The man I spoke to said he wouldn't let his fiancée get within a mile of him. Now do you understand?'
Linzi was silent. Her heart sank as she listened to Richard's words, and again her seesawing emotions took another dive. Jason a womaniser, a rake? Could it be true? She thought of his behaviour with her—in the chapel, in her own bedroom last night—and his obvious friendship with Ceri, and knew that it could. And yet if that were so, would he have behaved as he did last night? Would he have listened to her assertion of virginity, covered her up and left her?
'Yes, I understand how you feel, Richard,' she said at last. 'But you don't have to believe that. Who was this man anyway? A complete stranger! Why do you take his word for it? I told you, I've known Jason all my life, I——'
'And that's another thing,' he broke in. 'Why was there all this secrecy? If you've known him so well, why couldn't he say who he was? I thought at the time there was something fishy, and now I'm even more sure. I want you away from there, Linzi. You're to pack your things and go back to London, and I don't want any more arguing!'
Anger seethed inside Linzi as she listened to these words. She felt her fingers tighten on the receiver and knew that her voice was rising as she retorted:
'Oh, so you don't! Well, I'm afraid I do—I'm not just packing up and leaving like that, just because you've been listening to some scurrilous gossip on the plane from a man you've never even set eyes on before. And you needn't shout at me like that, Richard—I can hear you perfectly well.'
'Linzi, I'm telling you ‑:' he began, and at that Linzi let herself go.
'Telling me?' she blazed. 'Telling me? And just what gives you the right to tell me anything, Richard? What gives you the right to order me about? We may be engaged, but we're not married yet, you know, and until we are I run my own life, make no mistake about it! And I shall be thinking very seriously about whether we do get married, at this rate. I knew you were stuffy and old-fashioned, but I didn't think your ideas went right back to Queen Victoria—I didn't think you intended to be a tyrant!'
'Tyrant?' Richard squeaked at the other end of the phone. 'Stuffy? Linzi, have you lost all reason? My God, what's been happening to you down there? Look, for the last time, are you or are you not going back to London?'
'Not!' Linzi yelled back. 'Not, not, not!' And without waiting for Richard's reply, she banged down the receiver and stood glowering at it, breathing fast and aware of a strange exhilaration coursing through her veins.
'That's the way to tell 'em,' a voice remarked from the kitchen door. 'Tell them where to get off. It's the only way to keep your end up.'
Linzi turned, startled, and saw Megan standing there, wrapped in her overall and clutching a broom and dustpan as if she were Britannia. For a second or two Linzi was completely at a loss. Then she began to laugh—and, for the first time for weeks, felt truly light-hearted.
'I'm just going into Crickhowell,' she told the plump little Welshwoman. 'I've got some, important shopping to do!'
Well, Linzi thought, she had certainly committed herself now. She stood outside the shop in Crickhowell, her purchases clutched in her arms—a scarlet rucksack, blue waterproof anorak and trousers, and a pair of sturdy leather boots with deep treads on the soles.
'And you'll be needing some thick socks to go with them,' the man in the shop had advised her. 'Two pairs will be most comfortable. You ought to try the boots on with them before you buy, you'll probably need a larger size.'
'I certainly shall, with those on my feet!' Linzi had looked at her feet with amusement, wondering what Anna would say if she could see her now. And Richard! He would be horrified—the only time they'd been for a walk together had been in Windsor one weekend, and he had worried the whole time about the damp grass staining his best suede shoes.
She crossed the square to her Mini and stowed the parcels inside. Now for a cup of coffee, and then she'd be ready to head back to Bron Melyn. Already she was looking forward to her walk that afternoon. And, by buying her waterproofs and boots, she felt that she'd made some kind of declaration. A pledge to Bron Melyn, a promise that she was staying. Whatever protest Richard made.
A small frown creased her brow as she went into a small cafe near the edge of the square. She had surprised herself with her reaction to Richard's suggestion—or order—that she should leave Bron Melyn immediately. She had been on the point of coming to that very decision herself, just before Hugh had called her to the phone. Her own love for Jason admitted and acknowledged, she was too uncertain of his feelings to have any hopes in that direction. She'd even wondered if he might be going to send her away anyway. So why had Richard's call made such a difference? Was her reaction pure defiance—or was it something more?
Linzi sipped her coffee and acknowledged the fact that she would have to think very carefully indeed about her relationship with Richard. His behaviour towards her over the phone had shaken her deeply; up till now he had always seemed quiet and amenable, more than ready to agree to whatever she suggested, ever eager to please. She had seen their future together as being without difficulties—a smooth and easy path, their relationship more that of close companions than lovers. A home, family—a rather vague and indeterminate family of well-ordered children probably spending a good deal of their time at boarding schools—and a pleasant social life; those were the things Linzi had visualised. And Richard himself would be away most of the time too, either working long hours in the City or abroad on business trips, on which she might herself accompany him.
