The Lost Days of Summer (42 page)

‘Huh! I’ll have me day off to meself, ta very much,’ Maggie said loftily. ‘Playin’ gooseberry ain’t never been my idea of fun.’ She jerked her thumb at Nell, who was pouring tea into three mugs, ready for their elevenses. ‘She may say Hywel’s just a pal, but that ain’t what he thinks. And Bryn’s as bad; makin’ sheep’s eyes at Nell one minute and gettin’ a cob on the next because she don’t fall on his neck. I telled him the other day that it’s time he growed up; it wouldn’t surprise me sometimes if he flung hisself on the floor, drummin’ his heels an’ howlin’ ’cos he’d not gorris own way.’

‘He is young for his age, despite the experiences he’s been through,’ Kath admitted. ‘I think it’s because as a youngster he was always ailing. But he’ll be a fine young man when he’s a bit older . . . he’s only eighteen after all.’

Nell, who had carried the big vase out of the kitchen and into the parlour, returned in time to hear the last remark. ‘Bryn’s all right, in fact he’s very nice,’ she said off-handedly. ‘But I get along better with Hywel because he doesn’t throw tantrums, or pretend to be dying of love one minute and losing his temper over something unimportant the next.’

Auntie Kath cast her a quick, rather anxious glance, but said nothing, and presently the talk turned to how Nell would find out when Hywel’s day off was likely to be. ‘I’ll bike into the village after evening milking and telephone the airmen’s mess. If I leave it until nine o’clock he’s bound to be around; he might even answer the phone,’ Nell said optimistically.

She was in luck; she made her phone call, spoke to Hywel and arranged to go out with him the following Tuesday. He would pick her up on the motorbike and Nell would provide a picnic. ‘I’ll get a message to Toddy somehow, telling him I’m bringing a visitor,’ Hywel said. ‘He’s very organised and keeps the place in apple pie order, but of course he’s a feller and there’s jobs a woman ’ud do what a man don’t think necessary.’

Nell giggled. ‘Things like washing the crocks and scrubbing the floor?’

Hywel laughed too. ‘Oh, he does stuff like that, but he don’t polish the brass, nor blacklead the grate . . . but you won’t mind that, I dare say?’

‘Course I shan’t,’ Nell said at once. ‘Tell him not to worry; if I were trying to keep body and soul together I wouldn’t bother fussing over details either.’ She laughed again. ‘The only time Auntie Kath cleans the brass or blackleads the grate is when the ladies’ sewing circle or the WI meet in our kitchen. And even then she spends more time cooking something delicious for their tea than on spit and polishing. Oh, that reminds me. Will Toddy be offended if I get Auntie to let me do a bake? I’m a dab hand now at bara brith . . .’

‘Caller, your time is up.’ The voice of the operator broke into their conversation. ‘Disconnect please!’

Nell just had time to squeak ‘See you Tuesday’ before the line went dead.

Tuesday dawned bright and fair, and when Hywel arrived all Nell had to do was don her haversack – now laden with the results of her baking – and go across to the shippon, where her aunt, Eifion and Maggie were cleaning up after the milking. ‘Cheerio, all; we’ll be back before dark,’ she shouted above the roar and splutter of the motorbike’s engine. ‘Well, we’ll try to be back by then, anyway. But you know what motorbikes are.’

‘Indeed I do,’ Eifion shouted, grinning. ‘That old wreck my grandson shares wi’ young Hywel is forever lettin’ him down. But Hywel’s a mechanic, so no doubt he’s tuned the engine or whatever they call it and you’ll have a trouble-free ride.’

‘Some chance,’ Maggie bawled cheerfully. ‘Have a grand time, queen, and bring me back one of them there lobsters what rich folk have to their dinners.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ Nell said. ‘And I’ll try to get back for supper, honest I will.’

‘And I know what you young people are: never on time anywhere,’ Kath shouted, but Nell saw that her aunt, too, was smiling. ‘Don’t worry, queen. If you decide to see a picture or something we’ll understand. It’s your day off, remember, and richly deserved.’

Quite overcome by these words, Nell shouted her thanks. Hywel pushed up his visor and turned to smile at her, his dark eyes crinkling with amusement as she tried to climb decorously on to the bike. Not for the first time, she envied Maggie her land girl’s breeches.

‘Got everything? Good. Then hang on tight. If you want me to stop for some reason tap my shoulder, because once we get going the wind will whip our voices away.’

Nell opened her mouth to remind Hywel that she had ridden on this particular motorbike at least twice before, then closed it again. It really would not do to remind him of Bryn’s determined pursuit. Instead, she was going to enjoy this day to the very full.

