Читать книгу Chase A Green Shadow - Anne Mather, Anne Mather - Страница 6

TAMSYN STANFORD cupped her chin in her hands and stared moodily through the drug-store window, completely oblivious of the smoky atmosphere and the deafening din of the record machine. Outside a steady drizzle was falling, wetting the sidewalks and causing homeward-bound shop and office workers to quicken their step. Cars swished through puddles, queues formed at bus-stops, but Tamsyn seemed lost in a depressed world of her own making.

Her companion, a rather long-haired young man of her own age, with a drooping moustache, studied her expression thoughtfully, and then said: ‘Let me get this straight. Your mother has decided to marry this professor guy she’s known for several years?’

‘That’s right,’ answered Tamsyn, nodding, without looking at him. ‘He’s a sort of friend of the family. He knows my father, too.’

‘And during the summer vac they’re going on this lecture tour of the west coast as a sort of honeymoon, right?’

‘Yes.’ Tamsyn sounded impatient. ‘I’ve told you so.’

‘I know it. But what I can’t understand is—why should you have to change your plans—our plans, in fact?’

Tamsyn turned green eyes in his direction. ‘Apparently, no matter how she’s felt about Daddy in the past, she feels I would be—well, less of an anxiety if I go and spend several weeks with him.’

The young man gave an angry exclamation. ‘But, gee, Tammy, it’s crazy! You’re almost eighteen. Surely you’re old enough to look after yourself! Besides, your father is the last person I’d have expected her to ask you to stay with.’

‘It’s not a question of looking after me!’ Tamsyn was stung to retort. ‘And don’t call me Tammy!’

‘Well, it’s stupid!’

‘I know that.’ Tamsyn heaved a sigh. ‘But you see, it’s not as straightforward as it sounds. When Daddy—well, when they split up, naturally I stayed with Mummy. But later, after the divorce, he was given authority to visit me and have me visit with him. But although he has come very occasionally, Boston isn’t exactly on his doorstep, is it?’

‘I agree. But similarly Wales isn’t on your doorstep either.’

‘No. And whenever he has suggested me visiting with him and Joanna Mummy hasn’t been very keen. But now—well, she thinks it’s the ideal opportunity!’ She bent her head. ‘I’m sorry, Gerry, but what can I do?’

Gerry Thorpe stubbed out the cigarette he had been smoking with savage movements. ‘I think your mother is a selfish—–’ He bit off an epithet. ‘Can’t you see what she’s doing, Tammy—Tamsyn? I mean, it’s obvious that until now she’s guarded you jealously, not even allowing you to spend any time with your father. But suddenly, because she wants something, she’s prepared to send you to England without a second thought—–’

‘Not to England, to Wales,’ contradicted Tamsyn shortly. ‘Oh, what’s the use of talking about it? We can’t do anything. I shall have to go. We’ll just have to cancel our plans, that’s all.’

‘You could defy her.’

Tamsyn shook her head. ‘No, I couldn’t do that. Look, do you honestly think I’m looking forward to going to—to Trefallath? I can assure you I’m not. I’ve only met Joanna once and we didn’t exactly take to one another, which is only natural, I suppose.’

‘The other woman,’ remarked Gerry dryly.

‘Yes.’ Tamsyn lifted her untouched cup of coffee and sipped it experimentally.

‘Have you ever been to Wales before?’

‘No.’ Tamsyn frowned. ‘I can hardly remember London, let alone anywhere else. I was only seven when they split up, you know, and Mummy came back to the States.’

‘Your father must be like a complete stranger to you.’

‘He is. Although on the rare occasions he’s visited Boston he’s tried to be kind. It’s rather a difficult situation for me. I can appreciate the difficulties on both sides. Not that I sympathise with what my father did, of course,’ she added hastily. ‘He made my mother terribly unhappy.’

‘Did he?’ Gerry hunched his shoulders sceptically. ‘Knowing your mother as I do I can’t somehow see her ever being at a loss.’

‘That’s not a very nice thing to say,’ exclaimed Tamsyn indignantly. ‘When has she ever been other than polite to you?’

Gerry shook his head. ‘Okay, okay, don’t bite my head off. I’m just feeling a bit fed up, that’s all.’

