NURSE HELEN

Lucy Gillen

‘You should have told me she was so young”

Evan Davies' words accused the doctor who had recommended Helen as a nurse for his badly injured son.

He was not pleased to see her.

Dr. Neath, a family friend, had thought of the Welsh village as a welcome change of scene for the lovely girl—lonely since the death of her father.

But a dark, brooding and distinctly hostile employer—and a patient who proved to be amorous—did little for Helen’s peace of mind!

CHAPTER I

While Helen Gaynor waited on the station platform she was once again assailed by the doubts that had plagued her ever since she had let Doctor Neath persuade her to leave Oxford and take a job in Wales, which he had assured her was just what she really needed. A change of surroundings with nothing to remind her of her father, a complete change of environment.

She wondered just how it would feel to be back in uniform again; she had not worn it since she had qualified three years before and though she would not be subject to hospital discipline; it would be like going back to the days of her training in so far as she would not be a free agent, but obliged to comply with someone else's wishes.

It was several years since she had nursed anyone but her father, and beside the prospect of leaving her home there was the thought that her future employer had taken her on recommendation only. He had never seen her but had taken Doctor Neath's word that she was a suitable person to nurse his only son through what could be a long recovery.

She knew little of the circumstances that awaited her, only that the boy she would be nursing had been injured badly in a car crash and it would be necessary to supervise special exercises that would eventually enable him to walk again. Why he had not been kept in hospital for treatment, Doctor Neath had not explained, but no doubt he would in his own good time.

She smiled to herself at the thought of the kindly little Welsh doctor with whom her father had been such good friends for such a long time, even though the friendship had been rather erratic at times. The two men had had nothing in common except a deep understanding of human nature and a compassion for its shortcomings, but they had written occasionally and met even less often, with each meeting like a schoolboy reunion, and Helen was grateful to the Welsh doctor for coming to see her father only just before he died. The visit had brought her father such pleasure and almost the last words he had spoken had been of his old friend.

After it was all over Doctor Neath had made it quite clear that he thought she should get away even if only for a while. Away from the old house and its memories, and then out of the blue he had written telling her there was a post as private nurse open to her if she would take it and saying that he thought it would be the best thing for her and she should accept it. He had even advised her which train to take for easier travelling and had promised to meet her at Glyneath station when she arrived. Evan Davies, he told her, would be expecting her to arrive on that train and he was not a man who liked to be kept waiting. The latter information did nothing to reassure her that she was doing the right thing in coming and, recognizing the name, she wondered what her new employer would be like. That he was a well-known writer she knew, but it was the extent of her knowledge, and the idea of working for someone so famous had given her added doubts. The doctor's rather cryptic reference to his impatience was all he had seen fit to tell her about him.

She glanced down yet again at the book she carried, bought on the spur of the moment from the station bookshop. The back of the paper dust jacket bore a photograph of the author, Evan Davies, and the face in the picture did nothing to banish her apprehension. He looked out at her with unfathomable black eyes from under brows drawn into a slight frown as though he objected to having the photograph taken and the square chin, deeply cleft, thrust aggressively. It was not a face to inspire confidence in the undecided and the fearful.

She sighed deeply when the train came in, knowing now that it was too late to change her mind, the die was cast. A young man standing near her flicked her a curious glance at her sigh, and smiled when she looked at him. He opened the carriage door and politely signalled her to get in first, lifting her two suitcases on to the over head rack. She was a girl that men found worth a second look and more, for there was a gentle loveliness about her that made her appear far more fragile and delicate than she was. Soft, fair hair, cut not too short, curled slightly round her face and her eyes were almost unbelievably blue, definitely her best feature and fringed with lashes that were several shades darker than her hair and quite natural. Her mouth was soft-looking and smiled easily, though there was a droop of doubt about it now that made it look sad.

The young man seated himself in the corner opposite to her and the only other passenger, an elderly man, immediately settled himself into the far comer behind a barrier of newspaper. ‘Going far?' the younger man asked, encouraged by her smile of thanks, and Helen nodded.

'To Wales. A village called Glyneath.'

He smiled, pleased that his friendly overtures had not been met with a snub as he had half expected they would. 'I know Glyneath,' he said, 'I have an uncle who lives there. Do you know anyone there?' He laughed and supplied his own answer. 'But of course you do, or you wouldn't be going there, would you? Glyneath isn't exactly tourist country.'

‘I've never been there before,' Helen confessed, ‘I have a job to go to, that's why I'm going there now.'

‘Really?' He looked for a moment as if he doubted the truth of the statement. 'Please don't think I'm inquisitive, but I can't for one minute imagine where it is you can be going to work. There is absolutely nothing in Glyneath that could be worth leaving civilization for, except the scenery, and one can't live on scenery, however lovely.' He laughed apologetically. 'I do apologize, Miss ‑?'

'Gaynor,' she supplied readily, 'Helen Gaynor.'

'Miss Gaynor; but I really am curious.' He extended a hand. 'My name's Owen Neath, my uncle is the local doctor in Glyneath.'

Helen smiled at the coincidence that had brought them together and shook his hand. ‘I know Doctor Neath,' she said. ‘I've known him most of my life, he was a good friend of my father.'

‘Really?' he said, the news obviously delighting him. 'And I've never heard him speak of you—the sly old fox, fancy keeping such a lovely secret to himself!' She smiled at the compliment, her very blue eyes shining with pleasure; he was really a very attractive man and pleasantly friendly. If the other inhabitants of Glyneath were as friendly as the little doctor and his nephew, she had nothing to worry about.

‘Doctor Neath was responsible for getting me this job,' she told him. 'I’m a nurse, and he heard of someone wanting a private nurse, so here I am.'

He drew his brows together in thought for a moment then snapped his fingers as realization dawned on him. ‘Gaynor,' he said. ‘Of course! Henry Gaynor the psychiatrist; my uncle and he were friends for years.'

'They were,' Helen agreed. ‘Very good friends.'

He looked sympathetic when he remembered. 'I'm sorry, Miss Gaynor. He must have been your father, of course.'

'He was,' Helen agreed, her voice not quite steady. 'I nursed him through his illness, but you have no need to apologize, Mr Neath. My sorrow is purely selfish, it was a happy release for him.'

Impulsively he leaned across and covered her folded hands with one of his own for a brief moment and she smiled her gratitude, while their companion in the comer rattled his newspaper as if to remind them that he was there. Owen Neath gave a shrug of regret that they were not alone and Helen suppressed a smile with difficulty, wondering at her own swift acceptance of his friendship, since she was not normally a creature of impulse, but perhaps it was because he was a link, however vague, with someone who knew her father. They sat silently for a few moments, watching the preparation for departure, each of them preoccupied, then, as the train left the station and gathered speed, he looked across at her again and smiled.

'Is this the first time you've visited Wales?' he enquired, and Helen nodded.

'Yes, it is, and since your reference to leaving civilization, I'm wondering if I've done the right thing in coming.' Her smile took the edge of reproach off the words. 'Though Doctor Neath is a resident and a native of Glyneath and I've always found him civilized enough.'

His lips made a moue of dismay and apology. 'Oh, good lord, don't take me literally,' he begged. 'I don't think you'll find Glyneath any better or worse than any other small Welsh village. But it's very quiet, of course, no gay night life or anything like that. The scenery, though, makes up for any other shortcomings. It's rather beautiful, especially at this time of the year.'

'You mentioned the scenery before,' she said. 'Tell me about it, if you don't mind, is it very lovely?' Encouraged by her interest, he talked about Wales at length and made it sound so interesting that she hardly noticed the passing of the time; it was obvious, too, that his native country meant more to him than his initial remarks had implied. Helen had always been a good listener and a reticent talker, except with those closest to her or on a subject about which she felt very strongly, so that Owen Neath was able to extoll the virtues of his native heath almost without interruption and, as if he realized suddenly, for how long he had talked, he laughed apologetically.

'I hope I haven't bored you,' he said with a hasty glance at their companion in the corner. 'We do go on a bit, you'll find—it's racial trait, we're great talkers.'

'I've enjoyed it,' Helen assured him, 'and I wasn't in the least bored.'

He smiled at her tact. 'You're a good listener,' he said. 'You encouraged me to talk.'

She laughed, a delightful sound that he hoped to hear again, often. She was a delightful girl, he told himself, and he really must think about visiting Uncle David again. 'I shall have to find time to do some walking,' she said. 'It sounds ideal for it.'

'It is,' he agreed, 'only don't get lost, will you? It's all too easy in the hills when the weather changes so quickly and strangers are often a little too trusting.' He leaned forward, the better to speak without being overheard by the man in the comer. 'I shall be coming to see my uncle soon and I'd like to see you again if I may.'

Helen smiled. 'I'd like that,' she said quietly. 'You could show me some of your lovely but dangerous country, if you had no objections.'

'None at all,' he assured her. 'I'd like nothing better, but I hope you're a good walker, it's the only way to see the hills properly, although I have to confess that I more often use the lazy way and travel by car.'

'I'm a nurse,' she reminded him with a smile. 'I spend a good deal of my time on my feet.'

'Of course,' he laughed. 'I'd forgotten that for a moment, and I'm glad my car is laid up at the moment or I wouldn't have met you, would I?'

'Perhaps when you came to Glyneath,' she said. 'Even a nurse has time off, at least I hope I shall.'

He looked at her curiously for a moment. 'I suppose Emlyn Davies is your patient?' he said at last, and she looked vaguely surprised at his knowledge.

'That's right,' she admitted. 'Do you know the family?'

'There is only Emlyn and his father,' he said, and added with a rueful smile, 'And no one can really claim to know them, not Evan Davies anyway, although my uncle is as close a friend as any he has. I've seen Emlyn once or twice in the Golden Harp when I've been there. He's a little more social than his father, in fact he's got quite a reputation with the girls, I believe.'

'The son?' Helen stared at him wide-eyed. 'But I thought he was a child.'

He looked at her in surprise for a minute, then shook his head. 'You were thinking of a boy, were you?' He leaned across and picked up the book that lay on the seat beside her, gazing at the back of the dust jacket as she herself had done earlier. 'Have you read this?' he asked.

Helen took the book from him, 'Yes,' she said. 'I think I almost know it by heart. I found it very moving, it's a wonderful story and so beautifully written. I have to confess that it was the final thing that decided me to take the job, to come all this way—my curiosity about the man that wrote the book.'

‘It is good,' Owen Neath conceded, 'and I think you could say that earthy was a fair description of parts of it, couldn't you?'

‘Perhaps,' she admitted, 'but it was so well done that it gave no offence.' She looked at the book cover again, 'I had no idea that I would ever meet the man.' The cover front showed a sombre picture in sepia and black of wind-torn trees and a stark grim mountainside with a small figure of a man, or it could as easily have been a woman, walking along at the foot of the mountain. Across the top of the picture in gold script sprawled the words ‘The Wild Hills' and lower down in slightly smaller lettering, ‘by Evan Davies'. She turned it in her hands again, to the back of the cover and the photograph that held such a fascination for her and she felt her companion watching her curiously. 'I hadn't thought of him as an older man, somehow,' she said, half to herself, 'though I can't think why. This must be an old picture of him, he looks very young.'

‘No, I should say it's quite a recent one,' Owen Neath said, as if he suspected what was going on in her mind. 'He's only about thirty-seven, I know, not so much older than me.'

Helen blinked her surprise. 'But the boy, the son?' He shook his head and after a hasty glance at the newspaper in the corner moved across to sit beside her. 'Didn't Uncle David tell you anything about them?' ne asked, and she shook her head. 'Well, no doubt he will in his own good time, but you've read the book, that jives you as good an explanation as any. We're an impulsive race you know, and a bit hot-headed at times; I remember when Emlyn was born, at least that's not strictly true, but I was staying with Uncle David at the time and I do remember a lot of kerfuffle going on one day and a lot of talk afterwards among the women. My uncle was called out to Glyntarrach one day in the middle of playing with me and I took a very dim view of it, I was only nine years old at the time, but I do remember all the ensuing fuss, as I say, and little pitchers have big ears.' He grinned at her a little ruefully, as if he doubted the wisdom of saying so much to a stranger, however enchanting she may have been, but the Welsh are impulsive, as he himself had said, and Owen Neath was no exception, especially when in the company of a good listener like Helen Gaynor.

'They have remarkably retentive memories too.' she smiled, guessing something of his second thoughts, and he made a face which added to his already boyish looks.

'I suppose I shouldn't really be telling you all this,' he said, 'especially as you're going to work for the Davies, but it's common knowledge in the village, so it won't do any damage.'

'You can depend it won't go any further from me,' she assured him. ‘And as you say your uncle will probably tell me all I need to know in his own time, but I do wish he had been more specific about the patient's age.'

'He's twenty-one, I know that,' he said. ‘He was twenty-one a few weeks before he had this accident.' He glanced at his wristwatch. ‘It won't be long now before Uncle David explains everything. Is he meeting you?'

Helen nodded. 'Yes, he said he would. We're due at Glyneath at half past nine—it's rather early, but apparently this is the best train, or so Doctor Neath told me.'

'It is,' he agreed. 'It's a lot less crowded than the later ones.'

The early rising had not worried Helen in the least, as she was accustomed to it, but train travel always made her feel drowsy and she could feel it even now with Owen Neath for company. 'I'm sorry,' she apologized, smothering a yawn. 'It has nothing to do with the company nor with the early start, it's just that train journeys make me sleepy, I don't know why.'

He grinned his sympathy. 'It's a form of hypnotism,' he said. ‘The sound of the wheels combined with the movement; and please don't stay awake on my account, you're very welcome to rest your head on my shoulder if you'd like to.'

'No, thank you,' she told him, a smile taking the sting out of the words. ‘I think I'll stay awake and watch the countryside. It's very pretty and I miss so much by sleeping always.'

'Just as you like,' he smiled, 'but the offer is there at any time you'd like to take advantage of it.'

'Thank you,' she said solemnly. ‘I'll remember.'

It really was a shame to sleep and miss the lovely scenery they passed, it constantly changed as they rocked and swayed along; little farms peeped from behind high trees briefly and were gone. Red and white and black cattle left no more than a fleeting impression of suspended movement and passed along in a moving panorama. Curlews on reconnaissance, flights over the rich fields swirled and dipped and she could imagine their plaintive cries disturbing the still, warm air. There was so much to see that she realized once again how much her customary sleepiness cost her.

Her companion seemed to have succumbed to sleepiness, too, for his eyes were closed and his head, turned towards her, lolling slightly with the movement of the train. She took advantage of his unconsciousness to study his reflection while they passed through a short tunnel. He was quite good-looking, with a square intelligent face and grey eyes, now hidden by the closed lids; a good head of thick brown hair had a tendency to fall forward over his broad forehead. There was, she could see, a family likeness between him and his uncle, although the old man was now completely white-haired and rather corpulent in build.

She averted her eyes hastily when he opened his at almost the exact moment that his reflection disappeared and they left the tunnel and roared once more into the open. He smiled at her as if he suspected what she had been doing and was not in the least averse to the inspection.

Their companion left them at the next station in a rustle of hastily folded newspaper, leaving the two of them in sole occupation, for there were no other passengers to join them. 'I shall be leaving you when we stop again,' he said, and sounded flatteringly regretful about it, 'but I shall make a point of coming to Glyneath to see Uncle David. At least,' he amended with a twinkle of mischief, ‘Uncle David will think he's the prime objective. You will see me again, won't you, Miss Gaynor?'

Helen smiled agreement. 'Of course, I'd love to,' she said. ‘You're going to be my guide, remember? Besides, judging by the Davies family, I shall be glad of some congenial company.'

'Oh, dear,' he said ruefully, 'I do hope I haven't gone too far and made you regret your decision to come even before you arrive. I'm sorry if I have, please try to forget what I've said and form your own opinion when you meet them. Actually my uncle and Evan Davies are quite close friends. He's known him all his life, you see,' Helen smiled reassuringly. 'Don't worry about it, Mr Neath. I always form my own opinions, but I'm glad you have warned me about the possible drawbacks.'

'Oh, I'm sure you'll be all right there,' he said, as much to console himself as her, she suspected. 'My uncle would never have asked you to come if he had any doubts at all.' Helen felt sure this was right, for at least she could rely on a welcome from the old doctor and he would surely not have found her employment in a house where she would be unhappy, he was far too considerate for that.

Owen Neath left her at the next station, as he had said, and before he left he renewed his promise of a further meeting, something to which Helen looked forward. It was some time since she had given much time to social activities with people of her own age and Owen Neath was as charming and friendly as anyone she had ever met. It would be something to look forward to. In the meantime she had to contend with the idea of starting a new life for herself in a strange place and with strange people who might not be as agreeable as she had hoped. She found the passing countryside something of a balm to her uncertainty and tried to concentrate on it to the exclusion of more uneasy thoughts. They were running now into the undulating greeny-greyness of the Welsh hills and the sight of them towering upwards reminded her of the book she had bought so impulsively at the station. ‘The Wild Hills.' She gazed out at the country that until now had been only a description in a book, a vivid and moving description, that had inspired her to want to see it for herself. She had never travelled much, even holidays had been taken at resorts on the south coast, and so the beauties of the rest of the British Isles were strangers to her.

It had a beauty of its own, this country, she thought, and felt herself relax a little as they sped along, with the landscape changing with every minute. The grey and green of the mountains and hills moulded swiftly to become valleys that in turn flattened out to become fields of rich, almost ripe com and barley, the nearer ones dappled with the shadow of the train as it passed. There were high white clouds that gave the scene a peaceful look as they hovered round the tops of the hills, and somehow there was a look of sadness about it too. Without realizing at first from where they came, words sprang into her mind. 'Nothing is so beautiful until it has known the touch of sadness; sorrow is the heart of real beauty.' For a moment she sought the origin of the words and then the book on the seat beside her caught her eye and she smiled to herself. They were a quotation from the 'Wild Hills' and presumably part of Evan Davies' philosophy.

She glanced at her wristwatch; in a few moments now she would be in Glyneath if the train was on time, and even as the thought came into her head they ran into a small, rather neglected-looking station whose nameboard proclaimed it to be Glyneath. It was just half past nine. As she looked out, getting to her feet and lifting down her suitcases from the rack, she felt her heart thumping rapidly against her ribs with the excitement of the moment. She was never very happy with new places and new people, but at least there would be a familiar face to greet her.

She straightened her dress as she waited to open the door and wished she had worn something that creased less, but perhaps she would have the opportunity to make herself more presentable before she met her new employer.

She saw the cheerful and friendly face of Doctor Neath as she stepped down from the train and his hug of welcome made her previous fears seem rather silly and unnecessary. He eyed her speculatively after the first greeting, his old face wearing the trace of a frown as he noted her pale cheeks. 'You need some country roses in your cheeks,’ he told her, 'but we'll soon put that right for you.’ Taking her cases from her, he' led the way past the ticket collector, who gave her a long and curious look as if strangers were something to be noted in Glyneath, and out into the yard at the back.

'I have come to work,’ Helen reminded him, 'not for a holiday, and I really am fine. I never felt better.’

He led her to a dilapidated old car that stood in solitary state in the station yard. 'Our good Welsh air will do you good,’ he told her, not to be deprived of worrying about her.

Helen smiled. 'I met your nephew on the train, Doctor Neath, and we travelled most of the way down together.’

The old man chuckled. 'I have six nephews,’ he said, obviously happy with the fact. 'Which one did you meet? Owen, I’ll bet, he’s the most likely one, since he lives in Gllanmerran. Was it Owen?’

'Yes, it was,’ Helen agreed, 'and he said he’d be coming to see you before very long.’

Again the old man chuckled his pleasure. 'I’ll bet he will,’ he said. 'Encouraged no doubt by the fact that Nurse Helen Gaynor will be at Glyntarrach.’ Helen stayed discreetly silent as they climbed into the ancient car, but her smile was comment enough. 'Owen always had an eye for a pretty girl,’ the old man went on, 'but he’s never settled down yet and I’ll be glad when he does. He could find himself a nice girl and marry her, but he never seems to get around to it.’

His remarks, Helen knew from experience, were aimed as much at her as at his nephew and she laughed at his expression of innocence. 'Perhaps he’s like me,’ she ventured, 'always been too busy to think about it.’

The old man cast her a sharp look as if he suspected that she had seen through his tactics. ‘Nonsense,’ he said, 'you’re far too lovely a girl to be single.’ He caught her eye and grinned sheepishly. 'All right,’ he admitted, 'I’m trying to kill two birds with one stone, and there’s no harm in trying, is there?’

'Just as long as you don’t overdo it,’ Helen said as he started the engine. 'Are we going straight to the house? Glyntarrach, isn’t it?’

'That's right,’ he agreed, 'and it’s some way out too, Evan will think we’ve been lost en route, he’s not the most patient of men, but we must take it easy for the sake of our bones and the car’s springs. Hold on, Helen my dear, we’re off.’

Glyneath was no different in appearance from almost any other of the small Welsh villages tucked away between the sweep of the hills in almost feudal isolation. Admittedly in later years they had been increasingly encroached upon with the advent of better roads, but even so, it was a brave traveller who tackled the road to Glyneath, for it was perhaps one of the worst in the country, though the inhabitants made few complaints. They liked their village quiet, as it had always been.

It was pretty when the sun warmed it into life and the patches of green before most of the cottages became vivid and lush, making a background for arches of pink roses carefully nurtured against the blast of winter; and the tiny flower beds, tended with pride by their owners. There was a stirring loveliness about the trees that clung to the sweeping hillsides despite the wind and rain of less clement times of the year. There was no sign now of the desolation that could at times dim the whole scene to a uniform grey, making the cobbled road shine like a mirror as the rain swept in from the hills.

It was uncertain whether the village had been named for the mountain or the mountain for the village, either way they bore the same name. The mountain of Glyneath stood majestic as a queen among her followers with her lofty peak often clouded in mist and seeming to move behind it as a giant dancer among the clouds. It was this sight that brought a cry of delight from Helen as they drove through the village.

'It's lovely!' she said. 'Really beautiful among those clouds.'

'Glyneath,' the old doctor told her wryly. 'I hope you continue to think as well of it. At Glyntarrach it's practically on your doorstep, you're always aware of it.'

'I'm sure I shall never get tired of looking at it,' she averred. 'I love mountains and hills. It's a thing you never see in my part of the world, of course, perhaps that's why.' The mention of Glyntarrach had raised the prospect of their arrival again and she felt her hands nervously moist as they swept through the tiny village and out into more open country.

The house of Glyntarrach had been built in comparatively recent times, at least compared to the age of its neighbouring mountain, but in an age when sturdy buildings rose from the surrounding country as if to defy the natural sovereignty of the hills and taking a stand against weather and man alike. It was built of the grey stone from those same hills; huge heavy stones, gouged from the surrounding countryside and standing firmly atop of one another as if to say they intended to stay for ever. The house had been built by the Davies almost as a stronghold, a fortress of rock against the resentment of the local people, for they had moved into the valley from another and strangers were not, as now, welcome, especially when they backed their claim to the land with more money than seemed right to the much poorer village people.

The quarries had been a source of income, the only one, to them for years, and when they had realized that their hard and dangerous labour was helping to fill the already heavy purses of the mistrusted ‘foreigners' the resentment had been bitter and often vicious, with lives sometimes lost. No one knew just where the Davies had come from and it was inconceivable that anyone would ask, for the men of the invading family were dark and savage-looking and would brook no breach of their privacy.

The house had stood for generations now and the bitterness and feuding had long since died, although there was still an element of mistrust, particularly among the older people and it was always, rather scathingly, referred to as ‘the big house'.

It was on this loveliest of mornings in July that Evan Davies sat at his solitary breakfast, a frown between his straight black brows as he pushed his tea cup away from him and left the table to walk across the room. The sun shining on to his face as it did through the high mullioned window gave him an almost sinister look. High cheekbones were emphasized by the harsh light, leaving shadows along the jaw and beside the arrogant nose. The eyes, downcast for a moment against the glare of the sun, lifted to gaze through the window at the mountain which seemed almost to rise from the foot of the long, neat gardens, dominating everything around it.

He was so deep in his own thoughts that he failed for a moment to realize that the door of the room had opened behind him and someone had come in. A discreet cough recalled him and he turned swiftly as if automated by the sound. Evan Davies wasted no single movement, his actions were quick and seemed at first sight to be prompted by nervousness, but nothing was further from the truth; there was nothing nervous or uncertain about him, in fact he was a man in complete control of himself.

The woman who had disturbed him carried a huge tray on to which she began to stack the used dishes from the table and for a moment the man watched her in silence. 'You haven't forgotten that Doctor Neath is bringing the nurse this morning have you, Mrs Beeley ?' He spoke quietly, his voice barely accented. 'Is Emlyn ready for her?'

'Oh, yes, Mr Evan, don’t you fret about anything; and her room is ready too; Mr Emlyn is all spruce and tidy, and a bit excited too, I think.' She was busy with the breakfast things as she spoke, her round homely face a cheerful contrast to his own sombre features. 'It will be nice to have another woman around the house, I won't deny it, but I wish we knew a bit more about her.'

Almost lifelong proximity had given Mrs Beeley the ability to talk to her employer with perhaps more familiarity than was usual, but even she would never have been too familiar. He turned back to his study of the mountain, with only a trace of a smile on his lips. 'You'll find out soon enough,' he told. her. 'She's coming on the half past nine train and Doctor Neath is bringing her straight here.'

He stood before the window for some time after the woman had left the room. It was his favourite view and he never grew tired of looking at it, even after a lifetime spent under its shadow. It was ever-changing and offered a never-ending variety of faces that altered with season and weather and even with the passing of a cloud over its peak.

He took a pipe from his jacket and reached for a jar of tobacco standing on a low table beside the window. Everything in this room, indeed everything in the house was geared to Evan Davies' wants; he had only to reach out a hand to find what he wanted. He was never surprised when things just happened to be where he wanted them, he was used to it and took it for granted that they always would be.

Blue smoke drifted across the sunlit window and formed a halo-like cloud above his head, as he smoked; standing so, with the dimness of the room behind him, he looked like an actor standing in a spotlight on stage. It was like this that Doctor Neath and Helen found him, admitted by Mrs Beeley who stared with unashamed surprise and curiosity at the old doctor's companion. He had apparently not heard them arrive, for when Mrs Beeley opened the door of the long room he did not immediately turn, and Helen felt her heart leap nervously at the sight of the straight back presented to them. Feet slightly apart, arms folded across his chest and the dark arrogance of his head well back, he looked relaxed and controlled, but not exactly welcoming.

It was Doctor Neath who broke the silence before Mrs Beeley could say a word. 'Evan.' He stepped towards the solitary figure and seemed unperturbed by the swift turn that brought the other round to face him. The dark eyes glistened with pleasure at the sight of the old doctor, then flicked swiftly and curiously to Helen and she saw the momentary widening of surprise followed by a discouraging frown. 'I've brought Helen along as I promised, you see.' He performed introductions as if oblivious of the frown. 'This is Helen Gaynor, a very dear friend of mine; Helen, my dear, this is another old friend, Evan Davies.'

She tried to meet and hold the dark eyes, but found the intensity of them too much and lowered her gaze with an unaccustomed shyness. A strong hand gripped her fingers briefly, then released them. He was, she told herself, even more over-awing in the flesh than he was on that intriguing photograph on the book cover. The hair and eyes were darker, much darker, both were jet black and the formidable square chin was even more aggressive and thrust out now as if he disapproved of her most heartily. It was, she decided, a most discouraging beginning. She managed to murmur some conventional greeting, but he made no such effort and his voice was sharp with annoyance when he spoke, addressing himself to Doctor Neath.

'Miss Gaynor is much younger than I expected,' he said. 'I thought someone much older would be coming, someone more experienced.'

Before Helen could speak in her own defence, Doctor Neath intervened, his kindly face smiling as usual in the face of the other's obvious disapproval. 'I don't think I mentioned how old Helen was,' he said blandly. ‘It doesn't really matter anyway, does it, Evan, since Helen is very competent and perfectly able to take care of Emlyn.'

'You should have told me she was so young,' the other said, the matter apparently still rankling with him, and Helen felt her own usually cool temper rise in protest.

'Since ages appear to be of such importance,' she said, her soft voice raised slightly to make herself heard, 'I was under the impression that my patient was to be a child. Now I understand that he is older, a grown man in fact.'

'Who told you—? Oh, yes, of course.' The old doctor nodded, smiling ruefully as he became the target for two pairs of eyes, both of which condemned his deception. ‘Owen. Helen met my nephew Owen on the train coming here,' he enlarged for his host's benefit.

'Then it seems that we were both misled,' Evan Davies said and, turning to Helen, 'If you want to change your mind, Miss Gaynor, I shall quite understand.' The invitation, put so baldly, was hardly meant to encourage her to stay, she felt, but Doctor Neath was not to be so lightly defeated.

'Oh, come on, Evan,' he said, smiling at his friend in a way that made light of the whole thing. 'I admit that perhaps I should have told you both a little more about each other as I know you both so well, but you needed someone to nurse Emlyn and Helen needed to get away from that house for a while, it was too good a coincidence not to take advantage of it. Anyway,' he added, as if it could not have mattered less, 'as you're here, Helen, you can hardly turn round and go straight back, can you? Not after that long journey.'

Evan Davies looked as displeased as ever, though Helen was prepared to accept the old doctor's words as sound sense. 'I would have preferred someone older, Doctor,' he said. 'It would have been better in view of Emlyn’s—'

‘Emlyn is a normal, red-blooded young man,' Doctor Neath interrupted heartily, 'and having a pretty girl for a nurse is going to get him on his feet again much quicker than some old fuddy-duddy fussing around him. Helen will be good for him.' He glanced at her with wicked eyes before giving Evan Davies a broad wink. ‘And Emlyn will be good for her.’

'I am paying for the services of a nurse,’ the other man said coldly, ‘not an entertainer. It’s Emlyn’s medical recovery I’m concerned with, not his social life.’

‘Then if you get both you can’t complain, can you?’ Doctor Neath said blandly. The brief silence that followed was pregnant with unspoken replies to that piece of reasoning, but when he did speak it was with grudging politeness.

‘As you've had such a long journey it will be as well if you stay, at least for the present,’ he allowed, and with the black gaze fixed on her she wished with all her heart that she had never succumbed to Doctor Neath’s suggestion, had not come to this great grey house, for its owner obviously would only have her there on sufferance. 'There’s no need for you to start immediately, Mrs Beeley has seen that he’s comfortable, but you’ll probably want to meet him.’

'How is he this morning?' Doctor Neath asked.

‘As usual.’ The reply had an edge of pity on it. 'It rankles with him having to be still for so long; you know how full of energy he always was.’

‘And will be again,’ the old doctor assured him gently, sensing the pity for his son that prompted the words, and Helen too saw something else in the man that she had until now condemned out of hand for his arrogance and lack of feeling. The doctor turned to Helen, putting a hand under her arm. 'We'll go, shall we, Helen, and meet your patient?’

‘Right now? 'she asked, looking down at her somewhat travel-stained appearance, and the old doctor nodded.

‘No time like the present,' he quoted cheerfully.

‘All right, I suppose I can change and tidy up later,' she agreed. 'I would like to see my patient and I’d like to meet him while you’re here, Doctor Neath.'

‘Come along then, my dear.' He took her to the door and turned to speak to the other man before they went out. 'I’ll perform the introductions, Evan, don’t you bother.’ The black head nodded agreement and, before the door closed behind them, he had turned back to his position at the window. Doctor Neath smiled at Helen encouragingly. 'Don't take too much notice of Evan,' he advised. 'He's not nearly as bad as he would have people believe,' a piece of wisdom that Helen hoped most heartily was true.

They passed Mrs Beeley on the stairs and the original curiosity that she had shown on their arrival had now been replaced by obvious pleasure at the thought of having her as the only other female in the household.

'You'll like it here, Miss Gaynor,' she promised. 'Mr Evan is very good, and as for Mr Emlyn, why, he's no trouble at all, bless him, though he does get so tired of being on his own.' Her friendly smile appraised Helen's golden fair hair and blue eyes. 'He'll be better with someone like you to take care of him.'

Helen merely smiled at the confident assurance and followed the doctor up the rest of the stairs, not at all sure that she shared the housekeeper's optimistic view of the future, particularly with regard to her employer being 'good '.

The bedroom they entered after a preliminary knock was immediately over the room they had just left and its high windows commanded the same view of the mountain with its background of blue sky and white clouds. If one had to be confined to bed there were very few places better than this wide airy room with the sweeping grandeur of the mountain predominating over its outlook.

The occupant of the huge bed turned eager eyes, that had a trace of anxiety, in their direction, and Helen was immediately struck by the amazing physical likeness between Emlyn Davies and his father. The eyes were not quite so dark, being a deep brown rather than jet black as in the older man, and here was no sign of a discouraging frown and the chin was less squarely aggressive, though it shared the deep and intriguing cleft with its ancestor. They would have passed for brothers, she thought, and the impression was magnified by the housekeeper's reference to the father as 'Mr Evan' rather than Mr Davies, possibly proof that Mrs Beeley had seen service in the house when Evan Davies was the son and not the master.

Doctor Neath eyed his patient shrewdly as they approached the bed and noted the gleam of pleasure at the sight of his companion and the wide smile that made the rather pale face look suddenly boyish. A flop of black hair fell over one eye and he brushed it back impatiently. 'Hello, doc, can I believe my eyes or have I dozed off and I'm dreaming?' Helen could not resist a smile at the exaggerated compliment, and his levity, obviously pleased the old doctor, for he chuckled as he put a hand on the broad forehead.

'Helen is to be your nurse,' he said. 'Nurse Gaynor to you; Helen, my dear, this is Emlyn Davies, your patient; I hope you can manage him, he's a bit of a handful when he's well enough, but at the moment he's not in full working order, a matter we hope to put right very soon.'

'I'm fine,' the young man protested, then added hastily, with a wicked twinkle at Helen, 'Though of course I shall need long and careful nursing to make me a hundred per cent.'

'You'll only be fine when we can get you on your feet again,' the doctor retorted, ‘and we can set about achieving that now that Helen is here and I have some professional assistance.'

The man in the bed sighed exaggeratedly. 'If Helen is going to nurse me,' he said, 'I shall stay here for ever.'

'You won't,' Doctor Neath threatened with his customary smile, 'because if you don't start showing improvement I shall send Helen away again and get in a nice elderly nurse like your father wants me to.'

'Oh, don't take any notice of Evan,' the young man retorted. 'I knew you wouldn't let me down, Doctor Neath, and you haven't.' The glinting dark eyes turned to Helen again. ‘She's gorgeous!'

'Now you behave yourself, Emlyn,' the old doctor warned, only half serious. 'Helen is a very old friend of mine and I won't have her made miserable by your misbehaving, so just you step out of line, my lad, and I'll see that you get that old dragon to nurse you.' He gave Helen a smile of encouragement. 'You're in a very powerful position, Helen, so if you have trouble with him don't hesitate to retaliate.'

Helen composed her features into a suitably threatening expression that boded ill for her irrepressible patient. ‘I won't,' she promised.

Emlyn Davies looked from one to the other of them, his face suddenly apprehensive, as if it had only now occurred to him what his treatment might involve. 'Is it going to be very painful, doc, is it going to hurt?' The anxiety in his eyes reminded Helen of a child fearful of some consequence over which he has no control, and she felt pity for him.

'It won't be too bad, if you co-operate,' she told him gently, before the doctor could reply. 'And it will be worth it to be up and around again, won't it?'

His smile was a brave attempt, but it was not the blithe one he had greeted them with and there was a trace of doubt in his voice. 'If you say so,' he told her, 'I'll have to put up with it, won't I?' The old doctor beamed his cheerful smile at him in encouragement.

'You'll be fine, Emlyn,' he assured him. 'Helen is a very good nurse and a very gentle one, I can promise you.'

'I'm sure she is,' their patient said, already showing signs of his former cheerfulness, 'and she's a very pretty one too.'

The response seemed to please the old doctor and he glanced at his wristwatch with a smile of satisfaction.

'Well, now that's settled to the satisfaction of all, I trust, I'll have another brief word with Evan and I'll be away.' He looked down at the young face, pale with such a long spell in bed, and there was a gentle concern in his eyes. 'It won't be long now, Emlyn,' he said quietly, 'and we'll have you up and about as good as new, you'll see.'

