by the English – even I can see that; the laws against them are prohibitive.’
She smiled. ‘You don’t consider yourself Welsh, Edmund?’
He shook his head. ‘I was born in England and I am loyal to King Henry.’
‘Joan told me you plan to join his army to fight the Scots.’
He didn’t reply.
‘If you were called to arms by your liege you would have no choice,’ she prompted.
She saw his shoulders tense, then relax. ‘I am a good archer,’ he said at last. ‘I’ve trained since I was a child. I believe I am good enough to join an elite band, make a name for myself; make money.’
‘My father’s family, my family, have always had Welsh allegiance,’ she said quietly. ‘Though living as we do in the March it pays to be reticent about one’s politics.’
‘That would always be wise. Especially now, as your father visits the houses of both Welsh and English. I see even the most ardent supporters of King Henry enjoy your father’s Welsh songs.’
‘Which he carefully sings in English for their ears.’
‘It is like walking a tightrope as the acrobats do.’ He sat back and took a deep breath. ‘Maybe we should think about packing up our camp and moving on. It is growing lighter now.’ He turned and faced her. ‘While we are on the road my allegiance is to you and your father, Catrin, in whichever house we find ourselves.’ He gave her a reassuring smile. Before she could react he had scrambled to his feet, heading towards the horses, leaving her staring after him.
Nina dropped her bombshell as they were wandering round Hay next morning. ‘I’m so sorry, darling, but I’m going to have to go back tomorrow.’
Andy felt a lurch of disappointment. ‘Why?’ It was too soon. She had thought they would have plenty of time to talk and explore; time to settle into Sleeper’s Castle, knowing there was someone else there at night, along the landing, someone real and strong and reassuring.
‘I’ve had a text. It’s a pupil I’ve been coaching. She’s been asked to go and play as part of an interview and she’s very nervous. I promised I would help her with her party pieces.’ Nina smiled fondly.
For as long as she could remember, Andy had heard the tentative notes of the piano echoing through the house, becoming less and less tentative and more and more competent as her mother’s pupils progressed. Even better had been the occasional glorious sound of her mother playing alone in the sitting room of the cottage in the evenings, filling the place with music. Andy would turn off her radio or the TV and sit staring into space listening, transported by the beauty of the sound.
‘I’m sorry, darling.’ Nina touched her arm, sensing the wave of devastation which swept over her daughter.
‘No, don’t be silly.’ Andy shook her head fiercely. ‘That’s what is so special about you. You’re always there for people.’
‘And I wanted to be here for you.’
‘You are. You have been. After all, you can come back.’ Andy swallowed hard. ‘Perhaps we can book a nice long holiday for you to come up, when none of your pupils are likely to need you?’
Nina gave her a thoughtful glance. ‘You’re strong Andy,’ she said. ‘And I can see you’re loving it up here. Those moments of doubt will come less and less often as you get used to being without Graham. I promise you, darling.’
Nevertheless, one of those moments of doubt hit her the following day after she had waved Nina out of sight down the lane and she was once more alone. The day was cold and grey. A soft mizzle of rain lay like a damp blanket over the valley and the house felt very empty. There was no sign of Pepper when she went back inside, closed the door and headed for the kitchen; through the window the garden looked sodden and messy, the first leaves already off the trees and lying yellow on the lawns. No doubt the brook would be gathering strength to roar through the night and keep her awake. She sighed and began to gather their lunch plates and put them in the sink. She was too downhearted to do more. Wandering through the house she listened to the silence. Once she stopped and looked round. ‘Catrin?’ she called. ‘Are you there?’ But there was no answer. There wasn’t even any wind in the chimneys to drown out the sound of the steadily falling rain on the flagstones outside the windows.
Huddled under the duvet in her bedroom she put on the bedside lamp and reached for one of her favourite books. Later she would turn on the TV or perhaps start to plan a supper party to return Sian’s hospitality. Anything to distract her. She didn’t want to think about Kew. She didn’t want to think about Rhona there in her home, Graham’s home, desecrating the place, taking ownership of everything Andy treasured and loved. She didn’t want Rhona invading her memories. Better to try and forget.
But it was no good.
‘Graham,’ she whispered. ‘Where are you?’ The loneliness was unbearable.
On that last sunny day she and Graham had spent at the house in Kew before he had had his terrible life-shattering diagnosis they had wandered out onto the terrace with a jug of Pimm’s and two glasses and the Sunday papers. She was barefoot; she remembered clearly the wood of the boards warm under her feet. Graham of course would have been wearing shoes. She didn’t ever remember seeing him without shoes in the garden. In her mind she put down the paper and her glass and she walked down the steps onto the grass, which was soft and warm beneath her toes.
As she walked across the lawn the sun went in and a cloud crossed the sky, blotting out the blue. The first drops of rain began to fall.
She turned and looked back at the house. It had changed. The season had changed. It was raining hard now; Graham had gone. The table on the terrace was deserted, raindrops bouncing off its surface. Before going in he had tipped the chairs against it so the rain ran off their seats. It was the last time they had sat outside together.
Running up the steps she put out her hand to the door. ‘Let me in, Graham,’ she called. But the door was locked. There was no Graham there.
Rhona shivered as she walked down the passage towards the back of the house. It was a dull wet day and the building felt empty and cold and sad. Pushing open the door and switching on the lights she walked into the kitchen and stopped short. There was a figure outside on the terrace, peering in through the glass of the French doors. Miranda. She could see her clearly. With an exclamation of utter fury she turned and ran back into the hall. With only the smallest hesitation she picked up the phone in the living room and dialled 999.
There was a clean wash of cold sunshine across the garden next morning as Andy walked into the kitchen and switched on the radio. There was no sign of Pepper but she filled his bowl with biscuits, rather hoping the familiar rattle would bring him bouncing in through the cat flap. There was still no sign so after a minute she put it on the floor anyway; he was probably celebrating the return of the sunshine and would come in later. She reached for the jar of muesli and was stooping to take the jug of milk out of the fridge when there was a knock at the back door.
The policeman was
