Roots and Wings: The Second Book in the "Abercerig Trilogy"

By Jennifer Thomas

Behind the conventional background of the Welsh border village of Abercerig lies a colourful tapestry of intrigue and discovery.

Misfortune comes in many guises, and the inhabitants of the close community struggle to come to terms with freak accidents, suspicious death and the absolute drama of human relationships.

And through it all, the Webb family is the thread that holds the neighbourhood together: dependable Tom, well-respected Grace, and their daughters, Beth and Sianthe one clever and well behaved, the other fiery and high-spirited with an understanding of human nature that goes well beyond her years.

But these people are strong, and life must go on. Together, they pick up the pieces, reorganize their lives, and celebrate all that is good.

And an unexpected decision will change the lives of one family forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Nov 17, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477238820

Jennifer Thomas

I'm now a Best Selling Author in the Romance category, and I should point out that I write erotic romance that is really for adults only. I grew up mostly in Southern Florida and moved to New York as soon as I turned 18. I have a vivid imagination and that's where most my stories come from. A few are from dreams that were so real I could remember them all day, and a couple are somewhat based on my own experiences with the names (and a few other things) changed to protect us both. Most of all I'm a (fairly) young, romantic girl who loves fantasy, sweets, sex and writing (but not in that order)! When I get my own juices flowing while I'm working on a story, that's when I'm pretty certain my readers will get hot and bothered too!

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© 2012 by Jennifer Thomas. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse   11/13/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-3881-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-3882-0 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

For my sister, Judith

who has shared every step of the journey.

Cover design from an original watercolour

by Wendy Hodges

Acknowledgements

Thank you to Wendy Hodges for her beautiful painting. And huge thanks to my wonderful family: to Lucy & Martin for their support and valuable advice on all things legal; to Mary & Mat for their encouragement and technical support and last but not least to my husband Chris, for his patience and level-headed advice.

Chapter 1

July 1956

Geneva Airport was bustling. Tired holidaymakers, their faces reddened by the strong Alpine sun, reluctant to leave the beauty of their holiday location and return to their mundane homes, rubbed shoulders with immaculately dressed businessmen who clutched their expensive leather briefcases as they waited impatiently for the regular flight to their London offices.

Molly Powell gazed fixedly out of the plate glass window at the red and white Swissair aeroplane standing on the tarmac, waiting to take her on the first stage of her journey to the home that she had left in such distressing circumstances more than two years ago. The barrage of questions continued from her friend Megan.

‘But why, Molly, why the sudden decision? I just don’t understand what’s happening. One minute you appear to be happy and settled and the next, you’re packing your bags and rushing off back to Wales.’ She paused expectantly but Molly continued to stare at the single long concrete runway, her hazel eyes full of anxiety.

‘Molly, you’re not listening to a word I’m saying—and what about Werner? You’ve hardly left each other’s side for months He adores you, Molly. How is he going to react to you running away like this?’

Molly’s voice was scarcely more than a whisper,

‘Don’t worry about Werner; he understands why I’m leaving.’

‘Is that what this is all about? Have you two had a row?’ persisted Megan, ‘Oh Molly love, all couples quarrel, it’s the way of the world but it doesn’t mean that you have to make such hasty decisions. Now listen to me, why don’t you come and stay at our place? Stay in the guest lodge for a few days—you’re always saying how peaceful it is. I’ll keep the children out of the way.’ Megan put her arm affectionately around her friend’s shoulders, ‘I’ll tell them that you’re not well or something. Give yourself time to think, love. Come on now.’ But Molly shook her head.

‘I’m sorry Megan but I can’t do that. I’ll call you in a few days and explain everything but, honestly, I just can’t talk about it now. All I know is that I have to get back to Abercerig. There’s something that I’ve got to do and it can’t be put off.’

A seed of suspicion leapt into Megan’s mind.

‘It’s Evan Price, isn’t it. That’s why you’re going back! Have you heard from him?’ But Molly shook her head.

‘No, I haven’t heard from Evan since the day that he told me it was all over between us, truly, not a single word.’ A small voice in her head continued, ‘Not a single word, not for two years, six months and nine days.’

The crackling voice of the airport announcer broke into the mounting tension.

‘Will all passengers for Swissair Flight Twenty-One to London Heathrow please report immediately to Gate Three’. Molly hugged her dearest friend.

‘Forgive me, Megan. I’ll be in touch soon, I promise.’ She picked up her bulging flight bag and was gone.