The black head turned to look at him, a momentary irony in his smile. '1 hope so, doc, I do hope so,' he said. There was a moment of silence and then the dark eyes turned to Helen again with the same sparkle of mischief as before. 'I’m sure Helen is going to be the best encouragement I’ve had yet.'

'Nurse Gaynor to you,' Doctor Neath warned him. 'And don’t forget, if you don’t treat her properly you’ll have to answer to me.' He patted the land that lay on the covers. 'Goodbye, Emlyn, I’ll see you again tomorrow ; I shall be coming in to see how Helen is faring.' He put an arm round her shoulders and hugged her briefly. 'Goodbye, Helen, I’m sure you’ll settle in all right, and don’t take too much notice of Evan. He won’t eat you, even if he does give 'the impression that he might! ’

He left them and, as the door closed behind him, Helen was left with the vague feeling that she had been deserted. Emlyn Davies was watching her from the bed and he smiled when she turned and looked at him, almost as if he guessed something of her feeling. 'You’ll be aril right,’ he assured her. 'Evan’s bark is much worse than his bite.' He grinned. 'And if it’s any consolation to you, so is mine.'

'I’m very glad to hear it,' she said, not knowing quite what she was expected to do now, since Evan Davies had said that she would not be required to start right away; she could go along to her> room, which Mrs Beeley had pointed out to her from the stairs earlier, and unpack and then try to work out some sort of a system for her duties. Any immediate plans she might have had, however, were not to be carried out, for her patient had other ideas. He called her across to him and, when she came within reach, caught one of her hands and held it.

'I hope you’ll like it here, Helen,' he said, and the black brows cocked impudently. 'You don’t really want me to call you Nurse Gaynor, do you?’

'As long as Mr Davies doesn’t object,' she said, knowing full well that he would if his initial behaviour was anything to judge by, and he laughed.

'This Mr Davies doesn’t,’ he told her. 'And I’m free, white and over twenty-one, so that’s all that matters, isn’t it?' His mention of being over twenty-one reminded her of her conversation with Owen Neath on the train and she must have shown some of her curiosity on her face without realizing it, for a moment later he tugged her hand gently to make her look at him again. ‘You're suffering from the usual curiosity,' he teased her, 'aren't you?'

'I—I don't know what you mean, Mr Emlyn. I have nothing to be curious about, have I?' She met his eyes, but only with difficulty could she hold them long enough to deny that she was curious about his age and his father's.

'Oh, don't worry about it,' he assured her cheerfully. 'Everyone gives us a funny look at first, but the answer is perfectly simple; Evan was only sixteen when I was born, but it was quite respectable; I was born in holy wedlock, as they say.' His laugh jarred on her, for it had the sound of one that had been used too often to explain away something that he refused to find embarrassing. ‘It's a silly phrase, isn't it, but people seem to find it a balm to respectability.'

'It's really no concern of mine,' Helen told him, 'and I'm quite sure that Mr Davies wouldn't approve of you talking to me about such things, Mr Emlyn.'

‘Evan,' his son pronounced solemnly, ‘thinks that the sun rises and sets with me. I'm the apple of his eye, that's why I'm here at home instead of in that ghastly hospital ward where the nurses, I might add, are not nearly as pretty as you are.'

'You would probably be much better off in the hospital,' she told him firmly, freeing her hand with difficulty ; for a sick man his grip was amazingly strong and reminiscent of that brief but vice-like grip with which his father had acknowledged her earlier.

‘I wouldn't,' he denied. ‘I don't take kindly to discipline.' A fact which Helen found no difficulty in believing. 'Evan got me out of there,' he went on blithely. 'I had to sign forms and things and they let me come home—not that they liked doing it, mind you, but nobody argues with Evan for very long.' This she could believe, too, and she sighed inwardly at the thought of how much strong will and determination she was going to have to cope with from the Davies men during what could be a long and difficult time.

'You're lucky not to have been set back seriously,' she said. 'It wasn't a very wise thing to do, you know.'

He grinned at her, uncaringly. 'Oh, I'll be all right,' he assured her. 'Dear old Beeley has been coping for the past week until the doc produced you, and that's the best thing that's happened so far.'

Helen smiled wryly at the unqualified optimism. 'I hope you continue to think so,' she said. 'Now if there's nothing I can get for you, I'll go and unpack and freshen up. Mr Davies said I shouldn't start immediately, so presumably I'm free, for a while at any rate.'

'Oh, but you must start!' he protested. 'I'll tell him I want you to start right now.' He obviously meant what he said and again she sighed inwardly in self-pity at the prospect before her.

'Very well,' she conceded, not wanting Evan Davies brought into a disagreement so soon, 'I'll just go and change and settle myself in and I'll come back. You can summon assistance if you need it, I presume?'

He pointed to a row of bell-pushes within easy reach of his hand. 'I'm well supplied,' he told her. 'There's one to your room, one to the room downstairs, one to the garden lodge and one to Dai Hughes' room. Dai Hughes,' he explained, seeing her puzzled look, 'is one of the help. He's in the garden when I don't need him, and he's a sort of general factotum about the place. He's been doing the lifting when necessary, Doc Neath showed him how. I'm not exactly a dwarf and poor old Beeley couldn't cope.'

'I see.' She wondered how much else Doctor Neath had omitted to tell her.

'Dai's moved into the house for convenience,' he said, 'and there's no reason why he can't go on doing the heavy job. You don't look big enough to be heaving me around.'

'I can do my job quite adequately,' she said stiffly, and he smiled.

'I know you can,' he assured her, 'but you can’t lift me yourself and Dai is used to doing it, so we'll leave it as it is, shall we?' He grinned. 'Besides, I like having Dai around, he keeps me abreast of the village gossip.'

‘If he does no more than gossip I can quite well manage without him,' she said, but he would have none of it and she realized that although his body might have been injured, his will power was unimpaired.

'I don't want to manage without him,' he said. 'I like Dai, he's good fun.'

She looked at him steadily for a moment and the determination she saw in his eyes gave her no hope that he would be an amenable patient, so she eventually nodded agreement. 'Just as you like,' she conceded, 'as long as it doesn't impede your recovery.'

‘Oh, it won't do that,' he assured her, smiling at his victory as if he knew it had been inevitable. 'And with you here to help, I can't fail to be on my feet again in record time.'

CHAPTER II

Helen spent some time unpacking and settling in, and her mind was so filled with the prospect of the job before her that most of her actions were automatic. It seemed that her patient was far more of a social creature than Owen Neath had led her to believe, although she did remember that he had mentioned his reputation with the girls, and having sampled his manner, she could believe the reputation well founded. His obvious longing for company she had found almost childishly pathetic and she found it difficult to fit such a nature into the rather lonely and isolated surroundings of Glyntarrach.

She changed into her uniform and looked at her reflection in the long mirror. It was a long time since she had worn it and she was pleased to see that it still suited her, giving her a cool and very professional appearance that she lacked in normal clothes. When she presented herself to her patient, however, his reception was less encouraging.— He pulled a face and raised an immediate objection.

'I don't like that,' he said bluntly. 'It reminds me of those dragons in the County Hospital. Why do you have to wear it?'

'Because I'm a nurse,' she informed him shortly, annoyed at his rudeness. 'I worked very hard to earn the right to wear this uniform, Mr Emlyn, and I intend to wear it whether you like it or not.'

He blinked in surprised silence for a moment, but his recovery was quick and his dark eyes glinted a challenge at her. 'If I say I don't like you wearing a uniform then Evan will make sure that you don't wear it,' he told her, blandly self confident, 'so you may as well go and change, right now.'

‘I have no intention of changing,' she said firmly, her mind made up and her usually gentle mouth set in a straight line of determination. 'And I shall continue to wear this uniform when I'm on duty, so you may as well get used to it.'

'I have no intention of getting used to it!’ he retorted, looking stubborn; his square chin thrust as aggressively as it could be for his position on his back and she wondered how long she could resist in the face of his insistence. 'You can either change now, or Evan will make you.’

‘No one will make me,’ she told him, her chin set as obstinately as his own. 'If anyone insists on my not wearing uniform, then I shall catch the next train back to Oxford. I have no binding contract here and I won’t be dictated to about the way I dress.' Her eloquence and determination surprised even her and it stunned her patient into a full minute’s silence.

‘You wouldn’t,’ he ventured, at last, his eyes watching her anxiously as if he would see just how far he could go without giving in, ‘Would you?’ Seeing victory in sight, Helen pressed home her advantage without compunction.

‘Indeed I would,’ she vowed, and hoped she had the strength of will to prove it, should it be necessary.

For a few moments he looked at her steadily and she could already feel her resolve weakening when he surrendered. 'Very well,’ he allowed grudgingly after a few moments. 'If it means you leaving, you can wear your silly uniform, but I still don't like it.’ She thought it diplomatic not to reply at once, but busied herself about the room while he watched her, obviously resenting her victory, however minor.

‘Did you treat your last patient like this?’ he demanded suddenly, determined not to give up completely, and Helen caught her breath at the question. It was too soon for her to take sudden reference to her father without the realization of his death being renewed each time. She kept her back to him and busied her fingers, trying to keep her voice steady when she answered.

'No,’ she said quietly. 'I had no need to, he was a very good patient.’ He seemed to sense her feeling, for his next question was less aggressive, in fact almost gentle.

'He died?' he said, the words half question half statement, and when she nodded silently, 'and he was someone special?'

She turned and looked at him, her feelings now under control and only the glistening shine of her eyes betraying how close the tears had been.

'He was my father,' she said simply.

'Helen, I'm sorry!' He put out a hand to her, needing the touch of personal contact to express his regret at having revived the pain in her, and she moved automatically to stand by the bed where he could reach her hand, his strong fingers curling over hers. 'You really look very fetching in that uniform,' he said softly, and was rewarded by seeing her smile.

She lunched with him in his room, though it was not ’to be a regular thing to have her meals with him, only in the circumstances Mrs Beeley thought that it would help them to get to know one another better, and anyway he still needed help with his feeding as he could only be raised a few inches. The process of being fed he disliked intensely and made no secret of the matter, protesting noisily that he had the use of his hands and arms and was quite capable of feeding himself. His resentment, Helen felt, was understandable, but it did not make things any easier for her and she found herself almost out of patience with him by the time they had finished. Such was his volatile personality, however, that her own spirits recovered with his and she was soon smiling again while she listened to his version of what went on in the village of Glyneath as relayed by Dai Hughes.

The time she dreaded most was when she would have to join Evan Davies for dinner that evening, and she found herself vainly hoping that he would perhaps be too busy to conform to habit or have some other excuse for not being present. Mrs Beeley had informed her that dinner would be at seven o'clock because Mr Evan had not eaten lunch, a meal he frequently missed, apparently, when he was very busy as now. She had suggested that she should have her meal with Emlyn again as she had done at lunch time but Mrs Beeley had shaken her head over the idea.

‘Oh, I don't think so, Miss Gaynor,' she said doubtfully. 'Mr Evan is expecting you to have your dinner in the big room, he told me so.' Seemingly if Mr Evan had decreed it it must necessarily be, so she was faced with the prospect of sharing a meal with her reluctant employer whether she wanted to or not.

She gave Emlyn his meal before she changed out of her uniform, making him comfortable for an hour or so, then went to her own room to make her own preparations. She had presumed that she should change out of her uniform, and Mrs Beeley had confirmed it, so she changed slowly, trying in some way to, delay the actual moment when she must go downstairs and into the dining room.

The bedroom that had been prepared for her was a big sombre place, with dark furnishings, and it looked and felt as if it had not been used for years, as indeed it had not; the chill of long emptiness still hung about it, making her shudder as she dressed. The walls were papered with a dark green, velvet-textured paper, unrelieved except for an embossed pattern in the same colour, and the windows were draped with long dark curtains of the same colour. The only relief was in the cream-painted door and skirting boards and from a delightful, beautifully worked Welsh tapestry bedspread which covered the big bed and almost reached the floor on either side. The bed was vast and reminiscent of a fourposter without the comer posts and its vast mound spoke of a feather bed that would probably smother her when she sank into it. Looking round her, she felt rather as if she had been accidentally shut into a stately home and left there to spend the night.

The fanciful thought made her smile to herself and a moment later she shrugged off the vague uneasiness she felt, turning to the full-length mirror that covered the door of the wardrobe, hoping fervently that her dress would not be considered too frivolous for her rather disapproving employer. Mrs Beeley had been less helpful on what she should actually wear, considering 'any old thing, love' as information enough.

The mirror showed her a picture that should meet with the approval of any man however undiscerning he might be, at least she hoped it would. The simple cut of the black jersey silk emphasized the good points of her figure without being obvious and showed off her clear fair skin and fair hair to their best advantage. She pulled the quite modest neckline together experimentally with her left hand, but released it again when the pull spoiled the hang of the dress. She was not tall, but held herself well, and her walk was more graceful than was fashionable, perhaps; there was a sculptured beauty about her that she refused to be ashamed of and she held her. head high so that the evening sun shone on it like gold when it fell on her well-brushed hair.

She moved across to the window and looked out for a moment, delaying further the moment when she must go downstairs. The view from her window looked across the long drive down to the big gates and to the road leading to the village, though the village itself was not visible from here being at the other side of the mountain and the back of the house, so curving was the road. It was a tranquil scene and she was reluctant to leave it for the rather less relaxing atmosphere of the dining room. However—she sighed, and giving a final nervous stroke to the bodice of her dress, she turned and went to the door.

Her patient must have heard her about to leave the room, for as she closed the door she heard his bell ring and went along to see him. When she opened the door she was met with a gaze at first curious and then frankly admiring. 'Wheeew!' He gazed at her bright-eyed and she felt almost like blushing.

'Do I look all right?' she asked, wondering if she had been wise to choose a sleeveless dress; perhaps something a little more prim would have been more appropriate.

'You look wonderful,' he assured her. 'You'll knock Evan's eyes out.'

'Oh, dear!' A new and discomfiting thought crossed her mind. 'I hope Mr Davies doesn’t think that's what I'm trying to do.' She looked down at the simple flattery of her dress, undecided. 'I mean he won't think I'm trying to—'

'Trying to win him round?' he laughed gaily at her uncertainty. 'Not to worry, Helen, Evan won't succumb so easily to persuasion, however potent.' He put out a hand to draw her closer to the bed and gazed up at her half seriously. 'But if anyone could do it, you could in that dress. It looks wonderful.'

She smiled her thanks, then remembered his bell had summoned her. 'Did you want something before I go down? You rang your bell as I left my room.'

'No.' He shook his head, still studying her. 'I just wanted to see how you looked, all dressed up to impress Evan.'

'I am not all dressed up to impress Evan—Mr Davies or anyone else,' she protested. 'This is a perfectly plain black dress, there's nothing special about it.'

'No,' he agreed, ‘it's what's inside that's father special.' He laughed again at her discomfited expression and released her hand. 'You'd better go before Evan starts raising the roof, he doesn't like being kept waiting.'

As she went downstairs she felt again that chilling twisting sensation in her stomach and wished she was a hundred miles away from Glyntarrach and in her own home again. Evan Davies rose as she came into the room and to her surprise she thought she detected a gleam of something that could have been approval in his glance before it swept away from her, as if he feared she might see it.

‘I hope dinner isn't too early for you, Miss Gaynor.' His voice still held that cold quality that seemed to chill her and almost numbed her into silence, so that she merely shook her head instead of answering as she meant to do. He was so unapproachable and she realized a moment later that it mattered little that she had not answered for he was still speaking and would probably not have heard her anyway. 'The timetable,' he told her, 'is geared to my convenience, I'm afraid.' He looked as if he expected her to argue the point, but she merely nodded again and murmured something about 'of course'. 'Sherry?' he asked.

'Thank you.' He poured the golden liquid into a glass and held it out to her and for the first time she met his eyes. There was a hint of mockery there she felt sure and the knowledge did nothing to ease her nervousness. She realized again, too, how completely black they were; black and impenetrable and it was impossible in that brief meeting to tell just what the expression in them was.

'I wasn't sure,' she ventured a little hesitantly, 'whether I should change for dinner or not, whether I should stay in uniform; I hope I'm in order.'

'The choice is entirely yours,' he said, 'but you needn't have bothered to dress to please me.' She remembered his son's joking reference to her dressing up to impress him and wished now that she had not changed. She would have felt more self-confident and less suspect in the trim efficiency of her uniform.

'I see; then I won't trouble on future occasions,' she assured him, only to see the black brows draw together in the beginnings of a frown.

'Oh, but I'm sure you must find it a pleasant relief after being in uniform all day,' he observed coolly. 'And I have no objections at all; in fact I'm not sure that I don't prefer it.' It must have been her imagination, she decided, that made her see again that glimpse of approval in the brief glance he gave her. He really was a most difficult man to keep pace with, but at least he seemed to have recovered some of his temper, and she wondered how far Doctor Neath's parting 'brief word' had been responsible for the change.

Mrs Beeley served their dinner with the skill of long practice and Helen wondered just what this bright-faced, busy little woman really thought of her employer. She said very little as she moved softly about the table, but Helen suspected that she missed little and could probably regale the neighbourhood with tales if she was so inclined. The meal was eaten in an atmosphere of uneasy good manners, and once or twice Mrs Beeley gave Helen a smile of encouragement from behind Evan Davies' chair, but she longed to escape from the room and the company of her dour companion, vowing to do so as soon as she politely could.

When the dishes had at last been removed and the two of them left to themselves she prepared to excuse herself on any grounds that came into her head. He moved from the table and sat himself in one of the armchairs, after indicating that she should take one of the others, and began to fill a pipe with tobacco. Looking at him from under her lashes, she thought he looked more relaxed than she had seen him yet, but the thought of spending any length of time in his company made her uneasy and she shivered slightly, almost without realizing it.

The black eyes looked at her through a haze of tobacco smoke. 'Are you cold?' he asked, though she suspected that it must have been politeness and not interest that prompted the question and she shook her head.

'No—no, I'm fine, thank you, Mr Davies.'

'Perhaps you should cover your arms,' he said as if she had not spoken. ‘I find it quite warm tonight, but of course I am a little better covered than you are.'

She took the reference to her uncovered arms for the reproof she felt sure it was meant to be and she flushed her embarrassment. 'I'm not cold, thank you,' she repeated. 'I'm quite warm, there's really no need for you to concern yourself about me.' He regarded her with surprise as if concern for her welfare had been the furthest thing from his mind.

‘You know best, of course,' he conceded with a shrug that dismissed the whole matter as unimportant, and sat back to smoke the pipe with every appearance of enjoyment. She endured the silence for as long as she could and then rose from the chair, where she had been perched on the edge.

‘I would like some air,' she said, her voice more sharp than usual with her nervousness. ‘May I walk in the garden ?'

She had the doubtful pleasure of seeing the black scowl settle swiftly across his face before she turned her back on him and walked from the room, knowing full well that her behaviour was inexcusable, but caring only that she need not stay longer in the same room with him. She paused for only a moment outside the door to breathe deeply and try to stop the trembling of her hands and the rapid pounding of her heart with the unaccustomed anger she felt. Temper was a sensation she seldom indulged in, but there was something in Evan Davies' manner that made her unable to restrain her feelings.

She fetched a lacy black stole and draped it round her shoulders and arms, pausing briefly to look at her reflection in the long mirror, and what she saw surprised her into staying a moment longer to be sure that it was her' self that looked out at her. The dress was hers, but the flushed cheeks and angrily sparkling eyes belonged to another girl; a brittle and rather beautiful girl and she wondered why it was that this man more than any other should arouse her usually placid temper.

When she reached the foot of the stairs again she turned her head momentarily and saw that the door of the room was still open as she had left it and she could see part of his shoulder round the edge of the armchair by the fireplace. She knew that she had been unforgivably rude in walking out as she had, without so much as a word of apology or excuse, but she felt strangely reckless and unfamiliarly defiant. She spent only a fraction of a second deciding whether she should go back into the room and make some excuse for her behaviour, but the thought of coming under that cold scrutiny again discouraged her and she went out into the garden.

The tranquility of it soon dispersed the worst of her temper and she walked slowly round the beds of exquisite roses, enjoying the scented solitude more than anything she had discovered since she arrived. The evening was lovely and heavy with the scent of the roses after the heat of the day, so quiet that a cricket in the grass startled her when he made his presence known. The warm scented air and the quiet reminded her of her own home and the evenings she had sat with her father in the latter years while he had enjoyed the last of the sun and the sight of his beloved roses.

The memory of her father consoled her for a while and she could imagine, with just a little effort, that these were his roses that she could smell and see and that she was home again in their own lovely garden. So preoccupied was she that she stayed out longer than she intended and was brought swiftly back to earth when she turned a corner and came unexpectedly face to face with a young man of about Emlyn Davies' age. He put out his hands to prevent the collision that seemed inevitable and ran his eyes over her in a swift and flattering appraisal.

'You'll be Miss Gaynor,' he said, making it a statement rather than a question. 'I'm Dai Hughes, miss.' His accent was much more pronounced than any she had heard so far and she found the lilting sing song of it fascinating to listen to. She smiled and proffered a hand which he took willingly, retaining it a fraction longer than was necessary.

'Hello, Mr Hughes; Mr Emlyn mentioned you earlier.' Bright blue eyes smiled briefly at the statement.

'He told me about you too, miss,' he said, the appraising eyes sweeping over her again, 'and he was right about you too. You're quite a looker, if I may say so, miss.' His humility was very obviously false and she could not restrain a smile at the impudence of him.

'The garden is very lovely,' she said, to change the subject and he concurred, obligingly.

'It takes a lot of hard work,' he said, 'but it's worth it now, isn't it? Me and old Arnold are at it most of the time when I'm not with Mr Emlyn, of course. You know anything about roses, miss?'

'A little,' Helen confessed. 'My father grew them, he loved them.' He nodded his head, as if he already knew about her father, probably from Emlyn also, they seemed to exchange news the two of them.

'We got some beauties here,' he told her, obviously anxious to show off his favourites. 'You seen them Ena Harkness down by the bottom end there? Lovely they are, we took a first prize with them in Gllanmerran this year.' He walked beside her down the path as he spoke, urging her towards the prize blooms he was so proud of, and Helen went, unprotesting, intrigued by his obvious pride in the roses and finding his company far more congenial than that of his employer. She once again admired the deep red velvety blooms and breathed the heady scent, while Dai Hughes smiled at her broadly, accepting her admiration as personal acclaim.

Right at the edge of the garden where a hedge of lesser roses bordered a footpath she stopped to look at the rapidly rising ground. The path rose with the mountain, curving round it like a ribbon and disappearing out of Sight some thirty or forty feet up. The light was fading now, but slowly, and it was still quite strong, but there were shadows under the dark mass of rock that rose before them, shadows that made it difficult to see clearly for any distance and distorted the scrub that grew on the lower slopes into odd shapes of movement.

Helen caught her breath suddenly as a movement, more definite than any of the others, stirred among the lower scrub, almost up to the hedge of roses, and Dai Hughes, hearing her intake, looked at her sharply.

'Something wrong, miss?' He followed her gaze, narrowing his eyes to see in the bad light.

'Something moved down there,' she said, feeling a little foolish for behaving so nervously, there was something about Glyntarrach that seemed to sharpen all her senses. The man peered at the scrub, only half convinced, she thought.

'I don't see anything, miss. It was probably only a sheep. They run about on the mountain, you know, but they're harmless you know, they wouldn't hurt nobody, not them old woollies.' It seemed to her that he was trying rather too hard to convince her, and she wondered why.

'It wasn't a sheep,' she argued, going forward to the hedge again, and he laughed easily.

'Then what else would it be, miss?' he asked. 'We ain't haunted not as far as I know, though 'twouldn't surprise me too much if we was.'

She turned startled eyes on him, then laughed at her own folly, blaming tiredness and her own over sensitivity to the place for her unfamiliar edginess. ‘I suppose I am being silly,' she confessed, walking back towards him. ‘It was probably a trick of the light, but for a moment I thought—I thought I saw—someone. A person.' She laughed again to cover her embarrassment. 'It's this wild country, it's making me imagine things.'

'Maybe,' he said, a smile wide on his good-natured face, 'or maybe you did see someone, but if you did it wouldn't do to go looking to see who it was; might be embarrassing, see? We'd best go back, miss, before some hefty quarryman comes after us with a balled fist.' His chuckle made its own explanations and she nodded understanding, recalling Evan Davies' ‘Wild Hills' and the passages that Owen Neath had referred to as 'earthy '.

Scarcely had they turned to move away, however, than she heard a sound behind them that sent her spinning round only a fraction of a second before Dai Hughes. A girl was watching them from the other side of the hedge of roses. She had a steady gaze that Helen found disturbing and her eyes were dark and deep-set with rings of grey below the bottom lids. She looked as if she had slept little of late and there was a glint of desperation in the deep eyes ,that aroused Helen's sympathy. Dai Hughes had known it was her moving about there in the shadows, of that Helen was sure, and he shook his head slowly at her: Small white teeth bit into a full lower lip painfully and she looked as if she would have cried.

She could have been no more than twenty or twenty-one, but there was such an air of sadness about her that one wondered how anyone so young could have suffered so much sadness. Dai Hughes was looking at her, his blue eyes soft with pity for her. ‘Not yet, Miss Owen,' he said softly. 'I’m sorry, love.' The dark head nodded her thanks and she would have moved away slowly, almost reluctantly, but Dai called out to her, as if only now remembering that Helen was there. 'Wait a minute!' he called to her, and she spun round, such hope in her eyes that Helen could almost feel it.

She came back more quickly than she had moved away and stood in front of them. 'This is Nurse Gaynor,' Dai Hughes told her. 'Miss, this is Tracey Owen.'

‘Nurse Gaynor?’ Her voice was soft and almost without accent, more like Emlyn's than Dai Hughes’. 'You’re here to look after Emlyn?’ she asked.

Helen nodded. 'Yes, I am, Miss Owen.'

The dark eyes pleaded with her. 'Is—is he going to get better? Will he walk again?’ It was difficult in the face of such anxiety to exercise professional caution, but Helen answered as any nurse or doctor would have done.

'There’s every reason to think he will, Miss Owen, in time. Are you a friend of his?’ If she was, Helen thought, why had she not come to the house and made her enquiry in a more orthodox way? The anxiety in the dark eyes was real enough and Dai Hughes was obviously in sympathy with her, so why the rather surreptitious way of finding out how Emlyn was faring? Unless, of course, Evan Davies forbade visitors to the house; such a move on his part would not surprise her.

'I was a friend before—before this happened.’ There was regret, sorrow and a hundred other emotions in the words and Helen felt suddenly the oppression of unspeakable pity as she looked at the slight figure disconsolately drooped as if she was too weary even to stand, and the dark, deep set eyes so full of hurt. 'I was the one who did it; I crashed the car, and I wasn’t even hurt.’ No one could have condemned her more hardly than she condemned herself, and she turned and moved away again before Helen could recover sufficiently to speak again. When she would have called her back again, Dai Hughes' hand on her arm dissuaded her.

'Better not, miss,' he advised. 'She’ll be back, she comes often in the evenings to find out how he is, see, an' I reckon I don't do nobody harm by telling her.' He spoke defensively and Helen wondered how much he risked his employer's wrath to keep the girl informed. Obviously she was forbidden the house or her tactics would not have been necessary.

'Of course you don't,' Helen agreed. 'Isn't she allowed to see him at the house ?'

Dai shook his head. 'No,' he said. 'Mr Davies blames her, see, especially when she come out of it with only a few bruises; it was a miracle how she escaped, and they do say as she wasn't to blame for the accident, but Mr Davies won't have it, so he won't let her near Emlyn.'

‘But doesn't he want to see her—Emlyn, I mean? Surely he knows whether she's to blame or not?' Helen was appalled that one man should exercise so much power over people's lives, it was so unfair and positively feudal. Dai Hughes shrugged.

'He used to ask about her one time,' he said, 'but since he knows Mr Evan don't want her here he doesn't bother any more.' He half, smiled as he walked beside her back along the paths to the house through the gathering dusk. 'Mr Emlyn knows better than to argue and he don't go short of pretty girls when he's well.' He glanced at her from the comer of his eye and Helen thought that the last words possibly held a warning for herself.

‘It's despicable to treat any girl like that,' she said. 'She's obviously very fond of him, it must be awful for her to be cut off and forbidden to see him like that.' She looked at him with a ghost of a smile. ‘It's lucky she has a friend at court,' she told him quietly. 'You're very good to risk your job like you do to help her a little, Mr Hughes.'

'I don't do much,' he said, but his smile showed that he was gratified by her praise, 'but I'd ask you not to let anybody know, miss. Not that I'm exactly scared, see, but it don't do to look a gift horse in the mouth, as they say, an' I'm very nice and comfortable here, helping to look after Mr Emlyn. I feel sorry for Tracey Owen, though, she's a nice enough girl an’ she's took it badly about him being broken up the way he is. Still,' again he gave her that oddly significant sideways glance, 'it don't do to get involved with the Davies when you're a woman, they don't never seem to 'ave much luck.'

There was something about his words added to the already uneasy sense of dejection that had been with her ever since dinner. There was something about Glyntarrach that she could not define, but it gave her no comfort to remember that she would probably have to live here for at least a number of weeks and perhaps longer. She looked along the path to the house and saw that there was now a light in the room where she had left Evan Davies.

As she walked in silence with Dai Hughes, she felt a tingle of panic rise in her heart at the thought of all the evenings she would be obliged to suffer the same chilly tolerance that she had tonight and she sighed. 'Tired, miss?' her companion asked, and she nodded.

'I suppose I am,' she admitted. 'Everything seems larger than life and at the moment I'm not looking forward to staying here very much.' She laughed at her own words when she saw his brows arch in query. ‘I'm sorry, I didn't mean it at all personally, Mr Hughes, it's just that it all seems a bit overwhelming at present. I expect I'll get used to it in time.'

CHAPTER III

The sun shining into the long room the following morning made Helen's pessimism of the night before seem foolish and she sighed her relief as she felt the bright warmth on her face as she looked out of the window. Glyntarrach, she told herself, was just an old house in the shadow of a mountain that perhaps dominated it to the point of being overpowering.

She had risen early, but Mrs Beeley was already up and Emlyn had been ready for his breakfast when she looked in on him, so she had attended to him first and left’ him for a while to seek her own breakfast. She found the little housekeeper vastly better company than Evan Davies had been and they talked about a host of things as they sat at their meal in the big white-walled kitchen. Mrs Beeley had been a little dubious about her eating with her in the kitchen, but Helen had said that she would like to and short of being outright rude to her, there had been no choice.

She had heard the story of Emlyn's accident, though from a slightly biased angle, she suspected. Mrs Beeley too blamed Tracey Owen, though whether it was really her own opinion based on known facts or whether it was merely an echo of her employer's bitter resentment, she could only guess, but she suspected it was the latter. In view of the woman's blind admiration of her employer, Helen kept a discreetly still tongue about her own impressions.

As Mrs Beeley told it, it was over a month ago now that Emlyn and the girl had been driving back from a dance in Gllanmerran in the early hours of the morning and a lorry had appeared out of a side road unexpectedly. The speed of the car had been such that there was no chance of her being able to brake in time to avoid a collision, so she had turned on to the grass verge at the edge of the roads but her strength had not been sufficient to hold the car against the bump when they mounted the grass and they had overturned. Tracey herself had been thrown clear, but Emlyn had been trapped and injured in such a way that it would take months of careful nursing and exercise to enable him to walk again.

It was a sad story and all too familiar, and Helen could sympathize to a certain extent with Evan Davies' bitter view of the accident, but the memory of the girl's dark-ringed eyes and sad face still stayed with her and she found it hard to believe that she was entirely to blame, even from hearing Mrs Beeley's version of the accident.

For the sake of convenience and because of the smallness of the family and staff, only one of the big downstairs rooms was used and this had been furnished as both sitting room and dining room, with several armchairs at the window end and near the fireplace. It was a lovely room and, as Evan Davies did, Helen found the view from the windows irresistible. She stood now in the deep curve of the bay, looking small and neat in her uniform with the tiny cap hiding only a minimum of her hair which shone like gold silk in the sun.

She was so engrossed in her admiration of the view that she failed at first to hear anyone come into the room and then started guiltily, turning to see Evan Davies over by the mantel over the fireplace. He picked up a pipe and came across to where she stood, bending over the low table where the jar of tobacco stood. 'Good morning, Mr Davies.' She was determined to start off her first full day at Glyntarrach in a friendly way if it was at all possible. She was not a, hasty-tempered girl and she hated an atmosphere of unrest and tension. At least, she felt, she had made her contribution to better relations this morning.

She felt his sleeve brush against her calf as he replaced the lid on the tobacco jar and became conscious of the warmth of his presence and the rise of her own antagonism as all one sensation. He might only now have noticed that she was there and he raised his face and looked her straight in the eyes, a disconcerting move that put her at an immediate disadvantage because she was not expecting it.

'Good morning.' He continued lighting the pipe, as he spoke, giving it his full attention after that brief disconcerting glance. ‘Have you attended to your patient this morning ?'

Apparently the ill humour of yesterday was no flash in the pan, and she flushed her resentment at the implied laxity on her part despite her resolve to be amiable towards him. There was little she could do about it if he insisted on being so unfriendly.

'I have,' she told him. ‘He has already had his breakfast and been bathed and tidied.' There was a concise and professional brevity about her answer that should have impressed him with her ability, but she doubted if it would have any such effect. ‘I was up quite early, Mr Davies. I have also,' she added with deceptive meekness, 'had my own breakfast. I hope that's all right.'

‘Perfectly,' he allowed. 'I realize that your day must start quite early, so I don't expect you to wait breakfast for me and I seldom have lunch, so that we shall not be required to meet very often.' Which was as well, she thought, though she did not voice the opinion.

‘I had my breakfast with Mrs Beeley in the kitchen,' she told him. 'It was pleasant to have someone to chat to.' If he cared to take that as a comment on his own unsociability she could not be blamed.

He looked at her with arched brows for a moment, then shrugged. 'If that is as you prefer it,' he said. 'For breakfast time at least it doesn't matter.'

'Thank, you.' She tried again to see if she could at least let him know that she was quite happy with her patient. 'Mr Emlyn is a model patient,' she said.

He looked as if he doubted the validity of even that statement. 'I'm glad to hear it. If there's anything needed for his comfort please don't hesitate to mention it.' For a moment their eyes met and in that brief meeting her determination to mention the girl she had met the night before wavered and vanished.

'Does he never have any visitors?' she asked instead.

'No. He's only been home just over one week, there's scarcely been time, has there?' He frowned as if something in her manner puzzled him. 'Why do you ask?'

'I just wondered, that was all,' she said casually. 'It's usual for young people to have lots of friends and they do visit them as a rule when they're ill.'

'Hmm.' The answer, if such it could be called, was non-committal and the ensuing silence she found uncomfortable.

'If you'll excuse me,' she said, 'I'll see if there's anything my patient needs.' She would have gone then and gladly, but he stopped her, his eyes curious as he looked at her.

'Have you no friends, Miss Gaynor? You are, after all, only young yourself.' He drew the pipe into fresh life, putting a screen of smoke between them. 'Have you no boy-friend?'

She flushed, resenting the intimate turn the conversation was taking, but she could hardly refuse without creating a wrong impression, she felt. 'I have friends,' she said slowly, 'though I haven't seen much of them of late. I haven't had much time for going out.'

'No, of course—your father. Doctor Neath told me about him and I'm sorry, it must have been quite a blow to you.' His sympathy was unexpected and as disconcerting as his more usual abruptness. She felt the now familiar coldness in her at the mention of her father and wished she could talk of him without feeling such an awful sense of loss.

‘It was a blow, though not an unexpected one; he was ill for some years and in terrible pain. I—I could hardly begrudge him his peace when it came.' It only left such an empty feeling, she thought, something she could not explain. For the first time she realized that she had heard no mention of his wife, Emlyn's mother, and she wondered how much of his apparent bitterness was due to her absence, whether through death or for some other reason she could not guess. Neither Emlyn nor Mrs Beeley had spoken of a Mrs Davies, nor made any offer to explain her absence as one would have expected in the circumstances.

