Summer of secrets, p.5
Summer of Secrets, page 5
“You’re back, Dad,” Gwen said unnecessarily. “I was just bringing you tea out on a tray.”
“That bloody bench is too bloody hard!” he said.
Chuckling, Gwen picked up a cushion, tucked it under her arm and, with the tray in her hands, coaxed him back outside.
“There’a a visitor come,” he said as he sipped his tea. “Gordon went up and spoke, then brought her to Carys Cooper’s. Young woman and a baby about a twelvemonth. Pretty little thing. Must be holiday makers.”
“It’s a bit early, Dad.”
“One of them daft walkers then. She had a rucksack and nothing else. Sign of the times it is, Gwen. If they did a proper day’s work instead of using machines for every damned thing they’d get tired enough without wanting to walk for a holiday! Damned silly idea, walking and wearing yourself out and calling it a holiday!”
“Yes, Dad,” Gwen chuckled. “Damned silly idea. Just as daft as you walking five miles to the post office in the village every week to collect your pension when there’s no need, wouldn’t you say?”
“That’s different!” he snorted.
“Yes,”’ she said with a wry grin. “I thought it would be, love.”
“Pity help them staying with that nosy old bugger, mind,” he said, handing Gwen his cup for a refill. “Carys Cooper will have the ins and outs of everything about that girl’s life before bedtime. And what she doesn’t find out that husband of hers Jake will!”
“Drink your tea and don’t start on about Jake Cooper, Dad. Honestly, he’s all you talk about.”
“Jake Cooper is a cheat and a liar! What else d’you expect me to talk about. He cheated me out of my boat!”
“You don’t know that. Not for sure you don’t.”
Maldwyn only grunted and added an extra spoonful of sugar to his cup. “It’s stewed!” he complained.
“Yes, Dad,” Gwen grinned. “I thought it would be. Tastes like old boots.”
He caught her eye and turned away before she could see his echoing grin. He knew he was a misery. Who better? But the trick Jake Cooper had played rankled as fiercely now as when it had happened more than three years ago. He was failing, he knew that too. Perhaps this would be his last summer. But he prayed to live long enough to discover Carys and Jake’s secret, hear Jake admit his guilt. That’s all he wanted now. That, and to see his grandson Gordon settled with a suitable wife.
* * *
In a monotonous chant that suggested she had said them many times before, Carys Cooper recited the house rules. They were reasonable in spite of the firmness of her tone, but she reiterated two with emphasis. “Please to use the door from the beach only, and please to remember that the kitchen is out of bounds. Strictly out of bounds. I won’t have anyone going into my kitchen whatever the circumstances, not ever. It’s my private abode and private it must stay.”
“Of course,” Bettrys said, surprised at the vehemence showing on the woman’s face.
Cheryl nodded off to sleep almost as soon as she had eaten her tea and Bettrys put her to bed. She lay on her own bed, and thought what to do next. It was obvious Mrs Cooper did not want them to stay more than one night, but she had to stop in the area if she were to get to know the inhabitants of the small community. The village was five miles away, too far for her to become a friend of anyone here in – or was it on – The Bend. Apart from Gordon that is, she thought with a slow smile. Another man to dream about, but he wouldn’t do. He wasn’t Brett.
She looked down at the sleeping child and decided that when she woke they would go for a walk along the shingly beach as far as Smuggler’s Cottage, and perhaps call and meet Gordon’s mother and grandfather.
* * *
Gordon was sitting at his bedroom window staring along the stretch of beach he could see from his vantage point. His grandfather was sitting on the bench again, hoping, no doubt, that one of his cronies would join him for a chat. His mother was hanging out washing that moved surprisingly energetically in the almost imperceptible wind created by the sea. A sheet wrapped itself around her body and Gordon chuckled. Lucky she didn’t have Grandfather’s temper or the offending article would have ended up in the mud!