With a shock, Linzi realised that her ideas about the future had been both vague and impossibly rosy. Had she really expected that Richard would be so compliant? That she would be able to lead what amounted to her own life on his money? She felt herself flush as the implications struck home. Jason had referred to Richard as her 'meal-ticket'. Had he been so very far from the truth?
But I love Richard, she told herself, and experienced a second shock as she wondered if that were really true. Did she love him? Did she, for instance, react to him in the way that she did to Jason?
Linzi groaned and set down her cup. It was all too complicated. What she needed was a good walk on the hills, with Bracken bounding along beside her, to blow away her doubts. But, as she paid for her coffee and went out again into the golden September sunshine, she knew that her delight in the morning had evaporated. And the scarlet rucksack and the new boots lying on the seat of the Mini seemed to have lost their magic.
Linzi was still in a thoughtful mood when she put on her new boots and, carrying the light rucksack, set off up the valley after lunch. Perhaps up here, with the gorse and the heather clothing the mountains in their royal gold and purple, with ravens and buzzards circling high in the blue sky and larks and pipits singing t
heir sweet songs, she would be able to sort out her tumultuous emotions and see a clear path ahead.
Her feelings about Richard were what worried her most. Until now, he had been the only man she had ever considered marrying. Surely that must mean something. He must have something to offer her that no other man had; something she both wanted and needed. And if it wasn't passion, was it to be so lightly thrown aside? Might it not be something more enduring, more valuable in the end?
Linzi reached the top of the track and paused to decide which way to go next. The track she was following led on across the hills, wide and clear—an old drovers' road, Jason had told her, which had once been a busy highway as the drovers brought their cattle across the mountains to the big markets. The journeys had been long and hard, and the cattle had been shod for the purpose; coming back, the drovers' dogs, often corgis bred for herding cattle, had been sent on ahead so that when they arrived home the women of the house would know that their menfolk would be back a few days later.
The romance of the old story appealed to Linzi and she decided to follow the track for another hour before turning back; There would be no danger of getting lost then, and she would note the appearance of the hills for further explorations.
She wondered who the man was who had spoken to Richard on the plane. Not one of Jason's friends, that was certain! But a man like Jason, with everything at his feet, was sure to have made a few enemies. And, particularly as he had remained unmarried, there were sure to be rumours about the women in his life. Linzi knew that there were bound to have been women—Jason was too masculine, too virile to have lived a celibate life. But was that any concern of hers? Or Richard's? And if it were true that Jason was a womaniser, wasn't it more important that Richard should trust her?
Linzi shied away from that question, which begged too many others. It was no use thinking about it anyway, she told herself fretfully. She could decide nothing until she had seen Jason again. And until then, why not enjoy this beautiful afternoon, the wild hills, the company of the big Alsatian who was bounding along like a puppy beside her. After all, there might not be that many more opportunities.
Putting her troubles aside for the moment, Linzi gazed around her. For the first time she really looked with attention at the mountains, noting their shapes, the power and strength of their outlines. Jason had told her that they were often his inspiration; many of the abstract forms he had carved had been suggested to him by the lines of the hills. He had shown her how they represented to him sculptures on the massive scale, the form delineated by the tracks that moved across them. The thrust of rock, the curves and hollows of the contours, the peaks and the valleys—all these could be seen in his studio, reproduced, with his own deep feelings for shape and form, his own affinity with the material, added to make something unique.
Only a man of deep sensitivity, Linzi realised, could express himself in this way. Could such a man be light and shallow in other ways? Could he be a mere womaniser, using the female body for his own instant physical satisfaction as well as for the translation of his ideas?
It was past teatime when she returned at last to Bron' Melyn. Hugh was out and the house empty, but tea was laid on the terrace as usual. Linzi went through to the kitchen to put on the kettle and collect the plate of scones and bara brith left ready. The doorbell rang as she was making the tea, startling her, and she went through the hall to answer it.
The girl who stood there was a stranger to Linzi. Thin and pale, she had mousy hair and a face that was pretty without being outstanding. It was spoilt at the moment by a look of anxiety, a troubled shadow darkening the light blue eyes.
'Oh!' she said, looking startled. 'I'm sorry—I thought Mr Davies would answer.'
'Hugh's out. Can I do anything?' The girl was fidgeting with the handle of a small pram, Linzi noticed now. Surely she hadn't pushed it all the way up from Crickhowell? Perhaps she came from one of the isolated farms or cottages on the way.
'Well, it was Mr Carver I wanted to see really.' The girl's pale face flushed and she glanced' involuntarily towards the pram. 'There was something—I need to talk to him.'
'I'm sorry, he's in Newport. He doesn't expect to be back until late, or possibly not even till tomorrow.' Linzi hesitated. 'Look, would you like a cup of tea? I'm just about to have one. You must have walked a long way, and it's such a hot afternoon. And then perhaps you could give me a message for Mr Carver.'
'Oh no, I couldn't—I mean, you must be busy, I ‑'
'No, I'm not, really.' Linzi smiled at her encouragingly. 'Do stay and have some tea with me. I've been on my own all day—I'd love to have someone to talk to.'