She recalled that Dai Hughes had mentioned last night that the Davies women were unlucky, and she wondered to what he referred and whether Evan Davies' wife came into that category. 'I'd better go and see to my patient,' she said hastily. 'Please excuse me, Mr Davies.' He watched her go without speaking and she closed the door behind her with an almost audible sigh of relief. There was something overpowering about him that she found hard to cope with; perhaps his wife had been similarly afflicted, though the thought was rather uncharitable, she realized.

Her patient greeted her as though her absence had been a week instead of not much more than an hour. 'I thought you’d deserted me,' he told her.

'You may not realize it,’ she chided him, 'but I have to eat sometimes too.'

'It took you a long time,’ he commented, his eyes on her curiously, and she smiled.

'Since you’re so curious, Mr Emlyn, I stopped for a moment to speak to your father.’

'Evan? What did he have to say to you?'

'He—we were talking about my father,’ she told him, 'and I asked if you ever had any visitors.'

'Oh, I see. Well, I don’t,' he said bluntly. 'For one thing Evan doesn’t like people calling at Glyntarrach, especially when he’s working, and for another I wouldn’t like to shock him rigid by filling the house with my more disreputable friends and little dolly girls. I’m sure he wouldn’t approve of them.'

'You make your father sound like a veritable dragon,' she said, not knowing quite why she should bother to defend Evan Davies but feeling that she should. 'Has he no friends of his own?’

He looked as if her defence of his father surprised him and shrugged, his eyes questioning. 'Some, I suppose. He’s not altogether a hermit, but he’s always a bit short on patience when he’s working on a new book, and he doesn’t like little dolly girls anyway.’ His dark eyes watched her gleaming wickedly. ‘I believe he's rather partial to cool and beautiful blondes, though.'

Helen ignored the implication and returned to the original subject.

'I think it might be good for you to see someone occasionally,' she said. 'It would break the monotony for you.' If she had hoped to draw him on the subject of Tracey Owen, she failed. He shook his head.

'Not while Evan's working, he wouldn't have it. Besides,' he grabbed at her hand when she came near enough and brought her to a halt, 'now you're here I don't need anyone else.'

She freed her hand gently but firmly and started to tidy the bedside table.

'Didn't any of your friends come to see you in hospital?' she asked, her mind still on the sad and lonely Tracey Owen.

'One or two did,' he said, ‘but as I was only half with it most of the time it was a bit pointless and as soon as I was able to take notice I signed the forms and discharged myself.'

'Which was a very silly thing to do,' she told him. 'You would probably have recovered much more quickly in the hospital.'

'Oh, no, I wouldn't,' he said assuredly. ‘Doctor Neath says I'll be all right, and anyway, Evan wanted me home. Since yesterday I'm even more keen on the idea of having my own private hospital, I'll be up and about in no time, you see.' The dark eyes danced with devilment as he watched her. 'And then you just look out, my blue-eyed beauty!'

'My job will be finished as soon as you can walk,' she said, trying to keep her face straight, 'so please don't harbour any ideas on those lines, Mr Emlyn.'

'I could,' he told her solemnly, 'forgive you your hardheartedness if you would stop calling me Mr Emlyn; you sound like some mid-Victorian nanny.'

‘Mrs Beeley calls you Mr Emlyn,' she pointed out reasonably, and he gave a snort of laughter.

'Dear old Beeley is a mid-Victorian nanny,' he said, 'but you're not, so call me Emlyn or I shall be the worst patient you ever had to nurse.' She found no difficulty in believing what he said, for he was obviously used to having his own way in most things, but she merely smiled and moved out of reach of him before he could recapture her hand. 'You're not frightened of Evan, are you?' The question was unexpected and she could find no immediate answer. Frightened was not the term she would have used, but there was something about the older man that made her uneasy. He repeated the question impatiently. ‘Are you, Helen?'

'No. No, of course not!' She found it difficult to be so adamant when he watched her so closely. 'Whatever gives you that idea?' From the way he laughed she knew that he had seen through her bravado.

'You are,' he insisted, and added, 'I can't think why you should be; he's quite harmless, you know. It's only a local rumour that he eats pretty girls for supper.'

'I haven't been here long enough to hear any local rumours,' she said lightly, ‘and anyway, I should ignore them if I heard any. I don't like rumours.'

'Oh, you'll hear them,' he assured her. 'The sins of the Davies are bound to crop up sooner or later.'

'I have something better to do with my time than listen to gossip,' she told him. 'I hope to be able to see some of the country while I'm here. It looks as if it would be beautiful for walking.'

He eyed her speculatively for a moment without comment.

'You don't look like the flat shoes and long walks type to me,' he decided at last. 'Besides, you'd get lost, and all sorts of things can happen to a girl. The Welsh hills aren't like the South Downs, you know, it gets cold and misty and very dangerous; far better to wait until I'm up and about again and I can come with you.'

'It doesn't get cold and misty in July,' she said. 'It's beautiful weather, and when you're up and about my job will be finished here. It will be too late, I'll be gone.'

'I refuse to think about you being gone,' he declared.

'There's a long time yet, and I will get on my feet again just to show you that I mean what I say. So don't go walking until I'm ready.'

She laughed at his stubbornness but was, in reality, delighted to see it, for his determination would make her job so much easier. 'I shall have to get in some practice before I can keep up with you,' she told him, and he grinned.

'Well, don't blame me if you do get lost, that's all.'

'I shan't get lost,' she said confidently. 'I shall have a guide, and I'm sure it's not as bad as you say it is.'

'Do you know anyone else here?' he asked, his curiosity aroused by her reference to a guide. 'Except Doctor Neath, I mean?'

She shook her head, smiling. 'No, but Mr Owen Neath will be staying with his uncle before long and I'm relying on him to come with me at least once.'

‘Owen Neath?' She could feel the brown eyes fixed on her questioningly. ‘I didn't know you knew Owen Neath as well as the old man.'

She smiled patiently; really, she might as well have been with the child she had expected to find for all the questions he asked! ‘It's not very surprising, is it, Mr Emlyn? You don't know me at all, there's scarcely been time.'

'I'll get to know you, never fear,' he told her confidently. ‘And how long have you known Owen Neath? Is he your steady ?'

‘Hardly that,' she laughed at his use of the schoolboy term. ‘I met him on the train yesterday.'

‘Aha! So that's it. Owen Neath always did have good taste, I've seen him in Gllanmerran several times with some very delectable lasses.' He smiled at her quizzically. 'So he's coming to stay with his Uncle David, is he, and he's going to take you walking?' She nodded. 'Well, bully for him—he's lucky.' His voice was edged with self-pity, an indulgence, she suspected, he seldom allowed himself. 'Let's talk about something other than walking, can we?' he asked. 'I'm stuck here for heaven knows how long yet. Can you play cards?'

'Some games,' she admitted, 'but nothing complicated.'

'Oh, I'm not bright enough to play complicated games,' he assured her with what she was sure was gross exaggeration. Under his direction she found playing cards in a drawer and they played simple rummy, since this was a game quickly enough over not to try his very short patience and he proved an excitable and not over-scrupulous opponent. It helped to take his mind off the days and weeks to come when he would have to go through a great deal of discomfort and pain to restore his ability to walk. He was not a coward, she thought, but he was young and the prospect of the coming weeks could scarcely be a cheerful one for him.

Helen insisted on the tedious and often painful exercise programme being carried out exactly as Doctor Neath had laid down and she was nearly as exhausted as her patient at the end of it, although Dai Hughes' strong arms and back helped enormously. Every day Emlyn made the same complaints when the time came around for the exercises, but each time he eventually complied without too much fuss, though it was obvious that it did cause him a great deal of discomfort and he invariably slept for an hour or more afterwards.

Evan Davies had visited the room once when they had been going through the exercise programme and had protested about the apparent severity of them, looking at Helen as if he suspected her of deliberately causing his son unnecessary pain. It had taken Emlyn himself to convince him that it was all part of the doctor's programme, but he had never again come during the exercise period.

It was now almost three weeks since Helen came to Glyntarrach and she had heard nothing of Owen Neath until one dinner time the telephone summoned Mrs Beeley from the dining room. 'It's for you, Miss Gaynor,' she said, seeing her employer's frown at the interruption. 'It's Mr Owen Neath.'

Helen glanced hastily at him before she left the table to answer it. 'I'm sorry to leave in the middle of dinner, Mr Davies, please excuse me.' He merely nodded to indicate his consent and she went into the hall to speak to her caller.

'Hello, Miss Gaynor.' She still remembered his nice pleasant voice, she found, and smiled to herself, pleased that he had not forgotten his promise to see her again. 'Hello, Mr Neath, how are you?'

He laughed briefly and she remembered that too. There was something nice and friendly about Owen Neath that she was glad to know again.

‘I should have asked you that,' he said. 'Are you settling in up there all right? No problems?’'

Her hesitation was only momentary. 'No problems,' she said. 'I’m getting along quite well with almost everyone.'

‘The exception being Evan Davies, hmm?’ She glanced guiltily over one shoulder as if she feared he might have overheard, even though the door was closed.

‘We tolerate one another,' she allowed with a brief laugh. 'Otherwise everything’s fine, thanks.’

'Was your patient too much of a shock to you?’ he asked, and she laughed again.

'Not a shock at all, thanks to your warning. He’s a good patient and very nice, though I imagine I shall have my work cut out as his condition improves.’

'No doubt,’ he said wryly, as if he understood her meaning quite clearly. 'Are you free tomorrow afternoon?’

She hesitated for a second before replying. 'Well, I should be, but—well, I promised I’d stay and keep Emlyn company and I don’t like to break my word to him; he gets very bored and restless on his own.’

'He’s a spoiled young devil,’ was Owen’s opinion, and she felt bound to agree, though she did not say so. He sighed. 'Well then, as you’re giving Master Emlyn your free afternoon tomorrow, what about taking it the following day, Friday? Davies can’t object, surely?’

‘Oh, I’m sure he won’t,’ she said hastily, though far from certain that it was the truth. 'Yes, Mr Neath, I’d like to see you again, thank you.’

‘I'll come for you about half past two, if that suits you,' he said. ‘I've got my car back now so we can go for a spin somewhere and give you a change of scenery without overtiring you—how's that?'

‘That'll be lovely,' she said, but the thought of him arriving for her at Glyntarrach was not so comforting. Remembering what Emlyn had said about his father's dislike of visitors, a dislike which no doubt extended to include her visitors too. 'There's really no need for you to come all the way up here,' she told him in an effort to prevent any unpleasantness. ‘I could meet you somewhere, couldn't I?'

‘Nonsense,' he told her briskly. 'It’s your rest time, isn't it? And I've no doubt that you need it; my uncle says you need someone to keep an eye on you and make sure you don't overwork, so I've volunteered to do it for the time I’m here.'

‘That’s very good of you,’ she murmured, feeling a sudden and delicious glow of pleasure at being taken care of herself instead of the more usual way around.

He laughed. ‘It’s a pleasure. I’ll pick you up at Glyntarrach. If you’d rather I didn’t come right up to the house for you, I'll wait by the drive gates.’ She heard the friendly laugh again. 'I won’t risk bringing Evan's wrath down on your head by driving up to his front door, don't worry.'

‘Thank you.’ Her relief was patent in her voice. 'I would prefer that. Mr Davies isn't very fond of visitors and I’d hate to do the wrong thing and cause trouble.’

‘My heart goes out to you,’ he said. 'I know how difficult Evan Davies can be. I’ll see you at half past two, by the gates—O.K.?’

‘Fine,’ she assured him. There was a pleasant air of conspiracy about it all that made her smile and she felt happier than she had for some time.

‘Did I interrupt your duties?’ he asked belatedly.

'If so I hope you won’t get into too much trouble.’

‘Of course I won’t. Mr Davies isn’t that bad.’ She surprised herself once again by defending her employer, and with such vehemence that she immediately covered her embarrassment with a laugh. ‘Actually we were at dinner when you called.'

'Oh, dear, worse and worse.' He sounded amused. 'I'd better let you get back to it. I hope your meal hasn't spoiled while I've kept you chattering. I'll have to try and make it up to you while I'm here.'

'There's no need for you to apologize,' she protested. 'It was very good of you to call. Doctor Neath said yesterday that he was expecting you before very long, but he wasn't sure just when.'

'I arrived this afternoon,' he told her, 'and I made you my first call.'

She laughed self-consciously. 'I'm flattered! I wondered if you'd even remember me.'

'Of course I remembered you,' he protested. 'I told you I'd be in touch. Well—' he sighed, 'I'll see you on Friday, Miss Gaynor, we can talk more then; I look forward to seeing you again.'

'I'll be there,' she said. 'Goodbye, Mr Neath.'

She returned to find Evan Davies almost at the end of his meal and apologized again for the interruption. 'I didn't know Owen Neath was back in Glyneath,' he said, and glanced up at her with one of those quick and penetrating looks that she found so discomfiting. 'You met him on the train coming here, Doctor Neath said.'

'Yes, I did.' She helped herself to coffee before starting on her dessert, wondering if this was the best time to mention that she would like to have her free time on Friday afternoon instead of tomorrow. He looked quite cordial, or as encouraging as he ever did, so it was probably as well as any time to mention it. 'I'm—I'm seeing Mr Neath on Friday afternoon,' she ventured, 'if that's all right.'

He looked at her directly again, his brows arched enquiringly. 'I thought tomorrow was your free day,' he said in such a way that she could already see her drive with Owen Neath coming to nothing. She made no effort to meet his gaze, but gave her attention to her dessert, wishing now that she had not raised the subject, for it seemed so inevitable that he would refuse to let her change the day.

‘It should be tomorrow,’ she agreed, ‘but I’ve already promised to stay with Emlyn tomorrow afternoon and I don't like to let him down.'

‘You were going to stay with him on your free afternoon?’ She nodded and he was silent for a moment. 'That was very noble of you,’ he allowed at last, and she flushed at his grudging praise, feeling the familiar antagonism tighten her fingers on the spoon she held.

‘It wasn't meant to be noble,' she said stiffly. 'Emlyn likes me to stay with him and as I haven't been going anywhere on my free days, I said I’d stay and perhaps play cards with him. I could still do that and have my free afternoon on Friday; it doesn’t really make any difference, does it?’

‘No,’ he grudged, and added shortly, 'have you stayed with Emlyn before on your free days?’

She hesitated. 'Once or twice,’ she admitted, and saw the familiar frown gather.

'I don’t like the idea,’ he told her bluntly. ‘I must insist on you having your free time.’ She did not answer and he looked at her sharply. ‘Did you hear me?’ he said.

‘Yes,’ she nodded, refusing to enter into an argument with him. 'May I have the time on Friday afternoon?’

'Yes, of course.’

'Thank you.’

'Where are you seeing him? Owen Neath, I mean?’

She toyed with the idea of telling him that it was no concern of his, but her courage failed her and she answered truthfully instead.

'He’s picking me up at the gates by the end of the drive.’

'I see.’

‘You don't mind?' Again the black eyes were raised and she could almost have sworn that there was a trace of amusement in them, but she found it hard to believe.

‘Why should I mind?’ he asked, and she could find no suitable answer, so she stayed silent. ‘If you’d been going down to the village,’ he continued, 'I could have given you a lift, that was all, since I'm going that way myself on Friday afternoon.'

Helen stared at him, the disbelief plain on her face, her spoon stopped half way to her mouth, thanking heaven a moment later that he was giving his attention to sweetening his coffee and did not notice her reaction. There was no end to the surprises that Evan Davies could provide, it seemed.

Emlyn was curious and not a little resentful when Helen told him that she would be going out on Friday afternoon, and that she was going with Owen Neath he seemed to resent even more. 'I told you that I'd stay with you yesterday afternoon and I did,' she said reasonably. 'I am entitled to three half days a week, Emlyn, and I'm going for a drive with Mr Neath. I must admit,' she added, looking out at the hot sun shimmering on the greeny grey of Glyneath, ‘I'm looking forward to it; I haven't left Glyntarrach since I came here nearly three weeks ago. She looked again at the glowering mass of the mountain and remembered Doctor Neath's reaction to her cry of delight when she first saw it as they drove from the station. It was not that she was tired of seeing it so much as the feeling of inadequacy that it gave her at times. It was so huge and inescapable, and at times she felt that it had a life of its own when it frowned down at her from among the clouds.

‘You're bored with us already?' Emlyn asked, jolting her out of her fanciful reverie, and she shook her head smilingly.

'No, of course I'm not,' she denied. 'I seldom get bored; I don't have time, besides,' she offered consolation for his disappointment, 'I should think you'll be glad to be rid of me for a while.'

'Never!' he averred with every appearance of sincerity. 'I shall be utterly miserable until you come back.'

She laughed at his woeful face and made sure everything he would need was within his reach. 'You'll be fine now,' she told him, 'and either Dai or Mrs Beeley will come if you want them.'

He watched her across the room. ‘You’re hardhearted,' he told her as she reached the door, and she turned and smiled at his disgruntled face, glowering at her from above the book she had given him to read.

'Nonsense,’ she said. ‘I shall feel much better able to cope when I come back, so we’ll both benefit from the change.’ She closed the door firmly behind her, convinced that had it not been for the fact that Owen would be waiting she would have gone back and stayed with him.

As she neared the end of the drive she saw Owen standing beside a small but expensive-looking sports car and he waved a salutary hand as she approached. 'I wondered if you’d make it,' he greeted her, 'or if your boss had you locked up in a tower somewhere.’

'It was Emlyn who raised all the objections,’ she told him while he saw her into the little car. ‘Not Ev—Mr Davies, as you might think.’ If he noticed her slip of the tongue he made no comment, but started the engine and sent them roaring along the narrow, bumpy road.

'Actually,’ she added, 'Mr Davies offered to give me a lift down to the village if I’d been meeting you down there.’

He whistled his surprise. 'Did he? That’s an honour indeed. I wonder what made him do that. I wonder where he’s going, too, it isn’t often your revered employer ventures out into the hard world.’

'Oh, he must do sometimes, surely,’ she protested.

'Emlyn says he has friends and he can’t possibly stay at Glyntarrach all the time, in fact I know he doesn’t.’

'Maybe not,’ he shrugged. 'I know he calls on my uncle sometimes and I believe he knows some people in Mertonvale, but he’s not what I should call a social animal at all.'

'I know what you mean,’ Helen said dryly. 'He’s not an easy man to get on with, in fact he seems bent on not getting on with people.’

'Not even you?’ he asked, and she smiled at his surprise.

'Perhaps I am exaggerating,' she allowed. 'We just seem to rub each other up the wrong way, somehow; fortunately we don't see each other much except at dinner each night.'

'He’s a strange man,' he opined, and shrugged as if he had suddenly lost interest in the subject. 'I thought perhaps we could just run around a few of the beauty spots this afternoon to give you your introduction to the Neath package tour of Wales, then back to Glyneath for tea; Uncle David is expecting you, so don't refuse, then if you like we can have a drink at the Golden Harp before I take you back to the big house; how's that?'

'It sounds wonderful,' she said, revelling in the luxury of being looked after. It seemed such a long time since she had been so coddled and made a fuss of and she meant to enjoy every minute of it.

Her companion turned his head briefly and looked at her speculatively. 'It's time you enjoyed yourself, by the way Uncle David talks about you,' he said. 'You're much too lovely to spend all your time looking after other people.'

'I enjoy my job,' she protested, but only halfheartedly. 'But it is nice to feel—' She had almost said 'feel free again', but that would have implied some sort of blame attached to her father for the last few years, and that she could not do.

'It must have been quite a strain for you, nursing your father,' he said, and the accuracy of his guess startled her for a moment.

'Only because he was my father,' she agreed, 'and there was nothing I could do to help him. He was never demanding or selfish.'

'But there was no time to have a life of your own?' he said, and she nodded reluctantly.

'I couldn't leave him for very long,' she said, and was surprised to find that she could talk about it with less effort than had once been the case; perhaps Owen Neath's understanding had helped that to happen; at any rate she felt that she could talk to him without experiencing that feeling of emptiness that she had formerly known.

'And now Emlyn Davies is taking up all your time,' he said. 'I told my uncle about you staying with him on your free afternoon and he was very cross with you.' He flashed her a smile. 'He'll probably tell you off when you see him later today—if he does you can blame me.'

'Oh, I will,' Helen promised with all solemnity but responding to his smile. He was very good company and she looked forward immensely to being with him for a whole afternoon; it seemed so long since she had been out with someone of her own age and for the sheer pleasure of enjoying themselves. It was a luxury she had long been without.

It was beautifully fresh and cool in the little car as they drove along roads sometimes narrow, sometimes wide, sometimes enclosed between two sweeps of hillside and at others breathtakingly cut into the hills themselves, so that even the powerful engine of the car protested at times and they seemed to hover on the edge of eternity above the lushness of the valleys below them.

It was never pretty country, not in the same way that she understood prettiness, but it had a sombre grandeur that kept the eyes constantly enchanted by its frequent change, and to Helen it was something she had not envisaged as part of Britain, it was so different from the warm gentleness of the part of England that she was used to. There were no flat fields, neatly intersected by curly roads and lanes, but enormous sweeps of country with only an occasional ribbon of road woven about them. It was awe-inspiring and a little lonely, she thought.

'What do you think of it?' Owen asked after an hour or so, and Helen sighed.

'It's very beautiful,' she said. 'It's not pretty like Oxfordshire and Hampshire, the part of the world I'm used to, although we have the downs there, of course, but this isn't the same; it's breathtaking in its own way, almost—' She laughed her embarrassment. 'Almost frightening, I was going to say,' she confessed, ‘but that's silly, isn’t it?'

'I don't know,' he demurred. 'It has been said before about the hill country, it seems different from any other.'

'It all seems so much older than the English countryside somehow. I know that doesn't make sense, but it seems to be in an earlier age still. The country seems so much bigger than the people, something that's no longer true at home, it's closed in on us.'

'Very profound,' he teased her, and she laughed. 'I gather you're impressed?'

‘I am,' she admitted. ‘Very impressed.'

'Good.' He nodded his satisfaction. ‘Then we must repeat the experiment.'

On their return Doctor Neath greeted her as if it had been much longer than two days since he had seen her last at Glyntarrach, and at the sight of her wind-tossed hair and bright cheeks he beamed his approval. 'You look a different girl already,' he told her. ‘The drive has done you good; you must take her again, Owen,' he added to his nephew.

‘I intend to,' Owen averred with such enthusiasm that there was no doubt he meant it, and Helen smiled her pleasure.

Tea was a vast spread of home-baked bread and cakes produced by the old doctor's housekeeper, almost an exact replica of the amiable Mrs Beeley, who smiled her gratification when Helen complimented her on her cooking. 'Mrs Jay was glad of the opportunity to show off when I told her we were having company for tea,' Doctor Neath confided. 'She could really excel herself with you and Owen here. I'm quite a trencherman myself, but two extra for tea and Mrs Jay is in the seventh heaven.'

‘I feel I've been an absolute pig,' Helen declared, ‘but it was all so good I simply ate and ate.'

The old man nodded approval. 'It will do you good,' he told her, 'especially after all that fresh air; a repeat dosage as often as possible is what I prescribe.'

Helen laughed. 'I'm the nurse,' she reminded him, 'not the patient.' She glanced at her watch. 'And I mustn't be too late back; Emlyn was very reluctant to see me go as it was and I don't want him too upset to sleep, if I'm late back.'

The old doctor shook his head disapprovingly. 'You must take your free time, Helen,' he insisted, 'or we shall have you on our hands. Don't let Emlyn make too many demands on you; that young man is far too used to having his own way. Evan spoils him, he always has.'

'I suppose it's natural that he should,' Helen said, once more surprising herself by defending Evan Davies. 'He is an only child; he may improve as he gets older.'

Doctor Neath laughed, shaking his head over her seriousness. 'The wisdom of it!' he teased her. 'Emlyn is not so much younger that you are yourself, but he has far less sense of responsibility.'

‘Perhaps that's not altogether his fault,' Helen said. ‘I don't imagine he's ever needed to develop a sense of responsibility. With me it's somewhat different; first my training as a nurse and then looking after Father all those years.' She found once again that it was possible to speak of her father without feeling that same awful coldness. It could be that the old doctor had been right, and that coming to Glyntarrach had been a good thing for her. It was almost like starting again in a way; having the chance to take some time off and to go out with younger people, enjoy herself; especially while Owen Neath was staying with his uncle.

She insisted on not being too late leaving, especially when Owen reminded her that they were to call at the Golden Harp for a drink before he took her home. 'Just one,' she agreed. 'I don't often drink, but if we're going to that pretty little pub we passed this morning on the way out, I would like to see the inside of it, it looks very charming and olde-worlde.'

'It is,' Owen promised, ‘and I guarantee not to get you drunk and incapable before you have to see your patient.'

Helen laughed. 'It's not my patient I should be worrying about if I was,' she told him, and he made no comment on the remark but saw her into the little car once more and drove down the cobbled road to the other end of the village.

The Golden Harp was the only public house in the village and as such it was the favourite gathering place of the local men in the evenings. After choir practice at the tiny chapel, the lusty baritones and tenors met with their friends whose interests lay in less pious directions, even though the preacher had been known, on Sundays, to speak strongly against such practice. The population of the village might have declined over the years and was still doing so, but the ones who remained still took an interest and a pride in their choir and they took part in most of the surrounding festivals and eisteddfods. Despite the frowns of the preacher, the visit to the Golden Harp was looked upon as the high spot of the day, when they could seek the company of their fellows and lubricate their dry throats for an hour or two.

It was a cosy little house, low-ceilinged and rather dimly lit, with its heavy black beams disappearing into the inevitable cloud of smoke that soon filled the room. It was seldom that other than the local men used the place for visitors were almost unknown in the village and though of late one or two had called, attracted by the old worldliness of the little place, the calls had been brief. The event of their arrival invariably caused such an uncomfortable lull in the conversation that the new arrivals found the ensuing silence a little unnerving.

Each, one of the locals had his accustomed seat, which no one would think of usurping, and the place seemed filled with small groups talking in low, lilting voices that rarely rose above a quiet conversational level unless some topic close to someone's heart caused a momentary argument. Women seldom, if ever, frequented the Golden Harp, certainly not the local women, so that Helen's entry with Owen Neath caused a surprised lull that his solitary appearance would never have evoked.

Tom Jenkins, polishing glasses behind the short, uncluttered bar, also looked up in surprise, but soon recovered his professional aplomb and smiled at them both. '"Evening, Mr Neath,' he said cheerfully with a brief glance at Helen. 'Been a nice day again.'

‘Lovely,' Owen agreed, well aware of the stir that his companion had caused and amused by it. 'I thought I'd bring Miss Gaynor along and introduce her to our local hostelry.'

'Glad to see you, miss,' the landlord declared, though it was doubtful if his pleasure was shared by all his customers. Not that their glances were entirely disapproving ; their displeasure was on account of her being there, but they could still admire her loveliness and many of them did. Heads turned and eyes took in the shining gold hair and pale skin, only slightly flushed with the sun and the wind from the drive. Their own women folk were mostly dark-haired and brown-eyed, and this stranger with such vivid blue eyes and fair hair was worth a second look, even though she should not have been in the Golden Harp, trespassing on male territory.

Feeling their scrutiny and to a less extent their disapproval of her being there, Helen wished she had not succumbed to Owen's persuasion but had gone straight back to the house without calling in for a drink on the way. Obviously this was not a house women frequented very often.

There was a big man at a table near the fireplace who seemed particularly interested in their arrival and for several seconds he watched them as if he was trying to make up his mind about something. He must have topped six feet by an inch or two and his build was such that he dwarfed the man who shared his table and who appeared to be rather anxious about what his companion would do. After several moments of doubt the big man rose from his seat and crossed to the bar where Helen and Owen still stood. His smile had a lack of humour about it that Helen found disturbing as he came closer with the obvious intention of speaking to them. ‘Good evening, Owen, staying with your uncle again, then, are you?' His accent was as pronounced as Dai Hughes' and his voice more coarse, and the dark eyes that regarded her so interestedly flicked for a moment to Owen as he spoke.

If Owen Neath disliked being approached by the big man he concealed it very well, but just the same Helen was instinctively aware that he would rather the approach had not been made. He smiled slowly. 'Hello, Alun. Yes, I'm staying with the doctor for a while, maybe a week or so.'

‘Uh-huh.' A sly smile flitted across the broad face. 'Got a good reason for coming back now, eh, boyo?' The implication was obvious and the voice so loud that it had been heard by everyone in the room, and Helen was aware of the many hidden smiles that were buried behind the hastily raised glasses. Seeing the inevitability of it, Owen introduced the man, though it was plain he would rather not have done so.

'Helen, this is Alun Howell,' a vast hand was thrust forward to engulf hers. 'Miss Gaynor.'

‘Nurse Gaynor, I heard it said.' Howell said, his eyes glittering cunningly as he saw their discomfort. 'Looking after young Emlyn, are you?'

Helen nodded, uncertain how much she should say to this huge, ungainly creature who looked’ friendly enough at the moment but also looked as if his disposition would deteriorate later in the evening. Evan Davies, she felt sure, would not want his family discussed in the bar of the local public house. As if he guessed something of her dilemma the man's eyes glittered with an unholy glee and there was something about the expression in them that was somehow familiar, yet she could not for a moment imagine why.

'I am nursing Mr Emlyn Davies,' she admitted, somewhat stiffly, she realized, and her caution was greeted with a mighty guffaw that caused heads to turn again as they had at her entrance.

'You don't have to be close with me, girl,' Howell told her. 'Young Emlyn's my nephew—my sister's boy.' The surprise of the statement left her too bewildered to speak for a moment and she stared at him in disbelief. 'Didn't they tell you about that?' Howell asked, making no effort to lower his voice, and Helen looked at Owen for support and confirmation.

‘That's right,' Owen told her, but reluctantly she thought. 'Emlyn's mother was Dilys Howell, Alun's youngest sister.' The big man seemed to find her stunned silence amusing and the dark eyes glinted at her from under thick brows while his smile at once mocked and pitied her. Again she felt that flash of familiarity as he watched her and this time knew why it was; the dark, glittering slightly malicious humour was reminiscent of Emlyn in one of his less amenable moods.

‘How is Emlyn?' the man asked. 'Still flat on his back, is he?'

‘Yes, I'm afraid so at the moment,' Helen said, recovering somewhat, 'but he'll be up and about again soon, we hope.'

‘He will, will he?" he said, and she thought that perhaps there was a trace of anxiety in the big man's voice. 'I'm glad to hear that. Feeling a bit down, I expect, isn't he? He was always a live wire, was Emlyn, like our side of the family, see?'

‘Yes,' Helen agreed and, scarcely knowing what prompted her to say it, added, 'Why don't you come and see him, Mr Howell? After all, you are his uncle.'

She sensed the faux pas almost before she had finished speaking, but whereas Owen Neath looked uncomfortable, Alun Howell greeted the invitation with another head turning laugh. 'Why, girl? I'll tell you why; because I doubt I'd get past the gate in the first place, and no Howell has set foot in that house since Dilys died there. Davies wouldn't let me in even if I wanted to go, which I don't.'

'I'm sorry, I didn't realize,' she said, seeking to cover her mistake, and was relieved to feel Owen's hand reassuringly on her arm.

'If you'll excuse us, Alun,' he said quietly in contrast to the other's loud and blustering tone, ‘I think we'll take our drinks outside, shall we, Helen?'

Helen nodded dumbly, avoiding the look in Alun Howell's eyes as he watched them go. 'Please,' she said.

‘I'm sorry about that, Helen. I thought Howell was still away or I wouldn't have let you in for that.' They seated themselves on a long wooden bench under the window of the bar they had just left. ‘I really am sorry.'

'Oh, please don't be,' she smiled a little uncertainly. ‘It was my fault for issuing the invitation; I can't think why I did such a thing when I know Mr Davies dislikes visitors to Glyntarrach, especially when he's working as he is at the moment. I should have known better.'

'I didn't think he'd be—' He stopped, obviously having said more than he intended, and she looked at him curiously.

'You said that you thought he'd still be away,' she said. ‘Has he been away, then?'

He looked down at the drink he held in his hand and frowned slightly. 'Yes,' he said at last, and obviously intended to say no more, so she let the matter drop. She sat for a moment gazing out over the open valley, trying to fit in the idea of a woman of Howell's type with her knowledge of Evan Davies, and failed. There was so much that was different. There was a coarseness about Howell both in speech and manner that she could not match with Evan Davies' more refined character, even discounting his rudeness to her at times.

‘Is he really Emlyn's uncle?' she asked, and he nodded with a wry smile.

'Oh, yes, it's quite true, though they see very little of each other, as you can imagine.'

'But he's so—so different,' she said, remembering the broad, coarse features and the lilting accent made harsh by the loud voice, so utterly unlike the Davies' fineboned features and cultured speech. Owen arched his brows in no doubt as to her meaning.

‘Class is a dirty word these days, isn't it?' he said dryly. 'But there are times when it's the only applicable one.' He eyed her speculatively for a moment as if in doubt about something he was about to say. ‘Has my uncle told you anything about the Davies?' he asked at last, and Helen shook her head.

‘Nothing,' she said, and eyed him uncertainly. 'Perhaps he thinks it isn't necessary for me to know. He is a friend of Evan's and if it's family business I have no real right to know.'

He smiled at her. 'All I can tell you, my dear Helen, is common knowledge,' he told her. 'Anyone of those men in there could tell you as much, so I won't be letting out any secrets.'

'And Ev—Mr Davies wouldn't object?' She did not know why that should matter so much, but somehow it did, and she sought his reassurance.

'Evan probably thinks you know already,' he said, taking up her use of the Christian name and teasing her about it with a smile. 'It's the reason he puts up that prickly barrier around himself, so it won't make any difference if I tell you; not to Evan Davies anyway.' He looked at her for a moment in silence, then smiled at her again. 'You quite like him, don't you, despite everything?'

Helen looked startled and shook her head a moment later to dispel the impression. 'I don't dislike him,' she said slowly, 'which is just as well, as I have to see him quite often and we're in each other's company every evening, or most evenings anyway.'

'And familiarity hasn't yet bred contempt?' he asked.

'No! Of course not,' she denied with every appearance of indignation at the idea. 'I don't think I could ever do that.'

CHAPTER IV

'All this land belonged to the Davies at one time,' Owen said, including the quarries that scarred the nearest valley, in the sweep of his hand. 'There used to be quite a few quarries worked at one time but there's only the one now and it's still owned by them. That didn't make them any more popular, of course, with the village people.' She heard about the past feuds and the resentment felt by the village folk for the 'outsiders’, the resentment that was only now dying out, but which had been fanned briefly again into life by the marriage of Evan Davies and Dilys Howell.

In the old days the house of Glyntarrach had by tradition been staffed by the women of the Howell family; it was a thing passed on for generations in the days when the house was well staffed, before it became necessary to employ only a housekeeper and a daily woman apart from the ground staff to keep the gardens in trim. Dilys Howell had come to Glyntarrach at fourteen, following her mother in the way that had always been and during the next two years had grown into a delicately beautiful girl that Evan Davies could scarcely pretend not to notice.

The Davies family had been more than a little dubious about the marriage, but they had eventually succumbed to the pressure of the Howell family and to the combined persuasion of Dilys herself and of young Evan who was, even then, accustomed to having his own way. At sixteen they were an extremely youthful and attractive pair, but their difference in upbringing had caused more than heads to shake in the village. They had quarrelled often and then made it up again, but the outcome had been only as the suspicious villagers expected.

Helen's heart leapt as she waited to hear heaven knew what about Evan Davies' wife and she looked at Owen anxiously until he continued. 'Was she very lovely?' she asked, her desire to know prompted by some strange feeling she did not altogether understand.

'So I've been told,' Owen said, watching her surreptitiously as he spoke. ‘Uncle David knew her, of course, and he says so, but I was only nine years old at the time so pretty girls didn't mean a thing to me. Uncle David says she was a real beauty.'

'Was? She's dead?' She had been half expecting to hear that she was dead, but just the same it gave her an odd feeling of finality.

