Lamp Black, Wolf Grey (6 page)

“Did you know the people who had the place before us?” she asked.

He shook his head slowly. “No. But I do know this house. I have been here before. Many times.”

“We love it. Still can’t believe it’s ours.”

“Do you believe a person can own a place? Have you never considered it might work the other way around?” he asked.

Laura was not sure how to respond. It seemed such a strange question. She wondered for a moment if he might be a Welsh Nationalist harboring resentment for yet another English home buyer. But somehow that didn’t fit.

“Well,” she said, holding out a mug. “We shall see, won’t we?”

He stepped forward to take the tea, standing very close.

“The people who had the house before you only used it for holidays, you know? They never really fitted in. I’ve a feeling you will.”

As Rhys took the teacup from her his fingers brushed her hand. She took a step backward and turned away, pretending to search for a spoon.

“Sugar?” she asked, feeling strangely unsettled.

When she turned back again Rhys had moved away and was leaning against the Aga.

“No, it’s fine like this. Thank you,” he said, sipping his tea. Then he met her gaze and smiled again, another irresistible smile which transformed his naturally rather stern features.

She relaxed a little, making a mental note to register with the local doctor so she could get her unpredictable hormones reined in. She had suffered from bouts of disturbing premenstrual tension for years, a fact every consultant had reminded her of during her quest for a child. It was quite probable that the change in her life circumstances now had knocked things out of kilter once more.

“So,” she said, making a concerted attempt to behave sensibly. “Have you lived here long? You have a gorgeous little cottage up there. And a garden, too. Don’t suppose we’ll ever get around to planting much more than a few bulbs ourselves.”

“This has been my home for a long time,” said Rhys. “And I garden because I like to eat what I grow, and sometimes I sell stuff. I’ll bring you some vegetables. Next time.”

“Thank you. I’d like that.”

“Has your husband gone to work? I saw the car leaving.”

“Oh, yes. Back to London, I’m afraid.” Even as the words left her mouth she wondered at the wisdom of telling this stranger that she would be alone in the house. She told herself this was not London. Rhys was a neighbor, someone she would be able to trust. “He works as an accountant in the fund-raising department of a charity,” she told him. “Water Wings, it’s called. Flies irrigation equipment and wells to all sorts of places.”

“And you? What do you do, Laura?”

There was something about the way he spoke her name that made the skin at the top of her spine tingle.

“I paint.”

He nodded, as if this was what he might have expected.

“You’ll have an abundance of subjects here,” he said. “The mountains have a hundred moods. I’m sure they will inspire you. I hope you will show me what you paint one day. I’m no expert, of course, but I think you can tell a great deal about a person from how they channel their creativity. Would you let me see them sometime?”

“Yes, if you like,” she said with a nod, still finding it hard not to stare at him. A thought occurred to her. Rhys must have been the figure she saw the day they came to view the property. She wondered if he had seen her, too. She was about to ask him where his dog was when he abruptly downed his tea and handed her back the cup.

“Look, I’ve taken up enough of your time,” he said. “I just wanted to say hello. Please feel free to call on me if you need help with that garden of yours. I’d be happy to lend a hand.” He paused as he stepped past her. “I’m sure this is the right place for you,” he told her. “You have come home.” And then he was gone, leaving her wondering at his strange parting remark.

When Dan telephoned later that morning, Laura allowed him to tell her about his journey in some detail before she mentioned their visitor.

“Very neighborly of him,” said Dan. Laura could hear office chatter behind him and was a little disappointed he hadn’t sought some privacy for his call to her.

“He said he’d give us some of his homegrown veg next time,” she went on.

“There you are, exactly the sort of thing you wanted to move out there for. Friendly locals and real food.”

“Yes, I thought I’d walk down to the village later. Might meet a few more people on the way.”

“What? Sorry, my love, didn’t catch that. Someone bending my ear this end. What did you say?”

“Nothing important.” She listened to him telling his PA to hold another call.

“There,” he said. “Sorry about that. You know what it can be like here. You have my undivided attention now, promise.”

