Evans to Betsy

“I’m not really sure. I only came in at the end of it. A lot of nonsense about Betsy having special powers and second sight, from what she said.”

“Always was daft in the head, that girl,” Harry commented. “She’d believe anything you told her.”

“Still, I hope she hasn’t come to any harm.” Evan looked around uneasily. “Where was this American supposed to be studying? At Bangor?”

Evans-the-Meat shrugged. “Ask Barry-the-Bucket. He was there. He might know.”

Heads turned to where Barry was chatting with his friends in the corner by the fire. “Hey, Barry, boyo,” Evans- the-Meat called. “You were there, weren’t you? When that American woman came into the pub and talked to Betsy.”

Barry left his corner and came across to the bar. “I was,” he said. “Real brainy type with all kinds of degrees. Not a bad looker either—bit on the scrawny side but she’d be okay with some fattening up. I bet she’s the kind that eats nothing but nuts and rice.”

“So where do you think Betsy might have gone with her?”

“That place she was going to be studying. You know, that estate down on the coast built by the crazy lord Tiggy. What do they call it now? That’s right. The Sacred Grove. That’s what she called it. From what she said the lot that own it now are even crazier than that old lord—she was going to find out if Betsy had the second sight.”

“Like reading tea leaves, you mean?” Harry asked.

“I’d imagine so. Seeing into the future, anyway. This woman told Betsy that Celts used to have the ability and she thought Betsy might still have it, seeing that her old nain used to see the Derin Corff.”

Harry let out a chuckle. “Well, if that isn’t one of the daftest things I’ve ever heard. And Betsy believed her, did she? She would. But she’s got no more knowledge of the future than the chickens in my back garden, and they’re the daftest creatures on God’s earth. If she could see into the future, she’d have helped me pick the right horse in the Grand National, wouldn’t she? And I wouldn’t have lost my ten quid.”

And she’d have foreseen that old Colonel Arbuthnot was going to be murdered that night he left the pub, Evan thought. If ever there was a moment for second sight, that would have had to be it. Betsy was so anxious to be noticed that she’d say and do anything.

“I can tell you haven’t got the second sight of the Celt, Harry,” Barry-the-Bucket said, banging his glass down on the counter, “or you’d have seen that I was dying of thirst, waiting for a refill.”

Harry opened his mouth to answer this when the door opened and Betsy stepped in, her blond curls windswept but her eyes sparkling with triumph.

“Sorry I’m late, Harry,” she said, pushing through the crowd of men to reach the bar, “but I want you to know that you’re talking to someone who may be a real live psychic.”

“So your psychic ability didn’t tell you that you were late then? You didn’t pick up the negative vibrations in the air from me being ticked off at you?”

Betsy gave him a dazzling smile as she opened the swing section of the bar and came through, taking off her coat as she walked. “I thought you’d understand, just this once. This is a special day in my life, Harry. You won’t believe the things that I’ve seen today. It’s like another world down there.”

“You were abducted by aliens, were you?” Barry leaned on the bar, grinning at her.

“You have no idea, Barry-the-Bucket,” Betsy said. “If you saw what I’ve seen today, your eyes would pop right out of your head. It’s like another world.”

“Well, go on then, tell me what I’m thinking if you’re a real psychic,” Barry teased.

“If your aura is anything to go by, it’s the sort of thoughts a gentleman shouldn’t have, as usual,” Betsy said.

“My aura? What aura?”

“Emmy says we all have an aura around us,” Betsy said. “And we psychics can learn to see it. Everyone is surrounded by lovely colored light. Some people have gold auras, some have pink, some have mauve—and you, Barry-the-Bucket, have a dirty brown aura.”

“I never heard such a load of rubbish,” Harry said. “Where on earth have you been that they’ve filled your head with ideas like that?”

“It’s not rubbish. You wouldn’t understand, not being psychic like me,” Betsy said. “The Sacred Grove is full of people who can see auras and heal with crystals, and who worship the trees—all kinds of wonderful stuff. It’s the most amazing place. It’s like this beautiful village you’d see on television, not like somewhere in Wales at all. Pools and fountains and spas, and the guests each have their own little houses. Like another world.”

“You’ve said that about ten times already. So stop talking and start pulling. These gentlemen are dying of thirst and poor Constable Evans is going to go hungry because you weren’t here to put pies in the oven.”

Betsy turned her blue Barbie-doll eyes on him in horror. “You haven’t had any dinner? You poor thing. I knew it was a bad idea moving in on your own without a woman to look after you.”

“Betsy, I’m perfectly capable …” Evan began, conscious of all the eyes on him. “It’s just that I haven’t had time to get my kitchen properly stocked yet.”

“He can’t do a thing without his souffle dishes!” Evans-the-Meat nudged Charlie Hopkins, who had just come in. “We all expect to be invited to dinner when you’ve become a gourmet cook, you know.”

“I don’t know why everyone thinks my living on my own is doomed to failure,” Evan said. “I can handle myself in most situations, you know.”

“Betsy is dying for you to handle her in a few situations, aren’t you, Betsy fach?” Charlie Hopkins asked, his body shaking with a silent laugh.