“Some people hereabouts have even told me that it is the original Welsh dragon, petrified by a sea deity,” he told her with a laugh. “It is an attractive legend, but I believe they are merely trying to see how gullible an Englishman can be.”
They took a picnic tea with them on that day and sat eating wafer-thin slices of bread and butter with cheese followed by currant cakes and drinking lukewarm lemonade far out from the mainland, the water on three sides of them sparkling in the sunshine.
“I feel as if I am on a ship,” she said, “sailing…oh, somewhere exotic, somewhere wonderful.”
“A journey to forever,” he said. “An enticing, perfect forever.”
“No, not forever,” she told him. “There is much I would miss if I could not come back. And I could not go without David.”
“You are quite right,” he said. “Not forever, then. Just for a long, long afternoon.”
“Agreed,” she said, stretching out on the grass and gazing up at the blue sky as she had gazed at the stars a week earlier. “A long afternoon. Wake me when it is time to go home.”
But he tickled her nose with a long piece of grass only moments after she had closed her eyes, and they both laughed, their faces not very far apart. She closed her eyes again only so that they would not feel the tension and be compelled to move away from each other in order to cover it up.
There was a certain guilty pleasure to be taken from the tension. And yet she could not bear the thought of his actually touching her—and she still did not know if it was his appearance from which she shrank or her own memories of intimacy. Perhaps it was a little—or a lot—of each.
It did not rain once during those days. There was scarcely even a cloud in the sky.
They talked about anything and everything, it seemed to Anne. He was as comfortable to be with as any of the closest of her friends—except that he was a man.
It felt sogoodto have a man friend. She no longer even minded being seen with him—and inevitably the Bedwyns and the other guests at the house did see them together. Why should she mind, after all? There was nothing between them that needed to be hidden, and no one—not even Joshua—ever teased her about her friendship with Glandwr’s steward.
Even David saw them together one afternoon. He was playing out on the lawn with the other children when Anne and Mr. Butler were coming from the hill and left the group to come dashing toward them.
“Mama,” he cried, “I cut my finger on tree bark, see? But Lady Aidan took me up to the nursery and cleaned it and bandaged it for me, and it really does not hurt very much at all except that it is harder to catch the ball. How do you do, sir? I went painting again this morning, but I can’t wait to get Mr. Upton to teach me to paint with oils. Oh, there is Jacques calling—I must go.”
And off he went without waiting for any response. Anne looked at Mr. Butler and found him smiling at her.
“When I was a boy,” he said, “I do not believe I had even that much time to spare for adults. I feel honored.”
“He is very happy here,” she told him. “I am afraid he is going to be dreadfully dejected when we return to Bath.”
“Except,” he said, “that he will have the challenge of Mr. Upton to tackle when he gets there.”
It felt good to have a friend to whom she could talk about anything, but from whom she could also withhold certain things about which she did not want to speak without provoking either undue curiosity or resentment. On one occasion, for example, when he had asked about her family again, she talked instead about Frances and how she had furnished a room especially for her or Susanna or Claudia at Barclay Court in Somersetshire and kept it for their visits whenever a school holiday coincided with her being at home. Mr. Butler had made no comment on the change of subject. He too had silent places where she would not tread. She knew that his artistic talent was a painful subject with him, and she did not quiz him on it again.
It came as something of a surprise when one day she worked out dates and realized that the final week of the holiday in Wales had already begun. She had expected her stay here to seem endless, yet now she could not believe it was already almost over. She felt rather sad for David’s sake, but she felt equally sorry for herself. Most of all she felt sad at the imminent end of a friendship that was only just blossoming but was giving her such pleasure.
And itwouldend. It was hardly likely that they would meet again or that they would exchange letters after she had gone. By this time next month, she thought, they would only half remember each other. By this time next year they would think of each other only fleetingly, if at all.
She thought he had forgotten about his offer to take her to see Ty Gwyn, the house and property he hoped to purchase from the Duke of Bewcastle. But he mentioned it again when there were only three days left before her departure. He had been at Glandwr for dinner, and they were sitting slightly apart from everyone else in the drawing room afterward, the two of them, as they had done on other occasions too. No one had ever remarked upon their partiality for each other’s company or made them feel either unsociable or self-conscious.
But then she supposed that she was unimportant enough that no one particularly noticed her anyway—though everyone had been unfailingly kind and amiable toward her. And Mr. Butler was only the steward. Why should anyone single them out for notice?
“Will you come there the day after tomorrow?” he asked. “Unfortunately, I need to be busy all day tomorrow, but the day after I will be free. I thought we could take a picnic tea over to Ty Gwyn, and at the same time I can see that the work I assigned after my last visit has been done.”
An excursion had been arranged for the day after tomorrow—they were all to go on a lengthy outing to Pembroke Castle. The older children were very excited at the prospect of climbing up onto the battlements and descending to the dungeons. Anne had been looking forward to going too. But she knew that her presence was not strictly necessary. Although all the adults gave special attention on occasion to their own children, all of them also parented all the children equally on most occasions with the result that David had a number of substitute fathers—and a number of substitute mothers too.
And it was not as if she had neglected him. Quite the contrary. Despite her frequent outings with Mr. Butler, she had actually spent far more time with David—or at least with the large group of adults and children that included him—than she ever did during the school term.
She really wanted to see Ty Gwyn. It was the place that Mr. Butler hoped would be his own one day. It was where he would perhaps live out the rest of his life.
She wanted to see it. She wanted to be able to picture him there when she remembered him.
She also wanted to spend one more afternoon with him before leaving. It would be the last one.
It was a rather depressing thought.
