Kingdom's Dream (7 page)

He touched her shoulder and instantly she was aflame. She rose quickly and put as much distance between them as she could. ‘Dafydd, please don't torment me like this. You are going to be Jayne's husband, and you must be faithful to her or you will destroy her. She is young, she has dreams, and those dreams include a husband who loves her.'

‘But I don't love her,' Dafydd said quietly. ‘Believe me when I tell you that this is a marriage of convenience, nothing more or less. Of course I will try to make her happy, that goes without saying.'

‘I can't bear it!' Llinos said brokenly. ‘I keep picturing her in your arms, as you make love to her in the way you made love to me.'

‘It will never be like that.' Dafydd came towards her. ‘You will always be first in my heart.' He took her in his arms and, with his hand behind her head, forced her to look up at him. He kissed her then, and she melted against him. ‘How could I give her my body in the way I gave it to you when I can't give her my heart or soul? You already have them, my sweet girl.' He kissed her again, and Llinos prolonged it, wanting more of him.

At last she moved away. ‘Please go, Dafydd. I can't bear to be with you, now that you belong to someone else.'

‘I want you so much,' Dafydd said, breathlessly. ‘Please, Llinos, can't we . . .'

His words trailed away as Llinos held up her hand. ‘No, we can't!' Tears burned her eyes. ‘It's over between us, my love.'

‘Are you saying you don't want me? Because if you are then I know you're lying.'

She shook her head. ‘I want you as much as you want me, but we can't be together, not now, not ever.'

‘Ever is a long time.'

Dafydd moved to the door and Llinos almost begged him to come back to her but she straightened her shoulders. ‘I can't be the one to hurt Jayne,' she whispered. ‘I've known her from the day she was born.' She fought for control. ‘She is an innocent and doesn't know yet that infidelity and betrayal are part of every marriage.'

‘Llinos, it's not like you to be so cynical,' Dafydd said. ‘You are so sad, and if I could save you pain I would, you know that. But I can't lead my life like a monk. Please, though, Llinos, say you'll let me see Sion sometimes.'

‘Sion knows only one father and he is Joe,' Llinos said firmly. ‘He must never know the truth.'

‘But he's bound to find out one day, Llinos. You must see that.'

She sank into a chair. ‘You may be right, but now he's too young to understand the ways of the world. Let him enjoy his childhood.'

‘I sometimes think children know more of what's going on than we give them credit for,' Dafydd said gently.

‘Please, you must go, Dafydd. We have nothing more we can say to each other.'

‘Goodbye then, my love.' He kissed her hand. ‘And remember, I'll never stop loving you.'

She stood in the window and watched him walk round the house towards the stables, then returned to her chair and once more covered her face with her hands. She felt even more alone than ever.

‘What do you think, Dafydd? The oyster or the virginal white?' Sunlight splashed in through the windows of Howell's Emporium as Jayne held up the scraps of fabric.

He scarcely glanced at them as he thought of her naïvety. She was a virgin in every sense of the word, the sort of girl any man longed for, chaste and wealthy, but Dafydd had drunk of a more mature wine and had no taste for novelty. ‘Pristine white for you, Jayne,' he said smoothly, ‘to reflect your purity.' He searched her face for any sign that she had understood the irony in his words. She had not. Indeed, she was flushed with what he took to be pleasure.

‘Then white it will be.' She included the salesman in her beatific smile. ‘Send a bolt of the satin to my father, will you, Frazer?' She took Dafydd's arm and led him towards the door. He smiled down at her indulgently. She was a pretty thing and so easy to please: Jayne would make him an excellent wife, not too demanding, not too bright, and certainly with no ambition except to have a gold band on her finger. ‘You're such a sweet girl,' he said, and Jayne smiled up at him, her small teeth white and even, her pale skin tinged with pink.

‘Do you think so, Dafydd?' There was an edge to her tone and Dafydd wondered if she was more perceptive than he gave her credit for. ‘You do really care for me, don't you?' she said. ‘You never say much so I don't know what you're thinking or feeling.'

Dafydd patted her hand without speaking. It was a good thing she did not know that his thoughts were too often of Llinos. Poor Jayne: she would never fathom him. There was only one woman who understood him and that was Llinos Mainwaring.