Tamsyn’s face softened. ‘I’m sorry, Gerry, truly I am. But I’ve got to go to Wales. Perhaps we could arrange something for the Christmas vac.’

‘Who wants to go hitching in the middle of winter?’ asked Gerry gloomily. ‘Besides, by then your mother will be good and married to this guy, and who knows, he may decide to move to the west coast if this trip appeals to him.’

Tamsyn’s dark brows drew together. ‘You don’t think he’d do that, do you?’

‘How should I know?’ retorted Gerry shortly. ‘Gee, what a day!’ He indicated the rain outside. ‘And I was going to suggest we went to the ball game tonight.’

Tamsyn smiled and her companion wondered, with a pang, however Lance Stanford would bear to let her go once she had spent some time with him. In his eyes, Tamsyn was perfect, his ideal, and not the teenage crush his mother thought she was. Tall and slender, yet warmly rounded, Tamsyn was as tall as he was, with straight corn-coloured hair that fell several inches below her shoulders. He had seldom seen her in anything other than jeans and sweaters, and the kind of loose smocks that were so popular nowadays. Yet for all that she retained a certain femininity that attracted her fellow students without any effort on her part. She was a popular girl at college, but she would be the first to admit that boys figured more largely among her friends than girls.

Now she slid off her seat, brushing back her hair with a careless hand. ‘I must go,’ she said. ‘I promised Mummy I’d be home early. Charles is coming to dinner.’

‘Charles Penman, I suppose.’

‘Correct.’ Tamsyn slid the hood of her coat over her head. ‘Will I see you tomorrow?’

‘I guess so,’ conceded Gerry, sighing. ‘Aw, heck, Tamsyn, won’t you change your mind?’

‘I can’t, Gerry.’ Tamsyn was firm. ‘Goodbye.’

‘’Bye, Tamsyn.’ Gerry gave her a swift kiss on the mouth, but before he could prevent her she had slipped away, a hand raised in farewell.

About half an hour later, Tamsyn let herself into her home in Vestry Square. It was one of those tall, narrow old Boston houses which had been successfully modernised and was now a fitting background for Laura Stanford, Tamsyn’s mother. Softly textured carpets ran into all the corners, while the elegant staircase which mounted out of the entrance hall was panelled in mellow oak.

Rebecca, Laura’s housekeeper and personal maid, encountered her employer’s daughter in the hall and gave her slow Southern smile. ‘You’re back early,’ she said in her drawling voice. ‘Your mother’s not home yet.’

Tamsyn slipped off her coat. ‘Mr. Penman’s coming to dinner, so I thought I’d give myself plenty of time to bathe and change.’ She sighed and looked thoughtfully at Rebecca’s shiny black face. ‘I suppose you’ve heard that I’m to stay with Daddy while Mummy and Charles are away.’

Rebecca nodded. ‘Yes, Miss Tamsyn. Your mother told me this morning.’ She frowned, tipping her head on one side. ‘Why? Don’t you want to go?’

‘No.’ Tamsyn tugged impatiently at a strand of hair. ‘Well, after all, it’s more than three years since I’ve seen him and then only when he visited Mummy here. I hardly know him.’

Rebecca folded her arms across her ample stomach. ‘Then perhaps it’s time you did,’ she said, with the familiarity of an old servant. ‘My, visiting England and all! You’ll likely have a wonderful time.’

‘My father lives in Wales,’ remarked Tamsyn distinctly, walking through into the comfortable lounge that overlooked the quiet square. ‘And I’m sure I shan’t enjoy it at all. Good heavens, I’ve scarcely exchanged more than two words with Joanna—she’s his second wife, you know.’

Rebecca had followed her and was standing squarely in the doorway. ‘It will do you good to get away,’ she insisted. ‘Besides, you know your mother never approved of you planning that holiday with Gerald Thorpe.’

‘I know that.’ Tamsyn flung herself moodily into an armchair. ‘Why do I have to go away, though? I could perfectly well stay here with you!’

‘I shan’t be here. I’m to visit my sister in New Orleans.’

Tamsyn pressed her lips together mutinously. ‘Then I could stay here alone.’

Rebecca was scandalised. ‘Now don’t you go upsetting your mother with talk like that. She’s only thinking of what’s best for you. Why, if I was to be offered a trip like that, I’d be thrilled!’