He had planned to sail along the coast and climb the cliffs to photograph the newly-arrived seabirds, busy on their nest sites. Gannets nested in an area that couldn’t be easily reached by land and by using his boat and then climbing, he hoped to get some good shots of the young birds. Meeting the girl and the baby had changed his mind. He watched the area of the beach near the Cooper’s house and hoped to “accidentally” bump into them again.
At four o’clock he saw her. Holding the little girl’s hand she stepped onto the beach and began to walk in his direction, picking her way over the rough stones, carrying the little girl over the worst patches. He collected his camera and whistled for Potter and was leaning against the bench beside Grandfather when she reached it.
“Hello again,” he called. “Come and meet Grandfather Griffiths, Mam’s father, ex-fisherman extraordinaire and great thinker of the parish!”
“Hello,” she said, offering her hand. “I’m Bettrys and this is Cheryl.”
The old man took her hand and gripped it warmly, then smiled at Cheryl, but although he tried to coax her, the little girl didn’t respond, just stared in the straight, disconcerting way of small children.
“She doesn’t say much yet,” Bettrys explained. “But she understands most of what she hears, don’t you, darling?” The child looked up at Bettrys’s face then, reassured, gave the old man a shy smile.
“Fancy going for a walk along the beach?” Gordon offered. “Or would you like a trip in my boat over there?” He pointed, and Cheryl began to pull Bettrys in the direction of the sturdy clinker-built boat with obvious excitement. She knew about boats, having gone several times to the seaside with Jonathan and Bettrys.
Bettrys looked at the old man as if for confirmation that it was safe to accept, and he nodded. “You’ll be all right with my grandson. Specially on a day like this. I don’t expect he’ll take you far, he’ll stay in sight of The Bend, won’t you, boy?”
Bettrys wasn’t sure if it was a question of a command, but, further assured by the production or all the necessary safety equipment, she smilingly accepted the invitation.
The outboard was an intrusion and when they reached a point from which they could see all the houses on the stretch of coast, Gordon cut it, threw the anchor overboard and allowed the boat to wallow lazily in the warm afternoon sun.
“There’s Grandfather on his bench,” he said pointing. “And there’s Mam standing beside him.” He moved his arm, directing Bettrys’s gaze towards the fields above the road and showed her the large farmhouse on the skyline belonging to the Taylors, Diana and Emrys.
“Diana Taylor is Emrys’s second wife. She doesn’t fit into the community very well, seems to resent not being treated like the old-style lady of the manor. Fat chance of people respecting her when—” he stopped and pointed to the houses lower down near the beach.
The Cooper’s house was visible although half hidden. The one she remembered seeing with its door open, called ‘Colin’s Place’, belonged to Colin Williams, he informed her. “He’s here this weekend but not with his wife.” Again, there was an air of something not said. This was certainly a place for secrets! Gordon pointed out several other properties, including one in which the farmer Emrys Taylor’s parents now lived. “Quarrelled with Diana and moved out,” Gordon explained. Then he brought her attention to a very smartly decorated chalet, brightly coloured even though evening was crowding in and mist was fuzzing everything at the edges and taking the colours out of the day.
“That’s called ‘Costa Plenty’ would you believe,” he chuckled. “Belongs to our local yuppies, if there are such things any more. Jeremy and Frances Baxter play at being quality-country-folk-among-the-peasants most weekends during the summer. They bring their friends so they can be admired for their ‘back-to-nature’ life-style, and cook meals on a barbeque – assisted by microwave ovens and any other mechanical aids they can discover. They commandeer the beach as if it’s theirs and have bonfires and midnight bathing parties when the weather allows. Grandfather goes mad!” He laughed. “When they arrive for the first visit of the year they send cards to all the local houses announcing that Jeremy and Frances Baxter are ‘At Home’ to friends. They are unbelievable, but they do give great parties.”
Behind Smuggler’s Cottage, where Maldwyn and Gwen still sat watching, was a small wooden chalet. “That’s where I live,” Gordon told her. “We all lived there when I was small, but soon after Grandmother died, Dad died at sea and Mam and the others moved in to look after Grandfather. I stayed in the chalet. It isn’t exactly independence, mind, with Mam bringing food and doing the odd bit of cleaning, but I like the imagined freedom.”