She thought for a moment, then decided to speak, “I noticed something a bit odd upstairs today.”

“Oh?”

“I can’t say exactly what it was. It’s hard to explain. For a minute I thought there was someone in the house.”

“A burglar?”

“No, no. Just … a presence.”

“A ghost, you mean?”

Laura shook her head, as much to emphasize the point to herself as anything else. “Good grief, no. Oh I don’t know. It was nothing, forget it. It sounds silly now.”

“Was it frightening?” Dan asked.

She was touched that his first thought was not to make fun of her, but to be sure that she was OK.

“No, it wasn’t scary. Just overactive hormones and artistic imagination, I expect.”

“OK. If you say so,” he said. “You’re not getting spooked by the place, out there on your own?”

“No, no. I told you, it wasn’t scary. It was nothing. Forget it.”

Laura wasn’t sure what had made her share what she had felt with Dan. She didn’t want him thinking she wasn’t going to be able to cope by herself. Even so, a small part of her wished he hadn’t been quite so quick to take the thing seriously. She was doing her best to dismiss the whole experience as fanciful nonsense; the last thing she needed was Dan suggesting ghosts as if he believed such an idea possible.

*   *   *

O
N
T
HURSDAY
L
AURA
collected her mother from the station for a short stay. Annabel prattled on about the journey and the heat and the revolting state of the toilets on the train while Laura drove. She had been dreading her mother’s first visit, knowing she would be defending their new house and new lifestyle all weekend. As her mother rambled on, Laura found her mind wandering back to Rhys. She had seen no more of him and yet had found it hard to get him out of her head. It was only after he had left that she realized she knew nothing about him at all. She seemed to have talked about herself without a second thought, while he had given little away. She didn’t even know how he earned his living. Or if he had a wife hidden away in that tiny cottage somewhere. She couldn’t decide if he had been deliberately guarded, or if she had just been feeble about probing.

“Is it much farther?” her mother asked. “I can’t tell you how much I need a proper cup of tea. And the opportunity to use a clean loo.”

“Only another ten minutes, Mum. I want to call in at the village shop on the way.”

“Oh, good. I shall buy some postcards.”

“Postcards? Really, Mum, you’ll be back in London in a couple of days.”

“I know that. I just like to have some to show people. You know I’m no good with a camera.”

Laura immediately felt guilty for poking fun when all her mother was trying to do was take an interest in the place. The fact she was even considering showing her friends the outpost where her daughter now lived was a good sign.

“You can see our mountain from here,” she said, pointing into the distance. ‘Look. It’s the one with the wooded lower slopes.”

“Very pretty, dear. Though I expect it will look a little different in November.”

“Yes.” Laura worked hard to keep the edge out of her voice. “I expect it will.”

She parked outside the shop in the center of the village.

“Is this where you do your shopping? I can’t imagine they have much of a selection of fresh vegetables in here. I’ve never seen a corner shop with a decent lettuce in it.”

“There’s a supermarket a few miles up the road. Besides, we’re hoping to buy locally produced food, once we get to know people.”

“From farm shops, you mean?”

“That sort of thing, yes. And neighbors. Come on, in we go.”

The shop was clean and well stocked with essentials, along with a plentiful supply of pots of Welsh honey and jars of pickle. Laura made her way to a small shelf of books declaring themselves to be of local interest. She browsed through them. Mrs. Powell, who, despite being well beyond retirement age, held the dual roles of shopkeeper and postmistress, appeared at her elbow.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” she asked.

“Oh, yes, I suppose I am. I wondered if you had anything on local ghost stories.” Laura laughed as she spoke. “Not my sort of thing, really. Though it might make a nice present for Dan.” She glanced over her shoulder and was pleased to see her mother fully occupied with the postcards.

“Oooh, I don’t think we’re going to be able to help you there.” Mrs. Powell shook her snowy curls as she rifled through the books. “There’s one here on local legends, myths, old stories, all that sort of thing. It’s very popular with visitors to the area.”

