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'Not really,' she said, 'but he feels as if he's being deserted and he's rather used to having his own way, I'm afraid.'

'
A fact for which you blame me,' he said dryly, and added quickly as she would have protested, 'and you would be right, of course.' He looked at her steadily for a moment, taking in the bright blueness of her eyes and the soft gold hair that curled so enchantingly about her face and neck. She was looking lovelier than she realized and the black eyes missed nothing of it, impenetrable as ever and disturbing. 'Shall we go?' he asked, and signed her to precede him through the door.

For a while they drove in almost silence, but not the tense silences that they had once shared; there was a tranquillity about the September day that they seemed to catch. The big car responded beautifully to the skilled hands on the wheel and she thought how much more luxurious it felt than Owen Neath's little car, dismissing the thought a moment later as unfair. The little sports car was far more in keeping with Owen's character than this sleek monster that Evan drove and no doubt it would cost considerably Jess to run too, which must be a consideration. It took a great deal of money to live as Evan Davies did though it did not necessarily bring happiness with it as he would agree.

'
Have you been this way before?' His voice jolted her out of her reverie almost guiltily.

'
Not along this road,' she said. 'I think we continued on along the one we've just left.'

He nodded. 'When you went to Caderglynn; yes, you would take that road, we're heading for lower ground today though it's not much further in distance.'

'It's all so lovely I don't really mind how far it is,' she said, and he flicked her a brief smile of appreciation over his shoulder.

'
You like it here?'

‘It's lovely, much different from what I expected.' She laughed as she thought of some of the preconceived notions she had had about Wales. 'For one thing I was under the impression that it always rained in Wales and in the nearly eight weeks I've been here it's been fine for a lot longer than it's rained.'

'
It's been an exceptionally good summer,' he admitted. 'You must have brought it with you.'

'Perhaps,' she smiled, glad that he was going to be less formal than usual. She relaxed against the seat and determined to enjoy herself as she always did with Owen. She chanced his turning his head and studied him for a moment while he negotiated a particularly tricky stretch of road. Of the two of them, he and Emlyn, she thought that Evan would be the more easily hurt by circumstances. There was a sensitivity in the fine-boned features that was lacking in the younger man and the straight mouth looked as if it smiled less often, perhaps because there had been less in his life to make him smile. He had been left with a child to bring up alone when he was very little older than Emlyn was now.

His books, she suspected, revealed more of the real man than did the man himself. He wrote in a beautiful flowing style that expressed a good deal of what he must have felt and could not talk about to anyone; no wonder that she had found him, on first acquaintance, so different to what she had expected, an opinion she was being forced to revise almost every day she was in contact with him.

Her concentration must have drawn his attention, or perhaps it was her silence, for he turned his head for a moment and looked at her enquiringly. 'You're not worrying about Emlyn, are you? He'll be all right, you know.'

'I know,' she smiled. 'I wasn't thinking about him, I'm afraid, at least not to worry about him; I just hope he doesn't do anything silly that's all, to try and—'

'
Pay us back?' he finished for her, and the intimacy of the 'us 'pleased her inordinately.

'
You think he might?' she asked.

'
He won't be given the opportunity. I've left Dai Hughes with strict instructions that he's not to be left for very long, he's to keep an eye on him. I know my son, you see, better than he thinks I do.'

'
Who better?' she allowed with a smile. 'You must be very close.' He nodded without speaking and she wondered if he too had qualms about leaving Emlyn when he was so obviously set on not being left again. She sighed, deeply and involuntarily, and he turned his head to look at her.

'
You're not regretting that you came?’ he asked with an anxiety that reminded her of Emlyn, and she shook her head.

'
Not in the least,' she assured him. 'I’m enjoying it immensely. I’m a lazy sightseer, I’m afraid, more fond of horse-power than Shanks’ pony for getting about.'

