Evans to Betsy

“It doesn’t necessarily have to be any of them, does it?” Bronwen asked. “I mean, you said this man was a famous psychic in America. I’d imagine men like that make enemies.”

“Someone came over here specifically to kill him, you mean?”

Bronwen laughed. “It does sound rather ridiculous when you put it like that, doesn’t it?”

“No, but …” Evan paused, staring at the flames dancing in the fire.

“You’ve thought of something, haven’t you?” she asked gently.

“Emmy Court is American,” Evan said. “She just appeared over here, right before this happened. Why pick this place to start doing her research?”

“I’d have someone look into this man’s background in America,” Bronwen said, “and maybe check out Emmy Court too, while they’re at it.”

Evan kissed her forehead again. “Smart girl,” he said. “I’ll suggest it to Watkins if I can catch him between his training sessions.”

“Training?”

“They’re promoting him to inspector, didn’t I tell you?”

“Oh.” Bronwen looked up. “Does that leave a vacancy, do you think?”

He stared past her, into the fire. “Not that I’ve heard. They’ve just taken on Glynis Davies, haven’t they?”

She reached out and squeezed his hand. “Your turn will come. And there’s really no hurry, is there? You were quite content here to start with. You said you liked the quiet life—and your hiking and climbing.”

“Yes, that was before …” He paused. Before I thought of supporting a wife and family, he didn’t finish out loud.

That evening Evan was attempting to cook a leg of lamb. Rather stupid really, he thought, to cook a whole leg for one person. But he liked leg of lamb on weekends, and he was considering using the bone to make Bronwen a lamb stew. His mother always served him lamb stew with dumplings when she wanted to build him up. Maybe he’d have a go at dumplings tomorrow and take some over to Bronwen.

The lamb was beginning to smell appetizing and Evan was just putting frozen peas into a saucepan when there was a tap at his front door.

“Ooh, smells good. What are you cooking?” Betsy asked.

“Roast lamb.” He saw her eyes light up. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No, and there’s nothing in the house except baked beans. The old man’s down at the pub already and I didn’t fancy baked beans on my own.”

“You’re welcome to join me. I can’t eat a whole leg on my own.” Evan stood back to let her in.

“Lovely! Diolch yn fawr, Evan bach.” She gave him a beaming smile as she came in. “Do you want me to lay the table?”

She had opened the kitchen drawer and was taking out knives and forks without being asked, laying them swiftly on the table in the living room. Then she went back into the kitchen and perched herself on the counter again as Evan took the roast from the oven. “I’ve never carved one of these things before,” he said. “Where do you think I should start?”

“Absolutely clueless, aren’t you?” Betsy slid from the counter. “Your mam must have spoiled you something rotten. Look you—this is how you carve a leg. You make a vee in the top like this and then you work backward. Got it?” Her hands covered his and he was conscious of how warm and real her hands felt after Bronwen’s fragile icy ones.

“All right. I’ve got it now.” He laughed her off awkwardly. “Let me try it. I’ve got to learn.”

Several large and not very elegant chunks of lamb were put on each plate, followed by roast potatoes and a generous spoonful of peas.

“I’ve got a jar of mint sauce on the shelf, I think,” he said, “but I’m not sure what to do about the gravy. Mrs. Williams used to make lovely thick gravy with lamb.”

“I make mine with gravy mix,” Betsy said, “but I’ll do what I can with the drippings.”

“You’re quite handy in the kitchen,” Evan commented.

“I’ve had to be, haven’t I? With my mam gone all these years and my tad only good for staggering to the pub? And I’m learning a lot by watching the way they do things at the Sacred Grove. You should see how lovely they make the food look. Little swirls of color and bits of flowers and things on the plate. Ever so pretty it looks.” She sat down opposite Evan, took a mouthful of meat, then looked up. “That crabby old cow wants me to stop working there,” she said.

“Mrs. Powell-Jones?” Evan smiled. “Yes, she gave me a long lecture about it this afternoon.”

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Betsy said. “Going on about devil worship and all that nonsense. I think Rhiannon makes a lot of sense. Why shouldn’t the spirit of the universe be all around us in nature? She’s asked me to help her with the ceremony this week—you know, the Galan Mai? It’s going to be so exciting—lots of people coming from all across Britain, all wearing white robes and then the fire and everything. I always did love Guy Fawkes Night when I was a little kid.”

Evan watched her as she spoke, her face alight with excitement like a small child’s.

“This is cozy, isn’t it?” She beamed at him. “I’ve waited a long time to be asked to dinner alone with you, Evan bach.”

Evan couldn’t think of the right thing to say and went on eating.

“So Bronwen’s no better yet, is she?” Betsy asked suddenly.