Hearts of Gold (20 page)

‘Every time my tutors threatened to kick me out for not doing enough studying. This became my work base. The family gave up on it years ago. I don’t think my parents have been here more than once or twice in the last five years. Sometimes they lend it out to friends. Fanny …’

‘Fanny?’ she turned, to face him.

‘My sister,’ he explained. ‘Her name’s Fiona but I call her Fanny mainly because she hates it. She loathes this place. No hot and cold running water, no bathroom. Only an old thunder box out back.’

She remained silent, angry with herself for falling prey to jealousy. He hadn’t made her any promises. She had no right to question him about the women in his past.

He left the chair and joined her at the window. ‘Would you like a walk? It’s too late to go to the beach; it’s a lot further than it looks. But we could walk across there.’ He pointed to some grey stonework barely visible through the trees on the hillside. ‘Those are the ruins of an old Norman Castle. If you won’t let me play at harems with you, then perhaps I can persuade you to play at knights and ladies.’

‘Are you sure the beach is too far?’

‘We’ll come here early on your next day off.’

‘Tomorrow?’ she asked hopefully.

‘I thought you wanted to go to the Rattle Fair?’

‘I do.’

‘Then it’ll have to wait until the next one.’

‘Promise?’

‘Promise.’ He unlatched the windows and threw them wide. ‘Come on, if we leave everything open this place will air out by the time we get back, then I’ll make you tea. ‘Totally from tins,’ he said gleefully as if it would be a great treat.

They took it in turns to visit the outhouse before they left. He apologised for the primitive facilities. She said nothing, wondering if he realised that the only house that could boast a bathroom on the Graig was that of the Leyshons.

She enjoyed the walk. It blew away cobwebs accumulated during a winter spent working in the hospital, and she even managed to forget the events of chapel that morning in the novelty of the cliff top scenery. Until that moment the sea had meant either Barry Island or Porthcawl; built-up resorts with rows of stiff wooden chalets, bathing huts, funfairs and railway stations large enough to accommodate the thousands of day trippers that swarmed down on them from the coal mining valleys. This charming unspoilt bay set in a wilderness of green pastures and trees entranced her, and although Andrew assured her that there were other chalets close by, she refused to look at their red and grey roofs, preferring to cling to her first impression of total and absolute solitude.

When they returned after an hour’s hard walking her feet were blistered from her new shoes, but the air in the chalet was definitely fresher. She sat at the table while Andrew ran the water, first washing out then filling a kettle he produced from the walk in pantry.

‘Last one to leave before winter sets in makes sure there’s a fire laid for spring. Not that it always burns.’ Using his cigarette lighter he lit a ball of newspaper and pushed it into a pile of logs in the grate which was set beneath a chimney, the only stone-built part of the chalet.

The paper smouldered reluctantly, then just when Andrew decided to pull out the fire and re-lay it, it burst into flames. He hung the kettle on a chain over the fire.

‘Now, like the three men in a boat we have to pretend that we really don’t want tea. Then the kettle will boil, which is more than it will do if we watch it. Let’s see, what have we here?’ He left the fireplace and walked into the pantry. ‘Tinned fruit, tinned sardines, and,’ he frowned as he held up a jar filled with dark greenish liquid and some very dubious-looking solids. ‘What do you think? Pickled gherkins or medical specimen?’

‘Specimen.’

‘You could be right. The last time I came here I was studying for my finals.’

‘All of a sudden I don’t feel very hungry.’

‘Coward. How about we settle for tea and I buy you fish and chips on the way home?’

‘It’s Sunday.’

‘So it is. Oh well, we’ll have to make do with what’s in the car.’

‘You brought a hamper? I thought you only decided to come here when we were in Penycoedcae.’

‘You know me and picnics. I like them even on slag heaps. If you use the water to wash a couple of plates and glasses Iʼll bring it in.’

‘What about tea?’

‘Why drink tea when we can have wine?’

He went to the car while she rummaged through the dresser. She came across a set of thick blue and white clay pottery plates, cups and saucers, and a tray of bone-handled knives and forks. The glasses she found on a high shelf in the pantry, along with a stack of tea towels, tablecloths and enamel bowls. By the time she’d washed some dishes he’d rifled through the hamper, laid the cloth and set out a plate of rolls filled with ham and cheese, a bowl of fresh fruit and opened the bottle of wine.