They drove down a long, tree-lined road to get to Lake Olwen which lay in a lush valley between two lesser hills that were more green than any she remembered seeing so far. The deep clear water glinted like gold in the September sun and there was no one else about to break the heavy stillness that hung over it, even the one cottage that stood on the edge of the water some yards round from the road looking so quiet that it could have been abandoned.

They had stopped on a patch of green turf that marked the end of the road, and the silence was something which never ceased to amaze Helen whenever she came out into the hills. It was so intense that it was almost tangible as they left the car and walked towards the water. 'It’s so quiet,’ Helen said softly, 'it’s almost unreal.’

'
It’s noisier at the height of summer when the visitors are here,’ he told her, smiling at her awe. 'This is the best time to come, when everyone has left and it’s quiet.'

'It's lovely,' she breathed. 'Can we walk round the edge a little way?'

'
Of course.' He walked beside her, his hands thrust into his pockets. 'I thought you'd like it here, it’s one of the loveliest spots in Wales, I think.' They walked in silence for a while round the edge of the still water.

'
It’s a wishing lake,' he informed her suddenly, and added hastily as if he feared she might find his serious statement amusing, 'if you believe in such fairy tales, of course.'

The choice of words prompted her memory and she was reminded of her strange awakening yesterday and Mrs Beeley's subsequent description of her as a 'Sleeping Beauty'. ‘Oh, I do,' she told him solemnly, her eyes glinting with a mischief she could not suppress, 'and so do you, Mr Davies.' Seeing his puzzled frown, she explained, 'Yesterday you advised me to read more fairy tales, so you must believe in them.'

The black eyes were inscrutable when they looked down at her but there was a trace of a smile round his mouth. 'So I did,' he agreed. ‘I'd almost forgotten I said that.'

'Acting on advice, I shall wish,' she told him. 'Do I close my eyes?'

He handed her a sixpence, his face serious. 'You toss in a coin and wish; I don't think it really matters whether your eyes are open or not.' For a moment she held the coin in her hand, standing right at the edge of the water, concentrating on her wish, then she flung it as far as she could, watching the tiny silver disc flash in the sun before it plopped into the deep cool of the lake and was lost.

'
Are you going to wish?' she asked, turning to look at him, and he obediently took out another coin and after a brief pause hurled it into the lake after hers. 'Do these wishes ever come true?' she asked, and he laughed shortly.

'
Do any wishes?'

'
Sometimes,' she assured him softly, her eyes on the hard line that made his mouth look bitter. 'I think mine has a chance of coming true if I believe hard enough. I hope so anyway.'

He studied her silently for a moment, the hardness disappearing gradually until he smiled. 'You shouldn't have much difficulty in making wishes come true,' he told her. ‘Girls as beautiful as you seldom do, do they?'

The compliment fell pleasantly on her ears and she smiled at him. 'I imagine it depends on what they wish for,' she said. 'Not that I'm qualified to speak really. I'm not beautiful.'

'You're very lovely,' he argued, determined to be right even
in
such a personal argument, 'and
I'm sure
your wish will come true, whatever it was.'

'
And yours?'

'
Perhaps, but
I
shan't depend on it.' The words and the way in which they were said gave her an overwhelming feeling of sadness suddenly and she wished she had courage to reassure him. She was, she realized, beginning to understand Evan Davies very well and
the
understanding seemed to involve her personal feelings more than she felt was wise. He was a man who would not take kindly to sympathy and his pride would make him reject it, not always gently, perhaps:

She gazed out over the expanse of the lake, gleaming like gold; placid and deep, and she moved away from the edge, finding its coolness chill suddenly. 'Well,' she said in an effort to dispel the more solemn mood that seemed to have taken them, 'we've wished, now all we can do is wait and see.'

The cottage, it appeared, was not deserted, for as they approached it an old woman came out of the door and stood watching them with bright dark eyes. They would have to walk quite close to her as they passed and she seemed content to wait until they did, a toothless smile stretching her wrinkled face into a grotesque mask; the smile could have been greeting or discouragement, in such a caricature of a face it was difficult to tell. There was something about the old woman, as old as the hills around her and Helen wondered if she could possibly be as old as she looked.

