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'No,’ she said quietly. 'I had no need to, he was a very good patient.’ He seemed to sense her feeling, for his next question was less aggressive, in fact almost gentle.

'He died?' he said, the words half question half statement, and when she nodded silently, 'and he was someone special?'

She turned and looked at him, her feelings now under control and only the glistening shine of her eyes betraying how close the tears had been.

'
He was my father,' she said simply.

'
Helen, I'm sorry!' He put out a hand to her, needing the touch of personal contact to express his regret at having revived the pain in her, and she moved automatically to stand by the bed where he could reach her hand, his strong fingers curling over hers. 'You really look very fetching in that uniform,' he said softly, and was rewarded by seeing her smile.

She lunched with him in his room, though it was not ’to be a regular thing to have her meals with him, only in the circumstances Mrs Beeley thought that it would help them to get to know one another better, and anyway he still needed help with his feeding as he could only be raised a few inches. The process of being fed he disliked intensely and made no secret of the matter, protesting noisily that he had the use of his hands and arms and was quite capable of feeding himself. His resentment, Helen felt, was understandable, but it did not make things any easier for her and she found herself almost out of patience with him by the time they had finished. Such was his volatile personality, however, that her own spirits recovered with his and she was soon smiling again while she listened to his version of what went on in the village of Glyneath as relayed by Dai Hughes.

The time she dreaded most was when she would have to join Evan Davies for dinner that evening, and she found herself vainly hoping that he would perhaps be too busy to conform to habit or have some other excuse for not being present. Mrs Beeley had informed her that dinner would be at seven o'clock because Mr Evan had not eaten lunch, a meal he frequently missed, apparently, when he was very busy as now. She had suggested that she should have her meal with Emlyn again as she had done at lunch time but Mrs Beeley had shaken her head over the idea.

‘Oh, I don't think so, Miss Gaynor,' she said doubtfully. 'Mr Evan is expecting you to have your dinner in the big room, he told me so.' Seemingly if Mr Evan had decreed it it must necessarily be, so she was faced with the prospect of sharing a meal with her reluctant employer whether she wanted to or not.

She gave Emlyn his meal before she changed out of her uniform, making him comfortable for an hour or so, then went to her own room to make her own preparations. She had presumed that she should change out of her uniform, and Mrs Beeley had confirmed it, so she changed slowly, trying in some way to, delay the actual moment when she must go downstairs and into the dining room.

The bedroom that had been prepared for her was a big sombre place, with dark furnishings, and it looked and felt as if it had not been used for years, as indeed it had not; the chill of long emptiness still hung about it, making her shudder as she dressed. The walls were papered with a dark green, velvet-textured paper, unrelieved except for an embossed pattern in the same colour, and the windows were draped with long dark curtains of the same colour. The only relief was in the cream-painted door and skirting boards and from a delightful, beautifully worked Welsh tapestry bedspread which covered the big bed and almost reached the floor on either side. The bed was vast and reminiscent of a fourposter without the comer posts and its vast mound spoke of a feather bed that would probably smother her when she sank into it. Looking round her, she felt rather as if she had been accidentally shut into a stately home and left there to spend the night.

The fanciful thought made her smile to herself and a moment later she shrugged off the vague uneasiness she felt, turning to the full-length mirror that covered the door of the wardrobe, hoping fervently that her dress would not be considered too frivolous for her rather disapproving employer. Mrs Beeley had been less helpful
on what
she should actually wear, considering 'any old thing, love' as information enough.

The mirror showed her a picture that should meet with the approval of any man however undiscerning he might be, at least she hoped it would. The simple cut of the black jersey silk emphasized the good points of her figure without being obvious and showed off her clear fair skin and fair hair to their best advantage. She pulled the quite modest neckline together experimentally with her left hand, but released it again when the pull spoiled the hang of the dress. She was not tall, but held herself well, and her walk was more graceful than was fashionable, perhaps; there was a sculptured beauty about her that she refused to be ashamed of and she held her. head high so that the evening sun shone on it like gold when it fell on her well-brushed hair.