'She died when Emlyn was born,' he said. ‘You remember I told you on the train that there was something of a kerfuffle when it happened—well, I checked with my uncle and he confirms what I remembered. You see the elder Davies, Evan's mother and father were away somewhere that day and there was only the housekeeper and the two young people there. Not Mrs Beeley, the woman before her, an aunt of Dilys’s. Seemingly Dilys was very fond of climbing up to the seat on Glyneath—there's a fabulous view from the other side of the mountain, you know, about thirty or forty feet up.' Helen remembered the way the path up the mountainside curved away round a comer and out of sight and she nodded. 'Well, there's a small sort of plateau place, with a rock seat that's quite big enough and comfortable enough to sit on. I've been up there several times myself, it's well worth the climb, and it gives one an oddly elated sensation. Well anyway, as I was saying, Dilys Davies decided that she was going up there this day and though Evan tried to stop her, she insisted, and they had one of their inevitable quarrels and she went off. Heaven knows how long she was up there, no one seems to know exactly, but when she came down she was in a pretty bad way and they had to send for my uncle.'

'She died,' Helen said softly, feeling sympathy for the child who had taken such a risk to see a favourite view.

Owen spread his hands at the inevitability of it. 'He managed to save the baby, but poor, silly little Dilys died.'

'It's terribly sad,' Helen said, her blue eyes soft with pity for the two young people for whom life had gone so wrong, so early. She thought of the dark, brooding face of Evan Davies and wondered how much he blamed himself through all the years that followed. She tried to picture him as a sixteen-year-old boy, bewildered and probably frightened by the turn of events. ‘Poor Evan.' The expression was unconscious and Owen, in his understanding, feigned not to notice it.

'The Howells have never forgiven the Davies,' he said, 'although it was they who urged the wedding should take place. They've never made any actual trouble over it, but there were some nasty rumours for a while and in the old days they would probably have demanded blood in revenge; now they're content to stay away from them.'

‘Does Emlyn ever see any of them?’ she asked. 'They are his relations, after all.'

He shrugged. 'He may,' he said, 'but he wouldn’t say anything to his father if he did.'

‘And the grandparents are dead too?’ she asked, and he nodded.

'Mrs Davies died when Emlyn was about four, I think, and the old man died only a year or so afterwards. He was much older than she was, so my uncle says, and he never got over her death. She was killed in a crash.' He looked at her steadily for a moment while she pondered on the story he had just told her.

'My uncle says you look rather like her,' he said suddenly, and laughed. 'And that’s a compliment, because I rather gather that Uncle David had his eye on Margaret Jenkins himself before Clifford Davies married her.’

'Is that why your uncle is a bachelor?’ she asked, glad to rid herself of the somewhat overpowering sadness of the Davies story and turn to lighter things. 'He was crossed in love?’

'I think so,' Owen said with a smile. ‘Anyway, Uncle David is like me, he believed in loving them all a little.’

'A very wise decision,’ Helen said solemnly but with a glint of laughter in her eyes.

'At least that was my moral,' he said with his eyes on her face and a gleam of something like laughter in his gaze. 'I may have cause to change my mind before long.' He put down his empty glass on the table and, resting his chin on his hands, smiled at her. 'What shall we do tomorrow, Nurse Gaynor?'

'Tomorrow,' she told him with mock solemnity, 'I shall be looking after my patient,' and he pulled a wry face at the information.

‘Yes, I suppose you must,' he allowed, ‘though you've only had one day off this week and you should have three. You see,' he added with a laugh, 'I said I'd keep an eye on you, and I am.'

'I can scarcely claim to be overworked,' Helen protested, 'and I really don't mind staying with Emlyn, although I've been informed that I'm not to do it any more.' She pulled a face.

‘Evan?' he queried, and she nodded. 'Then he's got more sense than I gave him credit for.'

‘I rather think it was because I'd disobeyed orders than that I wasn't getting enough free time,' she said, and a moment later regretted having said it, shaking her head and smiling ruefully. 'No, that's not strictly true really. I'm being unfair.'

‘But you will come out with me again?' he asked. Helen nodded. 'I'd love to, Owen, thank you, I've had a lovely time this afternoon; I don't remember when I enjoyed anything so much for years.'

‘Good. Then we'll repeat the dose as Uncle David advised, even if we have to wait until next week for another free afternoon.'

‘We shall have to,' she told him. 'I'm not off again this week. I really should be getting back,' she added with a quick, guilty glance at her wristwatch. 'It's later than I intended.' They were almost back to Glyntarrach along the rough made road when a large grey Jaguar car swept past them, the driver raising one hand briefly in thanks as they moved over to make room for him. Helen was sure she recognized the black head and dark profile of the driver in the fleeting glimpse she had of him, and Owen’s next words confirmed it.

'Your boss,' he said cryptically, and Helen frowned.

'He was going rather fast for the state of the road, wasn’t he?’ she said, remembering not only the way his mother had died but also his condemnation of Tracey Owen. 'It could be dangerous.'

'He’s a very good driver,' said Owen, 'and it’s unlikely he’d meet anything along here.'

'He met us,’ Helen retorted, and he laughed.

'I’m wondering if you’re going to tell him what you think of his driving when you get back,’ he said. 'You sound as if you might.’

It was only a few minutes later that Owen stopped the car at the gates of Glyntarrach and came round to open her door and assist her from the rather low seat. She smiled her gratitude, brushing back her windblown hair from her face which was flushed with wind and sun to a golden pink which was most attractive. She smiled up at him as he helped her from the car. 'I’ve had a wonderful time, Owen, thank you.’

'I wish I could see you again tomorrow,’ he told her regretfully. ‘I suppose there’s no chance?’

She shook her head, her eyes glistening with laughter. ‘Not a chance,’ she assured him.

'Oh, well—’ he sighed. 'Next week, then, if that's the soonest you can manage.'

'It is,’ she promised. ‘Much as I’d like to.'

‘I’d like to take you to Caderglynn,' he told her after a moment’s thought. 'I’m sure you’d like it.’

‘Caderglynn?’ she asked, tilting her head curiously. 'Who or where is Caderglynn ? Something very special?'

'In a way,' he admitted. ‘Caderglynn itself is a mountain, in fact, but it’s very lovely country all round there and there's something I’d like you to see if it happens to be going on when we get there.’

'If that’s grammatical it sounds very interesting,' she laughed, ‘and I'm very intrigued.’

'Good,’ he grinned. 'Perhaps it will encourage you to ask your dark master for another half day tomorrow.'

' I don't think I shall do that,' she demurred with a smile, ^# but it would have been nice.'

'We'll take a picnic when we do go,' he told her, 'and sit and soak up lots of sunshine and fresh air and perhaps clear the cobwebs a bit, it would do us both good.'

'It's a wonderful idea,' she agreed, and glanced down at her wristwatch. 'Now I really must go, Owen, or Mr Davies will wonder where I've got to especially as he passed us along the road, if I'm too long he'll get quite the wrong ideas about me.'

He smiled at her, his grey eyes sparkling mischief. 'If he's going to have ideas like that,' he said, 'he'd better have something to base them on,' and before she realized his intention he bent his head and kissed her gently on her forehead. 'Goodbye, Helen. If you don't ring me to say that you've tackled Evan for another day off tomorrow, I'll be in touch with you.'

‘I won't have,' she laughed. 'I wouldn't dare!' She watched him turn the little car round and waved him off as he roared down the rough road back to Glyneath, then turned, rather regretfully, to walk up to the house. There was no sign of Evan Davies when she arrived, but the grey car still stood on the drive, waiting, she supposed, for Dai Hughes or one of the garden staff to put it away.

When she passed Emlyn's room he called out to her and she went in to him. 'Have you had a good time?' he asked, his gaze on her shining eyes and wind-tossed hair, and the unaccustomed glow in her cheeks.

'Lovely, thanks, Emlyn. Have you enjoyed your book?' She noticed that it lay either finished or unread on the bedside table.

‘It was O.K.,' he allowed. 'Evan came up and talked to me for a while before he went out and Dai was up here for a couple of hours with me, so I haven't been too bad.' He looked at the brief summer frock that she wore and smiled. 'I wish you'd dress like that for me,' he said, 'instead of that stuffy old uniform. You look good enough to eat, and that colour suits you.'

She dipped him a mock curtsy. 'Thank you, kind sir. Now if you're ready, I'll give you your injection, then get your dinner before I change. Are you hungry? '

He grinned at her. 'Yes, but not for being spoon fed,' he retorted. 'Thank goodness I'll be able to sit up a bit next week, then I can feed myself.'

'You've done very well,' she allowed with a smile, 'and that's because you've co-operated with the exercises and not tried to skip doing them.'

'I have done rather well, haven't I ?' he said, obviously gratified at her praise, 'although I say it.'

'At this rate,' she assured him, 'it won't be long before Doctor Neath lets you get out of bed for a short spell and you'll soon be on your feet.' His smile of anticipation caused her a moment's heart-tugging sympathy as she looked at the dark young face and glistening eyes. Emlyn desired nothing in the world so much as to be a whole man again and she realized what these last weeks must have cost him. 'You've been a model patient,' she added softly.

Evan Davies greeted her with surprising and unexpected cordiality when she went down to dinner and she wondered how much his improved manner towards her was due to his trip that afternoon. About that trip she was curious, she admitted to herself, but she quelled the curiosity hastily. It was really no affair of hers what Evan Davies chose to do with his time. He looked up as she came into the room and she could have sworn that a trace of a smile touched the straight set of his mouth for a moment.

'Did you enjoy your afternoon?' he asked.

She smiled and nodded. 'Very much, thank you,' she said. 'The scenery is unbelievably lovely round here, isn't it?'

'You've never been to Wales before?' he asked and, when she shook her head, 'it's very different from your part of the world, isn't it?'

'Do you know my part of the world?' she asked, not knowing quite why it should surprise her that he knew her home county—after all, it was possible that he was a man who had travelled a good deal and he would certainly have been to the south of England at some time if he had.

'I have been through on my way to London once or twice,' he acknowledged. 'You haven't travelled much, have you?'

'No,' she admitted, 'I haven't. I've never had much time, I'm afraid, my outlook has become rather restricted I suppose from the point of view of knowing the country. Anyway, I intend to make up in part for it, while I'm here. I'm hoping to do some walking before I leave.'

'Not alone, I hope,' he said, frowning at the idea. 'It's rather dangerous for a girl on her own, especially when you're not used to the country.'

'So I believe,' she told him, 'but Mr Neath has promised to act as guide, so I shall be in safe hands.'

His answering 'Hmm' was non-committal, but at least he had been more human than previously and dinner was far less of an ordeal than it had yet been since her arrival. Mrs Beeley had left their coffee and gone back to her kitchen and now was the time that Helen usually dreaded most. When she must either sit in almost silence with him or go out of the room on some excuse which was what she usually did. She was about to make her customary excuses when he flicked her a speculative look as he drew the ancient briar he smoked into life.

'I've spoken to Emlyn about your time off,' he told her without preliminary. 'You've been giving too many of your afternoons to staying with him, and in future you will please make sure that you take all the time due to you.'

'Oh, I don't mind,' she started to say, 'I don't—'

'But I do, Miss Gaynor, and I employ you, not my son; you will in future comply with my wishes in the matter and take your free time whether Emlyn asks you to stay with him or not, do you understand?'

She flushed at the overbearing arrogance of the words and of his tone of voice. The good humour, as she had feared, was too good to last.

‘He’s made very good progress in the last three weeks,' she said, trying to steady her voice which wavered and threatened to betray her rising anger. ‘I’m very pleased with him, and so is Doctor Neath.'

For a moment he made no reply, his features partially concealed behind the screen of smoke he was creating between them. 'Did you know that my son imagines himself to be in love with you?' he asked, and the unexpectedness of it deprived her of speech. ‘Did you know?' he repeated impatiently.

'No,' she managed at last in as quiet a voice as she could command. 'But it's not very unusual, Mr Davies, lots of patients fall in love with their nurses, or they think they do; a return to normality usually puts an end to it.'

'I see.' He sounded unconvinced. 'So you don’t intend to take advantage of the situation?'

‘Take advantage of it?’ She looked at him uncomprehendingly. 'I don’t quite understand you.'

The smoke-screen grew thicker as he sought to hide himself behind it. ‘Of course you do. It must be quite a temptation to a young nurse in a situation like this when a wealthy patient falls in love with her, is to all intents dependent on her.' He did not meet her angry eyes and was intent instead of the correct drawing of the pipe. 'A hasty marriage could mean a great deal of difference to her.'

Helen stared at him, not quite believing what she heard, her cheeks flushed with a strange mixture of temper and embarrassment. 'I can’t answer for other women in my profession, Mr Davies, but personally I would look for a great deal more than unlimited wealth when I looked for a husband, and in the circumstances I find your remark in extremely bad taste!’ She knew that she was very near to tears and the thought of crying in front of him did not bear thinking about. She got up from the table slowly, her hands trembling with the anger and humiliation she felt, her eyes unbelievably blue and shiny with unshed tears. 'If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see if there’s anything: my patient needs before I so for a walk.' He rose as she made her own move and as she reached the door she heard him draw breath as if he would have spoken, but he said not a word before she opened it and closed it quietly behind her. She stood for a moment or two on the far side recovering her composure, unable to grasp the enormity of what he had suggested, and Emlyn' s call as she passed his room only served to remind her.

If he noticed her heightened colour and the betraying brightness of her eyes, he' made no immediate comment on it, but smiled a welcome as he always did. She looked at him for a moment trying to understand what had made him make that unfortunate profession of love for her to his father; he must have known that it would annoy the other man and probably cause trouble for her as a consequence.

'You're very quiet,' he ventured after a few moments. 'Is there something wrong, Helen?'

She shook her head, tidying things in the room that had no real need to be tidied—anything to keep her from thinking about the man downstairs and the accusation he had levelled at her, however obliquely. 'I'm all right,' she said. 'What do you want to do this evening?' He raised a hand and signalled her to come over to him and when she did he took her two hands in his own and lay looking up at her with a strange intense look that she had not seen before and which made her uneasy.

'Something is wrong,' he said quietly. 'What is it, Helen, please tell me.'

‘There's nothing to tell you,' she denied. ‘Now please let go of my hands, Emlyn.'

For answer he tightened his grip and pulled gently at her hands to try and make her look at him.

'I told Evan I was in love with you,' he said softly, and she looked at him then, only to avert her gaze swiftly when she saw the expression in his eyes.

'He told me,' she said. 'What on earth made you do it, Emlyn?'

'Because it's true,' he answered simply. 'I do love you.'

'It's not true,' she denied, disengaging her hands so that she could move away from him and not have to see that oddly pathetic look in his eyes. 'It's a thing that happens sometimes with nurses and patients. It isn't the real thing, Emlyn, it will all seem different when you're up and around again; believe me, it will.'

'It won't,' he said determinedly, his chin set at the obstinate angle she was beginning to know so well. 'I love you, Helen, and as soon as I'm fit and well again I'm going to ask you to marry me.'

'No!' She almost shouted the word at him and he blinked his surprise. 'You'll do no such thing,' she told him more quietly, 'and I wish you hadn't mentioned it to your father. It was most embarrassing.'

He frowned. 'He shouldn't have said anything to you about it,' he said. 'It was not his place to.'

'It was his place to protect you from a designing woman who had an eye to the main chance,' she retorted, hating herself for speaking as she was but at the same time wanting him to know the harm he had done. She saw his look of surprise and guessed that the consequences of what he had done were only now becoming clear to him.

'Is that what he thinks? Did he actually accuse you of trying to—' He laughed shortly in disbelief. 'I don't believe it; he can't be serious, Helen. Evan wouldn't say that to you.'

'Not in so many words,' she admitted, 'but it's what he thinks, Emlyn, and if you insist on going on with this nonsense he'll be certain he's right.'

'It is not nonsense,' he protested. 'I love you. There can't be any doubt about it, not as far as I'm concerned, anyway.'

'I'd rather you didn't talk about it, either to me or to anyone else.' She was aware that he was watching her, though his eyes appeared to be closed because of the position he was in.

'Is there any reason why I shouldn't love you?' he asked. 'You're not married or anything, are you?'

'No, of course not.'

'There's no “of course not ” about it,' he declared. 'You're a very beautiful girl and I'm surprised you're not married before now.' He saw her face and the sadness in her eyes and remembered. 'I'm sorry, Helen. Your father—I forgot, you nursed him for several years, didn't you?' She nodded silently, standing by the window looking out at the over-shadowing mountain, vastly dark and gloomy in the late sun. 'Then if you're not married what other reason is there for my not loving you?'

She turned from the window and smiled ruefully at his determined expression which he maintained despite the difficulty of his position. 'I can think of several,' she told him, 'and the first one is purely logical. I don't believe it's possible to fall in love with someone in three weeks.'

'It is,' he assured her. 'Try again.'

'Secondly I'm several years older than you are—have you thought of that?'

He dismissed the argument with an airy hand. 'Pooh! I'm twenty-one and quite capable of knowing my own mind.'

'And I'm almost twenty-seven,' she pointed out quietly, 'and I know my own mind too, Emlyn.' He looked at her then with a glimmer of doubt in his eyes and for the first time he sounded uncertain when he spoke.

'You don't feel the same way about me?'

She looked down at her hands, unable to meet his eyes.

'No, I don't,' she said. 'Now please, Emlyn, don't say any more about it; I'd much rather you didn't.'

For a moment he was silent. 'Very well,' he agreed at last, 'but don't think I shall give up altogether, will you? I shall remind you from time to time and maybe you'll change your mind about me.' He grinned irrepressibly. 'I'm quite a good-looking feller when I'm on my feet, you know.'

'I'm sure you are,' she smiled, unable to stay in her serious mood for very long when he insisted on being so amusing even if it was just another way of getting his own way.

'And I'm sorry I told Evan about how I feel,' he said, 'but I just had to tell somebody when it suddenly came to me that I was jealous that you were meeting Owen Neath. Was he very nasty about it to you?'

‘Not really,' she admitted, 'but it was an impulsive and rather unfair thing to do, especially as you had given me no warning. His reaction was natural enough, I suppose, in the circumstances.'

‘Poor Helen, I'm very sorry about it, honestly.'

'There's another thing too,' she said, while on the subject of her sins, at least sins in the eyes of Evan Davies. 'I am not to spend any more of my free time with you.'

'Did you get told off about that, too?' he asked, and she nodded.

‘I'm to take my free afternoons, so you won't be able to inveigle me into staying with you when I should be out, not any more.'

He looked at her from under a frown reminiscent of his father's. 'I didn't expect to while Owen Neath is here,' he retorted. 'After all, I'm not very strong competition for a man on his own two feet, am I?' His self-pity was unusual enough to evoke her sympathy, although she realized it was just another way of winning her over to his side, and she smiled at him reproachfully.

'You're not being very fair,' she said, ‘trying to play on my sympathy like that.'

'All's fair in love and war,' he told her wickedly, and grinned. 'Maybe I have an advantage over him there.'

'You certainly haven't,' she retorted, 'and I enjoy going out with Owen, so I don't see why I should feel guilty about it; I'm going out with him again on my next free day.'

His only reply was a speculative look that made her feel uneasy and another wide grin.

Her next free time was on the following Tuesday and she found herself looking forward to seeing Owen again, though whether it was because of his own personal charm or the thought of being made much of and being free for several hours she could not have said with certainty. It was not possible for her to have a morning free as Emlyn always exercised in the mornings and the programme was as regular as Doctor Neath had insisted. He was progressing well and could now spend some time partially propped up in bed, an advance that worked entirely in his favour since it made him less helpless and better able to reach out and claim her hands whenever she came within reach.

'Must you go out?' he pleaded when she looked in on him before going out to meet Owen on the Tuesday afternoon.

‘Yes, I must, Emlyn; you know what your father said about it, I expect he'll come and spend some time with you during the afternoon, and Dai will too if you ask him. Or would you like me to get him up here now, before I go out?' He shook his head, watching her as she laid out everything he would possibly need while she was gone. 'There you are,' she said. 'You should be all right now until I get back, and Mrs Beeley will get you anything you can't see there, don't try to reach for it yourself. Now, have you everything you need?'

He looked up at her, cool and lovely in a pale blue dress that flattered her eyes and her hair, and took her hands in his as he often did but with a different intention that she did not anticipate. His move was sudden and surprisingly strong for a man partially helpless as he pulled her across him until he could put his arms round her and when she tried to protest his mouth silenced her, holding her until she was breathless.

'Let me go!' she whispered angrily when she was able. 'Let me go, Emlyn! If you don't I can hurt you, you know, but I don't want to.' It would have been possible to get away from him, but only by pushing hard against him, and in his position it was not the wisest or the kindest thing to do. When he released her she straightened up, smoothing down her dress, brushing her hair from her flushed face and as she half turned, she saw from the corner of her eye, the bedroom door closing.

Emlyn looked sulkily triumphant as he looked at her; he obviously had no regrets for having behaved as he did, but was disappointed at her reaction. She realized that he too must have seen the movement that had caught her own eye for he was looking at the closed door curiously, as if he doubted what he had seen. 'Who was it?' he asked, and she shook her head.

'I—I don't know. Mrs Beeley perhaps.' She did not really believe that it held been the housekeeper withdrawing so silently, but the alternative was either Dai Hughes or Evan Davies, and the latter did not bear thinking about. Dai Hughes never came up here unless he was called and Mrs Beeley seldom did either, so it must have been Evan Davies.

'It could have been your father,' she said, voicing her thoughts, and he shrugged.

'Perhaps,' he agreed, as if it mattered little or not at all, Helen thought, and she flushed at the uncaring attitude.

‘You might have a little more consideration,' she said crossly. 'What on earth will Mr Davies think?'

‘That I love you?' he suggested, and added a little impatiently, ‘Oh, for heaven's sake, Helen, no one will blame you because I kissed you.' The irrepressible grin appeared again as she glared at him. 'No one will blame me either, certainly not Evan.'

‘He blames me for— Oh, never mind!' she said crossly. ‘I'm going out now before Owen thinks I'm not coming.' She went out without saying goodbye to him, fervently hoping that it had not been Evan Davies who had closed the door after witnessing Emlyn's unprecedented behaviour, for she would find it almost impossible to face him at dinner that evening if it had been.

There was no sign of anyone at all when Helen went downstairs and she breathed a sigh of relief, she had no desire to meet anyone at that moment, least of all her employer. There was one aspect of the affair that puzzled her, and that was why, if it had been Evan Davies at the door of Emlyn's room, he had not reacted to the scene in a more positive way. She would have expected him to be at least coldly angry, but his quiet withdrawal was out of character for the Evan Davies that she thought she knew. Perhaps he had been too stunned to do more at that moment, but would take it up with her when she returned that evening. It was possible, she supposed, that he would tell her to go and in the circumstances it might be the only solution.

She sighed as she opened the door and went down the steps. It could be very difficult for her, and Emlyn had very little consideration for her feelings considering his protestations of love for her. Unwillingly she remembered Tracey Owen and wondered just how deeply he had once imagined himself in love with the girl. He was a more complex character even than his father.

The afternoon was fine and clear and she felt some of her gloom disappear as she walked down the drive towards the gates where Owen waited. He bent his head and kissed her cheek in a way quite different from Emlyn's display earlier. 'Hello, I began to wonder if you were coming. '

'I'm sorry,' she apologized, 'but Emlyn was being a little difficult.'

He glanced at her thoughtfully as he climbed into his seat. 'Hmm. Well, it's a lovely day for a picnic, and you can forget Master Emlyn and his tantrums for a bit. Mrs Jay has seen to it that we don't go hungry.' He indicated a huge basket on the back seat of the car.

'You can see Mrs Jay's idea of a picnic for two.'

'Good heavens!' Helen laughed. 'There must be enough there to feed a regiment of people.'

He grinned good-humouredly. 'We'll manage, you wait and see. 'I always eat like a trooper when I've been in the open air.' They travelled at the same easy pace that they had before, fast enough to stir the heat laden air into a cooling breeze but not too fast for her to admire the scenery as they drove. He glanced at her once with a smile as they sped along. 'You don't find the sun too much?'

Helen shook her head. 'No, I revel in it, I'm a real sun-worshipper.'

He smiled. ‘I asked because I know that sometimes people with very fair skins like yours burn easily, and I should hate to spoil that lovely complexion.'

'It won't spoil,' she assured him with a smile for the flattery. 'I've even been known to go brown in time.'

'Gorgeous,' he said without looking at her. ‘A golden girl.' Once again she felt that delicious warm feeling of being flattered and appreciated, and it rid her of the last of her worry about Emlyn; she promptly forgot him. It was delightful to lay her head back on the ,seat of the car and let the sun warm her face and the wind toss her hair into a tumble of soft curls. Owen Neath, she decided, was very good for her; his admiration was gentle and sincere without being demanding as Emlyn's was. He would never grab at her as Emlyn had done earlier, nor sulk if her reaction was less than enthusiastic. She let the thought pass through her mind, then banished any further thought of Emlyn firmly.

'What are we going to see?' she asked.

He shook his head, smiling to himself. 'I'm not going to tell you in case it doesn't happen. I may have chosen the wrong time, but I don't think so.'

'But I may never know, if you are wrong,' she protested, ^€ and if you don't tell me I'll be in suspense for the rest of my life wondering what it was that I missed.'

Her protest and her dismay amused him and he laughed at her. 'If I'm wrong when we get there, then I'll tell you about it,' he promised, 'though it won't be the same as seeing it for yourself. How's that?'

'It's very intriguing and I can't wait to get there.'

'It won't be long now,' he said, smiling at her as she relaxed against the back of the seat, enjoying the sun and the wind, content to let things happen as they would, which was not as she had been for a long time.

The country they were going through was as lovely as anything they had seen the first time and was, if anything, more green and lush-looking. Sweeping meadows went right up the mountainsides, dotted with grazing sheep like moving specks of grubby cream against the green and grey. The sky was blue and hazy with the summer heat, but relieved by occasional wisps of cloud that drifted lazily about the highest points as if reluctant to leave.

'Happy ?'

She turned her head and looked at him her eyes filled with the peace and loveliness that she had been watching and for a moment she made no reply, just smiling lazily content. 'Mmm. It's wonderful.'

He smiled his satisfaction as she returned to her contemplation of the country, letting the peace and tranquility of it and the motion of the car soothe her into almost a trance and she felt sleepy.

'Is it far off?' she murmured in an effort to stay alert.

His mind had evidently followed her own into a dream, for he looked startled for a moment when she spoke. 'Is what far off?'

She laughed lazily. 'Where we're going,' she teased. 'Caderglynn, isn't it?'

'Oh, yes, Caderglynn. It's not far now, only a few minutes.'

She stirred her lazy mind into activity. ‘What does it mean, Owen? Caderglynn? I know it must mean something, Welsh names always do, don't they? Are you Welsh enough to know?'

'I am indeed,' he replied, laying stress on his usually almost non-existent accent. 'And most names mean something, not only the Welsh ones, they wouldn't have become names in the first place if they hadn't.'

She made a face at him. 'Of course,' she agreed, 'but I hadn't thought about it before. You're very knowledgeable, Mr Neath.'

'You can blame my upbringing,' he laughed. 'My mother makes a hobby of the study of names and their meanings. I was brought up on it.'

'Right, then tell me what Caderglynn means.'

'Cader means seat or chair if you prefer it, so it's quite simple really. Seat of Glynn, the same as Cader Idris, you've heard of that, of course?'

'Of course,' she echoed. 'And who or what was Glynn?'

'I don't know,' he admitted. 'Some historic character thought to be worthy of preservation, I suppose.'

'I'm glad you don't know,' she told him, laughing. 'That brings you down to my level.'

He grinned at her high spirits. 'Ah, but at least I know that he would have been a man from a valley, because Glyn means valley.'

'Oh, very clever,' she allowed, and added mischievously, 'Then why did he have a mountain named after him?'

He was silent for a moment, seeking some answer to her question. 'I suppose because even men from the valley need seats to sit on sometimes,' he said at last, and joined in her delighted laughter.

They swung round another bend in the tree-lined road and he pointed with one hand ahead of them. 'There!' he cried with such suddenness that she started. 'I wasn't wrong after all!'

She looked ahead as they approached a lake on their right and an open sweep of valley and mountain to their left. The lake was deep and clear with the sunlight glinting on the rippling surface, stirred by heaven knew what and sparkling as if it was lit from underneath. She was deaf for a moment with the silence when he stopped the engine and then gradually she could distinguish faint distant sounds—faint whistles and the soothing, sleepy sound of sheep baaing.

The valley to their left swept upwards to the mountainside, green and grey and dappled with shifting patterns of dots as hundreds of sheep moved slowly along, like a sea of grubby wool, weaving about and flowing across the face of the mountain, their movement seeming without purpose, ever-changing and patterned occasionally with a sudden dart in another direction only to be turned back again.

Near the top of the mass Helen could just make out a man and a dog, their combined efforts keeping the movement going, moving the woolly cloud along slowly but surely in the direction they were required to go. Further down another pair, man and dog, kept them moving, controlling the unthinking obedience of the mass moving them ever downwards to where another man and his dog sweated in the sun as they concentrated on the enormity of the task they were performing.

It could have been a moving picture from this distance, the haze of summer giving the whole scene a misty, unreal look as the black and white bodies of the dogs streaked swift and sure in answer to the whistles of the men and the sheep "in turn obeyed the crouching urgency of the dogs. The size of the flock dwarfed the six creatures who controlled it and made it seem unbelievable that they could hope to hold and guide the flowing tide of life that poured down the slope, slowly but inexorably.

Helen gazed at them with fascination. 'It's—it's fantastic!' she gasped, taking her gaze for a brief moment from the incredible sight, 'I would never have believed it was possible. What are they doing it for, Owen? There must be hundreds of sheep there.'

'Thousands,' he said, his own eyes fixed fascinatedly on the operation. 'They're rounding them up for shearing and they make a combined operation of it. Three shepherds, three dogs; it's quite a job.'

'It must be tremendous,' she agreed, turning back in time to see a hitch in the smooth working of the flock. 'Oh, dear, something seems to have gone wrong.' She narrowed her eyes against the brightness of the sun and could almost smell the dust that rose from the milling hooves as it added to the haze on the mountainside. She could see the six figures with amazing clarity considering the conditions and she noticed one of the dogs, standing beside his master during the temporary standstill, glance up at the man as if in question.

‘You watch the middle dog,' Owen told her, and even as he spoke the animal left the man he had been working with and came streaking down the side of the mountain at an incredible speed, towards the road.

'I never realized they could run so fast,' Helen gasped, her eyes fixed on the speeding dog. 'He looks as if he'll go head over heels in a minute!'

‘Not him,' Owen laughed. ‘He has the force of gravity helping him; don't you worry, he's done this before.'

'You've seen him do it before,' she said, 'I'm only a learner. Here he comes!' She watched the furry streak dash the last few yards to the road then, without looking to see if the way was clear, hurl himself straight across the road and into the lake with a splash that sent a glittering shower of drops into the air. He swam around in the cool water for a few seconds and then, as if he knew exactly how much time he had, he climbed out of the water pausing only to shake the moisture from his shaggy coat before he ran back up the way he had come.

Helen laughed delightedly, watching the disappearing streak of movement, going only a little slower than on the downward run; 'It's amazing,' she laughed. 'He just had a cool swim and went straight back. I'd never have believed it if I hadn't seen it.'

Owen smiled at her enthusiasm, happy to have pleased her. ‘Was it worth the journey?' he asked, knowing the answer full well.

‘It's wonderful,' she said, ‘and I wouldn't have missed it for anything. Can we stay a while, I'd like to watch them for a bit.'

'Of course, stay as long as you like; it's your outing, you enjoy it. It's a thing that's always fascinated me from the time I was a boy. Uncle David's been with me no end of times, it was his idea I should show it to you, in fact, so I'm glad you weren't disappointed.'

They 'watched for some time the slow, patient progress of men, dogs and sheep until their eyes hurt with the intensity of the sun and with concentration and Owen suggested that they drive further on to a small spinney at the road side that was ideally suited for picnicking. 'This is a pretty spot,' Helen remarked, looking about her, while Owen lifted the big basket from the back of the car. The sun barely penetrated the soft green arch of trees, but the ground was warm and smelled of loam and turf.

'I thought you'd approve,' he told her with a smile. 'I like this spot myself.' They set out their meal on the clean white cloth provided by the generous Mrs Jay and ate slowly and with enjoyment, talking when they felt inclined and at other times silent with their own thoughts. It was a peaceful and relaxing time and Helen made the most of it.

'I could stay here for ever,' she sighed, leaning back on her hands, her face already rosily warm from the combined efforts of wind and sun.

'And never return to the Davies stronghold?' Owen teased her gently. 'Do you regret coming to Glyneath, Helen, or to Glyntarrach, I should say?'

'No, I don't think so,' she decided, and felt that it was no more than the truth. There were times when she found the atmosphere at Glyntarrach almost unbearable and wished herself far away from it, but there were as many times when she felt a strange sort of attachment to the place.

He arched his brows in surprise. ‘You like it?'

'I'm not sure,' she confessed. 'Sometimes I feel as though I shall hate to leave when the time comes, and yet—'

He studied her for a moment thoughtfully. ‘My uncle, seems to think that Emlyn is—is very fond of you.' He avoided using the words 'in love with you' perhaps deliberately, and Helen flushed, wondering how much Emlyn had said about her to the old doctor. She hoped he had not been as candid with him as he had been with his father, but there was always the chance that he had been; with Emlyn there was no certain way of knowing. And just how seriously would the doctor have taken his profession of love? Looking at Owen she was grateful that she could talk to him without shyness or embarrassment; although she had met him only three times there was an air of easy friendliness about him that made it impossible to think of him as a stranger.

' Emlyn imagines that he's in love with me,' she said, looking at him from under her lashes to see how he reacted to the information, and to her relief he made no obvious show of surprise.

'It's not surprising,' he said quietly. 'You're with him a great deal and he relies on you for almost everything, he has to. ‘Also,' he added with a smile, 'you're a very lovely girl.'

'Thank you.' She plucked at the short, springy grass with uncaring fingers. 'But it isn't as simple as you make it sound. For one thing, I'm several years older than he is, and yet he persists in the idea that he is going to ask me to marry him when he's up and about again.'

'You could always say no,' he pointed out, 'couldn't you?'

She smiled, looking up at him apologetically. 'I'm sorry, Owen, I shouldn't be bothering you with my little worries, especially when we came out here to enjoy ourselves.'

'I started it,' he reminded her, 'and I don't mind in the least being your father confessor, Helen, though I assure you that my interest in you isn't in the least fatherly, either.' She met his gaze and found a warmth and admiration there that both pleased and unsettled her. ‘You are very lovely,' he said softly.

He must have seen the wariness in her eyes as she laughed in an attempt to steer the conversation into less compromising channels. 'I have no shortage of admirers since I've been here,' she said, hoping that she did not sound too flippant. Owen, she felt sure, would not have the same quickly changeable nature as Emlyn and she had as much as she could cope with at the moment without Owen becoming too serious. He looked at her regretfully.

‘I'm sorry, Helen, I wasn't trying to follow Emlyn's example, not at the moment anyway. You have enough to think about without me bothering you.'

'But you don't bother me,' she protested. 'You've been very kind and I like coming out with you.' She looked down at her fingers plucking the short grass from its roots. 'It's just that I don't want to become too involved with anyone at the moment.'

'Of course you don't,' he agreed, smiling his understanding. 'You need time to turn round and take stock of yourself and the rest of the world.' He glanced at his watch and pulled a face. 'I suppose we'd better go, or you'll be worrying about your patient otherwise, you're far too conscientious.'

'I'm sorry to have to leave this,' Helen sighed as they packed up their picnic remains and stowed them in the car. 'It's been such a lovely afternoon, hasn't it?'

'Marvellous,' he agreed. 'We must do it again, and soon. When is your next free afternoon?'

'On Thursday,' she laughed. 'But you don't have to give all your time to me, Owen, though I do appreciate it enormously.'

'I can't think of anyone I'd rather give all my time to,' he told her, 'as long as you don't mind being monopolised.'

They were quieter on the journey back to Glyneath and Helen hoped that he had not taken her rejection of his admiration to heart. They came in sight of the village from the top of a hill the other side from Glyntarrach and it appeared in the valley between the sweep of hills that dwarfed it, looking tiny and a little unreal in the hazy sun. As they ran down the last steep slope into the village the engine of the car gave an ominous cough and died. They had sufficient impetus to take them almost to the doctor's house, but a sharp comer prevented them going any further and Owen braked the car to a standstill with a sigh of dismay.

'Petrol?' Helen guessed. ‘It's a good job you're home.'