They left the hurry and bustle of the main streets and sat close together in Dafydd's carriage. He stared out at the sun-dappled hedgerows and speculated on his life and loves. He had done well in both. He had loved Llinos for years, and he would not have missed those times for anything. Now he had Jayne, who adored him and would give him healthy children. Financially he would always be secure by virtue of his father's enterprise in the early years of the century, and in fact he was one of the richest men in Wales.

He would have liked to buy into the new railway line but he had made his move too late: the shares had been sold. It was an opportunity missed because soon there would be a station in Swansea. Some time ago he had stood on the hill and looked down at the work in progress on the track, knowing that this was the future, that this railway would reap a great harvest in a few years' time.

Still, Dafydd was never one to shed tears over investments he
might
have made. He had his own pottery, his extensive farmlands in Carmarthen, and now his shares in the big Swansea Pottery. He had no need to worry about the future: he and his brother and their families would live well for the rest of their lives.

Ceri. The thought of his brother sent Dafydd's spirits spiralling downwards. It would be a miracle if he lived to see Dafydd married. Whatever ailed Ceri, it was sapping the strength from him and lately he had lost even the hope that had been so much a part of him. He had one comfort, his belief in a just God, and he prayed devoutly.

‘You're very deep in thought, Dafydd. Look! We're home! Wake up, my darling, and shake off that gloomy expression.'

‘Sorry.' He covered her hand with his. ‘I was thinking of my brother, wondering if he will be well enough to come to the wedding.'

‘Of course he will. It's only a few weeks away.'

He was tempted to snap at her, to tell her that not every story had a fairy-tale ending, but the look on her face of admiration and love stopped the words in his throat.

He alighted from the carriage and helped Jayne down onto the gravel of the drive that led to her father's house. He wondered how he would be received this time: Eynon Morton-Edwards' feelings fluctuated between acceptance of the situation and open hostility.

Eynon was in a genial mood, and as Jayne took Dafydd's arm and followed her father into the drawing room he could see why. Llinos was sitting there, her skirts spread around her dainty feet, and at her side was Sion, the image of himself. He saw her glance at his hand holding Jayne's, and though she struggled for composure it was clear from her eyes that she was unhappy.

‘You know Mrs Mainwaring, of course,' Eynon said, his voice edged with sarcasm, and glowered at Dafydd.

‘Yes.' Dafydd spoke just as tersely and moved to sit beside her. ‘How are you, young fellow?' He looked into the face of his son, caught between love and anger. They could all be together, if only Llinos would come to him, damn it! They belonged together, but Llinos moved into the furthest corner of the sofa so that Sion was seated between her and Dafydd. He felt almost as though they
were
a family, visiting friends, that soon they would go home together, he, Llinos and their son.

‘Come with me, Dafydd, darling.' Jayne took command of the situation in her usual girlish manner. ‘I want you to see the flowers I have chosen for my bridal bouquet.'

Dafydd could not shake off a vision of Llinos in his arms. The feel of her and the scent of her haunted him.

‘Dafydd!' Jayne took his hand and drew him to his feet. ‘Come, you're daydreaming. What am I to do with you?' She looked back at Llinos. ‘I know you'll excuse us,' she said. ‘You and Papa will be free to talk about the past with we young ones out of the way.'

She smiled at Sion. ‘Would you like to come with us? You can see the gardens and choose some flowers for your mother.'

Poor silly Jayne – she did not detect the strained atmosphere. Dafydd looked back at Llinos, who was staring doggedly at her hands.

Tentatively he took his son's hand and allowed Jayne to lead them outside into the freshness of the garden. His son's fingers curled around his and Dafydd felt tears behind his eyes. Why could a man not just take what he wanted from life?

Jayne was fussing among the flower-beds, disturbing the gardeners without a thought for the inconvenience she was causing. Well, this woman was to be his bride, Dafydd thought, and if he was to make an amicable marriage he must stop criticizing her every move.

‘What do you think of these yellow roses for my bouquet, Dafydd? Will they look pretty?'