She moved across to the window and looked out for a moment, delaying further the moment when she must go downstairs. The view from her window looked across the long drive down to the big gates and to the road leading to the village, though the village itself was not visible from here being at the other side of the mountain and the back of the house, so curving was the road. It was a tranquil scene and she was reluctant to leave it for the rather less relaxing atmosphere of the dining room. However—she sighed, and giving a final nervous stroke to the bodice of her dress, she turned and went to the door.

Her patient must have heard her about to leave the room, for as she closed the door she heard his bell ring and went along to see him. When she opened the door she was met with a gaze at first curious and then frankly admiring. 'Wheeew!' He gazed at her bright-eyed and she felt almost like blushing.

'Do I look all right?' she asked, wondering if she had been wise to choose a sleeveless dress; perhaps something a little more prim would have been more appropriate.

'
You look wonderful,' he assured her. 'You'll knock Evan's eyes out.'

'Oh, dear!' A new and discomfiting thought crossed her mind. 'I hope Mr Davies doesn’t think that's what I'm trying to do.' She looked down at the simple flattery of her dress, undecided. 'I mean he won't think I'm trying to—'

'
Trying to win him round?' he laughed gaily at her uncertainty. 'Not to worry, Helen, Evan won't succumb so easily to persuasion, however potent.' He put out a hand to draw her closer to the bed and gazed up at her half seriously. 'But if anyone could do it, you could in that dress. It looks wonderful.'

She smiled her thanks, then remembered his bell had summoned her. 'Did you want something before I go down? You rang your bell as I left my room.'

'
No.' He shook his head, still studying her. 'I just wanted to see how you looked, all dressed up to impress Evan.'

'
I am
not
all dressed up to impress Evan—Mr Davies or anyone else,' she protested. 'This is a perfectly plain black dress, there's nothing special about it.'

'No,' he agreed, ‘it's what's inside that's father special.' He laughed again at her discomfited expression and released her hand. 'You'd better go before Evan starts raising the roof, he doesn't like being kept waiting.'

As she went downstairs she felt again that chilling twisting sensation in her stomach and wished she was a hundred miles away from Glyntarrach and in her own home again. Evan Davies rose as she came into the room and to her surprise she thought she detected a gleam of something that could have been approval in his glance before it swept away from her, as if he feared she might see it.

‘I hope dinner isn't too early for you, Miss Gaynor.' His voice still held that cold quality that seemed to chill her and almost numbed her into silence, so that she merely shook her head instead of answering as she meant to do. He was so unapproachable and she realized a moment later that it mattered little that she had not answered for he was still speaking and would probably not have heard her anyway. 'The timetable,' he told her, 'is geared to my convenience, I'm afraid.' He looked as if he expected her to argue the point, but she merely nodded again and murmured something about 'of course'. 'Sherry?' he asked.

'
Thank you.' He poured the golden liquid into a glass and held it out to her and for the first time she met his eyes. There was a hint of mockery there she felt sure and the knowledge did nothing to ease her nervousness. She realized again, too, how completely black they were; black and impenetrable and it was impossible in that brief meeting to tell just what the expression in them was.

'
I wasn't sure,' she ventured a little hesitantly, 'whether I should change for dinner or not, whether I should stay in uniform; I hope I'm in order.'

'The choice is entirely yours,' he said, 'but you needn't have bothered to dress to please me.' She remembered his son's joking reference to her dressing up to impress him and wished now that she had not changed. She would have felt more self-confident and less suspect in the trim efficiency of her uniform.

'I see; then I won't trouble on future occasions,' she assured him, only to see the black brows draw together in the beginnings of a frown.

