Arian (28 page)

‘It’s not new,’ Eline said. ‘It’s the same idea I’ve used before for the Eline Cape Boot. Perhaps you don’t remember that.’

‘And if I don’t remember, there will also be others who will find your ideas fresh and new,’ Arian spoke persuasively. ‘These things are multi-coloured. The idea is different enough to capture the imagination, believe me.’

‘I don’t suppose there’s any harm in trying to rouse a bit of interest. Go ahead, Arian. Do what you think best.’ Eline returned the cape and boots to the box as she heard a sound at the front door.

‘That’ll be Will, he took the baby out for a bit of fresh air. He’s so good with Emlyn, I am lucky.’ Eline stood for a moment looking at Arian as though she would say something else and then, turning, she moved to the stove and began to ladle soup into a bowl.

When Arian had finished her meal she rose to her feet. ‘I’ll just get on up to my room,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to get the wording on the advert just right.’

‘You needn’t rush away just to be tactful,’ Eline said quickly. ‘This is your home as well as ours and you spend far too much time alone.’

‘No, really, it’s what I want.’ Arian hurried up the stairs and, once inside her room, stood with her back to the door, her eyes closed. Soon she would have to move on, she knew she couldn’t stand the enclosed atmosphere of Eline’s house much longer. The happiness in it was suffocating her.

She kicked off her slippers, climbed onto the bed and began to compose an advertisement for the cape and boots. The words flowed easily and Arian grimaced ruefully, she wasn’t the daughter of a newspaper man for nothing. Robert Smale hadn’t given her much but at least he’d given her his flair for stringing sentences together.

It was a fine day with the sunshine high over the mountains when Eline and Will were married. Arian, holding Emlyn in her arms, felt tears come to her eyes as the beautiful words of the simple service rang out in the empty church.

She remembered with bitterness her own marriage, hastily performed and in a language she didn’t understand, tying her to a man she despised. That all seemed so long ago now, as if it had happened in another lifetime. The months had passed slowly since Arian had run away from Swansea, from the unhappy memories and from Calvin, the man she loved.

Will was putting a ring on Eline’s finger, Eline was smiling up at him, her face radiant with happiness. Arian sighed. She couldn’t imagine a time when she would experience the same sort of happiness herself. Her happiness, if it ever came, would not be in some man’s arms but in fulfilment of her ambition to be a successful business woman.

She tried to assess her potential advantages. She had a head for words and figures, unusual enough in itself. She also was able to choose good leather almost by instinct. On the debit side, she had no money, no resources of her own, and she was stuck in a small room in someone else’s house from where she would never get on, not unless it was on the coat tails of Eline’s success.

No, the answer was to move away. Perhaps to Cardiff, set herself up as a widow and then take out a loan of some kind to begin her own business. Could she get away with it? It was doubtful. She shifted Emlyn to a more comfortable position in her arms, her thoughts still racing. Had Grenfell had made a name for herself and she’d had nothing but her ingenuity and her courage, and look what she’d achieved. Of course, Hari Grenfell had an enormous talent.

The bridal couple began to walk down the aisle to the strains of the lovely music from the old organ and Arian moved forward and kissed Eline’s cheek in an uncharacteristic gesture of warmth.

‘I know you’ll be happy,’ she said, her voice thick. This is what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?’

A man crossed the bare courtyard of the churchyard, a pad and pencil in his hand. He spoke a few quick words to Will and then turned away.

Arian handed the baby to Eline and frowned anxiously. ‘It’s a reporter, I can spot them a mile off. Don’t say a word or your business will be spread all over the country.’

She saw the man approach her and turned away. He was persistent. ‘I’m working for the
Brecon and Radnor Express
. Can you spare me a few minutes?’

Arian ignored him, pretending not to hear, then watched uneasily as the reporter shrugged his shoulders and made his way towards one of the deacons of the church.

Gerald Simples sat in the public bar of the Castle Arms and looked idly at the newspaper before him on the table. He was feeling more than a little disgruntled with life; money he had, but he was not able to splash it around and that irritated him. What’s more, he knew that he had made a powerful enemy in Calvin Temple and, for some time to come, he would have to watch his step where business was concerned.