'
Old Win Jenkins,' Evan informed her as they came nearer the old woman. 'She's harmless, although she doesn't look it.'

Helen smiled. 'She looks like the witch in Hansel and Gretel!'

'
And she could be,' he acknowledged with a smile. 'She makes quite a comfortable living telling fortunes to the visitors during the summer months though her son has to translate every word, for she speaks no English.'

‘None at all?' Helen exclaimed, looking at the old woman with renewed interest. 'I had no idea there were people who still spoke nothing but Welsh.'

'Oh, there are, but usually in the more out-of-the-way places. It's unusual in a place as frequented by visitors as this is, and I sometimes wonder if the old woman only pretends not to understand. She's as cunning as a witch and amazingly observant. I think her appearance and her lack of English is part of her attraction for the visitors.'

The glittering dark eyes with which she watched them gave her a look of madness which Helen found repellent, but she sought to still her feelings as they drew level with the little cottage and the occupant spoke to them in a lilting sing-song that was surprisingly attractive from such a crone. Her speech was addressed to Evan, whom she appeared to recognize.

'
What is she saying?' Helen asked. 'Can you understand her?'

'Oh, yes,' he said. 'She says she'll tell your fortune if I'll translate it for you, as her son is away.'

'
And will you ?'

‘I'll try.' He sounded cautious and she wondered why.

'She knows you, doesn't she?' she asked, though it was more statement than question, and he nodded.

'I've seen her before,' he admitted. 'Some of her forecasts are amazingly accurate, even if they are unsolicited.'

‘You mean she doesn't always take money for telling fortunes?'

'Oh, no,' he smiled wryly. 'It's her son who makes a commercial proposition of it; she's just a natural gypsy, I think.' He turned to the old woman again, who had watched them impatiently, and for a few moments they conversed in the lilting tongue that made Evan's deep voice sound quite beautiful. Helen listened fascinated and a little impatiently, wishing it need not go through interpretation before she knew the future the old woman was forecasting for her. The glittering eyes turned frequently to her and the toothless smile became wider, then disappeared when Evan appeared to argue with her.

'
What is she telling you?' she asked curiously, and he looked embarrassed when he turned back to her.

'
Oh, it's just chatter,' he said lightly. 'I can't
under
stand most of it.' Which was a lie, Helen felt sure,
and
was disappointed when he turned away from the old woman with the intention of bringing the conversation to a close. The old woman was not so easily dismissed, however, and her thin fingers clamped on to his arms as he turned, the glittering eyes watching Helen eagerly. 'Let's go,' he urged, thrusting a note hastily into the crone's other hand, trying to dislodge the restraining fingers from his arm, but the crone would have the last words though they were unintelligible to Helen. Just three or four words repeated over and over, again, and she addressed them to Helen. 'Let's go,' he repeated, and Helen looked queryingly at him as they walked away.

'
What was she telling me?' she asked, the words still following them as they walked away.

'
Oh, just gabble,' he assured her, but Helen had heard the same words over and over again and she knew she would remember them.

It was some time before they broached the subject again, while they were driving back to Glyntarrach and Helen was determined to have one last try. 'I wish I knew what that funny old woman was trying to tell me,' she ventured, and saw him frown discouragement. 'Won't you tell me?'

This time he made no pretence of not knowing what the gabble of sound had meant, but he was just as adamant about telling her. 'No,' he said. 'It was unimportant.'

'Not to me,' she argued. 'I want to know.'

He smiled, though it was a tight-lipped attempt, and she knew he had no intention of changing his mind. 'I'm sorry if you're disappointed,' he said, and no more, while she felt as cross because she had not managed to persuade him as because she would not know her fortune.

The thought came into her mind as they turned into the drive that perhaps Emlyn could speak his native tongue as well as his father did, and she smiled. That would be something at least; she could remember the words the old woman had called after her as if they had only now been spoken.