'No, it's the old trouble,' he said regretfully. 'I've only just had the wretched thing back from the garage, too. It just can't cope with these hills, that's the trouble.' He locked the car and turned to join her. 'Anyway, it got me home, but not you. I'll borrow Uncle David's buggy and run you up in that.'

'There's no need,' she protested. ‘I can walk, Owen. Your uncle may need his car in a hurry and I'm quite able to walk that far.'

'Oh, no you're not,' Owen insisted stubbornly. 'It's all uphill and it's no way to send a girl home from a day out by making her walk home. I'll soon run you home, don't worry.'

He would brook no argument as they walked the short distance to the doctor's house and as they approached they both noticed at the same moment the long sleek shape of a grey Jaguar standing on the cobbled road, looking opulently out of place in the street of little grey cottages. 'It looks as if Uncle David has company,' Owen commented, and Helen only nodded, the 'thought uppermost in her mind that perhaps she would let Owen take her home right away in the doctor's car.

Evan Davies rose from the chair he occupied, strictly proper as usual, when they came in, and his eyes noted the sun-flushed colour in Helen's cheeks and the way her hair had been tossed into curls by the speed of the drive. He shook hands with Owen and was unusually cordial, a welcome which Owen did not return in full.

'My wretched car died on me again,' he complained, 'just as we came to the long hill; I was going to ask if I could borrow yours, Uncle, to take Helen back to Glyntarrach. She insists she can walk, but I won't have any girl ending a day out with me by having to walk home.' He looked at their visitor, his grey eyes glinting wickedly, 'It might give quite the wrong impression.' If it was meant to draw him into some kind of argument it failed dismally, for he was perfectly polite when he spoke again.

'There's no need to either walk or borrow the doctor's car,' he said. 'I can take Miss Gaynor back with me, Owen. I was just leaving.'

If the idea displeased Owen he made an effort to conceal it, but did not altogether succeed, and the face he wore reminded Helen startlingly of her employer in one of his less affable moods. She had not realized until now how much nearer he was in age to Evan than to Emlyn, and the realization jolted her for a moment.

'It would be no trouble for me to take her,' Owen said, as if he doubted the truth of the statement about just leaving.

' There's really no need.' The other man was adamant and turned to Helen as if to clinch the matter. ‘When you're ready, Miss Gaynor.'

'Oh, yes, of course.' She found the black gaze as disconcerting ,as she always did. 'I'm ready now, Mr Davies, thank you.'

He nodded his satisfaction and said goodbye to the old doctor, shaking hands briefly with Owen.

'There's really no need to wait for Miss Gaynor at the gates, Owen,' he told him, and his look was a challenge that the other man found difficult to meet. 'Next time why not come up to the house for her?'

Owen looked at him steadily for a moment, then dropped his gaze. ‘Thanks, but I don't think I will,' he said, dismissing the invitation with less grace than Helen would have expected of him. 'Helen prefers it that way and I'm not averse to a little air of intrigue myself.'

Evan smiled as if the thought caused him some amusement. 'As you like,' he said.

'I'll see you on Thursday afternoon,' Owen told her quietly as they followed Doctor Neath and his visitor to the door and she nodded. 'Same time and place, right?' She nodded again, and smiled remembering his reference to intrigue. 'You do prefer it that way, don't you?' he asked. 'I can come up to the house as Evan suggests, if you'd rather.'

Helen shook her head. ‘I'd rather come down to the gates.'

‘As long as you come, I don't care either way,' he told her. 'Same place, then.'

‘I'll be there,' she promised. 'And thank you again for a lovely afternoon, Owen, I have enjoyed it.'

'You're more than welcome,' he told her. 'I only hope that wretched car is working again by then. If it isn't I'll let you know and you can put on your walking shoes and we'll explore on foot.'

"I'd love to,' she said. 'I want to do some walking over those hills; I'd also like to climb up to that seat on Glyneath one day, just to see that view you told me about.' For a moment she had forgotten in what connection he had mentioned it until she caught Evan Davies' eyes looking back at her and prayed that he had not overheard her words or guessed from what connection they stemmed.

Doctor Neath hugged her and planted a kiss on her cheek as he always did and Owen was no more restrained, not discouraged by the black-eyed gaze of her employer as he waited for her to get into the car. 'I'll see you on Thursday,' Owen promised, and she waved an acknowledging hand as the Jaguar moved away.

He drove, Helen could not help noticing, much less fast than he had gone when he flashed past them on this same road last week, and she remembered Owen's reference to the quality of his driving. Certainly he handled the powerful car easily and it was quite enjoyable to drive with him. 'I hope you enjoyed your outing,' he said suddenly, and she started almost guiltily because she had been thinking about him.

‘Yes, thank you,' she said at last. 'It was lovely.'

'Where did you go, may I ask?' His interest as much as his polite question surprised her.

‘To Caderglynn. Do you know it?' She glanced at the dark profile less stem and set than usual.

'I know it well,' he answered her, and turned briefly to catch her eye in one of those disconcerting looks that she had hoped to avoid. 'It's one of the things that I used to take Emlyn to see when he was small, he always enjoyed it.' It was the first time he had ever mentioned any connection with Emlyn's childhood and she wondered what had prompted him to do so now; perhaps something the old doctor had said had for the moment broken down that barrier that always stood between him and the world. Or perhaps it was just the mention of something he had almost forgotten. 'I wouldn’t mention to him where you've been if I were you,' he added. 'It doesn’t do to remind him too often of what he's missing on the outside.’

'I won’t,’ she promised, 'but there’s no reason why he can’t see it next year if he wants to, you know.’

‘I know,’ he acknowledged the possibility. 'Just the same, Miss Gaynor, he’s easily cast down and I’d rather you didn’t rub too much salt into the wound.’ She fell silent, wishing that there was a time when she could say something that he would not immediately misconstrue. Her eyes on the road ahead she felt as she often did in his presence, a little uneasy and rather inadequate. He really had no right to imply that she would tell Emlyn about the outing merely to upset him, making her out to be some sort of sadistic monster that enjoyed her patient's misery. The now familiar antagonism stirred in her as she glanced again at his profile; sometimes, she told herself, she almost hated him and she had never thought so strong an emotion to be part of her nature.

‘You like Owen Neath?' he said, and managed to make it sound like an accusation.

'I do,' she admitted, refraining with difficulty from adding that she considered it none of his business. For a moment he turned his head and looked at her.

'It's obvious he likes you too,’ he told her, again making it sound like an accusation, and the resentment she felt coloured her cheeks even more than the sun and wind had done.

'I hope he does,' she retorted, 'because I enjoy his company and I shall be seeing him again, for as long as he’s staying in Glyneath.'

'Then I wouldn’t let Emlyn know that either,' he said bluntly. 'Since he says he’s in love with you, it won’t help his recovery to know that you care as much for someone else as you do for him.'

She took a deep breath, determined to put him firmly in his place once and for all as far as her own affairs were concerned. 'I don't consider my private life is any concern of yours, Mr Davies, and since I am neither in love nor committed to Emlyn or Mr Neath I fail to see that I’m at fault anywhere.'

'I didn’t suggest that you were at fault,' he argued, 'but I've seen you kiss both my son and Owen Neath in one afternoon and I wouldn’t like Emlyn to know about it, if you don’t mind.’ So that was it, she thought. It had been him at Emlyn’s door just before she came out and he had seen this journey back to the house as a chance too opportune to miss. It was typical of him that he should automatically attribute all the blame to her and not to his son.

She clenched her hands in her lap and tried to stem the flood of words that would have made her position irretrievable. 'If you'd taken the trouble to be fair about any of this, you would have known that I wasn’t to blame for either incident,’ she said quietly, though her voice wavered just a fraction. 'You would have known that Emlyn took me unawares and that I had no part in it at all except to try and free myself without hurting him, and secondly I was kissed by Owen Neath, not the other way round as you said, also, in case that had escaped your notice, Doctor Neath kissed me too. In the first instance I objected strongly as you would have seen, had you waited a moment longer, and in the second two instances I saw no need to object since the gestures were merely friendly.’

‘Emlyn surprised you?’ He sounded as if he doubted it. 'How, may I ask? I was under the impression that he was practically helpless.’

'He has the full use of his arms and hands! 'Helen retorted. 'And now that he’s able to be propped upright more it gives him a great deal more freedom of movement, as I know to my cost.’ He digested this information in silence while he drove them along the drive and up to the house.

'I’m sorry,’ he said at last, and she saw from the set of his jaw that he disliked having to apologize to her. 'I hadn't realized that he was capable of so much movement yet.' For some reason which she found inexplicable, his apology, however grudging, turned her anger and she once again found herself making excuses for him.

'You couldn't know,' she said. 'He's made very good progress in the time; really remarkable, as I expect Doctor Neath has told you.'

He nodded. 'He also told me that you are his main incentive to get well, which makes you indispensable, Miss Gaynor.' The acknowledgement left her bereft of argument and she slid from her seat in the car with only a murmur of thanks when he held the door for her. The car was left as usual for someone else to put away and they crossed the width of the drive to the front door, Helen finding it difficult to match his stride so that she misjudged the distance from the first step and caught her toe against it. She would have fallen headlong but for the arm that went round her with surprising suddenness and held her tightly, the strong fingers curved round her waist, stopping her fall. She clutched at him wildly for a moment until she recovered her balance.

'Did you hurt your foot?' he asked, and she shook her head. She was still encircled by his arm and alarmingly conscious of the erratic way her heart was behaving which, she told herself, was utterly ridiculous.

'I'm all right,' she assured him, stooping to retrieve her shoe, and the supporting arm was withdrawn. She put on the shoe, tested its stability and smiled at him reassuringly, then followed him into the house. She would have gone straight to her room, but he turned in the doorway of the big room and spoke to her over his shoulder.

‘Are you going in to Emlyn?' She looked puzzled for a moment.

'I expect so,' she said, and smiled. 'He'll have heard us come in and I expect he'll call me if I don't go in.' She raised her eyebrows queryingly. 'Why, Mr Davies?'

For a moment he only looked at her and she thought he had changed his mind about whatever it was he had been going to say. 'Try not to let him know how little you care for him,' he said at last, and for a moment before he turned away she saw a plea in the black eyes which made her swallow hastily on the lump that rose in her throat.

'I'll try,' she promised, but he was already through the door and might not even have heard her. She continued on her way oddly touched by the appeal she had only briefly glimpsed and disturbingly conscious still of the remembered strength of his arm about her for those few moments, and then Emlyn's voice recalled her to reality.

'Helen, is that you?' She opened the bedroom door and went in, a smile already on her face and he beamed , his usual welcome when he saw her. 'Did you arrive with Evan?'

'Yes. He was at Doctor Neath's when Owen and I got back and he brought me home.' She made the automatic movements of tidying his bed and he stilled her hands impatiently with his strong grip which for a moment she made no effort to break.

‘Did he frighten you with the speed he goes?' he asked and looked surprised when she shook her head. 'He's a marvellous driver, of course, but he does scare some people because he goes so fast. Do you like speed?'

'I don't mind too much in the right conditions and with a good driver,' she admitted, 'but he drove much more slowly today than when he passed Owen and me along this road on Friday.'

He looked thoughtful for a moment. 'Ah, well, perhaps he didn't want to frighten you.' It was unlikely, Helen thought, that he would care one way or the other on that score, however—

She changed the subject, not wanting to commit herself on the intentions of Evan Davies at that moment. 'How have you been getting on this afternoon? Did you have Dai in to see you?'

'Dai came up for a while,' he said, 'but they were a bit busy or something and he didn't stop long. I've been on my own most of the time. Evan went down to see Doctor Neath. I think he wanted to talk about me with no chance of me overhearing what they said.' His grin was almost smug. ‘Where did you go?'

With Evan's warning in mind she hesitated. ‘Oh, just around for a ride, and now Owen's car has gone wrong again, so we shall probably have to walk next time.'

The familiar frown was gathering between his brows and he watched her as she came towards the bed. ‘There is going to be a next time, then?'

‘Of course,' she said. ‘And now I'm going to get your dinner and see you settled before I have mine.'

'Don't change the subject,' he said shortly, and sounded remarkably like his father so that she could not restrain a smile to herself.

'I intend changing the subject,' she told him quietly. ‘I've already told your father, Emlyn, that my private life is my own concern and neither of you has any right to interfere in it.'

For a moment his eyes widened incredulously. ‘You told Evan that?' He stared unbelievingly, then burst into laughter. 'You are a little lion-tamer, aren't you? No one tells Evan to mind his own business and gets away with it; didn't he sack you on the spot?'

'No, he didn't,' she said crossly.

'I'm not sorry, because I should have to tackle him on the subject of reinstating you and I'd as soon not have to. What else did you tell him?'

‘What else was there to tell him?' she countered, and added, rather unwisely she realized, too late, 'He said I was indispensable.'

He laughed again, his eyes bright as coals as he looked at her flushed face and wind-tossed hair.

'He's right, you know,' he told her, sobering suddenly. ‘You are indispensable to me. If you left me I should simply refuse to go on with the treatment and spend the rest of my life in this bed.'

'That's a stupid thing to say,' she told him shortly. 'Any other nurse could do as much for you as I do and you know it.'

'Oh, no, she couldn't. I wouldn't co-operate with any other nurse as I do with you. You're the reason I put up with that daily torture you inflict on me. I have to have a reason, you see, and you're it.'

‘That's silly,' she said, fearing that it might be all too true.

'It's nothing of the sort. Without you I have no incentive to get well, so you see you are indispensable. I intend to get well because I'm going to stand on my two feet one day and ask you to marry me.'

She sighed as if she found the subject tiresome and the frown gathered again.

‘I am going to fetch your dinner,' she told him determinedly, 'and we'll have no more of that talk, if you don't mind. First you have to learn to walk again; any other bridges we can cross when we get to them.' With that she set her chin at what she hoped was a determined angle and went downstairs for his dinner tray, aware as she left the room that his frown had deepened and he was prepared to argue if she but gave him the chance.

Her own dinner that evening she found rather less of an ordeal than it usually was because her companion was in a much better humour. Apparently a little straight talking could work wonders with the redoubtable Evan Davies; it was a point she would remember for future reference. Their talk, admittedly, was on general subjects and confined mostly to the country and the comparative virtues of England and Wales with regard to scenery, but it was the time after dinner that Helen always disliked most. Usually she left the table on some pretext, however slim, and spent the evening either in her room or in the garden, and she saw no use in altering her routine. If there was to be a change in the atmosphere between them it was as well not to be too ambitious at first.

The daylight was shortening already when she walked through the gardens and she was glad of the woollen coat she had thrown round her shoulders. She paused at the barrier hedge of roses before the footpath that curved round Glyneath and looked at it for a moment thoughtfully. It was well worn, no doubt with many generations of feet before hers, and it looked very inviting, curling away to the right and out of sight about forty or fifty feet up.

Her hesitation was brief and she started up the path, finding it steeper than she had anticipated and longer than it appeared from the garden. She had almost decided that she would go no further when she came to the curve in the path where it disappeared when seen from below. This was the place that Owen had told her about, where Dilys Davies had come on that fatal day so many years ago. Round this comer was the view that she had risked her life to see again, and Helen stood for a moment, breathless, one hand on the rock for support. If it could make a fit and unencumbered girl like herself out of breath, what would it have done to that child so near to having her baby?

She turned the comer warily, uncertain what she would find or what she expected to find, and found herself on a wide ledge which was, she supposed, Owen's 'small sort of plateau place and the natural stone seat stood there exactly as he had described it. It was getting into the golden dimness of evening and the sun bathed the whole valley in a mellow light giving it an added beauty which was breathtaking. Breathing heavily from the climb, she found the invitation of the seat was too much to resist, especially as the sun shone on it so enticingly. The wide rock looked almost like a throne in its majestic setting and she sat down cautiously on the sun-warmed stone. .

'Cader Helen,' she murmured to herself with a smile, and leaned back against the rock. She felt she could see the whole world from her throne; set out below her like a relief map in gold and green and grey, it was awe-inspiring but at the same time restful, and she lay back, relaxing luxuriously in the sun like a cat, enjoying the warmth on her face.

She had been there, thoroughly content to do nothing, for some twenty minutes, with no desire to return to the house until she was obliged to, when she heard her name called. She should have answered, she supposed, but she felt too lazy and comfortable to bother, so she merely turned her head in the direction of the sound.

‘Miss Gaynor!' There could be no mistaking the voice, and the sound of footsteps scrabbled on the path to her right, but she still made no response, only waited, her head half turned towards the bend in the path, a strange sort of serenity in her heart that she made no attempt to analyse. ‘Miss Gaynor! Helen!' It must have been her imagination that made her think she could detect anxiety in the call, but she had decided to answer when he turned the corner and was in front of her in the length of two strides, looking down at her with the familiar frown between his brows, his breath as laboured as her own had been after the climb.

'I was just going to answer,' she told him. 'I wasn't sure that you'd hear me before.'

'Of course I'd have heard you!' He sounded out of temper as well as out of breath and she sighed at the inevitability of it,

‘Then I'm sorry,' she said, and added, prompted by heaven knew what, 'Were you worried about me?'

The question seemed to take him by surprise and for a moment he just stared at her, half angry, half curious. ‘Yes, I was,' he admitted at last, and glowered at her darkly, obviously resenting the admission. 'Why did you come up here at all? I saw you from the window and you were so long gone; I've told you these hills aren't safe when you're not used to them.'

'It's not a hill, it's a mountain,' she argued childishly.

'It doesn't matter which it is, it's as easy to fall from one as the other.'

‘Mmm,' she agreed absently, and pulled herself reluctantly away from the embracing rock, sitting forward to look at the scene below, now growing a little hazy as the light dimmed.

She had no desire to pursue the argument and was determined not to have her pleasant state of mind disturbed by his arrival. 'This is a lovely place, isn't it?' she said softly, her eyes on the distant village with its doll-like houses and ribbon road threading between them, 'I'd never realized before just how alone it's possible to be on a mountainside, and so incredibly tranquil.'

'I'm sorry I disturbed your tranquillity,' he said, still ungracious, though he sounded a bit less out of humour than he had at first and she glanced at the darkness of his face, watching her before she rose from her seat and walked to the very edge of the path, looking down over the steep drop into the valley. It looked an awe-inspiring fall from here and for a brief, heart-stopping second her head spun dizzily and she put a hand to her forehead. She felt her arms gripped suddenly and painfully and she was pulled back hard against him so that she gasped for breath. He held her firmly for a second or so and she could feel the trembling of his hands on her arms and the frantic pounding of his heart as loud as her own. She turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder.

'What did you think I'd do? Fall over?' It was as if she had laughed in his face, for he hurriedly withdrew his support and stepped back, looking as embarrassed and awkward as a schoolboy. She stood for a moment wishing she had not been so ungracious about it, adding belatedly, 'Thank you.' She had felt her head spinning and it could have been dangerous, standing as she was on the very edge of the path. His action had been as quick and alert as when he had saved her from another fall earlier and she should have been grateful to him, not treated the matter as if it was of no importance.

'It's dangerous so near the edge,' he said, as if to explain himself, running a hand through his hair nervously. ‘If you're not used to it you could slip over, and you looked as if you were dizzy for a moment. I'm sorry if I startled you.'

‘No, please don't apologize,' she begged. 'It's I who should be sorry for being so ungrateful, I was a bit dizzy for a moment and I could have fallen. I'm sorry, and thank you.' She moved back to her rock seat again and looked up at him, dark and tall against the dying sun. 'Why did you follow me?' she asked curiously, and he moved to stand near her, one foot on the rock that formed the arms of her throne, watching her in that disconcerting way as if he knew what she was thinking.

'I've told you,' he said quietly, 'it's dangerous up here on your own when you don't know the place; you see what happened just now; if you'd been alone you'd probably have gone over.'

She shuddered. 'I know, and again I'm sorry I was so ungrateful when you've probably saved my life.'

He smiled, wryly she had to admit, but it was a smile. 'I wouldn't make it as dramatic as that,' he said, 'but I'm only glad I was here.'

'Oh, so am I,' she assured him, and added, 'especially as I'm indispensable to Emlyn's recovery.'

To her surprise he did not become angry as she expected him to and as he had a right to, she realized, but he leaned back against the rock beside her, his eyes on the scene below as he talked. 'Perhaps that wasn't a very flattering thing to say, but it does happen to be true; I'm sorry if you took exception to it.'

'I didn't really,' she admitted, 'and Emlyn agrees with you wholeheartedly, so he says. Anyway, I'm not indispensable. No one is, are they?'

'I don't know,' he confessed surprisingly. 'It's possible that to one particular person another is indispensable, as you are to Emlyn; he would never make so much effort to get well if it weren't for you, I'm certain of it.'

She shook her head, albeit rather uncertainly. 'I think Emlyn has too much desire to live normally again. He would make the effort whether I was here or not, but he may possibly make more fuss about it.'

'He's very fond of you, you know; I don't know that he's quite so much in love with you as he professes to be, but he is certainly fond of you.'

She nodded, looking down at her hands twined together in her lap, the fingers restless as she sought for words.

'He says he wants to marry me,' she said slowly. 'It was none of my doing and certainly not with my encouragement, but he insists that when he's on his feet again he'll ask me to marry him. I want you to know that, and I want you to understand that I had no intention of things happening the way they have.' It seemed very important that he should understand about her and Emlyn and not blame her for the situation as he had before. She could feel the black eyes watching her, though she did not look up.

'And will you marry him?' he asked quietly.

'No.' She shook her head. 'But I tried to tell him that and he won't listen and since you asked me not to let him know how little I cared for him, I thought it best not to be too adamant again for the present until he's well enough for it not to matter so much.'

'I'm grateful to you; he's very used to having his own way, I'm afraid, and it's probably my fault, I spoiled him as a child. Doctor Neath says I did, and he's right about most things.'

Helen smiled at the admission. 'He's a very wise man, but I'm sure you've nothing to reproach yourself with as far as Emlyn is concerned. He's a very nice boy.'

'Boy?' he echoed looking down at her curiously. 'Is that how you think of him, as a boy?'

She laughed, wondering why she had used that rather belittling way of referring to his son. 'l\suppose I do sometimes,' she admitted. 'It's not only that I'm several years older than Emlyn, but there's the difference in temperament.' She remembered Doctor Neath's reference to Emlyn's lack of responsibility and wondered if his father would take responsibility for that failing too.

'Emlyn can be erratic at times,' he admitted. 'It's his—' He stopped as if he found it difficult to go on and she looked up at him. The black eyes looked even more impenetrable in the evening light and she found it less difficult than usual to meet them. 'How much do you know about—about Emlyn's mother?'

The question was totally unexpected and she could find no hasty answer, but sought instead for something that would not make it sound as though she had pried into his family affairs from sheer curiosity. 'I only know that she died when Emlyn was born,' she said at last.

'And that she was only sixteen?'

'That too,' she said softly. 'It was very tragic, for both of you. I met Alun Howell,' she added by way of explanation, and he frowned.

‘Howell told you about Dilys?'

'Oh, no,' she said hastily. 'I was rather puzzled when he asked after Emlyn and claimed to be his uncle. I found it difficult to—to believe.' She looked at him to see how he was taking her explanation and to her relief saw no further signs of anger after that initial frown. 'It seemed so unlikely that there could be a relationship that Owen told me about—your wife. I had no intention of prying, it was just that Mr Howell seemed so— different.'

'It was inevitable that you would hear sooner or later while you stayed here.' He looked out across the now almost dark valley and she sensed an indefinable sadness about him that was more in keeping with the man who wrote the books she so admired than any other facet of his character she had yet seen.

'You did very well to bring Emlyn up as you did on your own,' she said softly. 'My father was left with me when I was only a schoolgirl and I know how difficult it can be for a man alone with a child to care for.'

He was silent for a moment. 'You miss your father a lot?' It was more statement than question, and she nodded.

'Yes, I do; but not quite so much now as at first. Doctor Neath was right about me coming here; about me getting away from all the places that reminded me of my father. I can talk about him now, whereas I couldn't when I first came here, not without an awful cold sensation every time he was mentioned. I used to feel sorry for myself.' She realized that this was the most she had ever said to him about her father, indeed more than she had said to anyone, and the fact that it was him she spoke to surprised her most of all.

She left her seat on the rock once more and stood beside him for a moment before walking almost to the edge of the path, more cautious this time, especially as the light was going fast now and the sun barely more than a disc on the horizon. 'It doesn't help to feel sorry for yourself, does it?' he asked, and she shook her head, smiling wryly.

'It doesn't help at all,' she admitted, 'but it doesn't stop people from doing it and I don't suppose it ever will.'

He left the support of the rock and moved to stand beside her. 'It's getting dark,' he said quietly, and led the way to the curve in the path that led downwards, less inviting in the almost dark and looking far more steep as they started down. He held out his hand to help her over the loose rock that crunched under their feet, his fingers firm and reassuring. 'We'd better go, it can be dangerous up here after dark.'

CHAPTER V

It was more dull next morning when Helen awoke, and she sighed; perhaps the weather had broken at last and they would have no more sunny days. It had been remarkably lovely almost all the time she had been at Glyntarrach and she had hoped that it would last for a while yet. She stretched lazily and lay for a moment pleasantly aware that she had no need to hurry. She turned her head and looked at the clock on the bedside table. Perhaps it was time she was getting up or her patient would be getting restless and anxious for his breakfast; his incapacity had done nothing to lessen his appetite.

While she dressed the sun at last showed itself and she smiled to herself. Perhaps it would be another nice day after all; the only trouble was that she would not be able to spend it in the sunshine with Owen Neath or even be able to go out on her own. Being a lady of leisure, she decided wryly, was an all too easily acquired taste.

She looked around the room as she dressed and thought how different it seemed to her now than it had when she first saw it. The dark green walls were still dim in the morning light, for the sun did not reach this side of the house until evening, but they seemed less gloomy and she loved the feel of the tapestry bedspread under her fingers when she awoke in the mornings. It had become something familiar and she would be sorry to leave it, she knew, when the time came for her to finish at Glyntarrach.

She finished dressing and spent a long time brushing her hair, not because of any conceit she had for its undoubted beauty but because the even, regular strokes of the brush had a soothing effect and it gave her time to think, even to daydream, and she felt unusually like daydreaming today. She wandered to the window, pulling the hard bristles through her hair. From here she could see the length of the garden at the front of the house and right down the drive to the big double gates at the end. The neat gravel drive was bordered with grass and flower beds and tall trees had been closely planted to screen the house, so many of them that they were almost a small wood.

She paused briefly in her brushing for a moment, her hand still holding the brush poised above her head. She was certain that she had seen a movement among the trees and yet she could not be sure. She watched for a moment and then shrugged away the idea. Even if she had seen a movement it did not mean that there was anything untoward about it; it was probably no more than Dai Hughes returning from some expedition of his own and making his entrance in this unorthodox way to avoid detection.

She was about to turn back with a smile at the thought when something caught her eye again and she stayed where she was, curious to know whether it was Dai Hughes or not. Definitely someone was moving among the tall ash trees along the left-hand side of the drive and there was something furtive about the movements. Whoever it was was trying to make quite sure that they were not seen. As she watched, a figure moved from the shelter of the trees and among the lower-growing shrubs that fronted them, but she was still unable to determine who it was or even whether it was male or female.

It was only a moment later that she saw for herself who the intruder was when she stepped on to the drive into full view, and Helen felt a surge of pity and apprehension when she recognized Tracey Owen. Even from here she could see the paleness of the young face and the dark rings that encircled her eyes, there was a look of desperation about her that was almost frightening. She put down her brush to go down to the girl; there was something very Wrong here that she felt needed her professional assistance, but even as she turned away her eye was caught by another movement and she saw Evan Davies stride into view from the direction of the house.

Helen drew her breath sharply as the girl flinched at the sight of him, almost as if he had struck her, indeed he looked very much as if he might for his face was clouded angrily with the all too familiar stubborn temper and the girl's desperate pallor seemed to affect him not at all. She could not hear the words that passed between them, only the murmur of voices, but she could sense the tension and anguish of the scene only too well.

She hesitated to go down now that he had appeared but she could not watch the girl's humiliation without raising a hand to help her; not that she for a moment suspected that Evan would use physical violence; that, she assured herself was out of the question. Suddenly and unexpectedly the girl darted towards the house, her flight evidently taking him by surprise for a moment or two, but before she disappeared from Helen's view, he caught up with her and gripped her wrists in a grip that must have hurt cruelly, pulling her to a standstill.

Helen could stand no more; she dropped the hairbrush on to the dressing table with a clatter and ran from the room. Straight down the stairs she went without pause and out of the open front door. The girl still struggled against the grip that held her and Helen could hear the low whimpering sound she made as she tried to free herself.

'No, Evan!' She ran to the girl, defying the black look of anger that he gave her when she appeared. 'Let her go!' He hesitated only a second before he obeyed, clenching his hands at his sides, his anger glittering at them both now, and Helen felt her courage waver in the face of it. Tracey Owen almost collapsed against her and she put a steadying arm around the thin shoulders comfortingly. ‘She needs a doctor,' she said quietly now that she had achieved her object. 'We must get Doctor Neath for her.'

'Why can't she just go away?' he said harshly. 'I don't want her in the house.'

She felt her own anger rise at the callousness of his words and faced him with her blue eyes blazing defiance, her arm still round the girl. 'If you won't have a sick girl in the house when she needs help,' she said scornfully, 'you might at least have enough compassion to have her taken home in the car. She's in no state to walk back to the village and she needs attention.'

For a moment he stood silently, then with one of his sudden movements he turned and went into the house. ‘Bring her in,' he called over his shoulder. 'I'll get Doctor Neath to come.'

Helen sighed her relief and even in the circumstances felt a certain pleasure that he had done as she asked. He was not, she felt sure, a callous man normally, and perhaps the sudden appearance of the girl had taken him so by surprise that he had not had time to realize how ill she was. He was using the telephone when Helen brought Tracey into the big sunny room and sat her in one of the armchairs, where she slumped wearily, her face streaked with tears.

When he came into the room he looked at the unhappy figure and there was something akin to pity on his face. 'I had no idea she was ill,' he said, and flicked a glance at Helen. 'Doctor Neath is on his way.'

'Thank you.' She felt anything else would be out of place at the moment and she put a comforting hand on the girl's forehead. Without a word he turned on his heel and went out with Tracey's blank, tearful gaze following him as if she failed to understand his sudden change. 'Tracey!' She looked down at the drawn, pale face, speaking the name softly and the dark eyes turned and looked up at her.

'You're the—nurse. Nurse—' she sought the name and failing to remember it, shook her head.

'Gaynor,' Helen supplied with a smile of encouragement. 'Helen Gaynor; we met a few weeks ago, you remember?'

The girl nodded. 'I have to know about Emlyn,' she said, her eyes searching Helen's face as if she doubted her kindness. 'Is he any better, he won't let me see him.'

'Mr Davies doesn't understand how much you worry about Emlyn,' Helen said gently. 'And you need not, you know. He's very much better and he'll be walking again before we know where we are.'

'Really ?' There was a flash of warmth in the blank eyes for a brief moment. 'I was worried, because of what I did to him.'

'You did nothing you can blame yourself for,' Helen told her firmly, 'and you mustn't worry about it.'

'But I do.' The voice sounded flat, as if all her reserves of energy had been spent, and there was a naive sincerity in the words when she added: 'I love him, you see.'

'I know,' Helen said gently, her pity plain in her eyes. 'But first we have to get you both well, that's the most important thing at the moment.'

The girl's dark head nodded agreement, though it was doubtful if she grasped the full meaning of the answer, and Helen vowed that she would do something to enable her to see Emlyn; whatever objections Evan made. It was inhuman to treat her in such a cavalier fashion.

Doctor Neath arrived full of cheerful optimism and Helen breathed a sigh of relief. He smiled at Helen and looked at the other girl with a frown of mock reproach. 'What are you doing out so early, Tracey? I haven't even had my breakfast yet.' He chattered to the girl while he administered a sedative and shook his head over her pale face and thinness. 'There's nothing of you,' he told her. 'I think we'd better have you into the hospital for a while and feed you up, get you looking like a cream and roses girl again, hmm?’

‘The hospital?' Tracey looked startled and glanced at Helen in appeal.

'It will be best,' Helen assured her gently. 'Just until you're better and Doctor Neath is satisfied that you're a cream and roses girl again.'

For a brief moment a trace of a smile lit the pale face and Helen realized how pretty she must be when she was not ill and on the edge of a nervous breakdown as she was now.

'Emlyn used to call me that,' she said softly.

'I know he did,' Doctor Neath smiled. 'I've heard him, but you don't look like one at the moment, so you'd better get well before he sees you again, hmm?'

She nodded, not happy with the thought of going into the hospital but consoled somewhat by the mention of seeing Emlyn again. There was no sign of Evan when they went out to the doctor's car, Tracey walking between them, already calmer and almost sleepy with the injection he had given her. Helen watched the car out of sight down the drive before turning back into the house, the memory of her bravado in defying Evan stirring uneasily in her mind as she climbed the steps. Perhaps this time she really had gone too far and she would find herself dismissed without compunction. The thought of leaving Glyntarrach gave her no pleasure, in fact she felt heavy-hearted at the prospect as she climbed the stairs again.

She put on her cap and looked at her reflection in the long mirror thoughtfully, then shrugged as she moved away. It was no use crying over spilt milk, but oddly enough she felt rather like crying and not in sympathy with Tracey Owen either.

Emlyn was curious when she went into his room.

'What was all the kerfuffle I heard?' he asked. 'It sounded like Evan tearing into somebody.'

‘Oh, it was soon over,' she said casually. 'Nothing to worry about.'

'Well, tell me,' he urged, and obviously had no intention of leaving the matter there.

'Someone came to see you.' She would try to keep the incident as brief as possible and not make too much of it. 'Evan—your father objected to her being here, she's gone now.'

The dark eyes searched her face, suspecting that there was more to the incident than she had told him. ‘Tracey?' he asked, and added with a wry smile, ‘I might have known she would come sooner or later.'

‘She's been asking after you all along,' Helen informed him, feeling that her defence of the girl was justified, 'but your father wouldn't let her into the house.'

He arched his brows in surprise. 'Wouldn't he?' he said. 'I always thought he looked upon Tracey as the best of the bunch in my girl-friends.'

‘She's a very nice girl,' Helen agreed, 'but your father blames her for the accident, and you know how stubborn he can be. He's determined that she shan't see you again.'

'Poor Tracey.' He looked thoughtful for a moment and glanced at her, still suspecting that he had not been told the full story. 'Who else was here? I thought I heard a car and Doctor Neath's voice, but it couldn't have been—could it, Helen?'

She might have known, she thought, that he would miss nothing, and she came and stood by his bed, taking his hand, trying to judge if it was a wise thing to tell him about Tracey or not. 'Yes, it was Doctor Neath,' she said. 'He came because your father rang him. Tracey has gone into hospital for a rest, Emlyn, she'll soon be all right but she's made herself ill worrying about you.'

‘Of all the— How bad is she, Helen?' His dark eyes were almost as anxious as Tracey's and he looked nearly as vulnerable, Helen thought, remembering her reference to him last night as a boy.

'She'll be O.K. after a rest,' Helen assured him. 'She's worried herself into a bit of a state and Doctor Neath thinks a rest will do her no harm.'

'Silly kid,' was his only comment, and she wondered how much compassion there was behind it. There could be a lot more heartache in store for Tracey Owen, she thought, if she continued to love Emlyn as much as she did now. Emlyn was too resilient to stay downhearted for long, no matter how he might have felt about Tracey, and a moment later he shook his head as if to rid himself of the picture he had conjured up and grinned at her, his eyes glistening with mischief. ‘I'm feeling in top form today,' he informed her, ‘and when am I going to get my breakfast? I'm hungry!'

So much for worrying about Emlyn Davies, Helen thought, smiling ruefully; he could still summon an appetite for his breakfast.

She was later having her own breakfast this morning and in consequence found herself sharing the meal with Evan and not Mrs Beeley as she usually did. He was standing in the window when she came into the room, as he had been the first time she had seen him. Feet apart, arms folded, the blue smoke from the pipe curling up round his head as he gazed out at the mountain; looking immovable somehow, like the mountain he admired so much. He turned when she came in and for a moment she bore the black-eyed scrutiny without speaking.

