“What?” Emmy demanded.
“It’s called
“
“Okay, miss.”
“Call me Emmy.” She gave another warm smile. “I’ll be in touch, Betsy.”
She had just come through the archway into the main bar when the door opened and the butcher came in, now without his blood-spattered apron. He looked around the room and his gaze fastened on Emmy. As he let out a torrent in Welsh, Emmy moved hastily out of the way. She had forgotten about this cleaver-wielding maniac, who might make living in this village hazardous.
Betsy answered him back in Welsh and he relaxed as he came up to the bar.
“Sorry, miss,” Betsy said, “but Evans-the-Meat is a little out of sorts this morning. A little matter of a bet we had over the football match last night. He was betting on Manchester United but Liverpool won, like I said it would.”
“A football match?” Emmy couldn’t help smiling.
“Mr. Evans thought the ref was unfair. He gave their best player a red card when it wasn’t a foul,” Betsy said. “But now he’s going to pay up like the gentleman he is.”
Evans-the-Meat gave a sheepish smile. “It breaks my heart to see a quality team like Manchester United beaten by a load of louts like Liverpool, that’s all. Oh, well, nothing we can do about it now, is there? So you’d better make it a pint of Robinsons then, Betsy
Emmy slipped out of the pub as Betsy poured the beer. She hurried up the village street, past the rows of identical gray cottages, each with a brightly painted front door, shining brass letter box, and white scrubbed front step. Some had boxes of spring flowers growing outside—splashes of yellow daffodils and blue hyacinths against the gray stone.
She passed a schoolyard with a school building beyond it. Through an open window she heard the sound of young voices chanting. It sounded suspiciously like times tables, although it was in Welsh, of course. Beyond the school were the last buildings in the village—two chapels. They stood across the street, mirror images of each other in solid gray stone. Each of them had a notice board outside, announcing them to be Capel Bethel and Capel Beulah. Each notice board had a biblical text on it. One said, “Whoever asketh, receiveth,” while the other stated, “Not everyone who says Lord, Lord will enter into the kingdom.”
Emmy smiled to herself as she walked past. They really were clueless up here in the boonies. Presumably they hadn’t even realized that the two biblical passages contradicted each other.
The hotel he told her about dominated the crown of the pass. It was, as he described it, a hideous giant chalet, complete with gingerbread trim and geraniums in boxes—completely out of place on a bleak Welsh mountainside. The discreet stone sign had the words “Everest Inn” carved in gold letters. The car park beyond was dotted with expensive cars so that the Jag didn’t look out of place. She walked up to the car and got in.
He looked up expectantly. “Well?”
She pushed back her hair and a big smile spread across her face. “We hit pay dirt in one. She’ll be just perfect.”
Excerpt from the book
Who Are the Druids?
“Please don’t cry, Mrs. Williams.” Constable Evan Evans reached out awkwardly and patted his landlady’s large shoulder. This gesture only made the generously built woman sob into her handkerchief even more loudly.
“I feel like I’m losing a son,” she said. “The son I never had, you were.”
“It’s not like I’m going far. Just across the street, isn’t it? And you’ll be able to see me every day. I might even drop in for a cup of tea and a chat.”
“But it won’t be the same.”