‘Would you, Rebecca?’ Tamsyn was doubtful. ‘I wonder. I just can’t see myself fitting in with them. My father’s a doctor, as you know, with a country practice. I’ve always lived in the city—mixing with eggheads like Mummy and Charles—not nature-lovers!’

‘Miss Tamsyn!’ Rebecca couldn’t hide her impatience. ‘Don’t you talk like that no more. Your mother’s going to be home soon, and how do you think she’d feel if she thought you were so opposed to going to England?’

‘Wales,’ said Tamsyn automatically, getting to her feet. ‘I think I’ll take my bath. Oh, don’t look so anxious, Rebecca. I shan’t say anything to spoil the idyll. I just wish sometimes I was consulted before plans were made for me.’

She was in the bath, her body concealed beneath scented soap bubbles, when her mother entered the bathroom. Laura Stanford was not much like her daughter. Although they were of a similar height and build, Laura’s hair was brown and undistinguished, and now she wore it dragged into a rather severe knot which added years to her age. She wore horn-rimmed spectacles, too, and looked every inch the university lecturer she was. Tamsyn had sometimes wondered whether it was her mother’s lack of femininity which had driven her father into the arms of a woman who hadn’t an original thought in her head. She couldn’t really understand how they had ever got married at all. They were not alike. Her mother was so much that breed of American woman who needed to feel intellectually superior to her mate and her father had obviously disliked the image. But such thoughts were faintly traitorous, Tamsyn had decided long ago, and she usually kept them at bay. However, this evening, with the prospect of spending several weeks with her father and his wife uppermost in her mind, she couldn’t help the inevitable comparison.

Laura was carrying a sheaf of papers and waved them in her daughter’s face playfully. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘I’ve got your tickets and travelling arrangements.’

Tamsyn smoothed soap over her arms. ‘When do I leave?’

Laura appeared not to notice the slightly dry note in Tamsyn’s voice and pretended to consult the documents. ‘Early on Sunday morning, darling.’ She looked at her daughter again. ‘Charles thought you would prefer to stay overnight Saturday at the hotel and make a fresh start Sunday morning.’

‘I see.’ Tamsyn played with a handful of bubbles. ‘And you leave Saturday night.’

‘That’s right, darling. On the first stage of our journey. It’s rather exciting, isn’t it?’

‘If you say so.’ Tamsyn couldn’t entirely hide her own feelings then.

Laura frowned. ‘What’s wrong? You’re not still hankering over those plans you made with Gerry, are you?’

Tamsyn sighed. ‘I saw him this afternoon. He was pretty disappointed, and so am I.’

‘But, Tamsyn, even had I not been about to take one of the most serious steps a woman can take, I should still have found the idea of you hitching about the country in the company of that young man rather hard to swallow.’

‘Why?’

‘Oh, Tamsyn, don’t be naïve! You know perfectly well what I mean.’

‘Do you think if Gerry and I wanted to do something wrong we’d need to arrange a holiday first?’ exclaimed Tamsyn scornfully. ‘Honestly, Mummy, it’s ridiculous!’

‘Very well. Perhaps it is. Perhaps I’m doing you both an injustice. And no doubt in other circumstances I would have to agree. But right now I’m just relieved that you’re going to stay with Lance. Besides, it will do you good to travel. And England is a beautiful country, no matter what it’s climate’s like.’

Tamsyn expelled her breath loudly. ‘Okay, Mummy. I won’t make a fuss.’ She forced herself to be interested. ‘Where did you say Charles was lecturing first?’

Laura regarded her intently for a moment as though realising for the first time that Tamsyn had a mind and a will of her own. Then she shrugged, as though to dispel the unease she had suddenly experienced, and began to tell her daughter the details of their schedule.

Charles arrived before Tamsyn went down to dinner, and when she entered the exquisitely appointed lounge he was standing helping himself to a drink from the cabinet. It was strange, she thought with a pang, that when she returned from visiting her father, Charles would be a permanent fixture here, sharing their lives, and sleeping in her mother’s bedroom. She would no longer be able to go into her mother’s room in the early hours of the morning and tell her all about the party she had just been to, or climb into bed with her on Sunday mornings and have Rebecca bring them breakfast together.