‘If we fill our plates we could take this through to the veranda,’ he suggested.

They ate and drank sitting side by side on the rattan couch, watching the flaming ball of the dying sun sink slowly over the horizon.

‘How would you like to retire here with me? We could grow old together, watching sunsets, drinking wine. …’

‘Without work there wouldn’t be any money to pay for wine.’

‘Always the practical one.’ He took the wine gently from her hand and set it on the floor next to her feet. Then he leaned over and kissed her. She responded, slipping her hands beneath his jacket, running her fingers over the smooth silk of his shirt.

‘If we’re going to do this we may as well do it in comfort.’ He undid his tie, took off his jacket, unbuttoned his braces and flung them on to one of the chairs. Then he kicked off his shoes without undoing the laces. ‘Come here, woman,’ he commanded, pulling her down alongside him, until they both lay full length on the couch.

His body, hard, unyielding, pushed her into the soft cushions at her back. He kissed and caressed her, embracing her body with his own, arousing the slow-burning passion that he had carefully nurtured in her since the night she had first trusted him enough to return his kiss.

His hand sought her breast, stroking its contours through the thin material of her dress, awakening sensations that were new and wholly strange to her. Face burning; she clung tightly to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, hoping that he’d stop. Kissing she enjoyed, but she wasn’t ready for anything more. Not yet. Not now. And when she felt his fingers fumble at the buttons on her bodice she clamped her hands over his.

His eyes, dark, serious, stared intently into hers, ‘Darling,’ he pleaded. ‘Just this. I promise you, it will go no further.’

He kissed her again but she froze, tensing her muscles until her entire body was rigid. Too embarrassed and ashamed to look at him she kept her eyes tightly closed, furious with herself for failing to control the tears that welled beneath her eyelids.

‘Bethan, what’s wrong?’ he demanded.

When she didn’t reply he swung his legs to the floor and reached for his jacket. Searching through the pockets he extracted his cigarettes and lighter. ‘I knew there was something on your mind when I picked you up. Is it something I’ve done?’ he asked, cursing himself for losing control. He didn’t want their relationship to end. Not this way. Besides, he should have known better. The first thing he’d discovered as a probing adolescent was that there were no girls so moral as those brought up in the ways of the Welsh chapels.

‘It’s not you. It’s me.’ Clinging to him she buried her head in his shoulder.

He lit his cigarette, pulled a table with an ashtray closer to the sofa and inhaled deeply. ‘Are you fed up with me?’ he asked simply.

‘No.’

‘Well that’s a relief.’ He leaned against the cushions. ‘Look,’ he waved the cigarette he was holding towards the window, ‘the sun’s shining, spring’s here, you have me. Now what can be dreadful enough to spoil all that?’

‘If you’d been there this morning you’d know,’ she retorted vehemently, frightened by his questions. That the thought she didn’t care about him should even cross his mind. … ‘But as you’re not chapel you can’t even begin to imagine it.’

‘Imagine what?’

‘The stoning.’

‘Stoning?’ A frown appeared between his eyebrows. ‘Stoning out of unmarried pregnant women?’

She nodded.

‘I’ve heard of it happening in chapels in the Rhondda. But surely to God it doesn’t go on today. And on the Graig of all places?’

She blurted out everything. John Joseph’s triumph in condemning Phyllis from the pulpit. The way he and the deacons had rounded on Phyllis as she’d fought to get out of the building. The women spitting, the stone being thrown. He listened in silence, holding her, stroking her hair away from her face, and when she finally ceased talking, he kissed away the tears that fell despite her efforts to contain them. Tears of sympathy for Phyllis and rage against her uncle.

‘You poor, poor darling.’ He pulled her head on to his shoulder.

Wrapping her arms around his chest, she was acutely aware of his heart beating beneath her hand.

‘This minister, he’s your uncle?’ he murmured, breaking the silence when he had to move to stub out his cigarette.