“Free to bring your girlfriends home?” she teased.
“Fat chance! Eyes like a hawk Mam has, and I swear Grandfather has radar embedded in his skull! He can see through rock!”
He talked for a while about the wildlife on the seashore and cliffs, explaining to the silent Cheryl about the animals he saw at night. He started the engine again and they swung round gently and headed for the shore. They took off their life-jackets and Bettrys helped him pull the boat up onto the shingle above high-water mark, where he had a mooring ring embedded. Then Gordon carried Cheryl to where Maldwyn Griffiths sat waiting for them.
“Your mam says for you to wait and she’ll bring some drinks,” he told Gordon. Once more he tried to involve the little girl in conversation but she just stared with her dark eyes and didn’t even smile. Then, after her solemn appraisal, she turned, put her arms up for him to lift her and when she was settled on his lap, pointed and said, “Boat.”
Maldwyn looked inordinately pleased. She obviously approved of him.
When Gwen came out with a tray of tea and a blanket to put round Cheryl, she stopped and listened as the sound of a car stopped on the road above them. Two policemen came down the path and walked to where they were sitting.
“Been over at Ffynon Sands this afternoon?” One of them asked.
“I have,” Bettrys said.
“Did you see anyone while you were there?”
“I saw a couple walking near the cliffs, then later a man seemed to be in danger of falling. I think he was trying to lean over and talk to the woman below. He crawled back safely though.”
“You didn’t see anyone else?” She thought of her vague impression that there had been a third person present, but she was far from certain. To mention it would be misleading. She shook her head. Then he asked, “Any idea who they were?”
“I only arrived this afternoon. Why? He couldn’t have been hurt. I saw him a short while later, walking along with the woman.”
“No, Miss, he wasn’t hurt, but he said he was pushed, that someone tried to push him over the edge.” The policeman turned to Gwen. “Colin Williams it was, but he refuses to say who the woman was.”
“I could hazard a guess!” Maldwyn said in a rumble of disapproval, but he was hushed by Gwen.
“How could you know, Dad! You haven’t left this bench all day!”
* * *
“Where was your sense woman!” Jake Cooper glared at Carys, who folded up the tea-towel she was using to dry the saucepans and glared back, her dark eyes huge behind the thick spectacles.
“Funny it would be for me to refuse. Best we take a chance than start talk about us behaving odd.”
“What if she sees something!”
“She’ll keep out of my kitchen and if that isn’t enough, well then, I can’t be expected to act as nursemaid!”
“She’d better be gone by morning!”
“I might offer for her to stay a couple of days, we could do with the cash.”
“Out she’ll be and first thing in the morning or—” Hands on hips, she glared at him, her eyes bright as a bird’s, her attitude unrepentant. “Come on, Carys, you know as well as I do that we can’t take no risks.”
“I’ll do my bit, but the girl stays until I say she must go. Tell him that from me!”
When Bettrys and Cheryl were sitting down to their evening meal, Carys Cooper leaned confidently towards Bettrys and whispered.
“Shouldn’t have much to do with them Griffiths’s if I were you, girl. Trouble they are the lot of ’em. The old man is the worst, mind. Accused my poor dear husband of telling lies when he claimed against him for an accident on his boat. Lost an arm he did, and there’s that old fool Maldwyn insisting he was nowhere near the boat that day! Wicked beyond he is, that one.”
“Gordon took us out in his boat,” Bettrys said. “And his mother, Gwen, gave us tea and biscuits afterwards.”
“Well, you weren’t to know, were you? And you have to be polite, don’t you? Even to the likes of them Griffiths!” Satisfied with her own explanation, she went back into her kitchen, closing the door firmly against her guests, and put the finishing touches to the casserole of Welsh lamb she was preparing.
It was seven-thirty when they ate and Carys’s husband joined them. He was small like his wife and dark-skinned like someone constantly out in wind and sunshine. One sleeve ended with a pinned pleat, the other arm muscled and capable of many tasks.