Charles turned when he heard her step and regarded her admiringly. He was a man in his early fifties, of medium build with a rather angular face and body. Like her mother he, too, lectured at the university, and it was their mutual interests which had brought them together. Tamsyn neither liked nor disliked him, but she could understand his appeal for her mother. Theirs was a blending of minds rather than spirits, but Tamsyn knew that that kind of a union would never do for her.

‘You’re looking charming, my dear,’ he said now, pouring her some sherry with the familiarity of long use. ‘Here you are.’

‘Thank you.’ Tamsyn took the glass and looked down into its depths without drinking the liquid. ‘Has it stopped raining yet?’

Charles finished his bourbon and poured himself a second. ‘More or less. It’s quite cool for June, don’t you think?’

Tamsyn nodded, and seated herself comfortably in an armchair, smoothing the skirt of her long amber-coloured caftan about her. ‘Mummy tells me you’re visiting Seattle first.’

‘Yes. Then we’ll drive south through California, finishing up at San Diego.’

‘A wonderful trip,’ commented Tamsyn.

‘Indeed.’ Charles looked rather smug. ‘I’m sure your mother will enjoy it.’

‘I’m sure she will,’ agreed Tamsyn amicably.

‘You’re not bitter, are you, Tamsyn?’

‘Bitter?’ Tamsyn was taken aback. ‘No. Why should I be bitter?’

‘About being sent to your father, of course. I mean—well, Laura has cared for you all these years without a break, you know. It’s time he fulfilled his commitment.’

Tamsyn was staggered. Was that what her mother had said? Had she told Charles that Lance Stanford had virtually disregarded his responsibilities? Tamsyn found this possibility vaguely distasteful. After all, her mother had never encouraged her father to keep in touch with his daughter, and Tamsyn recognised the fact that Lance Stanford must have resented this from time to time. But Tamsyn had always allied herself with her mother, never ever imagining that Laura would take it upon herself to get married again.

But just then Laura came into the room, mature and slightly intimidating in a gown of black silk. ‘Oh, good,’ she said, when she saw the glass of bourbon in Charles’s hand. ‘You’ve helped yourself. I hoped you would.’ She allowed him to kiss her cheek. ‘After all, you’ve got to get used to making yourself at home here, hasn’t he, Tamsyn?’

Tamsyn managed a faint smile, and then her mother’s voice changed: ‘Tamsyn, go and find Rebecca, darling. Ask her how long dinner will be. I’m starving.’

Tamsyn got up and went obediently out of the room, closing the door behind her. She understood her mother’s request for what it was, an attempt to get her out of the way for a few minutes, but it was not a pleasing experience being made to feel an intruder in one’s own home. Perhaps it was a good thing they were going away. By the time they came back the newness of their relationship would have been blunted and perhaps then it would not be so hard to take.

The Boeing 747 landed at London Airport in the early evening, London time. It had not been an arduous journey for Tamsyn, but the time change would take some getting used to. Dinner had been served on the flight, but she had been too strung up to eat anything, the events of the past forty-eight hours gradually taking their toll of her.

Her mother and Charles Penman had been married the previous afternoon in a civil ceremony that had lasted only a few minutes. There had been few guests, mainly members of the university fraternity, and it had all seemed rather cold and irreligious to Tamsyn. But her mother was happy, and that was all that mattered. Laura’s happiness was evident in her heightened colour, in the excitement of her voice, and in the way she behaved with an increased confidence.

After the ceremony there had been a private reception before they all left for the airport, Laura and Charles on the first stage of their journey to Seattle, and Tamsyn to stay overnight at the airport hotel to be ready for her flight the next morning.

After her mother had left, Tamsyn had sought the privacy of her room and indulged herself in a way she had not done since she was a child. But the tears had relieved her tension somewhat, and only now, with the huge jet taxiing to a halt outside the airport buildings, did a little of that tension return.

Her father was to meet her at the airport, and she wondered whether Joanna would be with him. She hoped not. She would like to have a few moments alone with her father before coming into contact with her—stepmother! It sounded unreal somehow: stepmother. How could one have a stepmother when one’s own mother was alive and well? It didn’t seem right somehow.

Her cases were cleared without incident and a porter carried them through to the reception lounge. But there was no sign of her father, and her heart sank. Surely he hadn’t forgotten she was coming. Surely he hadn’t mistaken the time of the flight. Knowing her mother as she did she felt sure all the details would have been arranged meticulously.

