‘Once, she shouted in her sleep, once she left her light on a whole night. But always locks her door. Isn’t that odd,’ said Jones. ‘Yesterday morning we watched you coming, Mrs Gandell and me, saw through a top window, and I said to her, “Just look at that, Mrs Gandell. The way he walks, I said. Mr Thomas on sentry by the door, waiting, and inside he is rocking with passion, and thinking about her, and wanting her, and dreading her at the same time. Just like a nice pain.” You are a bloody fool.’

  Thomas felt himself grabbed by his coat collar, pushed towards the door, the Jones words falling into his ears.

  ‘There’s the door. And the world is outside, Minister, and anybody staggering down London Street can dance in the rain if he wants to. Expect you’ll have to pass Penuel on your way home. ’Spect you’ll see that God Almighty is locked up safe for the night. After that you cross another little street, down another road, and there you are, and you’ll see the light shining at Ty Newdd. I shouldn’t think your sister knits socks at midnight. Some women in fairy tales used to, so I understand. Sometimes I think there’s a little madness about everything. Don’t you?’

  He opened wide the door, but Thomas appeared rooted where he stood.

  ‘Come along,’ he said, but Thomas had not moved.

  ‘I said you could go, Minister,’ and he glanced upstairs. ‘Expect she’s still asleep, slugged by Gordon’s, or was it Booths?’

  Thomas seemed to fall forward, suddenly clutched at the door.

  ‘You’re not ill?’ said Jones, and pulled him free. ‘Drop your hands, man of God, and turn your toes southwards. Go away, close this door after you, and shut fast your own when you get home, and nail yourself to the floor, and pray. Tell your sister that I was asking after her. I do know good people from bad, in spite of your authority, and the Word on your tongue that seems so final. Good night,’ and he shot Thomas into the darkness.

  And Thomas lay in it, and pushed his cold hands into the sleeves of his coat, and stirred his body slightly, and peeped from behind the grasses, and wondered if she would come. Suddenly he exclaimed into the wind, ‘Ugh! Ugh!’ as though Jones were still there, but Jones had vanished. He came to his knees, scanned the shore. There was nothing there. He got up, paced up and down, rubbed his hands, and seemed to hear Jones say, ‘You are a bloody fool.’ Then he lay down again, drew in his head under the sheltering collar. He waited for the woman. He watched for the man. And he did not feel the cold.

  11

  The town felt it, and it turned its back on wind and sea. There was a woman on the shore, walking, walking where? Let her walk. The town was sense, and it leaned to its fires, but there was nonsense on the shore, under the sky, close to the sea, that this day was grey, foam-tossed. Cartref had closed its doors and windows. March was strangling February. Even Mrs Gandell realised this, sat at her table in the dining-room, the eternal cigarette dangling from her mouth, and she watched for the door that would open. And where on earth was that man Jones? Gone over an hour now, with a basket on his arm. An altogether new duty for him, and it still surprised. She wished he would come. She hoped that a hot breakfast wrapped in a white napkin, and a flask of hot coffee would sustain a minister on a very strange morning.

  ‘I still can’t believe his sister would go off like that,’ she thought, even as she got a glimpse of Thomas outside her hotel, sneaking about, hovering, waiting and watching and listening for the sharp steps on the stones.

  ‘Is that you, Jones?’

  It was. He came in, put the basket down on the table, and sat down.

  ‘No good, Mrs Gandell.’

  ‘No good?’

  ‘Wasn’t there.’

  ‘Wasn’t there?’

  ‘I said it, Mrs Gandell,’ and he watched her unwrap the napkin, put the breakfast on the table, remove an untouched flask.

  ‘Perhaps he’s still in bed,’ she said. ‘Did you knock hard?’

  ‘Front door locked, but I managed to get in at the back, and I called and called. No answer. Looked in his sitting-room, his study, went upstairs, called again. Looked in the rooms. No answer. Not there, Mrs Gandell. Empty.’

  ‘I’ve seen him once or twice at the Blue Bird place,’ she said, recalling two fugitive visits into Garthmeilo.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Jones said. ‘I’ll bring it in, Mrs Gandell.’