The motorbike bounced across the cobbles and turned into the lane, and after only a couple of miles Nell realised that Hywel was a much better rider than his friend. The engine purred sweetly and Hywel maintained a steady speed, slowing for corners, stopping at junctions and behaving in a way which showed up Bryn’s slapdash and dramatic style.

Presently, the lanes along which they rode were no longer familiar, for Nell always stuck to the fields and meadows when she went walking. Then Hywel turned a corner, slowed and pointed. ‘That’s my village, down there,’ he told her, ‘and you can just see the roof of the longhouse. I’ll show you my house in a minute. I’d take you in to meet my grandmother, but if I do that we’d never get to see the Swtan because she’s a great talker, so we’ll give it a miss for today.’

They rode on and Hywel pointed out his house, which looked just like the others to Nell’s untutored eye. It was grey and squat, the roof tiled and the walls made of stone. She thought she could see a fair-sized garden at the back, but it fronted on to the road, with only a low stone wall and a wicket gate to separate it from the street.

They began to descend the hill, Hywel throttling back the engine so that its roar became a purr as they reached their destination. Hywel cut the engine, kicked the bike stand, dismounted, and lifted Nell down just as the green-painted door opened and a figure appeared. For a moment, Nell found herself looking past the man who stood in the doorway, half expecting to see a woman’s figure behind him, but of course she saw no such thing; only Toddy, tall, straight-backed, white-haired, his face tanned and his smile welcoming.

Nell was so astonished that she let out a squeak of surprise and had to pretend her haversack was coming loose. He wasn’t old at all. She knew herself to be a poor judge of age, but thought that he was not yet out of his forties. Indeed, he seemed to be in excellent health, for he pushed open the wicket gate and came quickly towards them, his long, easy stride carrying him swiftly to where they stood. ‘Mornin’, Hywel; mornin’, young miss,’ he said, holding out a large, capable-looking hand and seizing Nell’s. ‘I’m Toddy Williams and I know you’re Hywel’s friend Nell. How d’you do?’

All Nell’s shyness fell away as her eyes met his and read the friendship there. ‘I’m very well, thank you, and delighted to meet you at last, Mr Williams,’ she said.

‘Oh, call me Toddy, everyone does,’ he said easily, leading the way to the longhouse. ‘I mean to call you Nell.’

‘That’s fine,’ Nell said. They went inside and she looked around her admiringly, for, as Hywel had said, the large kitchen living room was neat as a pin. It was clear that Toddy Williams was more concerned with interior comfort than with exterior show; Nell found it hard to equate this warm, homely room with the peeling whitewash and ragged thatch she had seen from the well. There was a scrubbed wooden table in the centre of the floor, flanked by four ladder-backed chairs and a Welsh dresser, blackened with age, bearing an odd assortment of crockery and cooking pans. The walls were whitewashed and on either side of the fire which burned in the large grate was a comfortable-looking armchair. On the wall in front of her there were several pictures, depicting local scenes; Nell recognised Church Bay on a sunny day when the tide was out and another on a stormy day, when the waves lashed the foot of the cliffs and she could almost hear the howl of the wind. Truly impressed, Nell gestured to the pictures. ‘They’re beautiful,’ she breathed. ‘I can’t see a signature; who painted them?’

‘Me,’ her host said. He chuckled. ‘They’re only daubs really, but they give me pleasure.’ He turned to Hywel. ‘The kettle’s going to boil any minute. You show Nell round the place while I make a pot of tea. I wish I could offer you a scone, but there’s biscuits in the tin on the dresser . . .’

Nell clapped a hand to her mouth and unslung the haversack from her shoulder. Smiling, she held it out to her host. ‘I expect Hywel told you that I came and stole some of your water last summer, so I’ve brought you some scones and a bara brith in payment.’

‘Well, that’s very kind of you,’ Toddy said, taking the haversack and pretending to reel at the weight of it. ‘And kind of Mrs Jones to give you a day off. I’ve never met her, you know, but when she heard I was here she sent me a message by Eifion to say she wanted no rent from me.’ He chuckled. ‘Which at the beginning was just as well, since while I was trying to get this place habitable it was all I could do to feed myself. But now that I’m established, you could say, I’ve been putting a sum aside every few weeks so that one day quite soon now I shall be able to offer to buy the Swtan from Mrs Jones; regularise the situation, you might say.’ As he spoke, he went back into what Hywel told her was called the ty llaeth or milk room – Auntie Kath had called it the dairy, Nell remembered – emptied the haversack on to a long wooden bench and started to butter the scones.

