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'Oh, I will,' Helen promised with all solemnity but responding to his smile. He was very good company and she looked forward immensely to being with him for a whole afternoon; it seemed so long since she had been out with someone of her own age and for the sheer pleasure of enjoying themselves. It was a luxury she had long been without.

It was beautifully fresh and cool in the little car as they drove along roads sometimes narrow, sometimes wide, sometimes enclosed between two sweeps of hillside and at others breathtakingly cut into the hills themselves, so that even the powerful engine of the car protested at times and they seemed to hover on the edge of eternity above the lushness of the valleys below them.

It was never pretty country, not in the same way that she understood prettiness, but it had a sombre grandeur that kept the eyes constantly enchanted by its frequent change, and to Helen it was something she had not envisaged as part of Britain, it was so different from the warm gentleness of the part of England that she was used to. There were no flat fields, neatly intersected by curly roads and lanes, but enormous sweeps of country with only an occasional ribbon of road woven about them. It was awe-inspiring and a little lonely, she thought.

'
What do you think of it?' Owen asked after an hour or so, and Helen sighed.

'
It's very beautiful,' she said. 'It's not pretty like Oxfordshire and Hampshire, the part of the world I'm used to, although we have the downs there, of course, but this isn't the same; it's breathtaking in its own way, almost—' She laughed her embarrassment. 'Almost frightening, I was going to say,' she confessed, ‘but that's silly, isn’t it?'

'
I don't know,' he demurred. 'It has been said before about the hill country, it seems different from any other.'

'
It all seems so much older than the English countryside somehow. I know that doesn't make sense, but it seems to be in an earlier age still. The country seems so much bigger than the people, something that's no longer true at home, it's closed in on us.'

'Very profound,' he teased her, and she laughed. 'I gather you're impressed?'

‘I am,' she admitted. ‘Very impressed.'

'
Good.' He nodded his satisfaction. ‘Then we must repeat the experiment.'

On their return Doctor Neath greeted her as if it had been much longer than two days since he had seen her last at Glyntarrach, and at the sight of her wind-tossed hair and bright cheeks he beamed his approval. 'You look a different girl already,' he told her. ‘The drive has done you good; you must take her again, Owen,' he added to his nephew.

‘I intend to,' Owen averred with such enthusiasm that there was no doubt he meant it, and Helen smiled her pleasure.

Tea was a vast spread of home-baked bread and cakes produced by the old doctor's housekeeper, almost an exact replica of the amiable Mrs Beeley, who smiled her gratification when Helen complimented her on her cooking. 'Mrs Jay was glad of the opportunity to show off when I told her we were having company for tea,' Doctor Neath confided. 'She could really excel herself with you
and
Owen here. I'm quite a trencherman myself, but two extra for tea and Mrs Jay is in the seventh heaven.'

‘I feel I've been an absolute pig,' Helen declared, ‘but it was all so good I simply ate and ate.'

The old man nodded approval. 'It will do you good,' he told her, 'especially after all that fresh air; a repeat dosage as often as possible is what I prescribe.'

Helen laughed. 'I'm the nurse,' she reminded him, 'not the patient.' She glanced at her watch. 'And I mustn't be too late back; Emlyn was very reluctant to see me go as it was and I don't want him too upset to sleep, if I'm late back.'

The old doctor shook his head disapprovingly. 'You must take your free time, Helen,' he insisted, 'or we shall have you on our hands. Don't let Emlyn make too many demands on you; that young man is far too used to having his own way. Evan spoils him, he always has.'

'I suppose it's natural that he should,' Helen said, once more surprising herself by defending Evan Davies. 'He is an only child; he may improve as he gets older.'

Doctor Neath laughed, shaking his head over her seriousness. 'The wisdom of it!' he teased her. 'Emlyn is not so much younger that you are yourself, but he has far less sense of responsibility.'