The portly businessman sitting beside her was engrossed in pages of figures and statistics.

‘Thank goodness,’ thought Molly ‘at least I’m spared the agony of making polite conversation for the next few hours.’ She closed her eyes, casting her mind back to the flight that had carried her away from her Welsh village home to seek the refuge and friendship of her old school friend in beautiful Switzerland, to run away from a life torn into shreds. In some ways the traumatic journey seemed like a lifetime ago and yet every detail was imprinted in her memory as if it had only happened yesterday.

She could still feel the pain, the emptiness, the disbelief and finally the acceptance that Evan Price, the man she had fallen hopelessly in love with, was no longer part of her life. She had tried so hard to persuade her over-protective parents that Evan’s wild affairs were a thing of the past, that he truly loved her just as she loved him, as she had loved him since their first meeting when she was only sixteen years old, seven long years ago.

But they were not to be persuaded and anyway, in their eyes he just wasn’t good enough for her. She was the only daughter of a wealthy builder, brought up in the lap of luxury; he was a bricklayer, a tradesman in her father’s firm and the product of a very modest home. His mother was a respectable chapel goer but the reputation of his gambling father was questionable. ‘Like father, like son’ was her mother’s reaction. ‘Not to be trusted’.

And then, the final blow! Her parents threatened to disinherit her if she insisted on marrying Evan. But the awful decision of choosing between her family and the man she loved was taken out of her hands. A crystal clear image flooded her mind: she saw Evan, standing in the beech grove in Cooper’s Wood, tenderly holding her small hands, his dark brown eyes penetrating right into her heart. She could hear his rich voice speaking the words that brought her entire world crashing to the ground.

‘It’s not going to work, my darling girl. I love you with all my heart but I’m not right for you. I’ve got to let you go, for your sake. I love you but I’ve got to let you go.’

Molly’s heart was broken.

And now, a new layer of pain and confusion was wrapping itself around her, binding her tightly and squeezing the breath out of her body. Molly could still see the hurt look in Werner’s eyes as he gently kissed her goodbye.

It was almost two years since she had been introduced to the handsome, engaging Swiss man. Werner Hediger was a business colleague of Philip, Megan’s husband, and the couple had taken an instant liking to each other. Molly worked as a freelance secretary and she had been delighted when Werner had suggested that she should temporarily replace his Personal Assistant who had been called away to a family crisis. The employee’s situation hadn’t resolved itself and, in time, Molly’s position in Werner’s firm became permanent. Her helpfulness to him was incalculable: calm organisational skills, coupled with her delightful personality made her the perfect ‘right hand man!’

But six months ago, at the New Year’s Eve Ball, a change came over their relationship. Werner, one of the most eligible bachelors on the Geneva social scene, was suddenly aware of his physical attraction to Molly. She was like a breath of fresh air compared to the elegant sophisticates who vied for his favours, and from that moment, he pursued her relentlessly.

Without doubt, Molly enjoyed Werner’s company and she was, by no means, impervious to his charms. He was a keen sportsman with a splendid muscular body. Standing well over six feet tall, this highly intelligent and astute importer of jewels for the Swiss watch market, with his floppy blond hair and sparkling blue eyes radiated a ‘little boy lost’ look. Who better to help Molly forget her first love?

They skied, they danced, they walked in the magnificent Alps and all the while their mutual affection deepened, but Molly refused to succumb to Werner’s advances. He found the situation strangely appealing. Young women usually threw themselves at him and Molly’s refusal to share his bed only increased his fascination for her. It was bound to happen, given time.

Late June was a busy time for the jewel import market. Major diamond conventions were held in the city, business was brisk and the social life was dazzling. After three uninterrupted weeks of long hectic days and late night partying, Molly was exhausted and eagerly accepted Werner’s invitation to spend a quiet weekend in the delightful Alpine village of Zweilerschinnen.

‘A little time to ourselves,’ Werner loaded their luggage into the boot of his Lotus, ‘time to relax and recharge our batteries, that is what we need to do.’ He gave her a warm smile. It was time he admitted it to himself—this girl was very special—he loved her.

The setting was perfect: warm gentle sunshine wrapped itself like a comforting cloak around the exhausted pair. The long, low chalet hotel was quiet and comfortable, a welcome change from the glitz and glamour of the past few weeks. Discreet but attentive staff served simple delicious meals to the couple and their fatigue vanished.