He took a deep breath. ‘No, I think the pink. With your fair colouring the pink will look best.'

‘You're right, of course.' Jayne dimpled up at him, her hand resting possessively on his arm. ‘But you are always right, my darling. That's why I love you.'

Dafydd became aware that his son was looking up at him. ‘I want to go back indoors,' the boy said, bored with this talk of flowers and weddings. Dafydd sympathized with him.

‘I'll walk with you to the door of the orangery and you can go through to the sitting room. I'll not be long, Jayne.' He was reluctant to let his son go and savoured the moments as he walked past the green lawns towards the house. ‘You're a fine boy, Sion, and I hope we will see more of each other,' he said gently.

The boy looked up at him, his face bright, his eyes intelligent. ‘But you're going to marry Jayne. I don't suppose you'll have time for us then.' He slipped his hand out of Dafydd's.

‘Oh, I'll have time,' Dafydd said, his throat constricted. ‘I'll always have time for you.'

He watched as Sion disappeared into the orangery, and the sun, glimmering on the windows, obscured him. A moment later, Dafydd turned and made his way slowly back through the gardens to where Jayne was waiting.

CHAPTER SIX

Bull stood in the work hut staring out at the clouds hanging over the diggings. Behind him the brazier burned briskly, the only warmth in the chill of the dismal day. He was angry that the work on the line was facing yet another delay. Outside, the engineer was pacing the ground, staring up as if he wished he could command the rain to cease.

Bull knew that Cookson, too, felt the frustration of constant delays as much as he did, but while the inclement weather caused them irritation and worry, the navvies were glad of the time off and were doubtless making a nuisance of themselves now at the public bar in the nearest alehouse.

‘Damned weather, Bull. Do you think it's ever going to clear?' Cookson called to him.

‘It's in for the day, sir. Come inside for a bit – you're getting soaked to the skin.'

Cookson came into the hut and held out his hands to the warmth of the brazier, rubbing them impatiently. ‘Bloody bone-ache! It's driving me mad – this damp weather worsens it.'

Bull watched as Cookson's clothes steamed in the heat and the smell of wet serge permeated the small hut.

‘Want a smoke, Bull?' he asked affably. He took out his pipe and rubbed it sensuously as if it was a beautiful woman.

‘No, thank you, sir.' Bull did not indulge in the almost universal habit of smoking: he had seen his father die coughing, his teeth stained brown from the tobacco, his moustache turned yellow.

‘You're not like your run-of-the-mill navvy, Bull.' Cookson took his time lighting his pipe. ‘I'd say you're a cut above the rest.' He regarded Bull steadily. ‘Had any education, man?'

Bull almost smiled. His education had consisted of a few hours a day spent at his mother's side, but she had taught him to read and write and do his figures. She had been a woman of distinction who had married beneath her, in her family's eyes, but she had been in love with Donald Beynon until the day she died.

‘My mother was an educated lady, sir.' His brief reply forestalled further questions.

‘I see.' Cookson cleared his throat. ‘Well, no good hanging around here in this weather. Why not take a bit of time off? Get down the Castle with the other men – a break will do you good.'

‘Aye, you might be right, sir. It looks as if it's coming down even harder.' He watched as the engineer took a flask out of his pocket and drank from it, then offered it to him.

‘Thanks.' Bull took the flask out of politeness rather than because he enjoyed the taste of rich dark rum, which was the engineer's habitual drink. It was fiery in his throat and he instantly felt warmed by it.

‘How's that woman of yours, Bull?' Cookson pushed back his hat. ‘She's a fine, comely girl.'

‘She's a good enough woman to share a hut with, sir.'

‘Good enough to bed but not the sort you'd want for a wife, eh?'

‘That's about the length and breadth of it, sir.' Bull felt disloyal to Rhiannon but he would never marry her. He knew it and so did she.

‘Well, I'll be off now and we'll meet again bright and early in the morning.' Cookson walked out of the hut, took the reins of his horse from the hitching post and mounted. He touched his whip to his hat and rode away. Bull envied the man his breeding, education and money, but he had determined that he would not be a navvy for the rest of his life. One day, and soon, he would be a respectable, if not wealthy, member of the community.