Laura took the book from her and studied its cover. It wasn’t what she had hoped for, but it had not been a serious search in the first place. As she flicked through the pages one of the pictures caught her eye. It showed a tall man, powerful looking, in dark robes, a fearsome dog at his side. He carried a staff and was depicted standing in a wild forest.

“I’ll take it,” she said, trying to shake off the curious sense of unease that had descended upon her. On her way to the counter she passed her mother who gestured pointedly at the collection of sad looking vegetables.

As they arrived at Penlan Laura steeled herself for her mother’s response to her new home. She was more than a little certain that Annabel would not be so instantly won over by it as she had been. Nevertheless she clung to the hope that, in time, she might come to see the charm and beauty of the place.

“Well, Mum,” Laura began, unable to resist asking. “What do you think?”

“I think I shan’t be visiting when there’s ice on that lane.” Annabel climbed out of the car and narrowed her eyes. “Not much of a garden to speak of, is there? Still, I suppose that could be remedied.” She walked over to the nearest rambling rose and studied it closely. “No greenfly, at least. Too high up for them, I imagine.”

Laura saw a possible chink in her mother’s armor-plated resistance and made the most of it. “Some of the roses are nearly a hundred years old, according to the estate agent. It would be great to plant a proper garden. Not that I know anything about it. Would you help me sort it out? I’d be completely lost. You know what plants like which sort of soil and all that stuff. Please say you’ll help, Mum.”

“Well, it would be an enormous task, darling. I don’t think you’ve any idea how much work would be involved. There’s quite a large area of garden here, and the weeds! Just look at all that ground elder and all those nettles, and brambles, for goodness sake.”

“Oh come on, Mum, it’d be fun. We could do it together. Me and Dan can do the donkey work and you can be our expert adviser. Then you can enjoy telling us what a dog’s breakfast we’ve made of it when you come and visit.”

Annabel let slip a little smile. “I suppose I could help you draw up a list of suitable plants. Nothing too tender—the winds must be very cold up here.”

“Brilliant! Thanks, Mum.”

“Now, are you going to take me to a bathroom, or am I expected to squat behind a bush?”

The weather continued to be glorious, if a little humid. After a light supper, Laura put extra cushions on the garden furniture, and the two of them sat outside in the gentle warmth of the evening. The previous weekend Dan had arranged wooden chairs and a table on a reasonably level space of grassed yard just in front of the house. From here the view of the meadows and the woods sweeping to the valley below was enchanting. As they sipped cool Chablis and breathed in the perfume of the honeysuckle that climbed over the front door, Laura told herself even her mother could not resist such a seductive setting.

“This is the life,” said Laura, stretching out her legs and leaning back in her chair. “Beats grimy old London any day, wouldn’t you say, Mum?”

“I happen to like grimy old London, though I admit, this is all very pleasant.” She sipped her drink. “In fact, I would say this could be the ideal place for holidays. Lovely to come here and enjoy the peace and quiet for a week or two. But to
live
…”

“Why not to live?”

“Well, darling, you know what I think. It’s just so far from everybody and everything. I mean, you’ll never see anyone up here.”

“That’s the idea,” said Laura. “Besides, we’ll have loads of visitors. You mark my words—our chums from the big smoke will be coming out here by the busload, bringing their high blood pressure and panic attacks with them. All desperate for a bit of clean air and real food and a pace of life that doesn’t make you dizzy.”

“Guests are all very well in the summer. Or the odd weekend. But what about the rest of the time? It’s all right for Daniel, he’ll be working and spending all week in London with his friends.”

“I’ll be working, too, Mum. I’ve got my studio sorted out here now. You know I’m happiest when I’m painting.”

“Yes, but you will be on your own. All day, every day. Out here, with no one. What if something were to happen?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. You could have a fall or something.”

“You make me sound like a frail old woman, for goodness sake. And Dan’s only at the other end of the phone if I need him.”

“Now that it’s finally connected!” Annabel wasn’t going to be easily mollified. “And I’ll bet that won’t work if there’s snow. Nor the electricity. Have you thought about power cuts?”

“Mum, people lived here for hundreds of years without electricity. I’m sure we could manage a few days if we had to.”