‘Yes,’

‘Good God, no wonder you’re mixed up. But you’re a nurse, sweetheart, and half a midwife to boot. Surely I don’t need to tell you what causes pregnancy.’ He smiled, shaking his head as she blushed. ‘Darling, I respect you, and I love you.’ He was as surprised by his spontaneous declaration as her, but he continued, not wanting to think too hard about the implications of what he’d said. Not yet. ‘If I didn’t I wouldn’t be spending as much time with you as I am, and the last thing I’m going to do is leave you alone and pregnant to face a chapel full of monsters. Bethan,’ he lifted her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. ‘I care about you. I’ll never do anything to hurt you. You must believe that. The problem is, you’re beautiful, extremely desirable and I’m weak. But I promise you now, I’ll never be weak enough to forget myself, never.’

She tightened her arms, holding him close with every ounce of strength she possessed.

The only sound in the room was their soft, rhythmic breathing. The peace was absolute, the air warm from the sun’s rays beating on the windows.

She could smell the dust, the odour of his perspiration mingling with his cologne, the aroma of wine wafting from the open bottle standing on the floor next to the sofa. He ground his cigarette to dust in the ash tray before kissing her again.

‘Do you think you could trust me enough to pick up where we left off?’ he asked softly.

Her eyes were huge liquid, almost luminous pools in the gathering dusk. She lifted her hands to the back of his neck and pressed her lips to his. Without his braces his shirt worked loose from the waistband of his trousers. Shyly, hesitantly she pushed it aside, running the palms of her hands over his naked back. He stripped off his collar and pulled his shirt off over his head. His skin was unbelievably white and smooth, smoother than the silk of the shirt he had thrown to the floor.

Moving his hand he slipped the buttons of her bodice from their loops. Excited, and more than a little afraid, she dug her nails into his back, but this time she didn’t try to stop him undressing her. Gently, very gently, he pulled her dress and chemise down over her shoulders exposing her breasts. Her cheeks burnt crimson as his fingers teased her nipples.

‘You’re beautiful, Bethan,’ he murmured thickly staring at her.

‘I love you, Andrew.’ She lay back and closed her eyes, trying to forget her mother’s warnings, the events of the morning, everything except his declaration of love and the feel of his hands on her skin as he caressed her.

Slowly, gradually she warmed to his touch, relaxing enough to allow his sensuous stroking to hold sway over both her body and her mind. And even when his hands were supplanted by his lips she made no effort to stop him. He loved her. Really loved her and she him. What could possibly be sinful about that?

‘Bethan. It’s Easter Monday,’ William complained as she walked through Megan’s front door at eight o’clock in the morning. He turned his back and hitched the cord of his pyjama trousers higher concealing a bruise he’d got, courtesy of Glan. His only consolation was that Glan had more and blacker ones. ‘Don’t they sleep in your house?’ he moaned.

‘Not during the day.’ Ignoring his state of undress she pushed past him into the kitchen.

Megan was outside unpegging the salt fish that she’d soaked and hung out the night before.

‘Just in time for breakfast, love.’ She bustled in with an enamel bowl full.

‘I’ve had mine, thanks, Auntie.’

‘But you’ll have a cup of tea.’

‘Love one. I called in to see if you’ve anything new.’

‘Had some smart two-pieces in on Saturday night. Specials. One’s your size, lovely dark green linen. And there’s a nice cream silk blouse that will match it to a T. Are you in a hurry?’

‘Not so much that I couldn’t murder a cuppa,’ Bethan pulled one of the kitchen chairs out from under the table and sat down.

‘Not meeting him early then today?’ Megan said archly.

Bethan coloured, ‘Not till eleven o’clock.’

‘When are we going to get a chance to see this young man of yours then?’

‘Some time.’

‘Soon I hope. I want to give him the once over. Make sure he’s the right one for you.’

‘He’s the right one for her,’ William called out as he walked through the kitchen on his way to the outside privy. ‘Doctor who’s not short of a few bob to put a nice bit of stuff on his back, or on his arm, eh Beth.’ He winked at her as he ducked out of the washhouse door, still bare to the waist, his pyjama top flapping in the breeze.

‘Take no notice of him, love; he can’t bear the thought of anyone having money when he’s got none.’ Megan took two cups and saucers from the dresser and set them on the table. Removing the tea pot, she felt the side before pouring it. ‘I’ll make some fresh in a minute but this will do to be getting on with.’ She spooned a generous helping of fat from her dripping bowl into the cast iron frying pan on the range. ‘By the way, I’ve something else in that might interest you.’