Bronwen grinned. “It’s lunchtime and I’ve got two volunteer mothers on lunch duty, so I thought I’d pop over and see how you were doing.” She pushed back her wisps of hair as she surveyed the room. “Oh, dear. I hadn’t remembered it as quite so dreary.”
“That’s because last time you saw it it was full of Mrs. Howells’s furniture. And this floor was hidden under a rug,” Evan said. “I think a rug better be one of my first purchases, don’t you? As well as pots and pans, chairs and tables, a wardrobe, chests of drawers—oh, and food.”
“They’ve given you a raise then, have they?”
“I thought I’d go down to Bangor this afternoon and have a look at the charity shops. It’s the only way I’ll get this place furnished.”
Bronwen nodded. “And you don’t want to spend a lot on stuff that might not fit in the cottage someday.”
“If the permission ever comes through.” Evan sighed. “There’s some old codger on the board who thinks that all national park property should be allowed to return to wilderness.”
Bronwen came across and wrapped her arms around his neck. “It will come through. Just be patient. And in the meantime you’ll be gaining valuable experience at survival techniques.”
“You make it sound as if I’m about to cross Antarctica on foot.” Evan chuckled. “Of course, with my cooking, I may die of starvation pretty rapidly.”
“Get away with you.” Bronwen released him and gave him a playful slap. “You know very well that you’ll be eating at my place half the time, and Mrs. Williams will be popping round every day with a little something she’s baked, just to make sure …”
“She already invited me to dinner any night I felt like it,” Evan said. “But I’m going to be strong and resist temptation. And no take-aways and frozen meals either. I’ve got that cookbook you gave me for Christmas and I’m going to learn to cook. You’ll see.”
“I’m very proud of you,” she said. “I shall expect to be invited to dinner in the—”
She was interrupted by the beep of Evan’s pager. He took it from his belt and grimaced. “Oh, no, that’s all I need. HQ on the phone for me.”
“That’s not fair,” Bronwen said angrily. “First they take away half your weekends and give you two useless weekdays off instead, and then they phone you on your days off too.”
“I am a policeman, Bron,” he said. “It goes with the job. If there’s some sort of emergency, days off don’t count.”
“But I hardly ever see you these days,” she said. “I’m busy marking papers all week and you’re working all weekend. I had to do that lovely hike over Glyder Fach by myself.”
“We could always solve that,” Evan said, slipping an arm around her. “I could give up trying to make this place habitable and come and live with you instead.”
“Oh, yes, that would go down very well with the locals, wouldn’t it!” Bronwen laughed. “Imagine what fodder that would give the two ministers for their Sunday sermons. Besides,” she reached up and stroked his cheek, “we’re doing this for a purpose, aren’t we?” She gave him a hasty peck on the cheek. “Got to go,” she said. “If I don’t get back, those kids will be running wild.”
Evan followed her out and watched her run up the street before he made his way down the hill to his little sub-police station.
“Oh, Constable Evans. Glad we found you,” Megan, the dispatcher, came on the phone. “Sorry to be disturbing you on your day off, but the chief inspector would like a word with you and he’s off to Birmingham for a conference in the morning. It’s all about this reorganization he’s planning. He’s come up with a solution to making you more— upwardly mobile, shall we say.”
“Is he there to speak to me now?”
“He’d like you to come down so that he can speak to you in person. Is that all right? I know it’s your day off, but …”
“I’ll be there in half an hour,” Evan said.
He put the phone down and went out to his old clunker of a car. It started on the third attempt. Community policemen were not equipped with police cars. Mobile units were sent as backup from Caernarfon when needed, so the car was his own—had been his own for many years now. “Upwardly mobile”—what could that mean? And she had sounded so enigmatic when she said it, too. Did she know something he didn’t—a promotion maybe? His transfer at last to the plainclothes division? He put his foot down and the engine growled in protest as he drove out of the car park.
“Ah, Evans. Good man.” It was Chief Inspector Meredith’s standard method of greeting, unless one had done something wrong, in which case it was just “Ah, Evans,” with the “good man” part omitted. So he knew he wasn’t in trouble.
“Glad you got here so quickly.” This was also part of the standard welcome. “Pull up a pew.”
The chief inspector was in his customary rolled-up shirtsleeves and Evan noted that the room was pleasantly warm. No cost-cutting attempts with the central heating going on here.
“So how are things up at Llanfair?” The chief inspector pronounced it awkwardly, not able to get his tongue around the double l, like all non-Welsh speakers. He was from North Wales, but from the coastal city of Llandudno, which had always considered itself gentrified and where Welsh-speaking was a rarity.
“Oh, about the same as usual, sir.” Evan perched himself on the hard wooden visitor’s chair and wished the chief inspector would cut the small talk and get to the point. The anticipation was killing him.
“No bodies for a while? You must be getting bored.” He laughed—a polite little
“I expect it’s pretty quiet up there in Llanfair at this time of year, isn’t it? No tourists around yet to get lost or stranded or lose their keys.”
“That’s right, sir.”