She sighed and glanced down at herself. Did she look all right? What would he think of her? She had been a child when last he saw her. Her mother hadn’t wanted her to travel in trousers, but in this Tamsyn had been firm. She preferred casual clothes, and besides, the dull green suede trouser suit had cost her mother over a hundred dollars and nothing so expensive could look all bad.

A breeze blew in through an open doorway, taking several strands of her hair and stroking them across her face. She was wiping the hair from her mouth when she became aware that she was being scrutinised rather closely by a man across the lounge from her.

An unaccustomed feeling of apprehension slid down her spine as for a brief moment her gaze locked with his and then she looked away, aware of a strange sense of disturbance. She had never before exchanged such a glance with a man of his age—he could be anything from thirty-five to forty-five—and she felt shaken for a moment. Not that he interested her, she told herself sharply. He was too big, too broad, too muscular, too masculine in every way, with dark skin and dark hair and sideburns that reached his jawline. He was not a handsome man by any standards, although she thought that some women might find his harshly carved features and deeply set eyes attractive; if one found such primitive strength appealing, of course.

She ventured another look at him and found to her embarrassment that he was still watching her, his expression vaguely speculative. Tamsyn turned her back on him, but she was intensely aware of his eyes boring into her shoulder blades and she wished desperately that her father would appear and rescue her from this awful situation.

When a low, deep, faintly musical voice spoke just behind her she almost jumped out of her skin. ‘As everyone else appears to have departed, you must be Tamsyn Stanford—are you?’

Tamsyn spun round and to her astonishment she found herself confronted by the man who had been staring at her for the last few minutes. ‘I—I—yes,’ she stammered. ‘I’m Tamsyn Stanford. But—but who are you?’

The man’s dark eyes were enigmatic. ‘My name is Hywel Benedict. I’m a friend of your father’s. As he couldn’t come to meet you himself, he asked me to do so.’

‘Oh!’ Tamsyn was at a loss. ‘I—I see.’

The man looked down at her two cases. ‘Is this all your luggage?’ He bent to lift them easily.

‘I—yes—but how do I know you are who you say you are?’ She flushed in embarrassment as his eyes narrowed. ‘I mean—I’ve never heard your name before.’

Hywel Benedict considered her pink face for a moment and then he frowned. ‘I suppose it never occurred to your father to imagine that a girl from your background should consider there was anything sinister about my meeting you instead of him.’

‘What do you mean—my background?’ Tamsyn was stung by his tone.

‘Why, nothing,’ he responded expressionlessly. He stood down her cases again and put his hand inside the jacket of his casual sports suit and brought out a wallet. He extracted a photograph and handed it to her silently and Tamsyn tried to concentrate on the images imprinted upon it with some degree of composure. She recognised her father at once, and the small dark woman who she guessed was Joanna, although it wasn’t a very good likeness. And standing slightly behind them two other people; a woman, and the definite likeness of the man at her side.

‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly, handing him back the photograph and feeling rather foolish. ‘Yes, this is all my luggage. Do we go?’

‘We go,’ he agreed, and strode away across the hall without waiting to see whether she was following him.

Outside it was a perfect summer evening, only a faint breeze to cool the warm atmosphere. Hywel Benedict slung her cases into the back of a rather shabby-looking station wagon and then opening the passenger side door indicated that Tamsyn should get in.

Tamsyn did so not without some reluctance. This was not the welcome she had expected to get and she was feeling decidedly tearful. Why hadn’t her father come to meet her, or even Joanna if he wasn’t able? Instead of this abrupt stranger who seemed prepared to think the worst of her without even waiting until he knew her.

The man climbed in beside her, his thigh brushing hers as he did so. He was such a big man, he succeeded in making Tamsyn, who had always found herself on eye-level terms with the young men of her acquaintance, feel quite small. He smelt of tweeds and tobacco, shaving soap and a clean male smell that made Tamsyn’s nostrils twitch a little. She wondered who he was, and what he did, and where he lived, and then chided herself for being curious about a man who was so obviously far out of her sphere of experience. He was her father’s contemporary, after all, not hers.