Meanwhile Hywel, clearly at home, had pulled the kettle over the fire, and presently the three of them were sitting round the kitchen table, eating the scones and drinking the tea and chatting like old friends. ‘Your aunt’s a rare cook, I hear, and I can tell from this scone that you’re following in her footsteps,’ Toddy told Nell admiringly. ‘I’ve never really mastered baking, though I can manage soda bread and such.’ He glanced at their empty cups, then up at the clock over the mantel. ‘Want more tea? Only the tide’s just right to take the boat out and I know Hywel said he thought you’d like to go fishing.’

Nell looked hesitantly from one to the other. When she and Hywel had planned this day, she had thought of Toddy as an old man, not exactly senile, but definitely too old to enjoy pursuits such as fishing from a small boat or walking miles along the beach collecting driftwood for his fire, or picking mussels from the rocks for his tea. She had imagined him limping along, a hand to the small of his back and a groan on his lips, only too glad of the help offered by either Hywel or the lad from the village. Now she saw that he was a capable and humorous man in the prime of life, who would be glad of their company and, indeed, glad of their help, but who could manage perfectly well without it. She looked at Hywel, trying to gauge whether she should assume Toddy would be coming with them in the boat, but her dilemma was solved by Toddy himself.

‘The
Maud
is a grand little craft, but she’s built for a crew of two,’ he said. ‘If you go now, I’ll get on with my jobs, and put the spuds on when I see you heading back to the beach.’ He smiled at them, getting to his feet as he spoke. ‘We’ll have your catch for our tea, so make sure it’s a good one!’

As Hywel turned the
Maud
’s nose towards Church Bay at the end of their expedition, Nell, seated in the stern, gave a sigh of pure pleasure. She had had a lovely day, possibly the best day of her life. The sun had beamed down upon them and the breeze had allowed Hywel to put up the sail, saving himself the task of rowing. They had pottered along the coast, going in and out of tiny bays and two or three times anchoring the boat in shallow water so that they might go ashore.

On the last of these forays, something occurred which had turned a delightful day into a very special one indeed. The water in which they had anchored proved to be somewhat deeper than either of them had realised. Hywel, going first, had given a shout of dismay as the water reached almost to his thighs. He had begun to warn Nell, too late, and had he not seized her in his arms she would probably have ended up soaked to the waist. ‘Oh, oh, oh!’ Nell had squeaked, wriggling and trying to climb up Hywel as though he were a ladder, he said later. ‘The water’s freezing! I never knew anything could be so cold!’

Hywel, gasping and laughing, had begun to wade towards the shore clasping Nell in his arms. As the water grew shallower she had begun to try to pull herself free, but had not been able to do so. She had started to protest, to say that he could stand her down now, but even as she spoke he had let her slide from his grasp . . . and Nell had found herself being soundly kissed. Warmly, and almost without her volition, her hands had crept up his chest, then round his shoulders, meeting at the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

‘Mm – mm – mm,’ Hywel had breathed against her mouth and for a moment Nell had wanted to laugh, but as Hywel had deepened the kiss she had no longer seen any reason for mirth. In fact, when he had pulled away from her with a long sigh, only her pride had kept her from cuddling closer, demanding that he should not stop.

Pride, however, had come to her aid, though when she spoke her voice had shaken maddeningly. ‘Hywel Evans, how dare you! I thought this was a fishing trip, not . . .’

Hywel had cupped her face in both hands and looked deep into her eyes. He had been smiling, but there had been something about his expression which had sent a tingle of excitement racing along Nell’s spine. She had tried half-heartedly to disengage herself, but he did not release her. ‘Sweet sixteen and never been kissed,’ he had murmured. ‘And for a complete novice you catch on awfully quickly. Oh, Nell, Nell, what a little darling you are!’

He had kissed her again, and Nell had been fully aware that she was responding far too ardently for someone who, only moments earlier, had pretended to regard Hywel’s attentions with shocked amazement. At last he had broken the embrace to hold her back from him so that they could look into one another’s eyes. ‘Nell? I think I started to fall in love with you when I walked you home after we’d met in the village. At first I was fooled into believing Bryn when he told me you were his girl and asked me to back off. But as time went on I realised it was wishful thinking on his part, and you regarded both of us as pals. You said you were too young for a serious relationship’ – he had chuckled – ‘but it’s pretty clear that you aren’t too young any longer. I don’t mean to rush you into anything, but I’m telling you straight, Nell Whitaker, you and I were made for one another. And now we’d better do what we came ashore to do, which is to fill that bucket with the prawns that live in the deep rock pools in this particular bay.’