  ‘Do.’

  And Jones went off to the kitchen for the lunch. Over breakfast they had discussed the minister.

  ‘He’s not used to being on his own,’ Mrs Gandell said.

  ‘And now he’s finding out,’ Jones replied.

  ‘Whatever you may think of him, something should be done.’

  But Jones didn’t hear, remembering at that moment only a new Miss Vaughan.

  ‘Did you see her this morning, Mrs Gandell?’

  ‘Of course I saw her. I thought she looked rather nice in that new get up of hers.’

  ‘Think she’d been crying. Watched her clean her specs.’

  ‘You told me she never cried, Jones, that she couldn’t.’

  ‘Red eyed this morning. Had a bad dream, I expect. Not all dreams have sugar in them, Mrs Gandell,’ and when she did not reply, gripped her arm. ‘Well, have they?’

  ‘If it pleases you, Jones. No.’

  During lunch he astonished Mrs Gandell by clapping hands, shouting ‘Hurrah’, as children do, and he smiled across at her. ‘February’s gone, Mrs Gandell. Actually, truly gone.’

  ‘I did notice. Have you seen March,’ she said, and directed the Jones glance to the window.

  Like Jones, she too, had forgotten Thomas, was thinking of tomorrow, her new arrivals, Mr Prothero and friend. They would bring with them a new colour, especially to clash against a perpetual grey. Already she could hear the Prothero chortles, the peals of laughter; she made play with his jovial nature, listened to the coarse joke, accepted a fake heartiness, and more important, drew the coin from the Prothero pocket.

  ‘Think of it, Jones. Tomorrow. Two of them.’

  Jones’s voice lacked enthusiasm, he said that he was aware of the fact.

  ‘I don’t much like him, Mrs Gandell,’ he said. ‘Call him plastic John. Talks too much, too loudly. Don’t you think so?’

  She didn’t think so, and said so in no uncertain manner.

  ‘One shilling, Mrs Gandell, for services rendered,’ and she noted the disgust in his voice. ‘One shilling. Think of that.’

  ‘No need to think about it at all, Jones, since you accepted it.’

  ‘Tegid Hughes said that if you gave him a kick in the backside, six more backsides would grow in its place at once,’ Jones said. She wasn’t listening, and she wasn’t going to laugh. It didn’t seem to matter.

  ‘Clear away, Jones.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Gandell.’

  ‘Here,’ and she flung him a cigarette.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I’d a girl here this morning,’ Mrs Gandell said. ‘From The Labour.’

  ‘Oh! You never told me,’ and Jones put the tray on the sideboard and went to the table. ‘What girl?’

  ‘I’m telling you now. I liked her, she’s seventeen, and looks useful. She’s Welsh.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  He picked up the tray and went out.

  ‘What a relief,’ thought Jones, seeing himself free at last from all that washing up, a new girl doing her duty. Nearly time, too.

  Mrs Gandell sat up, smoked her cigarette, and thought of tomorrow. When he came back she had gone. He thought he heard her calling.

  ‘Calling, Mrs Gandell?’

  ‘I was calling.’

  Jones stood on the stairs. ‘If she’s lying, if she sells over my head, I’ll cut her throat,’ and he went on up, found her sitting on the bed.

  ‘There ought to be a fire here, Mrs Gandell. And those curtains should be drawn. And the damned window still open,’ and he rushed across and closed it. Jones loved being shut in.

  ‘Tell me about the bank,’ he said.

  ‘I told you.’

  He stood over her, and said, ‘Then tell me again, Mrs Gandell.’

  ‘I thought I was in the red, and I wasn’t. That’s all, Jones.’

  ‘I don’t quite understand you,’ he said.

  ‘Look in the cupboard.’

  ‘Well indeed,’ said Jones looking in, smiling. ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘This morning.’

  ‘Having one?’

  ‘Not now.’

  ‘Mind if I have one?’

  ‘Have one.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, and helped himself to a gin, after which he sat down beside her. ‘I can’t believe it,’ he said.

  ‘I can.’

  He finished his drink, got up and went to the small chest of drawers, knelt down, and opened the bottom drawer.