As they sat on the balcony, the new moon throwing a small glimmer of light on to their faces, Molly turned to Werner.

‘This was a wonderful idea, it’s heavenly. I can’t think of anything more perfect than this moment.’ She felt the heat of Werner’s longing as he touched her elfin shaped face and looked deep into her eyes.

‘For me, there is just one thing more.’ He held her gaze. ‘I want you, Molly. I want to make love to you.’

She nodded imperceptibly. The time was right.

Werner was gentle and patient. He understood this girl and, though he knew no detail of her life prior to the move to Switzerland, he sensed that past events had created a fragility that demanded the utmost careful treatment. Loving words and tender caresses relaxed Molly as she took this generous man to her bed. Their passions flared but as she was about to finally give herself to him, Werner tensed and rolled away from her. Confused and embarrassed, she whispered,

‘Werner, what is it? What did I do wrong?’

The silence was interminable but finally Werner spoke.

‘Who is Evan?’

Molly’s heart was racing.

‘What do you mean? He’s just someone I knew a long time ago. Why are you asking me this?’ Werner gave a deep sigh.

‘You called me by his name, Molly.’

Tears poured down her cheeks. How could she have done such a thing? Werner was such a kind and generous man and she had hurt him deeply.

‘No no I didn’t mean it. I made a terrible mistake. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’ She clung on to his arm. ‘Werner, he means nothing to me anymore. It was all over between us a long time ago. He means nothing to me. Forgive me, please.’ But Werner shook his head.

‘I think we both know that is not the truth.’ He took her small hand in his, ‘Molly, I believe that at such a moment a woman has thoughts only for the man she truly loves.’ He pulled her gently towards him as if she were a hurt child. Hot tears fell onto his chest and his heart ached for his own loss.

They lay together in the soft wide bed and as the first light of dawn filtered through the tiny window-panes, Werner spoke kindly but resolutely to his lost love.

‘You must go home, Molly. Go back to Wales and meet again with your Evan. It is not possible for your life to move on while ever the spectre of his love is with you. Face the truth, Molly, whatever it may be. I will be here if you decide to return.’

But in his heart he knew that it was over.

‘Fasten your seat belts.’ The warning lights flashed on, breaking into Molly’s reverie. They would be landing in ten minutes and her father would be waiting for her, waiting to take her home.

Chapter 2

Maud Parfitt was singing in her powerful contralto voice as she pushed the vacuum cleaner around the graceful sitting room of the Powells’ home. It had been a long time since she had felt as cheerful as she did at this moment: Molly had returned home. It was two and a half years since the young girl had suddenly upped sticks and moved so far away, and Maud missed her so much.

Now in her sixties, Maud Parfitt was an institution in the Powell household. Almost thirty years ago, when young Mr. and Mrs. Henry Powell were expecting their first child, she had been engaged as nanny and general help and apart from a few years during the war when she had worked in the munitions factory in Newport, she had been a permanent fixture in their home.

Maud had never married. Many many years ago she had been engaged to a local boy but he had been called up during the Great War and was one of the tens of thousands who never returned home from the senseless Battle of the Somme.

The Powells were her family and their children, Peter and Molly, were like her own. Peter was a good boy but it was Molly who was the apple of Maud’s eye. She could recollect every stage of the little girl’s life: the chubby baby, smiling in her huge Silver Cross pram, the curly headed toddler running down the bank towards her, clutching a bunch of precious wilting daisies and much later, the anxious schoolgirl, fearful of becoming a pupil at Dinas Maen, the exclusive private school her mother insisted she attend.

On so many occasions the sensitive young girl had turned to the homely Maud for comfort and understanding. Molly’s busy father idolised her but Irene, her mother was aloof and unapproachable. Her greatest ambition was for her daughter to marry well and climb even higher on the social ladder. But Molly had no such aspirations. Like her father, she judged people by their personal qualities, not their bank accounts.

Maud had never fully understood the reason for Molly’s sudden departure. She was aware that a major rift had developed in the family and was certain that Evan Price was at the centre of it all, but years of prudent service had taught her that it was best not to know too much about the intimacies of her employers. Anyway, none of that mattered anymore:

Molly had come home.

Only ten minutes ago, she had popped her head around the kitchen door announcing,

‘Just taking the dogs for a walk, Maud. I’ll be back in about half an hour. Coffee and Welsh Cakes sound like a good idea to you?’

