Dragon's Lair (15 page)

her back. Instead she had gone into one of the stores catering for

the mountaineers and other adventure seekers who came to

Dolgellau. By dint of using her credit cards, she had bought a

couple of pairs of slim-fitting denim pants, some cheesecloth shirts

and two warm sweaters, as well as a pair of tough canvas shoes.

Later she had added a couple of the warm, hard-wearing

fishermen's smocks on sale in the craft shops, and had

supplemented her supply of lingerie.

She wandered along rather aimlessly, glancing in the craft shop

windows with the rest of the tourists. It had not been until after

Gethyn had disappeared that she had realised he had made no firm

arrangements to meet her again. She supposed he assumed she

would meekly return to the car when her shopping was completed

to await his pleasure. Well, that would be the day!

Even the drizzle was vanishing now and in the sky a pale sun was

struggling to make its presence felt. Davina discarded the parka

with a feeling of relief that had nothing to do with the improvement

in the weather. Perhaps a cup of coffee would cheer her up, she

tried to rally herself, and help dispel this strange sinking feeling

inside her when she allowed herself to consider what Gethyn's

reaction might be to her rebellion over her hair. She compressed her

lips. What could it matter what he said or thought about it? she told

herself. It was no longer any of his business, and her action was

merely a timely reminder of the fact that any relationship between

them existed now only on paper.

She marched into a cafe and sat down at one of the tables with its

gaily checked cloth, ordering coffee and a fruit scone home-baked

and still warm from the oven. But delicious as it was, she might as

well have been eating cardboard. Everything seemed to turn to

ashes in her mouth. She had bought a guide-book to the area in a

local newsagents and she began to turn over the pages, trying to

concentrate on the information it contained, the history of the town

little changed over the centuries, the fact that Owain Glyndwr had

once held his parliament there in defiance of the English overlords.

She sighed and closed the guide-book, thrusting it into her bag. It

was all very well for Glyndwr, she thought, her sense of humour

unwillingly reasserting itself. He only had the English nation to

contend with in his rebellion. Once, she remembered unwillingly,

Gethyn had said that she could even make dragons eat out of her

hand, but he had given no indication as to what would happen if she

should be so foolish as to deliberately provoke one to anger, and in

the dragon's own lair as well.

She finished her coffee, but no one seemed in a hurry to move her

from the table, so she sat there quietly, her eyes fixed unseeingly on

an oil-painting of the magnificent sweep of Cader Idris by a local

artist which hung on the wall above her. There was a stark grandeur

about Wales's high places, she thought to herself. Even in her brief

sojourn, she could appreciate the overwhelming feeling of nostalgia

for the mountains and valleys which afflicted expatriates. Perhaps

Gethyn's return to the. land of his fathers was more explicable than

she had at first realised. If she was forced to stay for very long, she

could see that she too might be caught in the spell of these wild and

lonely hills, but even that might be safer than yielding to that frank

bewitchment of the senses that Gethyn seemed to be able to kindle

in her all over again. She gave a little shiver at the thought. It was

all the doubts and fears that had taken possession of her on her

wedding day and afterwards that she needed to remember. They

were the reality. Not those few hours of crazy, soul-spinning delight

that he had woven for her before he had walked out of her life

without a backward glance.

Perhaps he had been realistic then, knowing in his heart that the

sensual attraction which had brought them together was no lasting

foundation on which to build a marriage. His second relationship

would be based far more securely. Rhiannon he had presumably

known since childhood, and there would be no unwelcome

surprises in store for him after they were married. Davina supposed

with a swift pang that they would continue to live at Plas Gwyn,

and that their eventual family would be brought up there.

Pain struck at her anew as she realised Gethyn had never even

asked about the loss of the child she had carried for him so briefly.

It was all part of the same ruthless streak she had once found so

attractive, she thought wearily. She had admired his

single-mindedness, his ability to cut inessentials out of his life. But

that was before she herself had discovered that she was one of

those inessentials. And her inability to mother his child had only

served to underline her uselessness in his eyes.

And as he had had no compunction in reminding her, she had not

even got out of their marriage with her pride intact. In the end, his

victory over her had been totally, shatteringly complete.

Her fingernail scored a crease deep into the tablecloth as unwilling

remembrance of that night forced itself into her brain.

Gethyn's cases had been packed, and he was sorting through his

papers, deciding what to put into his briefcase, when she returned

to the flat from shopping. He had returned her greeting briefly

without even glancing in her direction as she entered and she had

walked into the kitchen, closing the door behind her with a slight

slam. She dumped her loaded carriers on the table and regarded

them sourly. So much for the impulse which had carried her into the

food hall of a well-known department store! She had spent

recklessly on food and wine, telling herself that she might as well

splurge for one last time while she still had two of them to cook for.