'
Oh, but I'm sure you must find it a pleasant relief after being in uniform all day,' he observed coolly. 'And I have no objections at all; in fact I'm not sure that I don't prefer it.' It must have been her imagination, she decided, that made her see again that glimpse of approval in the brief glance he gave her. He really was a most difficult man to keep pace with, but at least he seemed to have recovered some of his temper, and she wondered how far Doctor Neath's parting 'brief word'
had been responsible for the change.

Mrs Beeley served their dinner with the skill of long practice and Helen wondered just what this bright-faced, busy little woman really thought of her employer. She said very little as she moved softly about the table, but Helen suspected that she missed little and could probably regale the neighbourhood with tales if she was so inclined. The meal was eaten in an atmosphere of uneasy good manners, and once or twice Mrs Beeley gave Helen a smile of encouragement from behind Evan Davies' chair, but she longed to escape from the room and the company of her dour companion, vowing to do so as soon as she politely could.

When the dishes had at last been removed and the two of them left to themselves she prepared to excuse herself on any grounds that came into her head. He moved from the table and sat himself in one of the armchairs, after indicating that she should take one of the others, and began to fill a pipe with tobacco. Looking at him from under her lashes, she thought he looked more relaxed than she had seen him yet, but the thought of spending any length of time in his company made her uneasy and she shivered slightly, almost without realizing it.

The black eyes looked at her through a haze of tobacco smoke. 'Are you cold?' he asked, though she suspected that it must have been politeness and not interest that prompted the question and she shook her head.

'
No—no, I'm fine, thank you, Mr Davies.'

'
Perhaps you should cover your arms,' he said as if she had not spoken. ‘I find it quite warm tonight, but of course I am a little better covered than you are.'

She took the reference to her uncovered arms for the reproof she felt sure it was meant to be and she flushed her embarrassment. 'I'm not cold, thank you,' she repeated. 'I'm quite warm, there's really no need for you to concern yourself about me.' He regarded her with surprise as if concern for her welfare had been the furthest thing from his mind.

‘You know best, of course,' he conceded with a shrug that dismissed the whole matter as unimportant, and sat back to smoke the pipe with every appearance of enjoyment. She endured the silence for as long as she could and then rose from the chair, where she had been perched on the edge.

‘I would like some air,' she said, her voice more sharp than usual with her nervousness. ‘May I walk in the garden ?'

She had the doubtful pleasure of seeing the black scowl settle swiftly across his face before she turned her back on him and walked from the room, knowing full well that her behaviour was inexcusable, but caring only that she need not stay longer in the same room with him. She paused for only a moment outside the door to breathe deeply and try to stop the trembling of her hands and the rapid pounding of her heart with the unaccustomed anger she felt. Temper was a sensation she seldom indulged in, but there was something in Evan Davies' manner that made her unable to restrain her feelings.

She fetched a lacy black stole and draped it round her shoulders and arms, pausing briefly to look at her reflection in the long mirror, and what she saw surprised her into staying a moment longer to be sure that it was her' self that looked out at her. The dress was hers, but the flushed cheeks and angrily sparkling eyes belonged to another girl; a brittle and rather beautiful girl and she wondered why it was that this man more than any other should arouse her usually placid temper.

When she reached the foot of the stairs again she turned her head momentarily and saw that the door of the room was still open as she had left it and she could see part of his shoulder round the edge of the armchair by the fireplace. She knew that she had been unforgivably rude in walking out as she had, without so much as a word of apology or excuse, but she felt strangely reckless and unfamiliarly defiant. She spent only a fraction of a second deciding whether she should go back into the room and make some excuse for her behaviour, but the thought of coming under that cold scrutiny again discouraged her and she went out into the garden.

The tranquility of it soon dispersed the worst of her temper and she walked slowly round the beds of exquisite roses, enjoying the scented solitude more than anything she had discovered since she arrived. The evening was lovely and heavy with the scent of the roses after the heat of the day, so quiet that a cricket in the grass startled her when he made his presence known. The warm scented air and the quiet reminded her of her own home and the evenings she had sat with her father in the latter years while he had enjoyed the last of the sun and the sight of his beloved roses.