The station wagon responded smoothly beneath his strong-fingered hands, and he negotiated the airport traffic with only slight impatience. For a moment, Tamsyn was diverted by driving on the left-hand side of the road, and then she ventured another look at her companion.

Where his wrists left the white cuffs of his shirt she could see a thick covering of dark hair, while a gold watch glinted against his dark skin. He wore only one ring and that was on the third finger of his left hand, a gold signet ring engraved with his initials.

As though becoming aware of her scrutiny he glanced her way at that moment and encountered her startled green eyes. ‘Did you have a good trip?’

Tamsyn took an uneven breath. ‘It was all right, I suppose. I’ve not travelled a lot, so I wouldn’t really know.’ She sighed. ‘Where is my father? Why couldn’t he meet me?’

‘He’s at home—in the valley.’

‘At home?’ Tamsyn sounded indignant.

‘That’s right. Your father’s a doctor, Tamsyn Stanford. Doctors here cannot simply leave their work without good reason.’

‘And meeting me wasn’t a good reason,’ observed Tamsyn shortly.

‘It wasn’t absolutely necessary in the circumstances,’ conceded Hywel Benedict. ‘I had to come to London anyway, so I offered to meet you.’

‘I see.’ Tamsyn swallowed the retort that sprang to her lips. ‘How is he?’

‘Lance? Oh, he’s all right.’ He spoke with a faint accent which she couldn’t identify but reluctantly found attractive. His whole speaking voice was attractive and she had to force herself to think of other things. But he was the most disturbing man she had ever met.

‘Are you a doctor, too, Mr. Benedict?’

Hywel Benedict shook his head. ‘No. Healing men’s bodies is not for me.’

Tamsyn frowned. It was a strange reply to make and she was curious to know exactly what he did do, but she didn’t like to ask. Looking out on to countryside that was amazingly like the New England countryside back home, she asked: ‘Where are we?’

‘Approaching Maidenhead. Our destination, as you know, is Trefallath, but we have some distance to travel before we cross the border.’

‘The border.’ Tamsyn was intrigued. ‘The border between England and Wales, of course.’

‘Of course. Though it’s no border as you know it. Merely a continuation of the road.’ His tone was dry, and she detected it.

‘Are you a nationalist, Mr. Benedict?’

‘A nationalist?’ A slight smile lightened his dark features. ‘And what would you know of such things, Tamsyn Stanford?’

‘I read books,’ retorted Tamsyn shortly. ‘I’ve read about the Welsh people. I know of their language, and the way they’re trying to retain their individuality.’

‘Do you now?’ His mocking voice disturbed her. ‘And why would an American girl like yourself be interested in us poor barbarians?’

Tamsyn flushed. ‘You forget, Mr. Benedict. I’m half Welsh myself.’

‘Ah, yes, I had forgotten. But perhaps I can be for-given for so doing. A hybrid like yourself, reared in the artificial atmosphere of the hothouse, is hardly likely to display the characteristics of its less cultivated ancestry, is she?’

‘I think you’re being offensive, Mr. Benedict,’ said Tamsyn, unreasonably hurt by his words.

‘Offensive, is it?’ His low attractive voice mocked her. ‘And why would you think that?’

‘I get the feeling that you consider me lacking in some way,’ replied Tamsyn evenly. ‘Is it because this is the first time I’ve come to stay with my father?’

Hywel Benedict stood on his brakes as a vehicle overtook them and then cut in dangerously closely in front of them. ‘Well, you haven’t exactly taken a deal of interest in his affairs before now, have you?’

‘There were reasons.’

‘I know it. Your mother.’

‘Is that so unreasonable?’

‘Possessive woman, your mother,’ he commented dryly. ‘Until it became necessary to shift the responsibility for a period.’

Tamsyn gave him an angry stare. ‘I don’t require anyone to take responsibility for me. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself. If my father hadn’t wanted me here, he could always have refused—–’

‘Now hold it, Tamsyn Stanford. I never said that your father didn’t want you here, did I? On the contrary, I should imagine he is waiting in anticipation for you to arrive. My comments are my own.’

‘Then perhaps you should keep your comments to yourself,’ retorted Tamsyn, staring with concentration at the passing landscape in an effort to rid herself of the feeling that this man had aroused within her. A feeling of unease, and inadequacy, that did not make her feel good.

