‘Does—does Mr. Benedict have a farm or something?’
Lance stared at her in surprise. ‘Hywel? Heavens, no!’
Tamsyn tipped her head on one side. ‘Then what does he do?’
‘Didn’t he tell you?’
‘No.’
Her father shook his head. ‘Ah, well, no. I suppose he wouldn’t, at that. Hywel’s a writer, cariad. Quite well known, he is. But you wouldn’t know that, living in America.’
‘A writer!’
Tamsyn was stunned. She remembered with self-loathing the way she had gone on about the cultural advantages of living in the city and of how she had chided him about art and music and books, almost setting herself up as an authority on the subject. How ridiculous she must have sounded to a man who was a writer himself. Her cheeks burned with the memory of it all, but her father seemed not to notice.
‘Yes,’ he was saying now, ‘he’s become more reserved since Maureen left.’
Tamsyn’s head jerked up. ‘Maureen? Who’s Maureen?’
‘Why, Maureen Benedict, of course, bach,’ replied her father. ‘Hywel’s wife!’
He was married! Hywel Benedict was married. And why should that information mean anything to her? It was stupid—the kind of adolescent reaction he would expect from her. It was only natural that a man of his age and experience should have a wife.
She realised her father was looking at her and made an indifferent gesture. ‘Where has his wife gone, then?’ she asked, trying to sound casually interested.
Lance Stanford lit a cigarette before replying, inhaling deeply, and smiling rather ruefully. ‘Filthy habit, I know,’ he said, indicating the cigarette. ‘I always recommend my patients to give it up, but I find it relaxes my nerves.’ He frowned. ‘Now what were you asking? Oh, yes, where has Maureen gone? Well, she’s in London, as far as I know. She left Hywel nearly five years ago.’
Tamsyn breathed deeply. ‘I see. They’re divorced, then?’
‘No.’ Her father shook his head. ‘No, they’re not divorced as far as I know. It was a funny business altogether. This chap came along and she went off with him.’
Tamsyn frowned. ‘But didn’t he stop her?’
‘No. To be quite honest, I think their marriage was on the rocks long before this other fellow came along.’
‘But surely a divorce would be the most sensible thing!’ exclaimed Tamsyn helplessly.
‘Maybe. But divorce wouldn’t rest lightly on a man of the chapel!’
‘A man of the chapel,’ echoed Tamsyn. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Hywel preaches in the chapel on Sundays. He’s a layman, of course, but here in the valley we don’t have the congregation to attract a full-time preacher.’
Tamsyn bent her head. ‘But yesterday was Sunday,’ she pointed out.
‘I know. But he went to meet you because he knew I didn’t want to leave Joanna alone for so long at this time.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Tamsyn nodded. ‘It was good of him.’
‘Hywel’s like that,’ remarked her father, finishing his coffee. ‘Now, what are you going to do today? Would you like to come with me on my rounds? Or would you rather go into the village?’
Tamsyn traced the pattern of the, wood grain on the table top. ‘If Mr. Benedict doesn’t live on a farm, where does he live?’
Her father sounded impatient. ‘Why the intense interest in Hywel?’ he demanded, and she realised, with insight, that he was jealous.
‘No reason,’ she replied uncomfortably, aware that she had inadvertently aroused her father’s annoyance. She was being inordinately curious but she couldn’t help it. The man intrigued her without her really understanding why. He wasn’t at all like the young men she had had to do with back home, and the older men she had come into contact with had bored her stiff. So why was she allowing her curiosity about this man to cause a rift between herself and her father just at the moment when they were beginning to get to know one another? She couldn’t answer her question. She just knew that she wanted to see Hywel Benedict again.
Joanna came into the room before her father could reply. ‘There,’ she said. I’m finished. What are you two doing?’
Lance rose to his feet. ‘Just talking, Jo. Come and sit down and I’ll get you some coffee.’
‘I’ll do it.’ Tamsyn sprang to her feet and left the table, glad of the diversion. For some reason her father was loath to tell her where Hywel lived and she had no desire to create any further friction between them. What did it matter anyway? She could hardly go and call on the man. Not without an invitation.
Conversation became general after Joanna’s entrance. Lance explained a little of the pattern of their lives in the valley, and Joanna suggested that the following afternoon they might all drive over to Llanelfed, her sister’s farm, where Tamsyn could be introduced to her step-cousins, Shirley and David.
‘David’s a little older than you are, Tamsyn,’ she said. ‘He helps his father on the farm. Shirley’s just fourteen, and still at school yet.’
Tamsyn was interested. ‘I’d like that,’ she said, smiling. ‘Are there many young people here? Is there anything for them to do?’
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