And then there was the matter of his wife. None of his enquiries had uncovered any sign of where she had gone and he wanted her, God he wanted her.

He leaned back, the newspaper forgotten as he dreamed of having Arian in his bed once more. She was like a drug. The woman he had married had somehow got beneath his skin and now his body ached to hold her. Arian with her silver hair and lithe young body had become like a thirst he could not quench. True she had never been passionate, whenever she gave of herself it was as the result of a bargain, but he could accept that, just so long as she didn’t fight him beneath the sheets.

Sighing, he returned to the newspaper. He turned a page and a large headline caught his eye. THE MARRIAGE OF DIVORCEE it read and the article beneath the headline went on to reveal that a Mr William Davies, cobbler, had married Eline Temple, a divorced woman.

Excitement filled Gerald. That was it. That’s where Arian would be, with Eline and Will. Why hadn’t he thought of that possibility before?

He read the entire article twice, ignoring the parts about the fashionable leather-wear that the Davies’s were designing, and concentrating on the piece concerning a young lady who appeared to be nanny to the couple’s child.

The attraction of the writer to the young lady in question was obvious as was his flowery description of her silver-gold hair and her fragile beauty. It was Arian, there was no doubt about it.

Gerald rose to his feet, the address of the newspaper was clear enough. He thrust his hand into his pocket, drew out some coins and laid them next to his empty glass. Then he left the public bar and went outside into the pale sunshine.

‘Right, Arian, my love,’ he said softly. ‘Your days of freedom are numbered. Your husband is coming to claim you.’

Arian sighed wearily and rested her basket on a wall. It was full of working boots, heavy leather boots with thick soles, and it was all she could do to carry the load around the streets of Clydach. There was no doubt that the business had picked up of late with people coming to the shop from miles around, some of them out of curiosity to see the woman who had been in the papers, the one who had been divorced, but many of them turning out to be genuine customers.

Arian looked up the winding roadway and the thought of climbing the hill was daunting. She was growing tired of tramping around Clydach delivering repairs, sometimes having to call two or three times to the same house before finding anyone at home.

Her back ached and her feet were sore. Not even the soft comfort of the boots Eline had made for her could ease the blisters that chafed her heels.

As she did her rounds she knew, had known for some weeks, that she’d had enough of this life; even being with Simples had been better than the unremitting grind of working for Eline and Will.

Arian thought of returning home to wash at the pump in the yard and then to sit in her room alone, staring out of the window. She was sick and tired of the same view of the backyard and the single oak tree that shadowed her room preventing the sun from ever venturing inside.

She picked up her basket and hoisted it on to her arm; the work wouldn’t get done by standing here feeling sorry for herself. It was with a sigh of relief, some hours later, that Arian finished her round and turned to descend the hilly track back into the village.

She would tell Eline tomorrow morning that she was moving on. Quite what she would do, she had no idea but she couldn’t stand the rigid boring routine any longer. There was no challenge, no surge of excitement, nothing but the same dullness to be faced day after day.

Dusk was falling and with it the chill of the autumn air. Soon winter would come and walking the hillsides would be even more arduous. Arian sighed, longing for her comfortable life at Stormhill, her warm room, her easy task of keeping the books, the excitement of being near Calvin Temple. She’d been secure there, happy. Why hadn’t she settled for all that instead of trying to become a leather lord? The idea now seemed preposterous, bizarre even. What gave her the arrogance to think she could be a success at something as ambitious as that?

Suddenly, before she had time to call out, her arms were grasped from behind, she dropped the empty basket and tried to struggle, a sense of panic beating at her temples. A scarf was tied around her mouth and eyes, and she felt the cruel bite of cord around her wrists.

She wanted to protest that she had nothing worth stealing, but only guttural sounds came from between her covered lips. She tasted the scarf and the smell of it seemed somehow familiar. She kicked out with her booted feet but unable to see, her aim connected only with the air.

