Firebird (16 page)

‘Well, for a start we have been selling only glazed earthenware pots with transfer decoration. If we were to branch out shouldn't the designs be of Welsh origin?'

‘If you want to be the same as everyone else, yes, I suppose so. But don't you think that the red clay would lend itself very well to Indian motifs?'

‘You could be right. Do you mind if I discuss it with Eynon?'

‘Not at all, so long as the boy keeps it to himself. That father of his is not above stealing other people's ideas.'

‘Father, Eynon is a clever, sensitive person and I trust him implicitly.'

Her father regarded her steadily. ‘Are you in love with him?'

‘No, Father, I have no interest in him that way.'

‘That, my dear daughter, is just as well. I could not countenance a marriage between the Savage family and one of the Morton-Edwards line.' He paused. ‘Oh well, in that case go ahead, discuss your plans with Eynon. I agree with you, in spite of his father's influence, I believe he is a man to be trusted.'

Llinos looked once more at the designs her father had shown her. There was no doubt they were eye-catching. Great eagles soared against jagged rocks, wild horses, manes streaming, roaming the plains. Very much the substance of her dreams, in fact. Had Joe communicated his thoughts to her somehow while she slept?

‘I'll talk to him.' She rose. ‘In the meantime, Father, you look over the books, see what you make of them.'

He smiled up at her. ‘You have become a harridan in my absence, Llinos, do you know that?'

She ruffled his grey hair. ‘I've had to grow up very quickly, Father.'

‘Aye, if only my letters had got through, your mother's sham marriage would never have taken place. If I ever have the chance to lay hands on that bastard Cimla, I'll kill him.' His voice was harsh and Llinos knew he was making no idle threat.

She went outside and stopped as she saw Joe in the yard chopping wood. Llinos watched him, he was bare to the waist, muscles rippling beneath golden skin. He was so beautiful that Llinos felt a strange desire to weep. He turned as if sensing her presence.

‘Joe, talk to me.' She seated herself on one of the neatly cut logs.

‘All right.' He smiled slowly, his eyes full of humour, and she stiffened.

‘Well, if you're too busy of course.' Now he would think her absurd. ‘I thought we might discuss business.' Her tone was sharper than she intended.

‘Very well, Miss Savage, I'm listening.' His cultured tones were so at variance with his appearance that Llinos felt she would never get used to him. And yet part of her felt they were bound together, a branch from the same root. It was ridiculous.

She fanned out the drawings. ‘These are very good.' She sounded almost grudging. ‘I think we might be able to use them if we get a skilled artist to paint them onto the pottery.'

‘I can paint the designs myself.' Joe leaned on the axe, his dark hair swinging past his jaw. She looked up at him in surprise.

‘Can you?'

Joe sat down beside her and she felt a thrill of exhilaration as his bare arm touched hers. ‘I was trained by an excellent master when I was just a boy. It's true I received an education in England but my real education began far earlier than that, when I was on the plains of my homeland.' He looked down at her. ‘We made pots there too, you see, though not in kilns the way you do.'

‘I don't know much about you, do I, Joe?' Llinos heard the humble entreaty in her voice and regretted it at once. ‘Not that your past is any of my business of course.'

‘Isn't it?' he said gravely.

Llinos rushed into speech to hide her confusion. ‘So you think you can paint designs in on glaze? It takes a very subtle touch with colours, they do not always turn out true in the kiln.'

Joe rose to his feet. ‘It is entirely up to you, Miss Savage, but I think I should be doing more to earn my keep.'

Llinos felt as though he had overheard her conversation with her father.

‘You need never feel obligated to us.' She spoke quickly. ‘My father owes you his life.'

But he had returned to his task of chopping the wood, his back turned to her as if for him she had ceased to exist.

Llinos rose and stood for a moment, staring at Joe's naked back. A feeling of inexplicable tenderness washed over her.

‘Joe, I feel I know you, I have always known you.'

He glanced briefly at her. ‘I know.'