They drove on for some distance in silence, while Tamsyn endeavoured to take an interest in her surroundings. The countryside around them was gently undulating, green fields stretching away on either side, interspersed with woodland and winding streams. They passed through places with unfamiliar names like Nettlebed and Shillingford and Abingdon, and Tamsyn caught tantalising glimpses of old churches that in other circumstances she would have liked to have had identified. Had her father met her, as she had expected him to do, it would have been different, and she tried to quell a feeling of indignation which was likely to colour her judgement when she did meet him again.

Hywel Benedict seemed perfectly content to drive in silence, occasionally taking out a pipe and putting it in the corner of his mouth and lighting it absently, only to put it out again after a few inhalations. Tamsyn was tempted to say she objected to the strong aroma it emitted, but as it wouldn’t have been entirely true, she said nothing.

At last, she broke the silence by saying: ‘Do you live at Trefallath, Mr. Benedict?’

‘I live in the valley,’ he conceded slowly. ‘Trefallath you will find is little more than a cluster of houses. The real population of the valley is spread out among the farms in the area. But no doubt you’ll discover all this for yourself.’

Tamsyn sighed. ‘It sounds remote. My mother said it was once.’

‘Did she now?’ Hywel Benedict inclined his head. ‘She’s right, of course. It is remote. But we like it that way.’

Tamsyn shook her head. ‘But what do you do for entertainment?’ She coloured. ‘I mean, don’t you have any desire to be nearer London—or Cardiff, if that is the right place? Don’t you feel—well, out of touch?’

Hywel Benedict looked at her out of the corners of his eyes. ‘Out of touch with what? What do your cities have to offer us?’

Tamsyn gave an impatient exclamation. ‘Surely it’s obvious! The cultural assets one finds there! The exhibitions; theatres; concerts! Don’t you care for books, or films, or music?’

He shook his head slowly. ‘Of course we care for these things. But do you honestly suppose that they’re confined to your cities? There’s more life in the valley than ever you will find in Cardiff, or London, or Boston either, for that matter.’

Tamsyn was irritated by the way he spoke, as though he was explaining the facts of life to a recalcitrant child. What could he know about it if he had lived in Trefallath all his life? He was merely using his age and experience against her youth and immaturity. But academically speaking she should be able to annihilate him.

‘I don’t think we’re talking about the same things,’ she remarked, in a voice that was intended to sound cool and patronising.

‘I think we are,’ he contradicted her insistently. ‘You think because you’ve lived in a city all your life that you’ve become worldly, that you are necessarily more cultured’—the way he said the word was a mockery—‘that you are better educated, infinitely more intelligent; not so!’ He shook his head again. ‘You’re just a little girl copying the mannerisms of her elders!’ He gave a slight smile. ‘I guarantee you’ll learn more about life and incidentally about yourself in these few weeks in the valley than ever you learned in that cultivated cabbage patch you call home.’

Tamsyn took a deep breath. ‘You don’t like me at all, do you, Mr. Benedict?’

Hywel Benedict moved his broad shoulders lazily. ‘Now don’t be silly, Tamsyn Stanford. I don’t know you well enough yet to decide whether or not I like you. But young people today tend to imagine that they understand things a whole lot better than my generation did twenty years ago, and I find it all rather monotonous. I don’t know what that mother of yours has taught you, but I think you’d do well to remember that you aren’t old enough to act the sophisticated woman of the world even with an uncultured savage like myself.’

Tamsyn was taken aback. ‘At least in my country we treat young people as individuals with original ideas of their own!’ she replied heatedly.

‘So it’s your country now, is it?’ He smiled mockingly. ‘We’re not concerned with our Welsh ancestry any more, is that it, bach?’

Tamsyn pressed her lips together irritably. He was the most infuriating man she had ever met and completely outside her range of experience. But where had she gone wrong? What had she said to create this friction between them? She sighed. It was simply that he rubbed her up the wrong way and his calm indifference was somehow hard to take.

‘You’re deliberately trying to make me say things I’ll regret later,’ she accused. ‘Why? What have you got against me?’

Hywel Benedict’s expression hardened for a moment, and she wondered what he was thinking behind those enigmatic black eyes. It was impossible to tell, and when he said: ‘Why, nothing, bach,’ she was almost disappointed.