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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.