‘But why do I feel like this? Aren't you supposed to be all-seeing? Have you no answers for me?'

He dropped the axe and when he turned his face was hard. ‘I should have answers because I am a foreigner, is that what you mean?'

She was bewildered by her own feelings. ‘I didn't mean that at all. Oh, forget it!'

She hurried across the yard and into the house and stood against the door, panting as though the demons of Hades were after her.

‘To hell with you, Joe!' she whispered and then, lifting her hand to tidy her hair, she returned to the room where her father sat, pencil in hand, calmly going over the books.

CHAPTER NINE

‘We can't stay here for ever.' Maura looked round the large bedroom knowing that she would never own anything half as grand and yet all she longed for was a little house of her own.

She was beginning to feel the uncomfortable swell of her belly and Maura adjusted her position to accommodate her growing girth.

‘I don't see why not.' Binnie was drawing on his shirt, buttoning the flannel around his thin body. Maura ached with love for him, he was her darling and yet he could be so blind.

‘We'll be a burden on the Savage family if we stay.' She spoke softly, she didn't want to be overheard. That was part of the trouble, really, living in someone else's house meant that they had no privacy.

‘We will not!' he said. ‘I do an honest day's toil in the pottery. Ben is getting older, he's talking about hanging up his boots. When he leaves there will be even more work for me.'

Maura nodded. ‘I expect you are right.' She eased her feet into her shoes. Soon she would begin the walk downhill to the vicar's house in Caerpistyll Street. The reverend father was good to her, but he would not want her around the place once the evidence of her sin began to show.

‘But I would love a little house of our own.' She saw him shake his head and momentarily anger flared through her, he was so obstinate. Impending motherhood had extinguished much of her fire but at times like this it flickered into life again.

‘How could we afford a house of our own?' he asked. He sank onto the bed and pulled on his boots.

‘We'd manage.' She would see to it. She frowned, she had learned early that it was the womenfolk of the family who took the initiative when it came to planning a future. ‘I shall ask Father Duncan if he knows of somewhere to rent.'

‘But why?' Binnie leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees. ‘We're all right here, I tell you.'

She rose and put her arms around him. ‘We have to leave because our child is growing in here.' She pressed her stomach to his face. ‘Can't you hear his heart beat, hear him breathe? He will have fine lungs and he will cry in the night and sure the whole household will be up in arms. Is that what you want for our future, Binnie?'

‘I want what's best for us.' He hugged her. ‘I love you, Maura, you know that.'

‘But not enough to put a ring on my finger?'

‘Now don't start that again. I told you in the beginning that I didn't want to be married. I'm sorry, Maura, having the baby was your idea not mine. We were all right as we were and I won't be trapped into anything against my will.'

‘Having the baby was your fault as well as mine!' Maura retorted. ‘What was I supposed to do to stop it?'

‘I don't know!' Binnie said. ‘That's a woman's job. Now go to work if you're going and stop nagging me.'

The argument that was about to start between them had been repeated many times and Maura was tired of it. Binnie would never see things her way, she might just as well hold her peace.

‘I'm going, don't worry.' She moved towards him suddenly repentant and lifted her face for his kiss. He bent towards her and she touched his cheek with her fingertips.

‘Promise you'll love me always,' she whispered, nuzzling her face into his neck, prolonging the moment of intimacy. He did not reply.

The dew was still on the grass as Maura walked away from the row. The singing of the birds was so sweet it brought tears to her eyes. But then, since the onset of her pregnancy, many things brought tears to her eyes. Motherhood was changing her, she was becoming soft. But not so soft that she would not fight for her future.

The sun was higher now and mist rose from the grass verges. Above her the sky was blue, washed by the rain of the night. It was a beautiful, breathtaking morning and Maura felt glad to be alive and in love.

The hill sloped towards where the church stood like a sentinel, tall among the squat houses. She saw her sister Mary in the distance and called to her.