  ‘Anything wrong, Jones?’

  His reply was immediate, and quite sharp. ‘Not yet,’ he said, and put the glass down, and dived into the drawer.

  ‘Let the bitch wait,’ he thought; the ground still seemed uncertain under the Jones feet.

  ‘Tell me about The Palms.’

  ‘The Palms?’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Is something wrong, Jones?’

  ‘I don’t quite know. Is there?’

  She lay back on the bed. ‘Aren’t you coming?’ she asked.

  He turned on his knees, gave her a long penetrating look.

  ‘I’m thinking,’ he said.

  ‘Your thoughts’ll be much warmer over here,’ she said.

  ‘Shut up.’

  She sat up at once. Was he trying to start a row?

  ‘Have you got one of your awful little moods again?’ she asked.

  He did not reply, got up, and went to the bed. He leaned down.

  ‘Mrs Gandell?’

  ‘Mrs Gandell is listening, Jones,’ she said, and smiled up at him.

  ‘I want you to do something for me,’ Jones said.

  ‘I’m waiting,’ she said.

  ‘Im not thinking about what’s on top of your mind, Mrs Gandell, but what’s underneath it,’ and his hands pressed on her shoulders.

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘Are you going to sell this place?’

  ‘I am not going to sell this place.’

  ‘You said that once before. Remember?’

  ‘I’m saying it again. Now.’

  She grabbed his hand, gave a pull. ‘Come along Jones,’ she said.

  He pulled himself clear. ‘Wait,’ he said, and returned to the chest of drawers, from which he took out a large book bound in brown leather. He closed the drawer. Mrs Gandell sat up, leaned on an elbow.

  ‘What is all this, Jones?’

  He lowered the book to within an inch of her head.

  ‘See this?’

  ‘What is it, Jones?’

  ‘Read it.’

  ‘Bible,’ she read.

  ‘That’s right, Mrs Gandell,’ and she felt the flat of the book on her head. ‘I didn’t realise you could read so well,’ he said, acidly. ‘I want you to put your hand on this book, and I want you to swear on it.’

  ‘Swear on a bible?’

  ‘Swear on it that you won’t sell Cartref over my head.’

  He lowered the book in front of her. ‘Now,’ he said.

  ‘Really, Jones,’ and she pushed both him and book away. ‘Really. Don’t you believe me?’ She laughed, and Jones didn’t.

  ‘Don’t laugh,’ he said.

  ‘Swear? On this?’

  ‘On that,’ he said, took her hand, and placed it on the book. ‘Swear, Mrs Gandell, swear. One has to be so careful with people, always.’ And her hand was flat upon the book. ‘I swear,’ she said.

  ‘Again.’

  ‘I swear.’

  ‘I swear that I will not sell this hotel. Go on. Say it.’

  ‘I will not sell Cartref, and I swear on it,’ Mrs Gandell said.

  ‘Thank you, thank you, Mrs Gandell,’ and he bent down and kissed her. He returned the book to the drawer, then went to the grate and put a match to the fire, after which he drew the curtains. ‘There’s real cosy for you,’ he said, spreading his arms wide. He stood over her again. ‘Have you ever been lost, Mrs Gandell?’

  ‘We could both get lost now,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll never leave you now, Mrs Gandell,’ he said. ‘Never.’

  He began to undress, and she switched out the light.

  12

  Hands pushed into his coat sleeves, Thomas crouched in the sand. He was on his knees, watching, waiting. From the rear he looked absurd, from the front, earnest and hopeful, sad and bewildered. Again he saw a bird flying his way, but it was only Miss Vaughan walking straight towards him, and then he saw her.

  ‘It’s her,’ he said, out of a dry mouth. ‘It’s Miss Vaughan,’ and his head vanished behind a tuft of grass. ‘I’ll speak to her.’ And he watched her come nearer and nearer. Seeing her more clearly, he was struck by her movements. She seemed to swing towards him, seemed at times to float her way along. She would suddenly stop, then bound forward. Thomas flattened himself in the sand. She walked past him, then stopped again. He saw her sit down, open her bag, and take out a packet of sandwiches. He watched her open it, begin to eat.