It was as if she had never been away. Maud finished her hoovering and the kettle was boiling on the dark green Aga cooker as the back door opened. Maud took a plateful of the warm, fruity flat cakes from the bottom oven and stood waiting impatiently as the daughter of the house gave the two Springer spaniels a biscuit and sent them reluctantly to their beds.

Molly hugged the grey haired lady who had always been such a good friend to her and Maud responded with enthusiasm.

‘Oh, I’ve missed you so much, my lovely. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you. Mind you, it’s a bit thin you’re looking. Proper home cooking is what you need—all that foreign stuff can’t be good for you now.’

They talked and talked. Maud listened intently to the descriptions of a country that she would never see for herself, she laughed at the stories of the strange customs and she mused over the lack of information about the people who had shared Molly’s life in recent times. Something was wrong but she would wait until such time as Molly chose to unburden. It was not her nature to pry. Meanwhile she chatted away about the latest happenings in the village.

‘. . . and fancy you coming back this very week, just in time to see the wedding. That nice Price boy is getting married on Saturday. Real posh ‘do’ it’s going to be and all. I don’t reckon that there’s ever been anything quite like it in our chapel.’

Molly Powell blanched, she felt as if the room was spinning: she could hardly believe what she was hearing. How could she have been so naïve, had she really believed that Evan would still be waiting for her, pining for their lost love? Maud’s voice seemed to be coming from a distance.

‘Are you alright, love, you don’t look well. Haven’t upset you, have I?

‘No, no,’ stammered Molly, ‘of course not. No, go on, what was it you were saying?’

‘I’m helping out with the flowers. Eunice Jones, you know, the florist from up in the village,’ Maud bustled around the spacious kitchen, ‘well she says that she can’t possibly get it all done on her own. Great big pedestals they’re having, with lilies and roses and I don’t know what else, no expense spared. Mind you, the bride’s mam and dad are quite well off so I believe. Not that I know them myself.’

Molly’s mouth was dry,

‘So, she’s not a local girl then?’

‘Not really but not far from here—comes from just the other side of Pontygarn but we’ve seen quite a lot of her around the village. He’s that proud of her, likes to show her off to the rest of us I reckon. Pretty girl she is too. They’ve bought a house in Old Lane, lovely old place, needs a bit of work doing to it but I reckon that on his earnings they’ll be able to afford to get all of the work done, no trouble. Of course she’ll give up her job now, but they won’t go short’

Molly felt a peculiar need to know about the girl. What sort of person was she, was she clever as well as pretty?

‘Where does she work?’

‘Oh, didn’t I mention it,’ Maud topped up their coffee cups as she chattered away, ‘she’s his secretary, down at the lawyers. You’d never believe the change in that lad. He was always so quiet and shy but since he’s been courting Christine he’s like a dog with two tails.’

Molly’s face broke out into a huge smile.

‘So it’s Gareth Price that’s getting married, not Evan.’

‘Yes, the older boy. Oh I thought you realised that.’ Maud looked thoughtful, ‘Come to think of it, we hardly ever see anything of Evan these days. He doesn’t work for your dad any more, but I daresay you know that. Done very nicely for himself he has. He went off to work with old Sam Jones down on the Glynfoel Estate, soon after you left that was. Well, Sam retired a while back and Evan was taken on as stonemason. I hear that Lord Ellis thinks that he’s the bees’s knees.’ Molly sighed and Maud looked at her with concern as she recounted the village gossip

‘I was talking to his mam a while back and she said that he’s got a nice place on the estate. Doing it up himself he is. We sometimes see the estate Landrover parked outside his mam and dad’s house but I haven’t set eyes on him for ages. Funny when you think about it, him being such a wild lad when he was growing up. You’d never have thought he’d be the sort to go off and do such a lonely job, living on his own and all.’ Maud looked intently at the young girl, ‘Ever hear anything from him? You two were such good friends.’

Molly shook her head, avoiding Maud’s questioning eyes.

‘Well never mind. I daresay we’ll see him on Saturday, he’s sure to be Best Man at his brother’s wedding.’

Saturday dawned with cloudless blue skies. Molly stood in front of her bedroom mirror, eyeing herself critically. Maybe Maud was right, perhaps she was looking too thin and there were definitely dark shadows under her eyes: not that it mattered, she had no intention of meeting anyone today. Her plan was to view the wedding from the seclusion of the trees at the side of the chapel. She wanted only one thing; to catch a glimpse of Evan, to see again the man that she had fallen in love with when she was just a girl—the man who five years later had returned that love and asked her to be his wife, the man who had said goodbye to her, leaving them both with broken hearts.