Mary half turned and then hurried away and Maura bit her lip. ‘Mary!' How could her own sister turn her back on her? It was all Dadda's fault, he had forbidden any of the family to speak to her.

Her father was angry because Binnie Dundee had got her with child. She could accept that – any father would be angry – but to throw a daughter out of the house, that was not a sign of the Christian charity preached by the good vicar.

‘Good morning to you, Maura.' Father Duncan smiled as he opened the door. ‘And how are you feeling this fine day?'

‘Well enough, Father.' She moved into the kitchen. ‘Sorry I'm a bit late, I'll get the eggs and bacon cooking right away.'

‘Sounds like a good idea.' The vicar caught her chin and tipped her face up. ‘Are those tears trembling on your golden lashes, child?'

Maura brushed at her eyes impatiently. ‘My sister Mary just turned her back on me, that can't be the right thing to do, not between blood relatives, can it?'

‘Ah well, child, folks takes a bit of knowing.' He moved to the large pantry and took out a bottle of cordial. ‘Have a little drink of this before you start work, it will set you up.'

‘I know I've sinned . . .' she began, but he waved his hands at her.

‘Hush, now, keep all that nonsense for your prayers. The Lord knows that you are a good girl at heart. Weak of flesh perhaps but then those who are without sin are the only ones allowed to cast any stones. Seen any stones flying about the streets lately, have you?'

Maura laughed. ‘Father Duncan, you are so good for me.' Maura cut several thick slices of bacon and laid them in the pan. The sizzling sound and the mouth-watering aroma of frying bacon filled the room, drawing the newly ordained Father Martin into the kitchen.

Martin was pale-skinned with large innocent eyes. He reminded Maura of a picture of cherubs she had seen in a book once. He was nice enough but ineffectual and Maura could not see him ever running his own church.

Maura made sure the plates were well filled with bacon, eggs and fried bread before making a huge pot of tea. The two men ate in silent appreciation, Father Martin holding out his plate for more.

Maura moved silently around the kitchen, fetching the bowl from under the sink ready for the dishes.

‘That was delicious, Maura, you'll make some man a good wife one day.' Martin leaned back in his chair patting his stomach.

Maura felt her colour rise and the old vicar shook his head.

‘You must forgive Martin, he wouldn't know tact if it got up and bit him with his own teeth.'

Father Martin raised his head and blinked his eyes rapidly. ‘What? What did I say wrong now?'

‘Go back to sleep,' the vicar said good-naturedly. ‘Most of life passes you by when you are awake so where's the difference?'

‘Can I ask you something, Father?' Maura said. The vicar frowned.

‘So long as it's not going to be a long job, I've work to do in the parish.' His words might have sounded hard to anyone else, but Maura had known Father Duncan since she was four years old and she was used to his ways.

‘I want to rent a house,' she said, resting her hands on the table, aware of the ache in her legs.

The vicar shook his head. ‘Haven't heard of anywhere going cheap, or anywhere expensive for that matter.'

Maura sighed. ‘It was just a thought.'

‘I know of somewhere.' Martin sat up in his chair, happy to be the centre of attention for once. ‘It's a small cottage up at Cwmbwrla. It needs a bit of work but anyone halfway handy could do it themselves.'

‘Oh, Father!' Maura tried to swallow her excitement. ‘Will you put in a word for me, please?'

Martin preened. ‘I will, colleen, that I will.' He rose to his feet. ‘I was talking to the landlord only yesterday, an old gent on a stick. Moved in with his daughter. He told me about it as he locked up the house. Didn't know what to do with the place, so he claimed.'

‘What was the name of this old gent?' Father Duncan asked. ‘And where does his daughter live?'

‘Oh, I don't know where his daughter lives.' Martin looked dismayed. Maura felt her happiness evaporate.

‘Well, what's the man's name?' The vicar repeated his question.

‘I remember that, it was Christmas Pryce. Well, isn't it a good thing I have a memory for names?'

‘Don't worry, Maura, you get on with your work and I'll sort this out for you,' Father Duncan said.