The breath was knocked out of her as she was hoisted onto a strong shoulder. The blood seemed to rush to her head, fear was a bitter taste in her mouth. She hung like a sack, unable to move, only able to listen to the heavy breathing of the man carrying her and feel with dread his feet slithering over the uneven land.

She’d heard of robbers waiting in the high reaches of the hills and there were pick-pockets in every large town but here, in the sleepy village of Clydach, such things were unheard of.

The walk seemed to go on endlessly. Her stomach hurt and her head began to ache. She felt she couldn’t breathe properly and she longed for the relief of being set down on firm ground.

She began to listen to the sounds around her. She became aware of a horse near by and the creaking of carriage wheels. Hope flared within her, perhaps she was nearing the busy streets and someone would see her plight and rescue her.

She was dumped unceremoniously onto a cold leather seat. She realized she was inside a coach. She felt someone sit beside her, the leather creaking beneath his weight.

The coach jerked into motion and Arian felt herself begin to slip from the seat. Hands lifted her upright, set her back more securely against the upholstery. She was acutely uncomfortable, the cord biting into her wrists. Hands fumbled at her throat and Arian shrank back as far as she could, shivering as fingers touched her bare skin. She could see nothing but she could hear someone breathing beside her.

What did anyone want with her? She had no money, no possessions, nothing. The coach moved forward at a brisker pace, taking her away from the life she had begun to despise but which now, she longed for. The hand began caressing her skin, her throat, moving round to the nape of her neck. She simply sat still, praying that she would not be harmed.

The scarf was removed from her mouth and a finger traced the outline of her lips. She shuddered, dreadful memories were rising to the surface of her mind, memories of Price Davies, of the way he’d violated her. It couldn’t be happening again, could it?

‘Who are you?’ her voice trembled. ‘What do you want? I’ve got nothing, no money, nothing.’

There was no reply and Arian, straining to hear the sounds around her, could detect only the soft breathing of the man at her side. At last, the coach jerked to a halt. She felt the rush of air against her skin as the door was opened, heard the chink of money changing hands. She was lifted in strong arms. She wondered if she should call out but, as though suspecting her intent, a hand was placed across her mouth.

She was inside a building then. She could smell the clean scent of beeswax. She heard the slam of a door shutting and then she was being carried upstairs.

She fell backwards and cried out in fear but the softness of a bed cushioned her. She felt herself being rolled on her side and her cords were being undone.

Crazy images of the past flashed before her eyes – a farmhouse, a fire, death and destruction.

Her hands free, she tore the scarf from her eyes and blinked at the square-shouldered figure turned away from her, lighting the lamp.

He came to her then, looming up out of the darkness. ‘Welcome home, Arian,’ he said. With a shock of mixed emotions, she realized she was looking into the face of her husband Gerald Simples.

‘I’m worried, Will,’ Eline sat in the small living room, the late sun was on her shoulders and she would have felt good except for the nagging feeling that something was wrong. She pushed aside the patterns that fanned out before her. ‘Arian should have been back by now.’

‘Perhaps she’s been invited for a meal with one of the customers,’ Will said easily. ‘Jono obviously has more than a passing interest in her.’ He paused thoughtfully and then, his face lighting up as he looked at Eline, he smiled. ‘It must be very boring for her being shut in with an old married couple like us.’

Eline returned his smile. ‘Aye, I suppose you’re right.’ She looked down happily at the wedding-band gleaming on her finger.

‘It’s so good, Will,’ she said softly, ‘so good to be Mrs Davies. I’ve waited so long for it to happen.’

She looked up as Will came towards her and took her in his arms. ‘Come on, Mrs Davies,’ he said, ‘let’s have an early night, shall we?’

‘But what about Arian?’ Eline said softly, winding her arms around Will’s broad shoulders. ‘It’s past eight o’clock. I
am
worried in spite of your reassurances, it’s a feeling that’s all. Do you think you should go out and look for her?’

‘I do not,’ Will said emphatically. ‘She’s more than capable of looking after herself. Arian’s a sensible girl and must be allowed to live her own life. Anyway, where would I look? Clydach’s a small place, so she couldn’t have gone far. She
must
be with Jono.’