Molly took the footpath that led from the back gate of her parents’ home and walked towards the chapel. The air was heady with the pungent smell of cow parsley and campions and the drone of bees was the only sound interrupting the stillness of the morning. As she climbed the rarely used weatherworn steps at the far side of the grey stone building she saw the crowd of villagers congregating around the front gate. Moving quietly into the cover of the trees, her heart thumping like a drum, she tried to compose herself.

Molly stood as if in a dream, visualizing the simple ceremony taking place, wondering what her own future held in store for her. Time slipped by. She looked at the exquisite watch on her slim wrist and felt a momentary pang of guilt, recalling the delight when Werner had presented her with the beautiful gift on her birthday. But, at that moment, her attention was drawn to the flurry of activity as the old oak doors of the chapel opened and, for the time being, Werner Hediger was forgotten.

The bride and groom emerged but Molly hardly saw them as her eyes searched for the first sight of Evan. Would he be escorting a glamorous bridesmaid? The thought of seeing him with another woman was agony and then suddenly there he was, surrounded by three young bridesmaids, the immature girls all chattering excitedly as he shepherded them into their correct places.

Molly could hardly breathe: he was perfect. Dressed in unfamiliar formal clothes he looked like a film star, his powerful frame and his dark swarthy complexion radiating a sensuality that surely no woman could resist. He spoke to the smaller dark haired girl and her face lit up with an adoring smile. She must be one of the nieces that he had so often talked about. Molly’s eyes filled with tears. In those few precious days when she and Evan had imagined that they had a future together, plans had been made for a family of their own.

Fleetingly, Evan looked in her direction and for a split second she almost believed that their eyes met but she was deluding herself—there was no possible way that he could have seen her under the cover of the trees. Her heart ached. How could she ever have thought that there could be another man for her?

The photographer busied himself with his endless task while Molly stood captivated at the sight of her former love. Finally, the wedding party dispersed towards the waiting cars. Was this the moment when a girlfriend would emerge from the crowd of guests and claim Evan as her own? Molly hardly dared look, but no obvious partner appeared.

Could it possibly be that Evan Price had no firm attachment to another woman?

‘So far, so good.’ The ceremony had gone off without a hitch. The photographer hadn’t taken too long over the countless number of family groups that had to be caught on camera for posterity and now they were on the way to the reception at the Angel Hotel. Evan was fulfilling his duties as Best Man with aplomb and efficiency. He’d be worn out by the time today was over—there were so many things that he had to remember. Sitting back against the soft leather upholstery of the Humber he revelled in the brief moment of calm.

It was strange to think that his brother was a married man. For so many years Gareth had shown no interest in girls. He was the serious, academic one of the two brothers, and then he had fallen in love with his beautiful Christine and his whole life had changed. Well, good luck to them. Evan wished them great happiness but he couldn’t help but feel a certain amount of envy, after all, what could be better than sharing your whole life with the person you loved. Not that it was likely to happen to him. There had been just the one chance and he’d missed it. The decision had been made. From now on he was a confirmed bachelor.

But it was strange the way that your mind could play tricks on you. As he was standing outside the chapel, chaperoning his young charges as they carried out their bridesmaids’ duties, he could have sworn that he saw Molly Powell standing, half hidden by the trees. But that was impossible: she was miles away, living a new and different life in Switzerland.

He tried to dismiss her image from his head but it disconcerted him to think that she should so readily break into his thoughts, today of all days.

The car drew up outside the impressive hotel. Time to stop daydreaming and get on with his duties. Gareth would never forgive him if any of the arrangements deviated from the master plan.

Chapter 3

Molly was so relieved that Sunday lunch was over. The spell of hot weather continued but her mother had insisted that the tradition of the heavy three-course, roast meal should be observed. Molly felt ill at ease. She was like a guest in her own home—the excessively dry sherry before lunch, the polite conversation as they forced the inappropriate food into their mouths. Her request for a light salad, to be eaten at the wrought iron table in the shady garden had been met with strong disapproval.

‘Really dear, I can hardly believe that you’re suggesting such a thing. What would people think if we started behaving like that? We have standards to maintain, you know.’

