‘But you won’t give up, will you?’
She shook her head.
‘Sure?’
She smiled an answer, and it cheered him up.
‘What you feel, I feel, what you know, I know,’ Jones said, and then followed up with an extra warmth. ‘That Tegid Hughes at The Lion always asks after you when I call there. He’s very obliging, I must say. Only place that is in this potty little town. You must never feel empty, Mrs Gandell, ever feel outside, ignored, left. Please don’t. I hate you being sad,’ he paused for a moment, and then said, ‘Mind if I have another,’ and she didn’t, and he got himself another drink. ‘How about you?’ he asked.
‘No more,’ Mrs Gandell said.
Her sudden change of mood still intrigued him, and he wondered about it, and, deep down he was afraid of it, remembering the early morning, the broad hints. Surely she wouldn’t break her promise, sell up, go? He wanted to get close again, to probe, to find out.
‘That bloody morning mood, that worrying about the bank again,’ and he wanted to shout, ‘God Almighty, the winter won’t last forever.’ Jones was like that, and always aware that the compass points of his world were the four walls of the Decent Hotel. Their near regular guest, Mr Prothero, had once christened it that, and Jones had signed and sealed it. But Mrs Gandell preferred its original name, Cartref.
‘How quiet it is,’ he said, breaking the silence, but Mrs Gandell appeared not to hear, and sat very still, and stared into the fire. And Jones thought of the order of his days, and was content. Unlike Mrs Gandell he accepted it all. Monotony was merciful to Jones.
‘Shall we go to bed, Mrs Gandell?’
But there was no answer.
‘I could read to you if you like,’ he said.
The Gandellian thoughts were miles and miles away. He leaned over her. ‘Come along, Mrs Gandell. Let’s go to bed, get close, get warm.’
He waited for a move, a sign, but she seemed gone off on a journey, and he would not restrain her.
He got up. ‘Going to bed now,’ he said, and began to undress.
He sat on the bed, removed his shoes, all the time watching her. When at last she rose and came towards him, he gave a sudden sigh that did not escape her. The country of the flesh beckoned.
‘Good,’ Jones said, ‘Good.’
5
Back at Ty Newdd Mervyn Thomas had brooded half the night, tossed and turned in his bed, and thought about Miss Vaughan. If only she would smile, if only she would speak to him. He lay in the darkness, oblivious of the time, of the noisy activity in the kitchen below. ‘Am I bad? Am I too good? Why can’t I make her happy? What is wrong with me?’ But the questions remained unanswered, and when his sister shouted up the stairs, ‘Breakfast,’ he sat up and switched on the light. ‘She is lonely, I know it, I feel it in me. I .…’
‘You coming,’ and then the rapping on his door.
‘All right, all right, Margiad, I am not deaf,’ and he got up and dressed. ‘Strange,’ he said, looking at the clock. ‘So early for Margiad.’ When he went downstairs his breakfast was already laid out for him. And she was there, waiting, sphinx-like, and seeming to look in every direction except his. And, unusual for her, she did not say good morning, and served him in silence. He sat down.
‘Anything wrong, sister?’
She did not answer.
‘I hope you slept well, Margiad,’ he said.
‘Well enough.’
‘Good. I’m glad of that.’
‘And you?’
‘I had a very good night.’
‘You must be off to Llys this morning, Mervyn. Twice now you’ve forgotten to see old Miss Pugh, you must do your duty. And she expects you to do it.’
‘I will do that, Margiad.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘I’m sorry that you were so upset last night, Margiad,’ he said.
She did not answer, but finished her tea, and got up, and went straight up to her room. He continued his breakfast, and had already forgotten a lady by the name of Pugh. When she came down again he was surprised to see her dressed and ready to go out.
‘You’re going out very early, sister,’ he said.
‘I shan’t be long.’
He half rose as if to see her to the door, but instantly sat down again.
‘And you will not forget Miss Pugh,’ she said, turning on her heel at the door.
‘I will not forget.’
She flung her reply across the room. ‘You forget too many things.’
‘I wish to heaven, Margiad, that you would not upset yourself in this silly way. And how much better if you tried to understand.’