'Well—if you're sure.' The girl looked uncertainly at the pram. 'Can I put the baby in the shade somewhere?'
'Bring him through. Tea's out on the terrace—look, through here. It won't hurt to wheel the pram through. You settle yourself down and I'll be out straightaway.'
Still looking doubtful, the girl sat down on the edge of one of the chairs, while Linzi hurried back to the kitchen and set the teapot and cakes on a tray.
The girl puzzled her a little. She clearly felt herself to be out of her element at Bron Melyn, although equally clearly she was a local girl. Perhaps she had come about a job, Linzi thought, carrying the tray through to the terrace. In any case, she couldn't be sent back without some kind of refreshment; the poor kid—she didn't look much more than seventeen—looked just about ready to drop.
'Here we are,' Linzi announced, putting the tray down on the table. 'And I'm certainly ready for it! I've been miles this afternoon. Do you live near here—look, we don't even know each other's names! I'm Linzi Berwick.'
'My name's Sian,' the younger girl supplied. 'Sian Parry. You—you're not Linzi Berwick the model, are you?'
'Yes, I'm afraid so.' Linzi grinned ruefully. 'Sometimes I wish people wouldn't recognise me so instantly, then I wouldn't have to live up to what they expect of me. After all, I can't look much like your idea of a model just at the moment, in jeans and T-shirt!'
'I just wish I could look like that in jeans and T-shirt,' Sian said fervently. 'I never look anything but a mouse, whatever I wear.'
'But you could.' Linzi gazed critically at the fawn hair and large pale eyes, remembering how plain and gawky she had looked herself at this girl's age. 'You just need to learn how to make the best of yourself. I mean, you could do your hair differently, light up your eyes a bit—and a pink lipstick would work wonders. Tell you what, I'll give you a facial—some time when you're not busy, show you a few tricks of the trade.'
'Would you?' The girl was almost pathetically grateful. 'Not that anyone's going to notice round here. But still, you never know. . . .' Her voice and face were so wistful that Linzi felt a pang of sympathy. She'd been a rebel herself at this age—but she understood the longing to escape, to make a life of her own. Sian had probably never been away from the valley. Once she had, she would realise her good fortune in living here—but until then she would always yearn, .
'Have you thought of getting a job away somewhere?' she asked lightly, not wanting to interfere but unable to resist showing some fellow-feeling. 'I went to London when I was about your age. It's not a thing I'd advise unless you already know people there—but I think it does a girl good to leave home for a while.'
'Oh, I couldn't do that.' Sian shook her head decisively. 'There's David, you see.'
'David?' Linzi didn't understand. Then she saw the faint flush on the girl's face and followed her glance to the pram, where the baby was beginning to stir. 'You—you mean that's your baby? I didn't realise—I thought you must be just looking after him. I'm sorry—you don't look old enough to be married!'
'I'm not married,' said Sian, her flush deepening.
'Oh lord,' Linzi said after a moment. 'I do put my foot in it, don't I? I'm awfully sorry, Sian. I just didn't think ‑'
'It's all right,' Sian said quietly. 'I'm pretty well used to it now. Oh, it wouldn't seem anything to you, coming fr
om London—but round here people are still a bit—well, old-fashioned, I suppose you'd say.'
'I see.' Linzi gazed at her. She must have had a pretty rotten time; no wonder she looked as pale and scared as a little mouse. 'And there's no chance of the—the father ‑'
'Oh, he won't marry me,' Sian said, bitterness showing itself in her voice for the first time. 'I'm not his type. Not for marriage anyway. All right for ‑' She left the words unsaid, but Linzi felt another quick stab of sympathy. Poor kid, she'd been too young to know what it was all about. The baby looked about three months old. Who had been selfish enough to take advantage of this child a year ago? One of the local lads, presumably. Well, she hoped Sian was making sure he was helping to support his child, at least. Though whatever he was giving her, it couldn't be enough or she wouldn't be looking for work now.
'Look,' she said, 'I'm sure Mr Carver will help you. And I'll put in a word for you. I'm sure Megan could do with some help in the house. I expect you could even bring the baby with you. Why don't you come back the day after tomorrow? I'll have had time to tell him about you by then.'
Sian stared at her, a strange expression on her face. For a few moments Linzi wondered if the girl was, after all, backward in some way. She just didn't seem to understand what had been said. Then the pale face cleared and a second deep flush stained the cheeks. The girl looked wildly at Linzi, then at the pram and back again.
'Oh no!' she exclaimed. 'You've got it all wrong! I didn't come for a job! I wanted to see—I have to talk to Mr Carver about ‑' Her eyes went back to the pram; but before she could say any more there was a sound from inside the house, and the next moment they both looked round as Ceri Penrhys came through the patio doors, dressed in a swirling cotton skirt of brilliant emerald green and a white peasant blouse that showed her curving figure off to its full advantage.
'I just thought I'd call in to ask you ‑' she began gaily, as Linzi felt herself turn :old. And then she stopped. Her dark eyes fell on Sian, looked past her to the pram, and narrowed angrily.