'I had to tell Emlyn about Tracey Owen,' she said at last. 'It was unavoidable, he heard the voices and he was curious, and I didn't think it was worth lying to him.' He made no answer, merely nodding, and she wished it was possible to guess what he was thinking behind that impenetrable gaze. 'If you want me to leave,' she added, 'I'm quite ready to.' It was not strictly true and she was perhaps anticipating something that could have been avoided had she kept silent, but she was feeling more nervous than she cared to admit now that she was face to face with him after the way she had spoken earlier.

For a moment he looked as if the question had not even occurred to him, his brows arched in query. 'Are you leaving?' he asked.

'I—I thought— If you want me to, of course.' She felt that she had started this conversation wrongly altogether. It had seemed so simple a thing, to give him the chance to dismiss her without too much fuss, and he had deliberately thrown the onus of the decision on to her. While she stood uncertainly he crossed from the window and stood in front of her.

'It's not up to me,' he said quietly. ‘I can't stop you going if you really want to, but I'd rather you stayed at least until Emlyn is well enough not to be affected by your going.'

'I see. I thought perhaps after—'

‘I imagine that you did what you thought was right,' he interrupted. 'Fm not blaming you, but I won't have that girl here again, please understand that.' .

'Not even if Emlyn wants to see her?' she asked, and he frowned.

'Has he said he wants to see her?'

'No,' she admitted, 'but he was worried when I told him that she had gone to hospital and I think he's quite fond of her.'

'Has she gone to hospital?' He looked surprised.

'Doctor Neath took her there. She's on the verge of a nervous breakdown from worrying about what happened to Emlyn. She loves him, you know.' What made her say that she could not imagine, unless it was to try and impress upon him the state of the girl's mind and how inhuman he had been to her, but there was no regret in his eyes, only a glint of stubbornness that matched the set of his jaw.

‘A childish infatuation,' he conceded. 'But it doesn't alter my decision; she can't come here again.'

'It should be Emlyn's decision,' she told him crossly, fast losing patience with his obstinacy, ‘not yours!'

He walked across to the fireplace and knocked out the ashes from the pipe while she followed his movements impatiently. 'As Emlyn declares undying love for you, it's hardly likely that he'll be asking to see Tracey Owen, is it?' He turned and looked at her as he spoke and she shook her head, forced to admit that it was unlikely indeed. His rather scathing reference to Emlyn's feelings for herself she resented bitterly as a deliberate attempt to provoke her.

‘I've already explained about the way Emlyn feels about me,' she said. 'It won't last, I know that, but Tracey loves him very deeply, it's made her ill worrying about him and I don't think she'll change her mind, ever.'

'Then I'm sorry for her,' he declared stubbornly, 'but it doesn't alter the fact that he's shown no inclination or desire to see her since his accident and he probably never will again.'

'He might, if you'd—'

'No!' He snapped the word at her, his eyes blazing angrily. 'I will not be argued with on the matter any more, Helen, now leave it!'

'Very well.' Her own submission surprised her no less than his use of her Christian name, though she doubted if he realized he had done so. She had to admit, but only to herself, that it was no concern of hers if he chose to bar Tracey Owen from his home; it was not her place to argue otherwise, but she wondered if a word with Doctor Neath would have any result. He usually listened to the old doctor, even admitted that he was usually right, so perhaps he could be persuaded to bring his influence to bear. There was more than one way to deal with Mr Evan Davies.

Conversation was almost non-existent at breakfast, and she longed for the more garrulous company of Mrs Beeley as usual, even though she would probably have had to listen to a tirade against Tracey Owen for daring to defy her employer. She ate little and rose to leave as soon as she politely could, anxious to get away from the silence that enveloped them. She had reached the door and was about to open it when he called her back. Standing in the centre of the room, the flame of a match held to the briar until the smoke wreathed about his face and hid his expression. She turned reluctantly to face him. ‘Yes, Mr Davies?'

She was conscious of his gaze fixed on her hair and wondered if her cap was awry, putting up a tentative hand to check. ‘Are you naturally golden-haired?' The description as much as the question made her stare at him. Most people referred to it as blonde, an adjective she disliked.

'Why—yes.' Her surprise was plain on her face and she could not resist adding: 'Why?'

'I thought it might have been red,' he answered blandly and, she felt sure, provokingly. ‘Your temperament suggests it.' She recalled Emlyn’s description of her as a 'lion-tamer 'and his expressed surprise 'that she had challenged Evan's authority and got away with it. Now Evan himself was making more or less the same suggestion, however obliquely.

'I'm sorry if you think I was rude,' she said quietly, restraining her impulse to be even ruder, only with difficulty. 'I'm not usually so—'

‘Fiery?' Again he gave her no time to finish the sentence. 'No, I don't imagine you are. Doctor Neath has described you as very sweet and gentle. I suppose he hasn't yet had the misfortune to cross your path.'

She flushed, wary of his sudden garrulity, uncertain of his motives. 'I can't think why the doctor can have called me that. I'm only normally even-tempered.'

'Hmm.' She could have sworn that it was amusement that glinted in his eyes behind the very convenient smoke-screen.

She hated the thought that he was laughing at her and sought to escape. 'If you'll excuse me,' she said, leaving the room and closing the door none too gently behind her.

Emlyn greeted her reappearance with flattering enthusiasm. 'Let's get the torture over and then we can talk,' he said. 'Or play cards. I'm in a winning mood today.'

'You always are!' she retorted. 'But we won't play cards. You can read that book I brought you last night.'

He looked taken aback at her refusal. 'Why not?' he demanded.

'Because I prefer not to,' she told him. 'When you've done your exercises you can rest for a bit. You get too excited when we play cards and it's not good for you.'

'I'm not a baby!' he retorted. 'Don't treat me like one, Helen!'

'You're a patient,' she said firmly, 'and as such you do as I think best.'

‘Oh?' She did not like the way he said that nor the oddly speculative look in his eyes as he watched her move about the room. 'You haven't by any chance been fighting with Evan, have you?'

She made no reply for a moment, ignoring the bright glint of mischief and curiosity that followed her. 'I am not in the habit of quarrelling with my employers, Now please be quiet while I get you ready. You can ring for Dai if you will.'

‘Plenty of time,' he said, a smile on his face. 'And you have been fighting, I can tell. You look very angry and very, very beautiful, and it's not likely that either Mrs Beeley or Dai can have made you that mad, so it must be Evan.' Seeing that he had not rung the bell for Dai Hughes she moved over to his bedside to do so herself and he lost no time in taking advantage of it. He grabbed her hands firmly in his own, his eyes glittering at her wickedly as she tried to free herself.

‘Emlyn, stop it!' She looked as angry as she sounded, but he merely pulled a face at her, tightening his grip. 'Let me go!'

‘It's much more fun being able to sit partly upright.' he told her, and pulled at her hands sharply so that she lost her balance and fell across the bed and into his arms. He held her tightly, as he had done before, but this time she managed to reach out a hand behind her and pushed hard at the bell-push to summon Dai Hughes. It would not have been too difficult to release herself, but in doing so she could have done him harm, for it was very easy to jar the injury and perhaps set him back quite a long way. She would not risk doing that.

‘Let me go, Emlyn, please,' she pleaded trying to push against the strength of his arms, while he sought her mouth to silence her protests. Determinedly she turned her head away, still struggling, and looked at the finger she still had on the bell push.

The sound of hurrying footsteps on the stairs and the realization of what had happened came as one horrifying revelation. It was not Dai Hughes coming in answer to her urgent ringing, it was Evan. In her confusion she had pushed the wrong button, and Emlyn, all unaware, still held her firmly, half lying, half sitting on the bed, her dress and her hair rumpled as she tried to avoid being kissed.

A moment later Evan came into the room, anxiety and curiosity plain on his face and Emlyn stared at him for a moment unbelievingly. He took only a second to realize what had been happening and Helen saw the chill of anger in his eyes. 'Stop it, damn you!' His voice, cold and angry, had the required effect and Emlyn released her almost as if he feared physical retribution.

‘I thought something was wrong.' He looked at her in such a way that she knew without being told that he laid the blame for the incident at least partly on her. 'Why did you ring the bell?'

'I touched the wrong bell. I'm sorry, I meant to call Dai Hughes.' She felt like running to her own room and hiding her face, though Emlyn was already recovering his composure and smiled at his father blandly.

'Spoilsport,' he told her. ‘You don't have to look so shocked, Evan. Good lord, I was only kissing the girl, wasn't I? At least I was trying to, only she was hoping Dai would come and rescue her. She was in such a state she rang the wrong bell, that's all.'

'That's quite enough,' Evan told him chillingly.

‘I'm quite aware that you can take advantage of Miss Gaynor even as you are, and if it happens again she'll be sent away.'

'Oh, no you don't!' Emlyn retorted, grinning at Helen standing by his father wishing she was miles away and had never seen Glyntarrach. There was something so horribly impersonal about the way he had threatened to send her away.

'I won't have you behaving like that,' Evan said, his voice hard, so that the younger man blinked at him in surprise as if he had never before heard it so unfriendly. 'You will either treat Miss Gaynor with respect and courtesy or I'll get someone better able to cope with you and less of a temptation as well.'

‘It was only fun,' Emlyn protested, running a hand through his dishevelled hair, but Evan was looking at Helen, her face flushed with anger and embarrassment, her eyes bright blue and sparkling with a mixture of temper and unshed tears. She hated them both at that moment.

'I don't think Miss Gaynor shares your view,' he said. 'Do you ?'

She raised her eyes and looked at him, prepared to finish with the problem once and for all but instead she shook her head.

'I—I suppose I should have known better than to be caught a second time,' she said slowly. 'It won't happen again, Mr Davies, I assure you.'

'I wish I could assure you.' He sounded less angry now and more regretful, not only for his son's behaviour but his own as well. 'Are you sure you can manage; you're all right now?'

'Yes, thank you, really.' She attempted a smile which somehow only succeeded in making her look more woebegone. He leaned across her and pushed the button that would summon Dai Hughes, and when he straightened up it was to glare at his son blackly.

'I’ll stay until Hughes arrives,' he told him. ‘And I hope for your sake that Miss Gaynor doesn't decide to take her revenge on you during your exercise period; I wouldn't altogether blame her if she did.'

'She won't,' Emlyn assured him with the certainty of experience. ‘She never does, do you, Helen?'

'Then it's more than you deserve!' his father retorted as the door opened to admit Dai Hughes.

CHAPTER VI

During the next four weeks Emlyn progressed steadily and, while he had made no more attempts to kiss her, he teased her unmercifully and talked incessantly about what they would do when he was completely fit again. It never seemed to occur to him that once he had reached that condition Helen's work would be finished and she would be gone. Either he refused to face the prospect or he was convinced that by then she would have changed her mind about him. He was, she realized, an incurable optimist.

He could now take a few steps under her guidance and with Dai Hughes' strong arms and back to lend support when it was needed. He grew more and more irrepressible as his recovery progressed. It helped him to talk about what they would do when he could walk again, but it worried Helen that he never considered the alternative to her staying. She had spoken to Doctor Neath about letting Tracey Owen come and see him when she had recovered herself and she was now better again, she knew, but the old doctor had been dubious about crossing Evan on such a touchy subject and she had had to relinquish the idea of his co-operation. There must be some way, she thought, of making Evan change his mind, but she had not yet summoned the necessary courage or cunning to speak of it again.

For some reason she found difficult to define, she had not expected him to be so tall. It was always hard to tell a person's height when they were lying in bed or even sitting up, and he looked so much like an impudent schoolboy that it had been quite a shock to discover that he was at least as tall as his father and equally as overpowering when on his feet.

The first time he stood by her, supported by Dai Hughes, he looked down at her with his dark eyes sparkling wickedly. 'You are a little creature, aren't you?' he teased her. ‘No wonder I thought Evan looked like a giant beside you. You're a real tiddler!'

'I am not a tiddler!' she protested indignantly, to Dai Hughes' amusement. 'I'm quite capable of keeping you in order, so just you concentrate on what you're doing and talk less.'

'Yes, ma'am.' He bobbed his head solemnly and she realized, not for the first time, that the impudence and incessant chatter disguised a nervousness that he would never have admitted, even to himself.

He moved a little more each day and already the confines of the bedroom chafed his impatient spirit. He wanted to go here and there, always asking her for longer distances than she felt were wise, and as Doctor Neath was in agreement with her, he was obliged to make do with a few steps across the bedroom each day. 'You walk before you can run, my lad,' the old doctor had admonished him, and he had complied, but grudgingly.

Now that he was so much more active, even though it was for only short periods at a time, it meant much more work for Helen, for he was a demanding patient and she was always glad when her half day enabled her to get away for a while. Once Owen Neath had gone back Emlyn had once or twice asked her to stay with him and she had complied on condition that they both relaxed for an hour or two. This afternoon, however, he had demanded that they play draughts since the inactivity bored him—a childish game at which he was particularly adept and so won every game.

He had just roared his triumph yet again when the door opened and Evan came in, his gaze going straight to Helen still in her uniform. 'Isn't this one of your half days, Miss Gaynor?' he asked, and she nodded, feeling like a truant caught in the act.

'It is,' she admitted, 'but I—'

'I've told you my feelings in the matter,' he interrupted shortly. 'You will take your rest days and not stay with Emlyn, but since you seem to think he needs someone to stay with him, I'll stay for a while.' The black eyes dared her to argue, so she meekly got up from her chair and went to the door, followed by Emlyn's angry gaze.

'You don't have to go,' he called after her, and she turned her head to look not at him but at his father.

'I do,' she said quietly. 'Mr Davies is my employer, not you.' She was quoting his own words, though it was doubtful if he would remember them as such, but she knew him well enough by now to know that he would not take the remark without commenting on it.

'It's for your own good,' he told her, before Emlyn could reply. 'It isn't right that you should give up your free time as you do.' His expression told her that he was aware of the other times she had spent with his son instead of taking advantage of the break. Emlyn looked no less stubborn than his father, but he was motivated by entirely selfish reasons, she knew that, and for a moment she stood just inside the door comparing the two of them as they both looked at her. So alike and yet so different. Now that Emlyn was no longer helpless in his bed she could better compare them and for the first time she realized how little older Evan looked than his son. He was still a young man, of course, only thirty-seven if Owen Neath were to be believed, and for some reason the thought disturbed her and sent a flush of colour into her cheeks so that she turned hastily and would have gone out.

'Don't go, Helen, if you don't want to,' Emlyn called after her, still stubbornly refusing to be beaten.

'Don't be so damned selfish,' Evan told him with asperity. 'Nursing you is no picnic—you should realize that. Miss Gaynor needs a break sometimes.' He glanced at her meaningly as she hesitated and she hastily went out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her, hearing Emlyn's murmur of protest as she moved away.

If she admitted the truth she took her dismissal gratefully, for she felt really rather tired. The strain of meeting all Emlyn’s demands was beginning to tell on her. She went along to her room and changed into a cool dress, taking her time and glad of the time to herself.

She brushed her hair until it shone like silk, the brushing action easing the tension of the last few minutes, until she felt quite relaxed.

She had neither the energy nor the inclination to go out and, since Evan was safely upstairs out of the way for a while, she sat down in one of the big armchairs, her head against the high back of it, her eyes closed as she enjoyed the sun on her face. It made her feel pleasantly lazy and quite sleepy. Perhaps it was the warmth and the comfort that induced it, or perhaps she was even more tired than she realized, but she slept—not for long perhaps, but long enough to become oblivious of her surroundings; her head turned to one side, the long fringe of her lashes dark brown against the sun-flushed creaminess of her skin. Her hair was slightly disarranged with her unconscious movements in sleep, and bright against the dark chair, as peaceful as she had been for some hours and yet she was suddenly awake and conscious of the rapid pounding of her heart which was beating uncomfortably fast as if she had been startled and she stirred in her sleep before she opened her eyes wide, wondering if some already forgotten dream had induced the sensation.

She raised her head and Evan's voice snatched the last remnants of sleep from her brain. 'You must have been tired.'

She looked at him wide-eyed for a moment, unable to think what could have awoken her so suddenly and so alarmingly, or so it seemed. 'Yes. Yes, I think I was,' she said, still puzzling. It was not like her to have bad dreams and she was not a nervous person; besides, she felt sure that she would have remembered anything as frightening as that.

'Is something wrong?' he asked with what seemed to her like studied casualness. He was standing with' his back half turned to her, in the window where he usually stood, lighting up the briar with the usual resultant smoke screen.

‘No,' She shook her head uncertainly. ‘No, I don't think so. I think I must have been dreaming.' She looked at him from under her lashes, for some reason connecting him with her sudden awakening. But surely she would not have been so startled when he came in; he was not habitually noisy and his usual silent entry would scarcely have disturbed her sleep, let alone woken her so frighteningly. ‘Did you just come into the room?' she asked.

He drew on the briar for a second or two before he answered. 'I did. Why?'

'Oh, nothing.' She shrugged off the feeling, laughing at her own imagination. 'I must have been dreaming, but I can't think what about, for a moment I felt— Oh, I don't know, anyway it doesn't matter.'

He turned and for a moment she saw the vestige of a smile round his mouth, but his black eyes were as inscrutable as ever as he walked over to the door and opened it. Watching him, she saw him turn and look at her with that ghost of a smile still in evidence. 'You should read more fairy tales,' he told her with unaccustomed lightness, and added: 'I'm going out for a while; Mrs Beeley will get you tea when you want it,' and before she could reply he had closed the door quietly behind him.

She sat for only a few puzzled minutes, trying to decide what he could possibly have meant by that facetious reference to fairy tales, before Mrs Beeley's head appeared round the door. 'Would you like a cup of tea, love?' she asked, her smile anticipating Helen's company for a chatter as she often did.

Helen smiled her thanks. ‘I'd love one, please, Mrs Beeley. Shall I take one up to Emlyn first?'

The little housekeeper shook her head, making a wry face.

'Better not, love. Mr Davies said I wasn't to let you go up there again this afternoon; he reckons Mr Emlyn would keep you there, see, and he wants you to have your rest time. I'll go, he won't be wanting to keep me up there.' She laughed at her own jest and withdrew to take tea up to Emlyn, leaving Helen smiling over the precautions Evan had taken to make sure that Emlyn had no chance to talk her into staying with him again. Once, she admitted, she would have been intensely annoyed at the idea of his leaving instructions regarding her actions, and especially with the housekeeper; now she merely accepted that he did most things with a good intention even if it was not always obvious at first.

Seated in the bright, roomy kitchen Helen looked up with a smile of enquiry when Mrs Beeley rejoined her and the little woman laughed tolerantly. 'Very disappointed he was that it wasn't you brought his tea. Gave me quite a nasty look when I came out. Poor Mr Emlyn.' She sat herself down and poured out tea for them both. 'It's too bad of Mr Evan to go out just when tea was ready.' she clucked disapprovingly, 'but there you are—'

'I'm afraid I've been very lazy this afternoon,' Helen confessed. 'I sat down for a few minutes and I fell asleep, it's a thing I seldom do during the day. I expect it was the sun and that comfortable chair.'

'I expect you needed it,' Mrs Beeley retorted. ‘It must be very hard nursing Mr Emlyn, especially now he's more himself. He's a very spry young man, that one, and never did take easy to being kept still.'

'He is rather a handful,' Helen admitted, 'but he could be worse. At least he's cheerful most of the time.'

'But he keeps you on the go, I know, I've heard you when I've come upstairs. No wonder you fell asleep in the chair. Anyway it won't do you any harm, will it? I looked in earlier, but you was sleeping away like Sleeping Beauty and I didn't want to disturb you.'

Helen blinked at the words, the colour already in her cheeks when she spoke. 'Who, did you say?'

‘Sleeping Beauty,' Mrs Beeley supplied brightly, not missing the sudden colour but making no comment on it.

‘You know the fairy story, love—the princess that was waked by a handsome prince kissing her.'

‘Yes, yes, I know the one,' Helen said hastily, and laughed to cover her embarrassment. 'But I'm not a princess, and there are no handsome princes these days, are there?'

'Oh, I don't know,' Mrs Beeley demurred. 'There's plenty of good-looking young fellers about, an' it's the same thing, isn't it, really?'

Helen smiled thoughtfully, her mind flurrying round the possibility that it had been Evan that had woken her so startlingly. She found it hard to believe and yet the longer she stayed at Glyntarrach the more similarities she could see between the two men; if it was an action typical of Emlyn, and he had already proved that it was, it could equally apply to Evan, she supposed. Definitely something had amused him when she had appeared so puzzled and he had worn that strange smile when he left her. Had he made that particular remark about fairy tales, she wondered, with the intention of letting her know that it was him?

'Something wrong, love?' Mrs Beeley asked, obviously puzzled by her preoccupation.

'Helen shook her head with a smile. 'No, nothing wrong, Mrs Beeley.'

'Oh, I wondered.' The friendly eyes smiled at her. 'You seemed a bit thoughtful like; I wondered if something was worrying you. You're just tired, maybe. I always think it must be a very tiring job being a nurse, always on the go.'

'It's a vocation,' Helen admitted. 'If you're not cut out for it, you don't do it, but it's very worthwhile usually.'

'It was lucky Doctor Neath knew about you, it's done Mr Emlyn no end of good having you to look after him.' There was an implication in the smile and the words that Helen chose to ignore.

'Emlyn has determination to get well,' she said, 'and that's more than half the battle in a case like his. If a nurse doesn't get co-operation from the patient it's almost a lost cause from the beginning, and he's been very good.'

'He's a lovely boy,' Mrs Beeley said fondly. 'Always was from the time I came here, as housekeeper that is, and he was no more than seven or eight years old then and a lively little lad. Mind you,' she added with an indulgent smile, ‘he's always been a lad for the pretty girls; like his father, you see, and his grandfather too, for that matter. The Davies always liked pretty girls, and married them too.'

Helen wondered if the habit applied to Evan; it had never occurred to her that he was likely to be impressed with a pretty face; it had certainly done nothing to make him any less hurtful to Tracey Owen. Thinking of the girl, she spoke thoughtfully. ‘Has Miss Owen ever been here to Glyntarrach ?'

Mrs Beeley frowned for a moment as if the mention of the girl displeased her as it did her employer. 'She came once or twice before the accident; I wonder, at her having the gall to come here again like she did, knowing how Mr Evan feels about her.'

‘Tracey Owen was a sick girl,' Helen said firmly. 'She was in hospital, in fact she was in for some time and she made herself ill worrying about Emlyn, the fact that she wasn't allowed to see him was scandalous, I told Mr Davies so.'

‘You told Mr Evan that?' The housekeeper's eyes rounded in surprise. 'Ooh, there's unkind you were, love, and the poor man so worried about the boy, then you go and blame him for that girl being ill.' She shook her head sadly and Helen felt a surge of impatience.

'He was as responsible for Tracey Owen's as she was for Emlyn's. They both acted thoughtlessly and someone else suffered. And it wasn't worry that made him act as he did,' she added shortly. 'It was sheer obstinacy. He's a stubborn man and too used to having his own way.'

‘And who's to say he shouldn't?' Mrs Beeley asked reasonably. ‘He's the master here and the Davies were always strong characters, used to being obeyed. It's bred in them, you see.'

'Then it's time they were challenged,' Helen said with far more bravado than she had shown when she had meekly left Emlyn's room only a short time before on Evan Davies' orders.

Mrs Beeley smiled, an odd sort of speculative smile that made Helen feel uneasy wondering what lay behind it. 'You'd do it, too,' she said with conviction. 'What a coincidence it is, you being like you are.'

'Coincidence ?' Helen asked, puzzled. 'Coincident with what, Mrs Beeley?'

The little woman smiled again, shaking her head as she looked at her for a moment without speaking, then she put down her cup with a certain air of deliberation and absently traced the pattern on the saucer with one finger while she spoke. 'My mother was here in Mrs Davies' time,' she said. ‘Mrs Clifford Davies that is, Mr Evan's mother, and I was here for a time as well when I left school until I married Beeley and left to have the children. My mother could tell you all manner of things about the family. She was a Howell before she was married, you see.' Helen did see when she remembered Owen's story of how the Howell women had always staffed the Davies house, until the tragedy that caused Dilys's death, and the bloodless feud between the families.

' I've met Mr Alun Howell,' she said, and saw the frown that creased the normally good-natured face. 'Please go on, Mrs Beeley, I'm sorry I interrupted.'

'I remember Mrs Clifford well,' Mrs Beeley went on with only a momentary pause. 'Pretty little woman she was, small and yellow-haired with lovely blue eyes, and there wasn't much of her either; but she could wrap Mr Davies, her husband, round her little finger when she'd a mind to, and he was a man just like Mr Evan is now—tall and proud as Lucifer.' She sighed nostalgically. 'He adored her, always, right up until she died, poor lady, she could always get him to do anything she wanted him to. It broke the poor man's heart when she was killed like that. He never really got over it.'

'He died very shortly afterwards, I understand,' Helen said cautiously, not wishing to reveal the source or the extent of her knowledge.

'He did,' Mrs Beeley agreed. 'Oh, Mr Evan's had a sad life one way and another, and now he's got the worry of Mr Emlyn being so bad.'

'Not any more,' Helen said more cheerfully. 'He's well on the mend and there's no reason why he shouldn't be quite recovered in a matter of weeks now, or at least recovered enough to dispense with my services.'

'Mmm.' The friendly eyes looked at her. 'Funny though, isn't it, you being so like Mrs Davies with that yellow hair and lovely blue eyes, and being such a pretty girl too.' She eyed Helen speculatively with a smile hovering round her mouth. 'You can manage the menfolk, too, it seems; it was very lucky that Doctor Neath knew you and brought you here.' The gist of the conversation left Helen in no doubt that the housekeeper had been speculating on her relationship with the Davies, perhaps just Emlyn or possibly both of them, and she found her outspokenness embarrassing in the extreme.

‘I needed a change,' she said, deliberately ignoring the implications, 'and it's certainly very lovely country around here. I wish Mr Neath would come back for another holiday, though. I miss being taken out, I'm rather lazy when it comes to taking myself out, I find, and I'm more inclined to laze around instead of walking as I should.'

'Oh, yes, Mr Owen Neath.' Mrs Beeley sounded and looked disappointed. 'He's a nice young man, isn't he?'

'Very nice,' Helen agreed, intent on creating a false impression although she had seen Owen Neath only seven or eight times. They had exchanged letters at intervals, but neither of them was a very good correspondent and it was some time since she had written an answer to his last letter. 'I've missed him the last few weeks,' she added for good measure. Mrs Beeley made no comment, but having got the conversation away from the rather intimate subject of herself and the Davies she determinedly kept it on more general lines for the next hour or so.

It was almost a couple of hours later when Evan returned, and his outing seemed to have improved his humour even further, for he smiled at her when she looked up from her book, a thing he had never done before, at least not such a full smile, and she thought how young it made him look and much more approachable. ‘You didn't go out?' he asked, and she shook her head.

'I read a book instead. I told Mrs Beeley earlier, I'm very lazy when it comes to taking myself out, I'm afraid. I miss Owen for that.'

'Owen Neath?'

'Yes. I'm hoping that he'll get back here at least for a couple of days before I leave.' The mention of her leaving seemed to startle him, for his head jerked up and he looked at her for a moment with a frown.

'You won't be leaving yet, surely, will you?'

'Not just yet,' she agreed, 'but Emlyn is very much better and he's making such good progress that he'll be able to manage without a nurse soon.'

‘Yes, I suppose he will.' The news, she thought, could have been received with more enthusiasm.

‘Aren't you pleased about it?' she asked curiously.

'He's done very well and a lot of It's his own doing, you know. He really wants to get well and he's making a tremendous effort. In fact he tries too hard sometimes.'

'He has you to encourage him,' he told her. 'That's why he tries so hard; you've been a great help.' He sat down in another armchair, reaching automatically for the tobacco jar beside him; about to put up the familiar smoke screen, she thought wryly, and watched the routine for a moment in silence. She did not like to continue reading while he was there, so she sat with the book in her lap and turned her eyes to the dominant bulk of Glyneath, visible through the window.

He lit the pipe and sent the smoke screen up between them before he spoke again. 'Has Neath taken you to see Lake Olwen yet?'

‘No, I don't think so.' She sought among the numerous names that she had stored over the last weeks and shook her head. 'No, I'm sure we haven't been there. Is it worth a visit?'

'It's beautiful,' he said. 'You should see it.'

'I'll remember the name for when Owen is here again,' she smiled. 'Lake Olwen, you said; it sounds pretty somehow. I'd love to see it.'

' Tomorrow?' he asked, and she stared at him for a moment uncomprehendingly, thinking that she must have heard him wrongly.

'Did you say—tomorrow?' she ventured at last, and he nodded. 'But I'm not free tomorrow and—'

'Emlyn can manage without you for another afternoon, especially if he's doing as well as you say he is.'

'Oh, he is,' she assured him, 'but are you sure it's all right to—'

'If I say so,' he interrupted with a flash of his old arrogance, and she smiled.

'You make the rules,' she said quietly, and apparently without resentment at the jibe he nodded.

‘That's right, I do. Will you come?'

'That's very good of you. I'd love to,' she said, and surprisingly found that she meant it, though whether she would be of the same mind tomorrow remained to be seen.

'Good, then that's settled, I'm sure you'll agree with me, it's worth a visit, especially at this time of the year when it's quiet.' He leaned his head back against the chair and seemed to consider the subject closed for the moment. She sat for a minute or two looking out again at the mountain, looking rather threatening in the cloud that was gathering round its peak, then glanced at her wrist watch to discover it was far later than she realized.

'I'd better go and see Emlyn,' she said, getting up from her chair. ^f He'll think I've deserted him and it's almost dinner time.' She walked across the room to the door, aware as she did so that he was watching her and she found the temptation to turn and look at him irresistible.

He still sat with his head back against the chair, with the old briar clenched between his teeth, relaxed and completely at ease, his eyes half closed. The light was rapidly going now and there was a shadowy look about the room that made it difficult to determine anything clearly until one had looked for a moment or two and become accustomed to the light. There was no doubting the look she saw in his eyes when she turned, and it surprised and startled her for a moment so that she held his gaze longer than she meant to before closing the door hastily. For a moment she stood on the far side of it, her hand still on the knob, trying to control the ridiculously fast throbbing of her pulse, and with the insane desire to laugh as she went up the stairs to see Emlyn.

Helen had said nothing to Emlyn about her proposed outing with his father because she thought it best not to give him too much time to dwell on it and to raise the obvious objections that were inevitable. If he did not know he could not spend so much time complaining; the need to tell him, however, was taken out of her hands the following morning by Evan, who came into the room just after the exercise session.

The black eyes noted the perspiration of effort on his son's face and he watched silently for a moment while Helen bathed the moist forehead gently. 'It's hard work, boy,' he commented quietly as she moved away and Emlyn grinned his irrepressible grin.

‘It's worth it; I shall think so when I'm walking with Helen round Glyneath and back.' Evan smiled at the remark as if he had reservations on that fact, sparing only a brief glance at Helen, but Emlyn looked at her with his dark eyes sparkling mischief. 'I shall propose to her on the seat above the valley,' he declared. 'It will be very romantic, the way girls like it to be.'

‘The voice of experience?' Evan teased him dryly, and he grinned again, so self-assured and without a second thought that he could be wrong.

'Helen's a romantic,' he informed Evan knowledgeably, ‘aren't you, Helen?'

‘Am I?' she countered. 'I hadn't really thought about it.' She could have wished that the conversation had taken any other turn but this one which she found additionally embarrassing with Evan there.

'Of course you are,' Emlyn assured her. 'A lovely blue-eyed blonde with such a kissable mouth couldn't possibly be anything else but a romantic. Could she, Evan ?' he appealed to his father, who looked a\ her with that inscrutable black-eyed look that she found so fatal to her self-possession.

^f I imagine you’re right,' he conceded. 'But I don't think you should make such personal remarks about Helen while she's here. It's not very good-mannered.'

'Oh, it's all right,' Emlyn said, gaily self-assured, his eyes still glittering mischief at her. 'She knows I'm going to marry, her as soon as I'm fit again.' Helen busied herself at the bedside table, hating to be the focal point of their conversation and especially disliking Emlyn's proprietorial air when he spoke about marrying her, with no question of doubt as to whether she would or not.

'You've got a long way to go yet,' Evan warned him.

'You'd better settle for one thing at a time, and you'd better find out whether or not Helen shares your views on matrimony.' He sat down in the chair Helen usually occupied when she played cards or draughts with her patient, leaning his chin on his hand and looking out of the window, not looking at his son when he spoke again before the younger man could reply. 'I'm taking Helen to Lake Olwen today.'

Emlyn stared at him, as much surprised as Helen had been the night before when he had asked her. 'You're taking her?'

'That's right,' Evan confirmed with his face set in the stubborn way that Helen knew so well meant he would not be argued with, but Emlyn was prepared to protest, which was, of course, inevitable.

'But it's not her free afternoon,' he declared. 'It was yesterday.'

'It's today as well,' Evan informed him quietly, taking his eyes from the window and looking at his son.

'You can manage for another afternoon. Dai will look after you, it isn't as if you're helpless now.'

'I might as well be,' Emlyn retorted. 'And she's my girl.' He seemed to think that argument unanswerable, but the black eyes were implacable as they looked at him, a younger, more volatile image of himself and one more vulnerable, less strong-willed when it came to a clash of wills.

'That has yet to be official as far as Helen is concerned.' His accent was as broad as Dai Hughes' when he spoke and Helen could only just hear the words, he said it so quietly. 'Don't count your chickens, boyo.' If she had not heard the accent with her own ears Helen would never have believed him capable of it, for it was as different from his usual cultured speech as it could be and seemed to make his words into a threat. It was so out of character for the man she thought she knew that she felt a shiver of apprehension when she heard it.

As if he realized that she could hear and understand what he was saying he reverted a moment later to his more usual, almost accentless speech, louder now and confidently cheerful. 'You don't mind if I take Helen for a ride, surely, do you? She needs a change from this house and from you, my lad.'

'I need a change too,' Emlyn grumbled sulkily, 'but I don't get one, do I? I'm not even allowed on to the landing for a few minutes.'

'You will be soon,' Evan assured him, 'and as soon as Doctor Neath gives the word, I'll take you for a run in the car.'

'Thanks.' There was no mistaking the sarcasm. 'In the meantime you take Helen out and I'm stuck here with no one to talk to; suppose I have a relapse or something? What would happen then? Have you thought of that, or don't you care?'

Evan looked at him steadily for a moment and he had the grace to look sheepish.

'That's a stupid question and you know it. You're very much better and there's no reason why you shouldn't be left without a nurse for a couple of hours. If you're afraid of something happening every time Helen isn't here I'd better see about getting another nurse to relieve her. She can't be expected to do a twenty-four-hour day.'

His apparent concern for her and his arguing with Emlyn as he was made her feel uncomfortably superfluous being in the room. It should have been a private matter between the two of them. Emlyn looked sulky as he usually did when he was thwarted and Evan was unlikely to change his mind, she knew; he was as stubborn as his son and basically a much stronger character. Emlyn, she suspected, had inherited his sulkiness and his flamboyance from his mother’s family, the Howells. At times there was a definite likeness between him and the big, noisy Alun Howell, his mother’s brother.

She would have left the room and had already opened the door when Evan called her back. 'There’s no need for you to go,’ he told her, 'I’m just leaving.’ He left the chair and came across to her, standing beside the door, just inside the room but out of earshot of his son, when he spoke quietly. 'Don’t let Emlyn talk you out of coming with me,’ he said, and with the challenge of the black eyes on her she would never have dared. He half smiled. 'He will try, you know.’

'I know,’ she admitted with a wry smile, flicking a glance at Emlyn who sat watching them with a curious frown for their secrecy. 'But I’ll be firm and not let him persuade me to change my mind.’ She raised her eyes and looked at him. 'If you’re sure you still want to go,’ she added.

He made no verbal answer but instead arched one brow and smiled at her wryly, then went past her and down the stairs.

He had been right about Emlyn, though; he tried for the rest of the morning to persuade her not to go, but she was firm as she had promised she would be and refused to change her mind. 'You'll be sorry,’ Emlyn threatened darkly when he realized that she meant what she said. 'When I’m ill again you'll be sorry you left me.’

'You won’t be ill again,’ Helen assured him. 'You’re moving about more every day and you’ll soon be completely fit again, so don’t say such silly things.’

'You won't boss me around either,' he said, watching her. 'You just wait until I'm a hundred per cent fit again and you'll see who's boss.'