There was no fun and little point in making elaborate meals when

one was eating alone. Or that was what she had told herself as she

signed the cheque at the end. She had even bought a pair of

miniature wooden candle-holders, and two long elegant red candles

to put in them. Now she surveyed her purchases despondently and

told herself she had been ridiculous, and also not quite honest. Why

wouldn't she admit to herself that there was more to her motives

than simply a future filled with solitary meals—that she intended to

give Gethyn an evening meal to remember before he departed for

the States the next day? It would serve her right if she found he was

due to dine with Alec.

She unpacked slowly, putting the food away in the refrigerator. She

wished she had simply bought something unremarkable like chops.

As it was, the meal she had planned—a fillet of beef smothered in

pate and cooked in a pastry case—suddenly savoured too much of a

celebration. That was undoubtedly how Gethyn would regard it

anyway, and she found herself wishing that they could part without

any of the barbed remarks and long electric silences which had

become a feature of their lives in recent weeks.

Perhaps he would see it as a peace-offering, she thought, trying to

cheer herself up—a timid expression of the fact that although their

marriage had turned out to be a disaster, she nevertheless wished

him well—even wished that things could have been different

between them.

She stopped abruptly, her heart thumping suddenly. That was

something she had never admitted to herself before. She had always

explained this crushing feeling of regret that had oppressed her

lately by telling herself she was mourning for the mess she had

made of her life by her reckless marriage. Now she knew that it was

not as simple as that.

Almost imperceptibly, she had begun to grieve over the bleak facts

of her relationship with Gethyn. During these taut, uncomfortable

weeks at the flat she had slowly begun to recapture that

overwhelming awareness of his maleness which had been her

downfall when they first met—had begun to listen with something

approaching eagerness for the sound of his key in the lock. It had

occurred to her some time before how quiet and deadly the place

was going to seem without the clatter of the typewriter in the living

room, a sound she had once dragged the bedclothes over her head

to escape. Now she knew how much she was going to miss that

particular piece of aggravation.

But at the same time, she was forced to admit that her deepening

regrets were far from being reciprocated by Gethyn himself. His

own attitude was coldly indifferent and always had been. In fact, he

seemed to go out of his way to avoid even the slightest physical

contact with her, and oddly this was the most hurtful thing of all,

though she had to admit that life in the small flat could have been

well-nigh unbearable if he had behaved in any other way. Now, she

found herself wondering what might have happened if Gethyn had

once—just once—allowed that iron self-control he seemed able to

assume at will to slip.

Her face flamed as the memory of their wedding night returned to

torment her. It had been easy at the time to swear she would never

forgive him for his treatment of her, but not so easy to maintain in

the face of his own indifference. Whether she loved or hated, it

seemed' to mean the same to him. And as the hostile barrier she had

tried to erect between them seemed to crumble, his own attitude

remained unchanged. Her only crumb of comfort was the way he

looked at her—sometimes.

She sighed, then caught at herself. If only she felt better in herself,

she thought, then her prospects might not seem so bleak. As it was,

the thought of having a meal to prepare was a nauseating one. For

some weeks now she realised she had been suffering from a

constant feeling of slight sickness, generally afflicting her at

mealtimes. Obviously she had picked up some sort of lingering

virus, she thought, resolutely ignoring the slight quiver of her

stomach as she began to prepare the steak.

When she eventually went back into the living room to set the table,

there was no one there, and she stood very still for a moment while

disappointment lashed at her. Were all her painstaking preparations

to go for nothing after all? she wondered despairingly as a

mouth-watering aroma drifted after her from the kitchen. Then she

saw the papers still scattered on his worktable and relaxed slightly,

guessing that he had merely gone out to buy some cheroots.

She had laid the table and the candles were in place but not yet lit

when she heard his step outside. She tensed involuntarily as the

door opened. Gethyn walked in, then halted, his eyes sweeping the

table and her own rather defensive stance beside it with frank irony.

'Expecting a guest?' He shrugged off his coat and dropped it on to

the sofa. 'Shall I make myself scarce?'

She flushed and bit her lip. 'It was intended for you,' she said in a

low voice. 'A farewell dinner. But it was obviously a bad idea, so

let's just forget about it.'

She turned away towards the kitchen, anxious to hide the chagrin

on her face, knowing too that her eyes had suddenly filled with

tears.

'Wait.' He caught her arm, forcibly holding her back. 'I was just

being bloody ungracious. I knew before I went out what you were

up to, and it's far from being a bad idea.' He lifted a finger and

flicked away the one tear which had escaped on to her cheek. 'So

we'll call a truce in the cold war—just for tonight?'

The sudden gentleness in his voice was even more disturbing than

his previous cold arrogance, and there was an answering shyness in

the swift nod she gave him before she gently released herself and

went back to the kitchen.

She was arranging the dishes of grapefruit and melon cocktail in the

place settings when Gethyn emerged from the bedroom, stripped to

the waist. He sent her a faint grin, pushing his hand across his chin.

'As you've been to all this trouble the least I can do is shave and put

on a clean shirt in your honour,' he remarked as he disappeared into

the bathroom. Her hands trembled slightly. Although they had been

living here together, moments of such intimacy had been rare

indeed, and a source of awkwardness when they had occurred.