And now, her mother had retired to the sitting room where she would work meticulously at her embroidery while her father read the Sunday newspaper from cover to cover. Why had Molly never before noticed the lack of communication between her parents? Had their relationship always been so sterile or was she just making unhelpful comparisons with her own emotionally charged state? Collecting her handbag and car keys from the hall table, she walked into the soundless room. Her mother looked up from her needlework.

‘Good heavens, dear, where are you going? I was expecting you to join us. It’s Sunday afternoon, hardly the time for gallivanting around.’

Molly was unsure of the wisdom of her actions but a sleepless night, tossing and turning had convinced her that she had no choice.

‘I’m going to see Evan.’

A hostile silence fell. Irene Powell shot a look of disgust at her daughter and then returned her attentions to her sewing, stabbing the sharp needle aggressively into the fine linen cloth. Looking up from his Times crossword, Henry Powell nodded perceptively at his daughter. She had changed so much; she was still beautiful but she had lost her sparkle. He recalled the smiling, spirited girl, so deeply in love with her handsome boy and he also recalled the desolation caused by his decision to make them part.

‘He’s living down at Fferm Cantref on Lord Ellis’s estate. You’ll have to go in through the main gates and they don’t just let in any old Tom, Dick or Harry, you know. It might be a good idea if you take one of the firm’s cards with you, tell the chap in the lodge who you are and you shouldn’t have any bother.’ He picked up his paper.

‘Now, where was I? Sixteen across…’

Evan walked down the stairs that led into his living room closely followed by Maisie, his loyal black Labrador, her long tail thudding on each tread of the old wooden staircase. He was feeling very relieved. Yesterday had gone like clockwork, not a single crisis or mishap in sight. He had stayed with his mam and dad last night and he and his dad enjoyed a couple of late night whiskies as they mulled over the day’s events but this morning he had been glad to get back to the tranquillity of his own place. He couldn’t explain why, but he had an odd feeling of unease about him. Never mind, he had booked a few days holiday and was looking forward to getting on with the next stage of renovation to this house that was now such a part of him.

He loved Fferm Cantref.

The unexpected sound of a car pulling up in the small courtyard surprised him. Maisie barked. Evan opened his front door and stared.

Molly switched off the engine and climbed out of the neat convertible. Her legs were shaking as she walked the dozen or so paces towards him. He stood leaning against the doorpost dressed in Levi jeans and a black tee-shirt, his muscular arms burnt deep bronze from working out in the open. She had never seen him look so desirable.

They stood looking at each other. She was even more beautiful than Evan had remembered. She wore a simple yellow summer dress and symbolized all that was good and pure and wholesome. Evan longed to touch her, to take her in his arms and feel her soft skin against his own but he stood as if frozen to the spot. The silence seemed endless.

‘Hello Evan,’ the sound of her voice brought Evan back to reality. What was she doing here? Why was she unsettling his quiet refuge, the place that he had created as a retreat from his pain?

‘Well now, this is a surprise.’ His expression gave no indication of pleasure or displeasure.

‘Good or bad?’

‘To tell you the truth, I’m not sure.’ His voice was strained and he stared at her as if doubting his own eyesight. ‘So it was you I saw at the chapel yesterday. I thought my mind was playing tricks on me.’ He rubbed his hand across his forehead, ‘come on in.’

Molly walked into the sparsely but comfortably furnished room. The beautiful flagstone floor was scattered with rugs and a dark brown leather sofa and armchair faced the inglenook fireplace. A solid table and chairs fitted into the big bay window that overlooked the lush pasture, rolling down to the river. There was little embellishment: it was a man’s room.

‘What brings you back to Abercerig? Just come home for a visit, have you?’ Evan sounded polite but impersonal.

‘I’m not sure, I don’t really know what my plans are,’ she hesitated, ‘I wanted to see you, Evan. I need to talk to you. There’s something I have to tell you.’ She moved closer to him but he turned and looked intently out of the window. ‘There’s a man I met in Switzerland, a good man and we’ve become very close,’ she saw the muscles in Evan’s shoulders tense and he turned sharply towards her.

‘Molly, stop, please. Presumably you’re going to marry him.’ He looked dejected, ‘Well, I appreciate you coming here to tell me in person but spare me the details. I hope you’ll be happy, but I think it best if you leave now.’ He walked towards the front door but she remained motionless.

‘Listen to me, Evan. I beg you. Let me finish what I have to say.’

He shrugged,

‘Go on then, if you must.’ He leaned against the fireplace, his arms folded defiantly across his chest. He resented this intrusion into his home. In a short while she would walk out