'I won't be here then,' she smiled. 'Once you're well that's it as far as I'm concerned. You're no longer my patient.' She had not meant to say so much to him and she remembered what she had told Evan; that she would not tell Emlyn outright that she had no intention of marrying him, until he was better able to accept it. There was only one drawback to that idea; he seemed to lose none of his determination as his health improved.

He looked at her with drawn brows when she sounded so adamant. 'You won't leave me just like that, will you?' he asked.

'I don't want to talk about it, Emlyn. Now please let the subject drop.'

'If you're not going to be waiting for me when I get about again there's no point in it all,' he said sulkily. 'I want to marry you, Helen, and I shan't change my mind no matter what you say.'

'Please, Emlyn—'

'All right, all right!' He held up his hands, his face rueful. 'But no one can say I didn't try.' He called her as she got to the door on her way down to join Evan, 'Have fun,' he told her. 'Though it really isn't a fun trip, is it, and I'm sure Evan will behave with the utmost decorum, you won't have to worry on that score.'

'I'm sure he will,' she said stiffly, disliking the way he had spoken, 'and I've no intention of worrying about anything. Goodbye.'

'Goodbye,' he answered with such pathos that she felt a sudden qualm of guilt and had it not been for the fact that Evan was waiting for her she would have gone back and lost yet another afternoon.

He was waiting for her, standing in the window as usual when she came in. 'Was Emlyn being difficult?' he asked.

'Not really,' she said, 'but he feels as if he's being deserted and he's rather used to having his own way, I'm afraid.'

'A fact for which you blame me,' he said dryly, and added quickly as she would have protested, 'and you would be right, of course.' He looked at her steadily for a moment, taking in the bright blueness of her eyes and the soft gold hair that curled so enchantingly about her face and neck. She was looking lovelier than she realized and the black eyes missed nothing of it, impenetrable as ever and disturbing. 'Shall we go?' he asked, and signed her to precede him through the door.

For a while they drove in almost silence, but not the tense silences that they had once shared; there was a tranquillity about the September day that they seemed to catch. The big car responded beautifully to the skilled hands on the wheel and she thought how much more luxurious it felt than Owen Neath's little car, dismissing the thought a moment later as unfair. The little sports car was far more in keeping with Owen's character than this sleek monster that Evan drove and no doubt it would cost considerably Jess to run too, which must be a consideration. It took a great deal of money to live as Evan Davies did though it did not necessarily bring happiness with it as he would agree.

'Have you been this way before?' His voice jolted her out of her reverie almost guiltily.

'Not along this road,' she said. 'I think we continued on along the one we've just left.'

He nodded. 'When you went to Caderglynn; yes, you would take that road, we're heading for lower ground today though it's not much further in distance.'

'It's all so lovely I don't really mind how far it is,' she said, and he flicked her a brief smile of appreciation over his shoulder.

'You like it here?'

‘It's lovely, much different from what I expected.' She laughed as she thought of some of the preconceived notions she had had about Wales. 'For one thing I was under the impression that it always rained in Wales and in the nearly eight weeks I've been here it's been fine for a lot longer than it's rained.'

'It's been an exceptionally good summer,' he admitted. 'You must have brought it with you.'

'Perhaps,' she smiled, glad that he was going to be less formal than usual. She relaxed against the seat and determined to enjoy herself as she always did with Owen. She chanced his turning his head and studied him for a moment while he negotiated a particularly tricky stretch of road. Of the two of them, he and Emlyn, she thought that Evan would be the more easily hurt by circumstances. There was a sensitivity in the fine-boned features that was lacking in the younger man and the straight mouth looked as if it smiled less often, perhaps because there had been less in his life to make him smile. He had been left with a child to bring up alone when he was very little older than Emlyn was now.

His books, she suspected, revealed more of the real man than did the man himself. He wrote in a beautiful flowing style that expressed a good deal of what he must have felt and could not talk about to anyone; no wonder that she had found him, on first acquaintance, so different to what she had expected, an opinion she was being forced to revise almost every day she was in contact with him.

Her concentration must have drawn his attention, or perhaps it was her silence, for he turned his head for a moment and looked at her enquiringly. 'You're not worrying about Emlyn, are you? He'll be all right, you know.'

'I know,' she smiled. 'I wasn't thinking about him, I'm afraid, at least not to worry about him; I just hope he doesn't do anything silly that's all, to try and—'

'Pay us back?' he finished for her, and the intimacy of the 'us 'pleased her inordinately.

'You think he might?' she asked.

'He won't be given the opportunity. I've left Dai Hughes with strict instructions that he's not to be left for very long, he's to keep an eye on him. I know my son, you see, better than he thinks I do.'

'Who better?' she allowed with a smile. 'You must be very close.' He nodded without speaking and she wondered if he too had qualms about leaving Emlyn when he was so obviously set on not being left again. She sighed, deeply and involuntarily, and he turned his head to look at her.

'You're not regretting that you came?’ he asked with an anxiety that reminded her of Emlyn, and she shook her head.

'Not in the least,' she assured him. 'I’m enjoying it immensely. I’m a lazy sightseer, I’m afraid, more fond of horse-power than Shanks’ pony for getting about.'

They drove down a long, tree-lined road to get to Lake Olwen which lay in a lush valley between two lesser hills that were more green than any she remembered seeing so far. The deep clear water glinted like gold in the September sun and there was no one else about to break the heavy stillness that hung over it, even the one cottage that stood on the edge of the water some yards round from the road looking so quiet that it could have been abandoned.

They had stopped on a patch of green turf that marked the end of the road, and the silence was something which never ceased to amaze Helen whenever she came out into the hills. It was so intense that it was almost tangible as they left the car and walked towards the water. 'It’s so quiet,’ Helen said softly, 'it’s almost unreal.’

'It’s noisier at the height of summer when the visitors are here,’ he told her, smiling at her awe. 'This is the best time to come, when everyone has left and it’s quiet.'

'It's lovely,' she breathed. 'Can we walk round the edge a little way?'

'Of course.' He walked beside her, his hands thrust into his pockets. 'I thought you'd like it here, it’s one of the loveliest spots in Wales, I think.' They walked in silence for a while round the edge of the still water.

'It’s a wishing lake,' he informed her suddenly, and added hastily as if he feared she might find his serious statement amusing, 'if you believe in such fairy tales, of course.'

The choice of words prompted her memory and she was reminded of her strange awakening yesterday and Mrs Beeley's subsequent description of her as a 'Sleeping Beauty'. ‘Oh, I do,' she told him solemnly, her eyes glinting with a mischief she could not suppress, 'and so do you, Mr Davies.' Seeing his puzzled frown, she explained, 'Yesterday you advised me to read more fairy tales, so you must believe in them.'

The black eyes were inscrutable when they looked down at her but there was a trace of a smile round his mouth. 'So I did,' he agreed. ‘I'd almost forgotten I said that.'

'Acting on advice, I shall wish,' she told him. 'Do I close my eyes?'

He handed her a sixpence, his face serious. 'You toss in a coin and wish; I don't think it really matters whether your eyes are open or not.' For a moment she held the coin in her hand, standing right at the edge of the water, concentrating on her wish, then she flung it as far as she could, watching the tiny silver disc flash in the sun before it plopped into the deep cool of the lake and was lost.

'Are you going to wish?' she asked, turning to look at him, and he obediently took out another coin and after a brief pause hurled it into the lake after hers. 'Do these wishes ever come true?' she asked, and he laughed shortly.

'Do any wishes?'

'Sometimes,' she assured him softly, her eyes on the hard line that made his mouth look bitter. 'I think mine has a chance of coming true if I believe hard enough. I hope so anyway.'

He studied her silently for a moment, the hardness disappearing gradually until he smiled. 'You shouldn't have much difficulty in making wishes come true,' he told her. ‘Girls as beautiful as you seldom do, do they?'

The compliment fell pleasantly on her ears and she smiled at him. 'I imagine it depends on what they wish for,' she said. 'Not that I'm qualified to speak really. I'm not beautiful.'

'You're very lovely,' he argued, determined to be right even in such a personal argument, 'and I'm sure your wish will come true, whatever it was.'

'And yours?'

'Perhaps, but I shan't depend on it.' The words and the way in which they were said gave her an overwhelming feeling of sadness suddenly and she wished she had courage to reassure him. She was, she realized, beginning to understand Evan Davies very well and the understanding seemed to involve her personal feelings more than she felt was wise. He was a man who would not take kindly to sympathy and his pride would make him reject it, not always gently, perhaps:

She gazed out over the expanse of the lake, gleaming like gold; placid and deep, and she moved away from the edge, finding its coolness chill suddenly. 'Well,' she said in an effort to dispel the more solemn mood that seemed to have taken them, 'we've wished, now all we can do is wait and see.'

The cottage, it appeared, was not deserted, for as they approached it an old woman came out of the door and stood watching them with bright dark eyes. They would have to walk quite close to her as they passed and she seemed content to wait until they did, a toothless smile stretching her wrinkled face into a grotesque mask; the smile could have been greeting or discouragement, in such a caricature of a face it was difficult to tell. There was something about the old woman, as old as the hills around her and Helen wondered if she could possibly be as old as she looked.

'Old Win Jenkins,' Evan informed her as they came nearer the old woman. 'She's harmless, although she doesn't look it.'

Helen smiled. 'She looks like the witch in Hansel and Gretel!'

'And she could be,' he acknowledged with a smile. 'She makes quite a comfortable living telling fortunes to the visitors during the summer months though her son has to translate every word, for she speaks no English.'

‘None at all?' Helen exclaimed, looking at the old woman with renewed interest. 'I had no idea there were people who still spoke nothing but Welsh.'

'Oh, there are, but usually in the more out-of-the-way places. It's unusual in a place as frequented by visitors as this is, and I sometimes wonder if the old woman only pretends not to understand. She's as cunning as a witch and amazingly observant. I think her appearance and her lack of English is part of her attraction for the visitors.'

The glittering dark eyes with which she watched them gave her a look of madness which Helen found repellent, but she sought to still her feelings as they drew level with the little cottage and the occupant spoke to them in a lilting sing-song that was surprisingly attractive from such a crone. Her speech was addressed to Evan, whom she appeared to recognize.

'What is she saying?' Helen asked. 'Can you understand her?'

'Oh, yes,' he said. 'She says she'll tell your fortune if I'll translate it for you, as her son is away.'

'And will you ?'

‘I'll try.' He sounded cautious and she wondered why.

'She knows you, doesn't she?' she asked, though it was more statement than question, and he nodded.

'I've seen her before,' he admitted. 'Some of her forecasts are amazingly accurate, even if they are unsolicited.'

‘You mean she doesn't always take money for telling fortunes?'

'Oh, no,' he smiled wryly. 'It's her son who makes a commercial proposition of it; she's just a natural gypsy, I think.' He turned to the old woman again, who had watched them impatiently, and for a few moments they conversed in the lilting tongue that made Evan's deep voice sound quite beautiful. Helen listened fascinated and a little impatiently, wishing it need not go through interpretation before she knew the future the old woman was forecasting for her. The glittering eyes turned frequently to her and the toothless smile became wider, then disappeared when Evan appeared to argue with her.

'What is she telling you?' she asked curiously, and he looked embarrassed when he turned back to her.

'Oh, it's just chatter,' he said lightly. 'I can't understand most of it.' Which was a lie, Helen felt sure, and was disappointed when he turned away from the old woman with the intention of bringing the conversation to a close. The old woman was not so easily dismissed, however, and her thin fingers clamped on to his arms as he turned, the glittering eyes watching Helen eagerly. 'Let's go,' he urged, thrusting a note hastily into the crone's other hand, trying to dislodge the restraining fingers from his arm, but the crone would have the last words though they were unintelligible to Helen. Just three or four words repeated over and over, again, and she addressed them to Helen. 'Let's go,' he repeated, and Helen looked queryingly at him as they walked away.

'What was she telling me?' she asked, the words still following them as they walked away.

'Oh, just gabble,' he assured her, but Helen had heard the same words over and over again and she knew she would remember them.

It was some time before they broached the subject again, while they were driving back to Glyntarrach and Helen was determined to have one last try. 'I wish I knew what that funny old woman was trying to tell me,' she ventured, and saw him frown discouragement. 'Won't you tell me?'

This time he made no pretence of not knowing what the gabble of sound had meant, but he was just as adamant about telling her. 'No,' he said. 'It was unimportant.'

'Not to me,' she argued. 'I want to know.'

He smiled, though it was a tight-lipped attempt, and she knew he had no intention of changing his mind. 'I'm sorry if you're disappointed,' he said, and no more, while she felt as cross because she had not managed to persuade him as because she would not know her fortune.

The thought came into her mind as they turned into the drive that perhaps Emlyn could speak his native tongue as well as his father did, and she smiled. That would be something at least; she could remember the words the old woman had called after her as if they had only now been spoken.

The car was left on the drive as usual for Dai Hughes to put away and as they walked across the space to the steps the door opened and Mrs Beeley met them, her face white and anxious as she stood aside to let them in. Evan glanced sharply up the stairs as if he knew where the trouble lay. ‘What's wrong?' he asked. ‘Is it Emlyn?'

Mrs Beeley nodded. 'He tried to get down the stairs. Doctor Neath is with him now.' Almost before the words were out of her mouth Evan was half-way up the stairs, taking them in great strides, with Helen, pale-faced with self-reproach, following more slowly.

CHAPTER VII

Emlyn's bedroom seemed to be full of people when Helen went in. Evan stood beside Doctor Neath at the bedside and Dai Hughes stood over by the window, looking out as if he could not look at the others; Helen felt a cold shiver run along her spine as she took in the scene then Doctor Neath turned to her, his face blessedly cheerful.

'It's all right,' he told them as Evan bent anxiously over his son, 'there's not much damage done, though it's no thanks to this young idiot that it isn't a sight worse.'

'What happened?' Evan demanded, looking down at the pale face on the pillow. 'What in heaven's name happened?' He looked across at Dai Hughes, who turned and met his eyes with a look that was half defensive, half defiant.

'I only left him for a minute,' he said. 'He asked me to get him a paper from downstairs. I've been with him all afternoon as you said, Mr Davies, but I thought it would do no harm to run down for the paper, it didn't take me more than four or five minutes.' He seemed to think the length of time needed explaining. 'It wasn't where he said it would be, I had to look for it, and when I came back he was on the landing. I'm sorry, Mr Davies.'

'Oh, I'm not blaming you,' Evan said shortly. 'You were taken unaware; not ready for the tricks that I would have known was inevitable. I don't blame you at all, Dai.'

'Thank you.' The defiance was gone as he looked his gratitude. ‘Just the same, sir, I should have anticipated something an' I didn't.'

‘Never mind, you can go.' The man left the room with a last, brief, telling glance at Helen which seemed to her to be charged with meaning, though what the meaning could be she had no idea.

Emlyn's eyes sought Helen with a trace of the old mischief in them as he looked at her. 'You see, I told you I could get as far as the landing.' His forehead was beaded with perspiration and she moved automatically to bathe it, with her fingers not quite steady.

'You should have known better,' Doctor Neath told him sharply before Helen could speak., ‘What were you hoping to achieve by being so foolhardy?'

'It was by way of being a retaliation,' Evan said quietly, moving away from the bed to stand by the window, his face looking suddenly weary and indefinably sad, so that Helen found her sympathy with him instead of with his son. 'I took Helen out this afternoon, you see.'

'I see,' Doctor Neath nodded thoughtfully, his eyes on Helen's face.

'I wanted to show Helen that I could do it, I could get further than this blessed room,' Emlyn told them, his voice already stronger. 'And I did, you see. Oh, I admit I shouldn't have gone quite so far, but with Dai Hughes gone for so long I couldn't resist it.'

'I'm surprised you got as far as you did in five minutes,' Doctor Neath admitted, 'but you can see what the result is; perhaps it will convince you that I know what I'm talking about when I tell you to take it easy at first.'

'I'm convinced,' Emlyn told him, his eyes on Helen. 'I'll be a model patient from now on, as long as Helen is here to take care of me.' She felt suddenly as if she wanted to cry; it was reaction, she realized perfectly well, but the shock that had met them when they returned had spoiled the pleasure of the time she had spent with Evan and she knew without being told that he would never again take her anywhere, seeing what had happened this time.

'I'll go and change, if you'll excuse me,' she said, wanting nothing so much as to escape from this room and gain the sanctity of her own. 'I'll only be a moment, Doctor, if you need me.'

The old man patted her hand understandingly. ‘Don't worry too much, my dear. These setbacks happen, you know, and neither you nor Evan is to blame for this.' Hearing his name, Evan turned from the window as she moved away and through the mist that blurred her vision she was conscious of him watching her with a curious blend of appeal and hopelessness. For once the black eyes were not impenetrable and what she saw in them affected her far more than the pale face of the younger man had done.

In the quiet of her own room she only briefly gave way to her tears, then changed into her uniform, wishing she need not go back just yet, but realizing that Doctor Neath would be waiting for her. She was disappointed and yet relieved to find Evan gone when she went in and the old doctor smiled at her encouragingly.

‘I don't think we've been too badly set back, Helen my dear,' he told her, showing more sympathy with nurse than patient—a fact that Emlyn seemed to resent.

'I'm the patient,' he reminded them. 'Don't talk as if I didn't exist!'

'We're only too well aware that you exist,' Doctor Neath retorted. 'And I'll thank you, young man, to show a little more consideration for other people in future or I shall firmly recommend that Evan get another nurse for you, someone who won't cause so much personal unrest. Now, in heaven's name, lie still for a bit and try to help in your own recovery.'

Whether it was the doctor's straight talk or not, Emlyn was better behaved and more co-operative than he had been for a long time and he seemed genuinely to regret the trouble he had caused by his thoughtless and dangerous action, though how long the mood would last was open to speculation.

For two weeks now Helen had scarcely seen anything of Evan; his reason being, so he said in one brief moment of explanation, that he was busy on a new book and he had little or no time for regular meals or indeed any of the normal everyday things. His absence did nothing to cheer her already low spirits and she wondered if he attached some blame to her for the incident, though he had said nothing about it and she did not think that in all fairness he could blame her any more than himself, for it had been he who had arranged the outing.

She spent much more time with Emlyn, who had by now completely recovered the ground he had lost by the fall and was as demanding as ever. If he noticed any difference in her manner he made no sign of it; as long as she was available when he wanted something he seemed not to care that she was at times less placid-tempered than she had once been and, indeed, had several times responded to his teasing by snapping at him crossly. She ate most of her meals alone now and missed Evan's company, morose as it had often been in the past, far more than she cared to admit.

It was now the end of September but the weather still held quite well, though it was now more erratic and more chill with a scud of clouds that threatened to break at any moment. She sat on the low wall that surrounded the vegetable garden, sheltered from the wind by a small orchard of apple trees now dismally bereft of their crops and only waiting to die. Their despondent appearance was well in keeping with her own mood as she swung one foot disconsolately against the wall, not caring that the rough brick scraped her shoe; unaware that she was not alone until a familiar voice broke into her thoughts.

'Evan said I would find you here,' Doctor Neath told her, without explaining how Evan would know where she was, and she smiled and made room for him on the wall beside her.

‘I'm surprised he knew where I was,' she said.

'Quite simple,' the old doctor laughed. 'He saw you from his window. You make a very pretty picture, my dear, against a background of trees,' he chuckled, 'or did you know that already?'

She looked startled for a moment, then flushed at the implication, allowing for his impish sense of humour. 'I hadn't thought about it,' she said reproachfully, but unable to resist a smile, 'and I certainly didn't know I could be seen from Evan's window. I shall have to change my seat in case he thinks I have an ulterior motive in being here, too.'

'Oh, I wouldn't do that,' the old man advised with a wicked twinkle. 'Why deprive Evan of the prettiest view in the garden ?'

A little of his good humour rubbed off on her own rather gloomy mood and she laughed with him, but a little self-consciously now that she knew Evan could see her. 'Did you want to see me for any particular reason, Doctor Neath? I didn't know you were coming today or I would have been in the house. I'm sorry you had to come and find me.'

'Oh, please don't apologize, my dear Helen; I came in as much to see Evan as our patient. I haven't seen or heard anything from him since young Emlyn played the fool, and I don't like losing touch with my friends, especially when there seems to be something making them unhappy.' He looked at her for a moment, as if he expected her to enlighten him on what it was that was making Evan unhappy.

'He's been busy, so he told me,' she said. 'I understand that when he's working on a new book, he's incommunicado for the first week or so, apparently; I've scarcely seen him either.' She laughed, swinging her foot again without looking at him. 'I rather think he's avoiding me.'

The old man looked at her quizzically for a moment before he replied, his heavy white brows drawn into a frown. 'Now why would he do that? You two haven't quarrelled, have you?'

‘No, of course not.' She laughed shortly. 'There's been no chance to quarrel. I've only seen him twice in the last two weeks apart from when he's been in to see Emlyn.'

He shook his head ruefully. 'Oh, dear, but the Davies do have a penchant for making other people unhappy, and themselves, too, unfortunately.' He looked at her for a moment thoughtfully. 'Young Emlyn wants to marry you, I gather. I hope you've had the good sense to turn him down.' His matter-of-fact statement made her smile, though it startled her too.

'I've tried to make him not take it so seriously, but it's difficult, and I promised Evan I wouldn't tell him outright until he was better able to accept it without it affecting his recovery.'

'What made him extract such a promise?' the old man said indignantly. 'I know Evan spoils the boy, but he had no right to involve you in something like that without considering your position as well.'

'Oh, he didn't really extract, a promise as seriously as that,' Helen said defensively. 'It was as much my fault as his; he only asked me not to let Emlyn know how little I cared for him until he was better able to cope. It was when I was seeing Owen and I think he thought that being rather—well, he made some remark to the effect that nurses were in a very convenient position when they have rich young men reliant on them for everything they need.' She saw the storm-clouds gathering on his expressive face and hastened to correct the impression she had given. 'Oh, I explained that I couldn't answer for other nurses, but my intentions were definitely not in that direction, and he apologized.'

'So I should hope!' the doctor retorted. 'And what happened the other week when Emlyn tried that stupid bit of bravado, going out on to the landing?'

'He didn't like being left again. It shouldn't really have been my free afternoon.'

' Evan took you out?'

She nodded. ‘I'd been spending quite a few of my free afternoons with Emlyn and he was angry about it, then he suddenly asked me if Owen had taken me to Lake Olwen.'

'And had he?'

'No. Emlyn made rather a fuss about me going and I was a bit dubious about it, but Evan insisted—' she hastily reworded her answer, not to put all the blame on to Evan. 'Well, to be perfectly honest, I didn't make much of a protest, but I might have succumbed to Emlyn's protests if Evan hadn't insisted that I be firm about it.'

'Good for him! It was untypical of Evan, reassuringly so.' He arched his brows enquiringly. 'Were you surprised?'

'I was rather,' Helen confessed, remembering her almost speechless reception of the invitation. 'But then I thought I must have misjudged him, I thought so until recently when—well, you know what happened when we came back.'

'It was no one's fault but Emlyn's himself,' the old doctor told her, 'and I'm sorry that Evan's reverted to his former self. I can't think what he hopes to achieve by it, just as I was beginning to hope that he was coming out of his shell rather nicely, too. Ah, well!' He sighed deeply and shook his head.

'I expect it's because he's busy,' Helen said, 'he may be better in a few days, when he's got whatever it is out of his system.'

' Hmm.' The bright old eyes twinkled wickedly as he looked at her. 'Perhaps he will. I'll leave the miracle working to you, my dear. You seemed to have achieved a lot so far, maybe you can again.'

'Me?' Helen exclaimed, wide-eyed. 'I had nothing to do with his change of mood, Doctor Neath, I assure you, though I suppose you could say I'm partly responsible for the present one; he probably thinks that if he hadn't taken me out that day I would have been here with Emlyn and he wouldn't have had that fall.'

'Stuff and nonsense I' Doctor Neath retorted. 'Of course you're not to blame, any more than Evan is, and talking of that young man, I sought you out partly to suggest that our young friend might come downstairs for a while tomorrow, don't you think so?'

'Oh, that would be marvellous!' Helen exclaimed delightedly. ‘I'm sure he'll be all right, he's picked up wonderfully again and he really has been very good about staying up there so long.'

'Good. Then Dai Hughes and Evan can bring him down for an hour, they should be able to manage him between them on a chair. Will you organize it, Helen?'

'He'll be thrilled.' Helen beamed her own pleasure. 'Haven't you told him yet?'

'No, I thought you'd like to do that.' He rose from his seat on the wall and put an arm round her shoulders as they walked away. 'You've had all the unpleasant jobs to do so far, now you can have a pleasant one for a change.' He glanced sideways at her smiling face.

'Have you heard from that nephew of mine lately?' he asked.

‘I owe him a letter,' Helen confessed. 'I'm really a very bad correspondent and I simply haven't got around to answering yet. Have you heard from him?'

'Brief note of about ten lines,' the old man chuckled. 'But even then he found room to ask after you. You made a very deep impression there, you know, my dear.'

'I like Owen, he's very good to be with and he was very good taking me around as he did when he was here,' she said. 'I must make the effort and write to him again or he'll forget all about me.'

'Most unlikely,' the old man told her, 'but I should write to him again. He'd like you to, I'm sure.'

‘I will,' she promised, stopping beside his old car at the front of the house. ‘And I'll go and break the good news to Emlyn, he'll be delighted.'

The doctor gave her a hug and kissed her on her cheek before climbing into the car. 'Goodbye, Helen, I'll see you tomorrow.'

She watched him go down the drive and waved as he turned on to the road at the bottom, then turned to go into the house.

Emlyn gazed at her unbelievingly for a moment when she broke the good news and then burst into laughter, throwing back his head and running his fingers through his hair, his eyes gleaming satisfaction. 'Back to civilization! I can hardly believe it, Helen, I'm back in civilization again.' She enjoyed his moment of triumph, but at the back of her mind was the thought that now, soon, he would have to know that she had no intention of marrying him. She would have to refuse him, finally and irrevocably, and she wondered if he would take the refusal with any worse grace than would Evan. Her only hope lay in the fact that now Emlyn was to see more people perhaps, have a wider scope than the one room, he would gradually see that there was no future for the two of them together. It was a hope that she fervently hoped would materialize.

She left him, still jubilant, to go and change for dinner, though she expected that it would again be a solitary meal as had been usual lately, but when she opened the door of the big room it was to find Evan standing in the window and he turned as she came in. He did not exactly smile, but neither did he appear to be quite so unsociable as he had of late. 'Hello, Helen.'

'Hello,' she said, wondering how much she could safety add to the greeting without incurring his displeasure. 'You're quite a stranger,' she ventured.

'Am I ?' He seemed to resent her remark as criticism and she sighed inwardly as having started wrongly. 'I've been rather busy, as I explained to you. I've no doubt Emlyn kept you fully occupied and I know you've been spending most of your free time with him, despite the fact that you know I disapprove.'

'Not all my free time,' she denied. ‘I've been down to the village once or twice, and anyway I don't mind spending my time with him, so it doesn't really matter, does it?'

'Apparently not,' he said stiffly, and changed the subject so abruptly that she had difficulty following him. 'I saw you and Doctor Neath talking in the garden earlier, and you seemed, to be very deep in some topic that engrossed you both.'

‘We were—just talking,' she said, deliberately evasive. However curious he might be, she thought, she had no intention of even letting him guess that he had been the main subject of their conversation.

'I see.' He sounded sarcastic. ‘Secrets.'

‘No!' she protested, the more strongly because it was untrue. 'He did say that Emlyn could get up for a while tomorrow.'

'Well, that's good news.' For a moment he looked more affable until he remembered the apparent secrets she had shared with the old doctor. 'And the rest was too confidential to impart. I'm sorry I asked.'

'You needn't be,' she told him, wishing with all her heart that he had left her to her solitary meal rather than started this conversation which promised to lead to a disagreement. 'If you want to know we were talking about Owen, his nephew.' This at least was partly true and helped to salve her conscience.

' It must have been very absorbing,' he commented, obviously unconvinced and she felt the old antagonism rise in her at his sarcasm. He had a discomfiting way of knowing when she was lying and at this moment she resented it and his cross-questioning.

‘It was,' she retorted. 'And the rest of the conversation was confidential as you said; what was said between Doctor Neath and me concerns only him and I.'

'Him and me.'

She glared at him for the correction, despairing of ever understanding him for more than two minutes together. It seemed to her that he had gone out of his way to be as unpleasant as possible, and after she had defended him when Doctor Neath had condemned him, too!

'Don't you dare correct me!' she objected. 'You have no right. You hide yourself away in a thoroughly anti-social exhibition and then you start lecturing me in English!'

His mouth hardened into the straight line she had come to recognize as the forerunner to losing his temper. 'I didn't lecture you in anything,' he declared. 'I merely corrected your grammar.'

'Well, don't,' she said crossly, now thoroughly out of humour herself and feeling surprisingly tearful. 'I object to being corrected as if I were a schoolchild, and you have no right to speak to me like that—I'm not a schoolgirl, I'm a grown woman in full possession of all my faculties, so keep your corrections to yourself!' She even surprised herself with her outburst and knew that he would find her behaviour unforgivable, but she was uncaring.

Helen faced him, bright-eyed with anger and waited for the fateful words that would end her days at Glyntarrach, half fearful, though she could not have said why. He looked at her for a moment without speaking.

'I know you're a woman,' he told her at last, and the strong feel of his hands was on her arms, holding them firmly so that she could not move away even had she wanted to. 'What do you take me for, Helen, what kind of man do you think I am?' The hard pressure of his mouth covered any answer she might have made and she felt her head spinning for a few moments as it had on that high path above Glyneath. He was strong, stronger than Emlyn and not handicapped by weeks of illness, and she had no hope of freeing herself even though she beat at him for the first few seconds with her clenched fists.

He released her as suddenly as he had kissed her and she stood for a moment, too breathless to speak or move, except to run one finger over her lips, her eyes wide and unbelieving. He moved away from her to stand again in the window, his back to her, stiff and unfriendly again. 'I'm sorry,' he said at last without turning. 'I had no right to do that either.' When she did not reply he turned and looked at her.

‘Please don't apologize,' she said. ‘I'd rather you didn't, it makes it sound—' She spread her hands appealingly. For a moment the black eyes watched her, as inscrutable as ever.

‘I apologize for behaving so boorishly,' he said quietly, ‘but truthfully, I'm not sorry I kissed you.' For a moment his mouth showed a faint trace of that smile. 'At least I can no longer be surprised at Emlyn's behaviour or blame him, can I?'

Already she was ready to forgive him, indeed when she thought about it she had never really blamed him, or objected, but she could scarcely let him know that. 'Let's say no more about it,' she decreed. '

'You'll stay and have dinner with me?' She nodded and he smiled properly this time. With Mrs Beeley in attendance during dinner it was only possible to keep the conversation on general lines, a fact for which Helen was grateful, for she found herself unusually nervous in his presence and waited only for the end of the meal before she started to make her customary excuses.

'If you’ll—' she started to say, but he interrupted her without ceremony.

'No, I won’t,' he told her quietly, and she caught her breath, seeing something in the depth of his eyes that could have been amusement.

'I—I beg your pardon?’ She blinked, doubting her own ears and now she was sure that it was amusement that made his eyes gleam like that, it was an expression she had seen in Emlyn’s all too often.

‘You want to escape to your room or to the garden, am I not right? You want to run away as you always do, don’t you?' His gaze challenged her to deny it.

'I wouldn’t call it that,' she told him, wondering at his reason for stopping her.'

'I would,’ he said, calmly contradictory. 'Sit down.’ He indicated the armchair opposite to his. 'Please,’ he added, 'I’d like to talk to you.’ She sat down obediently, her hands in her lap, not meeting his eyes and as if he realized how she felt he paused in the lighting of his pipe and looked across at her speculatively. 'If you’d prefer it, we can talk in the garden.’

Faced with the prospect of that daunting gaze in the glare of the electric light, she chose the lesser intimacy of the garden. 'I—I would rather,’ she said.

'Then you'll need a wrap for your arms,’ he told her.

'It gets cold at this time of year in the evening. I’ll wait here for you while you fetch one.' Once again, surprisingly, she obeyed without question and fetched a jacket from her room, hoping to avoid being heard by Emlyn and, inevitably, being called in. She was unsuccessful, and he called out to her as she returned.

'Are you going out?' he asked wistfully when she put her head round the door, and she smiled.

'Only into the garden for a while,' she told him. 'Is there anything you need before I go ?'

He ignored Dai Hughes' interested face across the playing cards and smiled at her.

'You,' he replied. 'I always need you.'

'Well, at the moment I'm otherwise engaged,' she informed him with a smile. 'I won't be long. Enjoy your game.'

'Where are you going?' he demanded in a manner so reminiscent of his father that she was forced to smile.

'I told you, I'm going for a walk in the garden, that's all.' As if he suspected that there was something more that she was not telling him, he held her gaze.

‘Alone?'

She shook her head, wishing she need not feel quite so obviously nervous, especially with Dai Hughes watching her so speculatively; she could have sworn that he found the situation amusing and it did nothing for her self-confidence.

'With your father,' she said, sighing deeply at the tedium of answering endless questions. ‘For heaven's sake, Emlyn!' She heard his murmur of protest as she closed the door and decided to ignore it for once. It was time she started to let Emlyn know that she was not the devoted slave he seemed to think she was. It was perhaps cruel to be so hard when he depended on her so much, but if the matter was not brought to a head soon it would be too late. She wondered, in the final reckoning, how much of his resentment would be echoed by his father and sighed in sympathy with her predicament.

Evan was waiting for her by the open door when she came down again and he raised enquiring eyebrows.

'Emlyn called me in,' she explained, and he nodded as if he had already guessed what had delayed her.

It was a beautiful evening, typical of so many September evenings after a day that had been both fine and showery. The sun was almost gone, but there was still sufficient light to see quite well outside in the garden and the earth smelled sweet and fresh after the rain earlier. A slight breeze chilled the air slightly and stirred the trees into a soft rustling sound that betrayed the dryness of the leaves, almost ready to fall. The scent from the last of the roses still made the air sweet and the breeze wafted the perfume about them. It was quiet out here, as always, still and tranquil, and Helen felt the peace of it envelop her as it had done before. It would, she felt, be so much easier to talk to Evan out here away from the revealing glare of the electric light. Here she would feel less vulnerable, and able to conceal her feelings without being obliged to bear the disturbing scrutiny of those black eyes.

They walked the length of the garden before either of them spoke, pausing at last beside the dark beauty of the Ena Harkness that Dai Hughes was so proud of. Evan bent his head and lifted a bloom, heavy with rain, to his nose, inhaling the sweet scent of it. 'Are you going to marry Emlyn?' he asked abruptly and without preliminary.

She knew what she must say, but hesitated to make her answer as blunt as the question had been. Finding no alternative, she shook her head. 'No, I can't.'

'Can't?' he queried her choice of word inevitably, and she nodded.

'I can't marry someone I don't love,' she said quietly, 'no matter what the circumstances. I thought you understood that.'

'Perhaps I should have,' he admitted. 'I know that you told me earlier that you wouldn't marry him, but I wondered if things had changed, if you felt differently now.'

'I don't,' she said.

'And is love so essential to marriage in your opinion, Helen?'

She stared at him for a moment as if she doubted that she had heard him right.

'I think so,' she said at last, slowly and added,

'Don't you?' For a time she wondered if he found the question either unanswerable or whether he preferred not to answer, for he was silent for so long.

'Perhaps I do,' he admitted at last. 'But I imagine it's much more important to a woman.'

She tried hard to see his face in the almost dark, her eyes curious. 'But surely it must be important to a man as well? I should hate to think that a man had married me for any other reason than that he loved me.'

'Hmm.' The sound was non-committal. 'In your case I imagine it would scarcely be in doubt,' he said, quietly so that she only just heard him; listening to the alarmingly loud beat of her heart, she pressed her hand to her breast as if she would forcibly still it. ‘Emlyn says he loves you,' he added when she made no answer, 'so at least it wouldn't have been for any other reason as far as he was concerned.'

'But I don't love him,' she said, feeling rather as if she was rejecting him and not his son. It sounded so blunt and rather cruel put like that but there was no other way to say it and it had to be said sooner or later. 'I'm sorry,' she added softly.