‘Perhaps that's not altogether his fault,' Helen said. ‘I don't imagine he's ever needed to develop a sense of responsibility. With me it's somewhat different; first my training as a nurse and then looking after Father all those years.' She found once again that it was possible to speak of her father without feeling that same awful coldness. It could be that the old doctor had been right, and that coming to Glyntarrach had been a good thing for her. It was almost like starting again in a way; having the chance to take some time off and to go out with younger people, enjoy herself; especially while Owen Neath was staying with his uncle.

She insisted on not being too late leaving, especially when Owen reminded her that they were to call at the Golden Harp for a drink before he took her home. 'Just one,' she agreed. 'I don't often drink, but if we're going to that pretty little pub we passed this morning on the way out, I would like to see the inside of it, it looks very charming and olde-worlde.'

'
It is,' Owen promised, ‘and I guarantee not to get you drunk and incapable before you have to see your patient.'

Helen laughed. 'It's not my patient I should be worrying about if I was,' she told him, and he made no comment on the remark but saw her into the little car once more and drove down the cobbled road to the other end of the village.

The Golden Harp was the only public house in the village and as such it was the favourite gathering place of the local men in the evenings. After choir practice at the tiny chapel, the lusty baritones and tenors met with their friends whose interests lay in less pious directions, even though the preacher had been known, on Sundays, to speak strongly against such practice. The population of the village might have declined over the years and was still doing so, but the ones who remained still took an interest and a pride in their choir and they took part in most of the surrounding festivals and eisteddfods. Despite the frowns of the preacher, the visit to the Golden Harp was looked upon as the high spot of the day, when they could seek the company of their fellows and lubricate their dry throats for an hour or two.

It was a cosy little house, low-ceilinged and rather dimly lit, with its heavy black beams disappearing into the inevitable cloud of smoke that soon filled the room. It was seldom that other than the local men used the place for visitors were almost unknown in the village and though of late one or two had called, attracted by the old worldliness of the little place, the calls had been brief. The event of their arrival invariably caused such an uncomfortable lull in the conversation that the new arrivals found the ensuing silence a little unnerving.

Each, one of the locals had his accustomed seat, which no one would think of usurping, and the place seemed filled with small groups talking in low, lilting voices that rarely rose above a quiet conversational level unless some topic close to someone's heart caused a momentary argument. Women seldom, if ever, frequented the Golden Harp, certainly not the local women, so that Helen's entry with Owen Neath caused a surprised lull that his solitary appearance would never have evoked.

Tom Jenkins, polishing glasses behind the short, uncluttered bar, also looked up in surprise, but soon recovered his professional aplomb and smiled at them both. '"Evening, Mr Neath,' he said cheerfully with a brief glance at Helen. 'Been a nice day again.'

‘Lovely,' Owen agreed, well aware of the stir that his companion had caused and amused by it. 'I thought I'd bring Miss Gaynor along and introduce her to our local hostelry.'

'Glad to see you, miss,' the landlord declared, though it was doubtful if his pleasure was shared by all his customers. Not that their glances were entirely disapproving ; their displeasure was on account of her being there, but they could still admire her loveliness and many of them did. Heads turned and eyes took in the shining gold hair and pale skin, only slightly flushed with the sun and the wind from the drive. Their own women folk were mostly dark-haired and brown-eyed, and this stranger with such vivid blue eyes and fair hair was worth a second look, even though she should not have been in the Golden Harp, trespassing on male territory.

Feeling their scrutiny and to a less extent their disapproval of her being there, Helen wished she had not succumbed to Owen's persuasion but had gone straight back to the house without calling in for a drink on the way. Obviously this was not a house women frequented very often.

There was a big man at a table near the fireplace who seemed particularly interested in their arrival and for several seconds he watched them as if he was trying to make up his mind about something. He must have topped six feet by an inch or two and his build was such that he dwarfed the man who shared his table and who appeared to be rather anxious about what his companion would do. After several moments of doubt the big man rose from his seat and crossed to the bar where Helen and Owen still stood. His smile had a lack of humour about it that Helen found disturbing as he came closer with the obvious intention of speaking to them. ‘Good evening, Owen, staying with your uncle again, then, are you?' His accent was as pronounced as Dai Hughes' and his voice more coarse, and the dark eyes that regarded her so interestedly flicked for a moment to Owen as he spoke.