  ‘Lunch? Lunch? I don’t understand.’

  She was in profile now, and he watched her remove her glasses. He wondered at what she was staring. ‘How tense she looks.’ She ate her sandwiches, she seemed in no hurry.

  ‘What is happening?’

  She turned her head from time to time, searched up and down the shore, then turned again, and stared out to sea.

  He saw her roll up the sheet of paper and fling it into the wind.

  ‘I’ve never been so close to her, never,’ and he raised his head a little. ‘What will she do?’

  He looked beyond her, expecting the man. ‘I’ll soon know.’

  It was at this moment that she got up and walked towards the sea. Thomas knelt again, followed her every step.

  ‘Where is she going?’

  He saw her dart forward, hold out both hands, heard her cry into the wind.

  ‘Colonel. There you are,’ she cried, stopped dead, ran forward again.

  And the words came with the wind, into Thomas’s ears.

  ‘I thought you were never coming,’ she said, and threw herself forward.

  ‘Good God!’ and the Thomas hand went quickly to the Thomas mouth, as if to smother the words that had startled him. Miss Vaughan shook hands with the air. ‘How are you, Colonel?’ She waved again, cried aloud, ‘At last. You’re here, Colonel.’ Thomas came slowly to his feet. He watched a fresh movement of hands as she cried, ‘Down Suki, down,’ and patted the head of the dog that did not bark. More words drifted back to him, and they were crystal clear.

  ‘I hope your father is safe, Colonel,’ Miss Vaughan said, and linked arms with him, and together they walked up and down the shore. ‘Safe,’ and the leap in the voice. ‘I’m glad.’ Thomas felt himself drawn further and further away from the dunes. And he watched her pat the dog again, turn her head sharply, look up.

  ‘I thought you’d never come,’ she cried. ‘I waited and waited, and waited, and I looked at the sea. It’s so beautiful today. I’ve a little shell in my room, Colonel. I often hear the sea roar. Wonderful. Have you ever heard it roar close to your ear?’

  ‘Oh no,’ exclaimed Thomas, ‘Oh no.’

  He stood erect, he stiffened, he wanted to shout, ‘Miss Vaughan! Miss Vaughan!’ and his lips trembled, and nothing came out.

  As she came bounding towards him, Thomas fell flat on his face.

  ‘Come along, Colonel,’ she cried, and pulled him after her.

  She was so close, he thought she might hear him breathing. He saw her sit down again, close by, very close.

  ‘So glad you came today. I wanted to tell you about the ship. You remember the ship, don’t you, and its anchor clinging to the very bottom of the sea. You said you knew all about it, you were going to tell me about the captain, but you didn’t.’ She laughed then, and shouted, ‘I shall tell you. Most extraordinary, the crew aboard and never sailing at all. Think of that, Colonel.’

  ‘Oh God,’ Thomas said, and did not realise he had spoken. She turned her head from him, and her conversation became more animated. ‘The long, long time I’ve thought about things, many things. And how the weather has changed, so suddenly. And this wind, Colonel,’ and she flung her hat into it, let the wind play with her hair. ‘The sand is so beautiful. I’d like to dance on it,’ she said. Low in his throat, Thomas muttered, ‘Colonel. There is no Colonel.’ ‘Let’s walk a little,’ Miss Vaughan said, and she was off again, and Thomas was staring, and went on staring.

  ‘Poor … no, no no .…’

  He watched her pat the air, he watched her take the Colonel’s hand in her hand.

  ‘Down Suki, down.’

  ‘D’you remember a day when I walked all the way to your house? And you weren’t there. I felt cold in a moment, and I knocked, and knocked, and knocked,’ and Thomas saw her stare straight at the Colonel.

  ‘There was no answer. You weren’t even there. God alone knows where your father was. I remember crying to myself, “Gone, gone where?”’ Her voice was hushed. ‘And then I went closer, I looked through a front window. Quiet it was then. And I saw the big room. I saw your father standing in a corner, and a hand to his ear, listening. It was so silent. I once heard my father sing to my mother, “Take him to that far corner, and lay him down,” and I remember following him to the corner, but only the once.’

 

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