'And you won't marry him?'

She shook her head. 'I can't, Evan, it wouldn't be fair to either of us. He's very nice and very attractive and I like him a lot, but that isn't enough for marriage, not for me.'

Again he was silent for a while, moving along the path behind the rose hedge that ended the garden. 'I know I have no right to ask,' he said, 'but is there—do you care for someone else?'

The question, she realized, would at one time have made her very angry, but now she felt only wonderment that he should have asked it.

'I—I'm not sure. I don't mind you asking in the least, but I'm not sure; that certainly isn't the reason for my refusing to marry Emlyn, though.'

‘I see.' He sounded thoughtful. 'When are you going to tell Emlyn?'

She now found the darkness a disadvantage for she could not see his face to judge what he wanted her answer to be. 'I don't know, I hadn't really thought. I'm afraid I'm a coward about doing things like that.'

'Or soft-hearted,' he said gently as if he understood her feelings and her reluctance. 'That would better fit the picture, I think.'

'I suppose I should have told him before this,' she sighed, 'but it's so difficult to know the right time with Emlyn. I shall have to tell him soon, of course, but perhaps the longer I leave it the easier it will be. I keep hoping so anyway.'

'You'll tell him yourself?'

She tried again to see his face, to judge his expression, but it was useless; all she could distinguish of his features was the dark glow of his eyes.

'Who else could I expect to tell him?' she asked. 'It's not a thing one can delegate, is it?'

'I suppose not,' he admitted. 'I did try to warn him several times, but you know Emlyn, he only hears what he wants to hear.'

'She smiled. 'I know. I was hoping that when he comes downstairs and starts to live more normally again that he won't be quite so single-minded about it. Of course,' she added, venturing on to delicate ground, 'it would be a great help if he saw someone else sometimes, had some visitors, now that he's so much better.'

He fell silent again, his hands busy among the buds on one of the rose trees which drooped heavily with the rain. He broke the stem of one of them and held it for a moment before handing it to her. 'You're trying to tell me that I should let Tracey Owen come here and see him, is that it?'

'Yes,' she admitted, holding the rose between her two hands gently so as not to crush it. 'But not only Tracey, others too. He needs company, Evan, more than anything else at the moment, he needs his friends around him. It will do more to get him into a normal state of mind than anything else I can think of.'

'You don't consider being in love with you to be a normal state of mind?'

'No.' She shook her head, holding the rose where she could smell the scent of it. '1 think that if he sees other people and takes an interest in other things he'll be different.'

'I wouldn't guarantee that,' he said, 'but if you think it will help—' It would not be easy for him to give in, she realized that, nor would he easily reconcile himself to the idea of a stream of Emlyn's visitors in the house, but it was a step towards the solution of her own problem, and he seemed as anxious to have it solved as she was herself.

'Doctor Neath thinks it would be a good idea,' she said, and was surprised to hear him laugh shortly as if he found the situation amusing.

'I suppose you and the doctor have been planning this, haven't you? You seem to have quite a lot of ideas in common.'

'We have this one,' she admitted. 'And you did admit to me once that the doctor was usually right.'

'Hmm. I seem to remember that I did.'

'It really would help,' she urged, sensing his weakening. 'It would be very good for him to see someone else other than me occasionally.'

'It seems I'm out-voted,' he said dryly, but she could detect no resentment in the admission, merely reluctance,

'You agree?'

'I didn't say that, but I suppose I have been rather selfish isolating him as I have; because I dislike a house full of strangers, I make Emlyn suffer for it.'

'You do nothing of the sort!' she told him indignantly, as if it were another she was defending. 'No one could have been more devoted or patient with Emlyn; you've been wonderful. He's wanted for nothing.'

'Except company,' he said. 'I'm inclined to forget that he is as much Howell as Davies. They like a lot of company always and a lot of noise.' Remembering the flamboyant Alun Howell in the Golden Harp, Helen found this quite easy to believe.

'He's still very much a Davies,' she declared, and added, encouraged by his speaking so freely, 'especially when he's demanding to have his own way.'

His quiet laugh surprised her, making her feel suddenly that there was something more intimate in their conversation, and she held the cool wetness of the rose he had given her to her face, seeking to steady her heart which was behaving erratically again.

'Then he must get his less sociable characteristics from me,' he said dryly, and went on before she could confirm or deny it, 'what shall we do about Tracey Owen?'

'I—I don't know.' His asking for her advice on anything at all, she realized, was the final capitulation and in some strange way she regretted it; to ask it on the subject of Tracey Owen was even more surprising after the way they had disagreed about her. 'I could see her and ask her to come and see Emlyn if that's what you want, but please don't let me influence you against your will.'

'You already have,' he told her, and taking her arm started back towards the house. His admission reminded her of the informative and rather embarrassing talk she had had with Mrs Beeley two weeks ago, when the housekeeper had commented on Helen's likeness to Mrs Clifford Davies. 'She could get him to do anything she wanted,' the woman had said, and now Evan was admitting that she had influenced his decision regarding Tracey Owen against his own desires. It was possibly a small victory, but she felt quite pleased with it.

It was difficult for her to persuade Emlyn next morning that it was not possible for him to come downstairs until later in the day. He had been loudly persistent that he be allowed down immediately after breakfast. Evan and Dai Hughes carried him between them on a chair, as Doctor Neath had advised, and sat him in one of the armchairs where he looked around him delightedly. The only filing he objected to was having a blanket put over his legs and tucked in round him. 'I look like some old grandpa with this thing round me,' he protested.

The room looked and seemed different somehow with Emlyn there, and Helen was surprised to find that she saw his presence as an intrusion. His boisterous good humour disturbed the quiet and tranquillity of it and she found herself resenting it rather more than was reasonable. It seemed that never again would that big, quiet room be the same, and the thought gave her a nostalgic sadness that was not in keeping with the satisfaction she should have felt at her patient's recovery.

When Doctor Neath came the following day he gave her Tracey Owen's address with no more than a quirked eyebrow for comment, but he smiled his satisfaction when she explained her reason for wanting it. 'There you are, you see,' he told her. 'It's no use trying to drive Evan, you have to lead him gently.'

'I didn't exactly lead him,' Helen said, suspecting the bright twinkle with which the old man regarded her. 'I just said that I thought Emlyn should have some visitors now that he's better and he automatically mentioned Tracey Owen. I didn't try to influence him really.'

^f But you did, whether you were trying or not,' Doctor Neath chuckled. 'I told you that if anyone could work a miracle on Evan it would be you.' The bright eyes looked at her fondly. ‘You're very like Margaret was, you know, my dear—Evan's mother. She was a lovely woman and she could manage Clifford, her husband, like no one else could.'

'So I've been told,' Helen admitted, 'by Mrs Beeley.'

'And it's quite true. You are like her, and in more than one way from the sound of it.'

'I'm flattered,' Helen laughed, remembering what Owen had said about his uncle having had designs on Margaret Davies himself. 'I also heard that you rather cared for Mrs Davies yourself. When she was Miss Jenkins, of course,' she added hastily. It may have been the name Jenkins that prompted her memory and reminded her of the old woman at Lake Olwen, but, almost without realizing it she asked the old doctor, 'Do you speak Welsh, Doctor Neath?'

‘I do,' he admitted, looking at her curiously. 'Why do you ask?'

'There's something—something I heard once,' she said, and repeated the words that she still remembered, though she could not reproduce the accent nor quite the correct pronunciation. 'What does it mean?'

The old man corrected her accent and repeated the words in Welsh, then translated them into English. 'Love him well, sweetheart, love him well.' He spoke the words softly, his eyes on her face, a trace of smile round his mouth. 'May I know where you heard it, my dear?'

Helen twined her fingers together, not looking at him. 'It was at Lake Olwen,' she said. 'The old woman who lives in the cottage there; she offered to tell me my fortune if Evan would translate, as she speaks no English and her son was away, but when she did Evan refused to tell me what she said. I can't remember any more than those few words and she called them after me as we Walked away, over and over as if they were important. Evan wouldn't tell me what they meant.'

'No,' the doctor said dryly with a smile, 'he wouldn't.'

The appearance of Evan himself had put a stop to any further conversation on those lines, but once or twice during the next few minutes Helen saw the old doctor looking speculatively from one to the other of them and she hoped he would not take it into his head to say anything about the old woman and her advice. She thanked heaven too, that she had not done as she had at first intended and asked Emlyn to translate the words.

She was glad to find Tracey Owen looking very much better than the last time she had seen her, distraught and tearful, at Glyntarrach. She still seemed to have a slightly haunted look about her dark eyes and her face was much thinner and paler than it should have been, but she greeted Helen with a smile when she came into the room escorted by Mrs Owen. The woman treated Helen with an almost embarrassing gratitude. 'I really did mean to see you before, Miss Gaynor,' she said, 'and thank you for what you did for Tracey, but it's impossible to go near that house with Evan Davies as he is.'

'It was Mr Davies' idea that I come and see Tracey,' Helen told her. 'He was a very worried man at that time, Mrs Owen, and he was sorry about the incident afterwards, I'm sure you understand.'

The woman looked as if she doubted the truth of that, but she made no further comment, content to let her looks voice her opinion. She spoke in the same sing-song accent that Dai Hughes used and Helen was rather surprised to hear it; mainly she supposed because of Tracey's more cultured way of speaking. Obviously the Owens had made money in some way and their daughter had been well educated. 'It was very good of you to come,' she said. 'I don't think it was very popular up there when young Emlyn started going about with our Tracey, but he's a nice boy, pleasant and fond of a bit of fun. More like his mam's family, see.'

She chattered on gaily, giving Helen no chance to talk to the girl alone as she would like to have done. Mr Owen it appeared, had made a lot of money from a chain of ladies' hairdressing salons that he had been wise enough to invest in and his daughter wanted for nothing in the way of material comforts, hence the ownership of the fast and expensive sports car she had been driving on the night Emlyn was hurt. They lived fairly lavishly, but still lived in the same little cottage they had always occupied and where Tracey had been born. Its interior had been altered beyond recognition and it was rather too ostentatious for Helen's taste, but there was no doubt that the transformation must have cost a great deal of money, so that there could be no ulterior motive in Mrs Owen's approval of Emlyn as her daughter's boy-friend.

Tracey was delighted when she heard the reason for Helen's visit and her dark eyes glowed softly at the thought of seeing Emlyn again. ‘You're sure it will be all right?' she asked anxiously. ‘Mr Davies won't mind?'

‘He asked me to come,' Helen assured her. ‘You will come, won't you, Tracey?'

‘Of course I will!' She smiled shyly, taking advantage of her mother's brief temporary absence to speak more openly. ‘I—I think I told you how I feel about Emlyn didn't I, Miss Gaynor?' Her eyes pleaded for understanding.

'I know you love him, Tracey,' Helen said softly, 'but give him time to know his own mind; he's a little confused at the moment and he doesn't really know what he wants, but when he's completely fit again, he'll tell you how he feels, I'm sure of it.' She hoped fervently that she was not misleading the girl, but she felt that with her own departure from Glyntarrach he would almost certainly turn to the girl again. It had been obvious from the few words he had spoken about her to Helen, that he was fond of her.

She left the cottage with the girl's promise that she would come up to Glyntarrach the following day; she would also contact several of Emlyn's friends and ask them to come too, though only the quieter element, she had added with a smile of understanding at Helen.

Evan received the news of the impending arrivals with less enthusiasm and she wondered if he was already having second thoughts about his decision, but when she put it to him later that day, he shook his head in denial.

'Of course I shan't go back on my word,' he said, as if she had suggested it. '1 don't deny I shall probably regret it before very long, they're a noisy bunch, but I don't have to see them.'

'You're going to hide yourself away again!' she accused, and realized that a week ago she would never have ventured to speak to him like that. Now it seemed not to matter so much and he took no offence, but smiled at her expression.

'1 shall be working, if that's what you mean,' he said. 'You can call it what you like, but you'll find that Emlyn's friends aren't exactly conducive to quiet living. You may be glad to hide yourself away before long.'

'I'll manage,' she smiled. 'If they're all as nice as Tracey Owen, I shan't have much to worry about.'

'They're not,' he informed her, with a gleam of malice in his eyes when he said it. 'They're much noisier; Tracey Owen is the best of the bunch.'

She smiled at him, her brows arched, her eyes mischievous. 'And you sent her away.'

He said nothing, merely shook his head, his gaze inscrutable, but she thought she knew him well enough to detect regret for what he had done, though he would probably never voice it.

True to her promise the girl arrived at the house just after lunch and just as Emlyn had been settled into his chair. There was no sign of Evan; he had gone to his study as he had said he would and left Helen to cope with any visitors that arrived. She had not told Emlyn to expect anyone and when he saw Tracey he cried out delightedly, kissing her resoundingly on the mouth and pulling her down to his level with that strong grip that Helen knew so well.

'You've changed,' he told her accusingly, his eyes noting the thinner face and the expression in her dark gaze when she looked at him.

'I haven't, it's just that I haven't—I was ill for a time.' She knelt beside his chair in a position that was to Helen oddly touching in its humility but which Emlyn seemed to accept as the natural order of things.

‘You little idiot,' he told her with a strange gentleness that belied the words. 'What did you hope to achieve by putting yourself into hospital?'

She smiled at his chiding, taking it as part of what he was, and her eyes glowed softly. 'I didn't achieve anything,' she admitted, 'and I was a terrible nuisance to everyone.' He looked at the thin face and the wide dark eyes, more serious than Helen had ever seen him.

'And now?'

'I'm fine now.'

'Hmm. Did Evan give you a bad time?'

She glanced at Helen as if she sought her support.

'No, not really,' she said. ‘I was silly to have come here at all and your father was very worried about you; Miss Gaynor explained, I was the last person he wanted here after what I did.'

'You did nothing I blamed you for,' Emlyn retorted, 'so I don't see why anyone else should, and I'm sorry about it, Tracey, really sorry.'

‘Please don't be,' she pleaded. ‘There's no need. I've forgotten about it now.'

‘Well, I'm glad you've come now,' he told her with every appearance of sincerity, Helen was glad to note. She felt that she should leave them alone, at least for a while but she hesitated to do so in case he should object as he often did and she would hate the girl to see any display of his possessiveness for herself. She would only be hurt again by it. She got up from her chair and crossed to where Tracey was curled up by his chair and thought how like two children they looked.

‘I have things to do upstairs,' she said. 'I'm sure I can leave Tracey in charge for a while, can't I?'

Inevitably she sensed Emlyn's suspicion and waited for his protest. ‘What do you have to go for?' he asked. ‘There's nothing for you to do upstairs now that I'm down here, is there?'

'I do have a room of my own,' she told him, 'and I do have things to do, Emlyn; you can entertain Tracey for a while, surely, without my help.' He made no reply, but his frown was in evidence when she closed the door firmly behind her and went upstairs.

She did tidy her room though it had not been of immediate importance to do so and while she moved about her mind grappled with the fact that soon she would be leaving Glyntarrach for good. She remembered all the times she had wished fervently to be away from the old house and its volatile occupants, but now that it was so soon to be fact that she felt only regret and not a little sadness at leaving it.

She looked out of the window, the length of the drive to the road beyond. It was all so familiar now, so much like home that she felt almost tearful as she turned away. There were many more such moments of regret during the next two weeks and as Emlyn grew steadily more independent she was not required so often, especially when he had visitors, as he quite often did. She could hear the sound of laughter and talk even from upstairs and she thought of Evan's warning, wondering how much of it he could hear from the study where he was' presumably working.

She saw little of him, except at mealtimes, and she realized that she missed him far more than she cared to admit. The weather had finally broken and there was little chance to walk in the garden, 'but there were one or two occasions when it was possible and Emlyn usually voiced his objection to being left behind in no uncertain manner. One evening Evan had left them temporarily before they went out and Emlyn looked at her suspiciously as he had often done, this time voicing the suspicion.

‘You and Evan seem very friendly,' he told her, watching her as she put a jacket on over her dress before going out.

She smiled. 'Is there any reason why we shouldn't be? 'she asked quietly. ‘We've lived in the same house for almost three months; it's not difficult to become friendly with someone in that time and in those circumstances.'

He greeted her reason with a black frown that she knew well meant he was going to be as unpleasant as he knew how to be. 'It's not difficult to fall in love, either,' he said, and she felt sure he did not refer to his own feelings for her.

CHAPTER VIII

Several times during the next few days she caught Emlyn watching her with a strangely doubtful expression as if he was trying to guess what was going on in her mind. Since she had made no reply to his remark about falling in love and he had lacked the courage to take it further, neither of them had mentioned the matter again.

Tracey came to see him far more often than did anyone else and he seemed never to tire of her company, which did much to encourage Helen's hopes that he was growing out of his attachment for herself. The girl was a gentle and willing helper when Emlyn walked about the house and, when the weather allowed, in the garden. She had infinite patience, it seemed, and never minded his sometimes unkind teasing, enduring it with a smile when Helen felt her own patience would have been at breaking point.

They were, she decided, an ideal Couple and looked so right together; Tracey's health seemed to be improving along with Emlyn's, although she was still far too thin and had very little colour. Her little elf-like face always lit into something akin to beauty when Emlyn spoke gently to her or praised something she had done. Her adoration of him was touching but, Helen hoped, not blind. He spent most of his time with her and occasionally hugged her impulsively as if he found the urge to do so irresistible, and he kissed her in the same way, a practice she objected to far less than Helen had done.

It was some time now since he had spoken of his feelings for Helen, and as it became more apparent every day that her usefulness at Glyntarrach was ended, she could not help but be relieved about it. It would have been unbearable to have been faced with the necessity of refusing him and would have made her leaving the old house even more sad.

He was practically back to normal now and as they breakfasted one morning, alone since Evan had started earlier than usual, she thought it an appropriate time to mention her departure. 'I shall finish at the end of this week,' she told him.

‘Leave?’ He looked at her in amazement, as if her going was the last thing he had considered.

‘Of course,' she said quietly. 'My job here is finished, you’re almost completely fit again and you certainly don’t need a nurse. I shall tell Evan at dinner tonight, unless I see him before.’

‘He won’t like it,’ he informed her bluntly, 'and neither do I.’

‘Don’t be silly, Emlyn, why should either of you not like it? Your father knows I shall be going soon. I suppose he’s left it to me or Doctor Neath to decide when; he certainly won’t raise any objections.’ She wondered in her heart how true that was and whether he would care about her going as much as she did herself. It would not be easy to tell him because, if she admitted the truth, she was half afraid he would just accept the fact of her going and not raise any objections at all, perhaps not even express his regret. That would be the hardest thing of all. She was only grateful that Emlyn had not found it necessary to fulfil his promise to ask her to marry him; it had been well worth braving Evan’s wrath to suggest asking Tracey to come, and obviously Emlyn agreed.

‘He won’t like you going,’ Emlyn insisted, 'and he may turn stubborn—you know what that means! ’

‘Of course he won’t,’ she said. ‘I’m not needed any longer and Evan is sensible enough to know that; I was never intended to be a permanent fixture, you know.’

'But we’ve got used to you being here,’ he told her.

'I can’t picture Glyntarrach without you now and I’m sure Evan won’t either; you’re—you’re almost like family.’

Helen smiled. 'Or part of the furniture,’ she teased.

'It’s all too easy to get used to people, isn’t it?’ Perhaps something in her voice betrayed her feelings or perhaps he was at last prompted by conscience, but he seemed to become more serious suddenly.

' Helen.' He hesitated, looking down at his hands on the table, twining his fingers together and frowning as if it required all his concentration. 'I said some pretty rash things to you, didn't I?'

'You did,' she agreed, trying to treat it with as much lightness as she could manage, for she had no wish to embarrass him more than he obviously was already. 'And I told you they were rash at the time, if you remember; at least I told you that you would see things differently once you were up and about again.'

'You were very patient with me and I'm sorry if I embarrassed you.' It was a new role for him to be so contrite and she thought how much like Evan he looked with his frown and his dislike of apologizing. He might have the flamboyance of the Howells for most of the time, but he had enough of that Davies arrogance to make apologies distasteful.

She leaned across the table to cover the restless hands with her own small one. 'It was very flattering,' she said softly. 'I know patients do fall in love with their nurses, but it's never happened to me before and I can't honestly say that I altogether disliked the experience.'

He raised his eyes then and looked at her, taking her hand in both his and raising it to his lips. 'I can't think why it hasn't happened to you before,' he told her.

'You're very lovely and I'm still half in love with you.'

'Only half?' she teased. 'Have you three halves to your heart, then, that you can find an extra one for me?' She smiled at him understandingly and he nodded slowly.

'You're very wise too,' he told her. 'Wise and lovely. No wonder I loved you.'

'You thought you did,' she corrected him. 'I knew differently.'

'So you worked your magic on Evan too and made everything right for me. Oh, I know Evan would never have done that on his own initiative, but he listens to you.'

'Not very often,' she said. 'But he did ask me to go down and issue the invitation after he'd listened to me, and it was worth it this time, wasn't it?'

'It was,' he agreed with a smile, and kissed her fingertips again in gratitude. 'Thank you, dear Helen.'

She looked at him thoughtfully; in this new mood of gentle understanding she liked him more than she had ever done and she attributed much of the change in him to the influence of Tracey.

'Be gentle with her, Emlyn,' she said softly. 'She's very young and very easily hurt, and she loves you very much.'

‘I know.' He did not question who it was they were discussing, but still held her fingers as if he would like to have said more but could not make up his mind as to the wisdom of it. He sighed, apparently deciding against it, looking down at her fingers curled over his hand. 'If I hadn't been so wrapped up in self-pity I'd have cared more what happened to her before. I should have demanded that Evan let me see her, then I could have reassured her and she would never have been so worried and ill.'

‘You were not self-pitying,' she denied. ‘You were anything but that; a little selfish perhaps,' she smiled to take the sting from the words, 'but you very seldom showed self-pity.'

'A model patient?' he asked, and she laughed.

‘Scarcely that either, but at least you were always cheerful, and that helps everybody concerned.' She looked at him directly. 'Have you told Tracey how you feel about her?'

‘She knows,' he said, 'without being told. Women do, don't they?'

‘Sometimes,' she admitted. 'But sometimes they can be horribly in doubt; and it's always reassuring to be told, however sure you are.'

He grinned the old irrepressible grin. 'I'll tell her,' he promised, ‘don't you worry, and you've very cunningly changed the subject, haven't you? We were talking about you leaving or not.'

‘There's no alternative,' she said, with a sudden sense of loneliness. She would miss Emlyn's buoyant impudence almost as much as she would Evan's quiet strength and assurance, and the more she thought of it the more unhappy she became.

'You don't want to go, do you?' he asked, breaking into her reverie, and she smiled, gently disengaging her hand.

'It's the penalty of doing a job like mine; you have to face the fact that it's unwise to become too attached to a place or a person; sooner or later you have to leave both.' She shrugged off the mood that threatened to envelop her and smiled, determinedly cheerful. 'I shall accept Doctor Neath's invitation to stay with him for a few days and then I shall have to find another job.'

'Another patient to fall in love with you?' She shook Her head.

'No, I think in future I shall stick to nursing old ladies and children. It will be a lot less complicated.'

'It would be a shocking waste,' he declared. 'You're a wonderful encouragement for a man to get well—look what you did for me. What greater incentive is there for a man to get well than a beautiful blue-eyed blonde?'

Helen laughed. ‘A dark-eyed brunette?' she suggested, and he joined in her laughter.

Tracey came again that day, as she came most days, walking with him and the two of them laughing at some secret world of their own so that Helen felt her own loneliness more than ever as she watched them. 'Tracey is staying to lunch today,' Emlyn told her, 'and don't warn Evan in advance or he'll only make a fuss.'

Helen thought the accusation a little unfair, but she complied so far as not seeking Evan out to tell him; she did, however, manage to be coming downstairs as he was leaving his study and he waited for her to join him.

'Evan.' She put a hand on his arm as he would have moved away towards the door of the room when Emlyn and Tracey were waiting and he stopped, looking down at her curiously. 'Tracey is staying for lunch; Emlyn asked her and she's in there with him now.'

'I see.' He glanced at the closed door and then back to her, the ghost of a smile round his mouth as if he knew the reason for telling him. 'And you were afraid that I'd make a fuss about it?'

She shook her head, uncertain quite why she had forewarned him; only that she suspected at the back of her mind that Emlyn had some other reason than the obvious one for asking Tracey to stay today, a thing he had never even mentioned doing before. 'I didn't think you would,' she said, 'but Emlyn was a little afraid you may take exception to her being here.' She smiled up at him, her blue eyes unmistakably anxious, wanting him to treat the girl fairly, not only for Emlyn's sake but for her own as well, since she had been responsible for her being here. 'I think the poor girl's afraid of you.'

'After our last meeting, it's possible, I suppose,' he said with no sign of regretting the fact, and she frowned.

'It's inevitable!' she retorted. 'I'd be petrified in her place!'

To her surprise he laughed. 'Not you,' he said. 'You've never been afraid of me, have you? Despite the way I used to growl at you sometimes.' He covered the hand on his arm for a moment. 'Don't worry, Helen, I won't behave like a boor and I might even apologize to her, should the opportunity arise.'

'I don't think I would if I were you,' Helen advised. 'You might frighten her more than ever.'

He looked at her for a moment in silence, then continued across the hall to the door.

'Let's go and be sociable,' he said.

Tracey and Emlyn looked up when the door opened and Emlyn smiled at his father a little uncertainly. It was obvious that there was something on his mind, for he was more nervous than Helen had ever seen him and he seemed anxious that he should have his father's approval. 'Hello,' he said brightly. 'Tracey's staying for lunch. I hope you don't mind.'

Evan returned the smile, looking at the girl who stood beside Emlyn, her eyes downcast. 'Why should I mind?' he said blandly. 'Hello, Tracey, how are you?'

'All right now, Mr Davies, thank you.' Helen detected far more of the sing-song accent of her parents in her voice than was usual; it was obviously a nerve-racking experience for her and Helen's heart went out to her. She knew from her own experience just how overpowering \Evan could be. Emlyn held the girl's hand reassuringly and something in his smile when he looked at her gave Helen a clue as to why he had asked her to stay to lunch.

Mrs Beeley served them as usual and conversation was on general lines with Tracey saying little and Emlyn contributing most, with a bright nervousness that betrayed his intention even further. As soon as the housekeeper had brought in coffee and left them for the last time he looked at his father and reached across to take Tracey's hand, drawing it into both his own and holding it tightly as if he needed to have close contact with her before he could voice what was on his mind.

'I've asked Tracey to marry me,' he said at last, nervously loud, and Helen saw Evan's fingers tighten on the handle of his cup.

'You've asked Tracey to marry you?' he echoed, and Helen hoped the girl had not noticed the stress on her name.. Emlyn nodded, smiling at the girl briefly before he turned his gaze back to his father.

'Yes. This morning; I haven't asked her parents yet, but I shall as soon as I can get down to see them. I wanted you to know first.'

'Will they consent?' he asked the girl, and she visibly shrank before the black-eyed gaze he turned on her, but she nodded.

'I'm sure they will, Mr Davies, they like Emlyn very much.'

‘You're very young,' he said, and sounded almost gentle as he looked at the thin, pale little face and wide eyes as if he really saw them for the first time.

Emlyn looked up sharply, taking the words for criticism. 'Not as young as my mother was,' he said, and Helen instinctively put a hand on Evan's arm, feeling the muscles tense under her fingers, waiting for the storm to break, but to her surprise and relief it did not.

‘No,' he admitted quietly; ‘not as young as your mother was.' The tension might not have existed for all the calm voice betrayed, and Helen marvelled, not for the first time, at his self-control. She drew back her hand and he turned and looked at her briefly with that look she had seen only once before and then only because she had surprised him. It made her feel warm and suddenly lighthearted.

There had been no explosive scene as Emlyn had apparently expected and as soon as they were able he and Tracey went out into the garden. That the sun had come out again after days of rain seemed a good omen and Helen smiled as she walked to the window to look out at the mist-shrouded mountain. There would be few more opportunities to see the brooding giant that dominated the house and the surrounding countryside and she sighed unconsciously, realizing yet again how much there was that she would miss when she left for good. Glyntarrach had become a way of life to her and it would take a great deal of effort to readjust and learn to live elsewhere.

At least, she thought, Emlyn and Tracey would be happier for her having been here; she had been right to brave Evan's disapproval and broach the subject with him, there could be no doubt about that now.

‘You're pleased about it?' Evan's voice recalled her and she half turned from the window to smile at him rather wistfully, It was no longer remarkable that he seemed to know what she had been thinking; so often he had given voice to a subject she had had on her mind.

'Yes,' she said, 'I'm pleased about it. Aren't you?'

'If he's happy,' was his non-committal answer.

'He will be,' she assured him. 'Tracey is a nice girl and they're very much in love.'

'Which is what you prescribe as the main ingredient for marriage,' he teased, reminding her of their conversation, when it had been Emlyn's love for her that had been the subject under discussion.

'I still say so,' she insisted, ‘no matter what the cynics may say.'

'And you count me a cynic?' She shook her head.

‘No, you're not a cynic; you have too much compassion for that. It shows in your books,' she added hastily.

'I never knew you'd read any of my books.' Why he should be so surprised at the idea she could not say.

‘I've read most of them,' she told him, 'but “ The Wild Hills” is my favourite.'

‘Hmm,' he said. ‘You're more flattering than my son, he hasn't a very high opinion of my efforts at all.'

She smiled, turning back to the window again momentarily. 'Emlyn can't always see straight,' she said, 'but I think he's on the right track now, at least as far as love and marriage are concerned.'

'Then let's drink to love and marriage, shall we?'

She started when a glass was put into her hand and looked down at the amber glow of brandy. He raised his glass to her, his eyes as unfathomable as ever and she answered the salute by raising her own glass before swallowing some of the contents, feeling the spirit flow into her slowly, making her feel relaxed and warmly glowing and perhaps a little less gloomy than she had been. Now, she thought, she must tell him that she would be leaving at the end of the week; now was the right time, while she felt warm and relaxed and not so sorry for herself.

'I—I shall be going at the end of this week,' she said without preliminaries.

‘Going?' He echoed her as Emlyn had done and with as much surprise, as if the idea had not even entered his head. ‘Going where?'

She turned and looked at him, facing the scrutiny of the black eyes with something like an appeal in hers. Now, she thought, now the die is cast and there is no more wondering what his reaction will be.

'I shall be staying for a few days with Doctor Neath, then I shall have to find a new job.' Just as she had told Emlyn; only he had not hesitated to voice his opinion of her going. He had voiced his reluctance, not merely stood in silence as if it mattered neither one way or the other.

'You'll be seeing Owen Neath?' She looked startled at the sudden question and he shook his head before she could reply. ‘No, I'm sorry; I have no right to ask you that.'

'I shan’t be seeing Owen,' she said, ignoring the apology, 'not as far as I know, anyway; I may see him at some time in the future. I really don’t know.' She drank more of the brandy to dispel the sudden chill of finality she felt when he did not speak. 'I thought it best to tell you now so that I can go at the weekend.' He still stood silently, looking at her until she felt she would cry out. She found the black-eyed gaze unbearable and turned again to look out of the window, moving right into the curve of the bay, her back to him so that he would not see the blank misery on her face. 'That should make you happy,' she told him with deceptive lightness. 'It means that Emlyn is completely well and that you can have your house free of strangers again.' She laughed shortly. 'You should be quite pleased to be rid of me, you were all for sending me packing the first day I came here, I remember.'

She sensed him move behind her and found her breathing deepened until she felt she would suffocate. ‘Was I?' he asked. ^

‘Oh, yes! You tried very hard to get rid of me that first day, and you almost succeeded, I might add.' He was so close now that, she could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck when he spoke, stirring the soft wisps of hair that curled there.

'But you didn't go.'

'I almost did,' she said, speaking too quickly so that the words had a breathless sound. 'So often when you —when things went wrong I almost packed up my things and went; I don’t really know why I stayed.'

'Don’t you?’ His hands were strong and gentle, caressing the nape of her neck, lifting the tendrils of hair, and he turned her slowly towards him until his palms were against her throat, making her look at him. For a fleeting moment she saw that look again in his eyes, and then his mouth found hers, forcing her head back against the curve of his fingers and she felt herself fall against him until they seemed so close that she could not tell which heart beat in her own breast.

'Evan—' She tried to move in his arms, but he held her so tightly she could not stir, so she buried her face against his coat, the rough tweed prickling her cheek, feeling his lips against her hair and neck, and he laughed softly above her head.

'Don't you trust me?' he teased, and she raised her head to look at him, his black eyes warm with that look that sent a shiver of excitement through her.

'Of course I trust you,' she told him, her eyes shining unbelievably blue while he stroked the soft gold hair back from her face. 'But what will Emlyn and Tracey 'think if they come back?'

'I don't care what anyone thinks,' he told her with his customary arrogance, and added hastily, 'except you, and I don't want you to have too much time to think, my darling, or you may change your mind about me.' She shook her head quickly and he smiled. 'I'm not wrong about you, am I, Helen? I don't think I could take it if I was.'

She shook her head again smilingly. 'No, you're not,' she said softly. '1 love you.' She traced the outline of a lapel with one finger. 'What are we going to tell Emlyn?' she asked.

'First things first,' he told her, and lifted her chin to look into her eyes. 'Will you marry me?'

'Of course I will,' she said. 'I've told you I love you and you know my theory on that. But—'

He kissed her lightly, his eyes glistening black as coals. '1 love you,' he said. '1 don't think I got around to telling you, did I?' She shook her head, making a face at him for the omission and he laughed. 'I think I'd have agreed to Emlyn marrying anyone as long as it wasn't you.'

'It very easily might have been if I'd listened to him in the first place, he was very persuasive and he says he's still half in love with me even now.'

He stared at her. 'He told you that? Cheeky young devil! He always did expect to have his cake and eat it too.’

'He was apologizing for having behaved the way he did,’ she explained. 'He was very sweet about it and I do like him quite a lot, you know.' She raised her hands and clasped them behind his dark head, her eyes shining. 'Mainly because he’s so like you.’ He kissed her, gently at first, and then with such fierceness that she heard nothing until she heard Emlyn’s voice behind her.

‘Well, well, well! 'and a faint gasp of surprise, presumably from Tracey. Helen felt the colour in her cheeks as she half turned in Evan’s arms to look at them. Emlyn's smile was wide and knowing and he held Tracey close in the curve of his arm, her dark eyes wide with disbelief.

'Did you think you had a monopoly?’ Evan asked, and only Helen sensed the anxiety behind the question. 'Helen’s going to marry me, so you’d better make some rapid readjustments, boyo.’ There was a trace of the sing-song accent she had heard him use once before to Emlyn, and his son laughed.

'I made those adjustments a week ago,’ he told him. 'I’m neither blind nor a fool, Evan, though I admit I was a bit doubtful about Helen as a stepmother at first. Anyway,’ he held out a hand to his father, their two faces so much alike that they might have been brothers, 'I’m very glad, Evan.’ He grinned. 'I presume I may kiss your bride. After all, you can’t really object, can you?’ He kissed her on the forehead gently. 'I knew you wouldn’t be leaving,’ he told her confidently. 'I told you so, didn't I?'

'You did,’ Helen admitted. 'But I had no way of knowing how right you were.’

Later when Emlyn and Tracey had disappeared again, Helen remembered the old woman at Lake Olwen and her persistent cry of advice which Evan had refused to translate. 'Do you remember the witch from Hansel and Gretel?’ she asked, watching his face as she spoke and he nodded, a smile round his mouth as if he suspected what she was about to say, or at least some of it. 'What did she forecast for me, Evan?'

He looked at her for a moment in silence. 'Your future,' he said at last slowly, 'and mine too. They ran together, but I couldn't tell you that then, could I?'

'I don't see why not,' she argued, and could not resist repeating the words that Doctor Neath had translated for her. '“ Love him well, sweetheart, love him well." 'She laughed delightedly at his look of surprise and he studied her for a moment before speaking then nodded slowly.

'Doctor Neath,' he said. I'd forgotten he speaks Welsh as well.'

'I can tell you something else too,' she told him. 'The wishes that you wish at Lake Olwen do come true; mine did.'

He kissed her, smiling at the brightness in her blue eyes and remembering how he had once advised her to read more fairy tales. 'I know they do,' he said. 'Mine came true, too.'