If Owen Neath disliked being approached by the big man he concealed it very well, but just the same Helen was instinctively aware that he would rather the approach had not been made. He smiled slowly. 'Hello, Alun. Yes, I'm staying with the doctor for a while, maybe a week or so.'

‘Uh-huh.' A sly smile flitted across the broad face. 'Got a good reason for coming back now, eh, boyo?' The implication was obvious and the voice so loud that it had been heard by everyone in the room, and Helen was aware of the many hidden smiles that were buried behind the hastily raised glasses. Seeing the inevitability of it, Owen introduced the man, though it was plain he would rather not have done so.

'Helen, this is Alun Howell,' a vast hand was thrust forward to engulf hers. 'Miss Gaynor.'

‘
Nurse
Gaynor, I heard it said.' Howell said, his eyes glittering cunningly as he saw their discomfort. 'Looking after young Emlyn, are you?'

Helen nodded, uncertain how much she should say to this huge, ungainly creature who looked’ friendly enough at the moment but also looked as if his disposition would deteriorate later in the evening. Evan Davies, she felt sure, would not want his family discussed in the bar of the local public house. As if he guessed something of her dilemma the man's eyes glittered with an unholy glee and there was something about the expression in them that was somehow familiar, yet she could not for a moment imagine why.

'I am nursing Mr Emlyn Davies,' she admitted, somewhat stiffly, she realized, and her caution was greeted with a mighty guffaw that caused heads to turn again as they had at her entrance.

'You don't have to be close with me, girl,' Howell told her. 'Young Emlyn's my nephew—my sister's boy.' The surprise of the statement left her too bewildered to speak for a moment and she stared at him in disbelief. 'Didn't they tell you about that?' Howell asked, making no effort to lower his voice, and Helen looked at Owen for support and confirmation.

‘That's right,' Owen told her, but reluctantly she thought. 'Emlyn's mother was Dilys Howell, Alun's youngest sister.' The big man seemed to find her stunned silence amusing and the dark eyes glinted at her from under thick brows while his smile at once mocked and pitied her. Again she felt that flash of familiarity as he watched her and this time knew why it was; the dark, glittering slightly malicious humour was reminiscent of Emlyn in one of his less amenable moods.

‘How is Emlyn?' the man asked. 'Still flat on his back, is he?'

‘Yes, I'm afraid so at the moment,' Helen said, recovering somewhat, 'but he'll be up and about again soon, we hope.'

‘He will, will he?" he said, and she thought that perhaps there was a trace of anxiety in the big man's voice. 'I'm glad to hear that. Feeling a bit down, I expect, isn't he? He was always a live wire, was Emlyn, like our side of the family, see?'

‘Yes,' Helen agreed and, scarcely knowing what prompted her to say it, added, 'Why don't you come and see him, Mr Howell? After all, you are his uncle.'

She sensed the
faux pas
almost before she had finished speaking, but whereas Owen Neath looked uncomfortable, Alun Howell greeted the invitation with another head turning laugh. '
Why,
girl? I'll tell you why; because I doubt I'd get past the gate in the first place, and no Howell has set foot in that house since Dilys died there. Davies wouldn't let me in even if I wanted to go, which I don't.'

'
I'm sorry, I didn't realize,' she said, seeking to cover her mistake, and was relieved to feel Owen's hand reassuringly on her arm.

'
If you'll excuse us, Alun,' he said quietly in contrast to the other's loud and blustering tone, ‘I think we'll
take
our drinks outside, shall we, Helen?'

Helen nodded dumbly, avoiding the look in Alun Howell's eyes as he watched them go. 'Please,' she said.

‘I'm sorry about that, Helen. I thought Howell was still away or I wouldn't have let you in for that.' They seated themselves on a long wooden bench under the window of the bar they had just left. ‘I really am sorry.'

'Oh, please don't be,' she smiled a little uncertainly.
‘
It was my fault for issuing the invitation; I can't think why I did such a thing when I know Mr Davies dislikes visitors to Glyntarrach, especially when he's working as he is at the moment. I should have known better.'