His expression was unfriendly, accusative, as if daring Bettrys to offer condolences or assistance. He ignored the little girl and only addressed the briefest of remarks to Bettrys. She watched fascinated, although with some guilt at her curiosity, as he used a fork and managed his food with neat efficiency. Cheryl, too, was interested and for once, Bettrys was thankful she was not yet talking. This was a moment when she would certainly say something embarrassing!
There was a tense atmosphere around the table and Bettrys knew it came from Jake. He made the air prickle and she had the uneasy feeling that this man had a temper that was quick to rise. Although she knew nothing about the disagreement between Maldwyn Griffiths and Jake Cooper, she knew she would side with Gordon’s grandfather without a doubt.
As they ate, Carys Cooper questioned her with the casual ease of an expert. Bettrys found it exhausting deflating her with half-truths and inventions. But until she knew who they all were and how they fitted into her sketchy scenario, she had to be careful not to let slip the real reason for her being there.
“You a teacher then?” Carys asked. Bettrys cautiously agreed without stating where she had taught.
“I gave up a post in southern England hoping for work that will enable me to spend more time with Cheryl,” she replied.
“Well, it must be difficult, girl, yes, indeed. A baby and no man. But there you are, you knew what you were doing, didn’t you? No good for to blame anyone else. You young people today, you can’t plead ignorance for sure!” She laughed as if she had told an amusing joke and Bettrys politely joined in.
She didn’t respond to the remarks that were intended to encourage an explanation. Carys smiled as if in sympathy and said, “But there you are, I don’t suppose you regret having her. She’s someone of your own, isn’t she?”
Bettrys didn’t disabuse her of the idea that Cheryl was her child. In fact, she thought, Cheryl was hers, or as near being her own daughter as was possible without having actually given birth. Unless she found the father, and he insisted on taking some of the responsibility for her, an unlikely event, Cheryl would remain her own.
“Yes,” she said very belatedly, in reply to Carys’s comment. “I’m very glad I’ve got her.”
Cheryl went to sleep at eight-thirty and Bettrys was invited to come down and watch television. She declined and lay on the bed beside Cheryl, and waited for morning. She had to find somewhere to stay. If only she had thought of asking Gordon or Gwen. But the excitement of the boat trip, then the visit from the police with their enquiries about the man who almost fell from the cliff, had distracted her.
She decided to go to Smuggler’s Cottage immediately after breakfast and see if Gwen or Maldwyn knew of a place to rent. Perhaps one of the chalets would be available. They couldn’t all be in use so early in the season. It would have to be cheap. She was running out of money faster than she had anticipated and there was a long way to go yet, before she found what she was seeking.
* * *
At the Taylor’s farm high above the Cooper’s house, on the exposed hillside, Diana sat alone, reading the newspaper and half watching the television. Neither interested her and she stood up with relief when there was a knock at the door. She glanced at the clock. Too early for Emrys to return from his darts match at The Ancient Mariner. She switched on the outside light and opened the door. There was no one there.
Irritated, she pushed the door shut and saw, sticking out of the letter box, a piece of paper. With a sigh she opened its folds. What are they asking for this week? she wondered idly. Money for something no doubt. Or jumble. Or the promise of gifts for the summer fete. There was always something to collect for. She was ignored by those on Yr Tro, unless they wanted something.
Walking into the room where there was a better light, she looked at the paper and frowned. It was an advertisement for a garage sale, amateurishly printed and out of date.
Diana Taylor looked, at first glance, like the uninformed person’s image of a country woman, born to the role. She wore tweeds and jodhpurs and thick socks, her boots lay carelessly abandoned near the doorway. Her hair hung loose about her full-featured face in untidy curls, where she had freed it from the snood and hat she habitually wore. A closer look showed heavy makeup and the very long painted nails that belied the first impression. Discontent clouded her fierce blue eyes. Whatever role she was playing, it was not making her happy.
