make her feel good.
They drove on for some distance in silence, while Tamsyn endeavoured to take an interest in her surroundings. The countryside around them was gently undulating, green fields stretching away on either side, interspersed with woodland and winding streams. They passed through places with unfamiliar names like Nettlebed and Shillingford and Abingdon, and Tamsyn caught tantalising glimpses of old churches that in other circumstances she would have liked to have had identified. Had her father met her, as she had expected him to do, it would have been different, and she tried to quell a feeling of indignation which was likely to colour her judgement when she did meet him again.
Hywel Benedict seemed perfectly content to drive in silence, occasionally taking out a pipe and putting it in the corner of his mouth and lighting it absently, only to put it out again after a few inhalations. Tamsyn was tempted to say she objected to the strong aroma it emitted, but as it wouldn’t have been entirely true, she said nothing.
At last, she broke the silence by saying: ‘Do you live at Trefallath, Mr. Benedict?’
‘I live in the valley,’ he conceded slowly. ‘Trefallath you will find is little more than a cluster of houses. The real population of the valley is spread out among the farms in the area. But no doubt you’ll discover all this for yourself.’
Tamsyn sighed. ‘It sounds remote. My mother said it was once.’
‘Did she now?’ Hywel Benedict inclined his head. ‘She’s right, of course. It is remote. But we like it that way.’
Tamsyn shook her head. ‘But what do you do for entertainment?’ She coloured. ‘I mean, don’t you have any desire to be nearer London—or Cardiff, if that is the right place? Don’t you feel—well, out of touch?’
Hywel Benedict looked at her out of the corners of his eyes. ‘Out of touch with what? What do your cities have to offer us?’
Tamsyn gave an impatient exclamation. ‘Surely it’s obvious! The cultural assets one finds there! The exhibitions; theatres; concerts! Don’t you care for books, or films, or music?’
He shook his head slowly. ‘Of course we care for these things. But do you honestly suppose that they’re confined to your cities? There’s more life in the valley than ever you will find in Cardiff, or London, or Boston either, for that matter.’
Tamsyn was irritated by the way he spoke, as though he was explaining the facts of life to a recalcitrant child. What could he know about it if he had lived in Trefallath all his life? He was merely using his age and experience against her youth and immaturity. But academically speaking she should be able to annihilate him.
‘I don’t think we’re talking about the same things,’ she remarked, in a voice that was intended to sound cool and patronising.
‘I think we are,’ he contradicted her insistently. ‘You think because you’ve lived in a city all your life that you’ve become worldly, that you are necessarily more cultured’—the way he said the word was a mockery—‘that you are better educated, infinitely more intelligent; not so!’ He shook his head again. ‘You’re just a little girl copying the mannerisms of her elders!’ He gave a slight smile. ‘I guarantee you’ll learn more about life and incidentally about yourself in these few weeks in the valley than ever you learned in that cultivated cabbage patch you call home.’
Tamsyn took a deep breath. ‘You don’t like me at all, do you, Mr. Benedict?’
Hywel Benedict moved his broad shoulders lazily. ‘Now don’t be silly, Tamsyn Stanford. I don’t know you well enough yet to decide whether or not I like you. But young people today tend to imagine that they understand things a whole lot better than my generation did twenty years ago, and I find it all rather monotonous. I don’t know what that mother of yours has taught you, but I think you’d do well to remember that you aren’t old enough to act the sophisticated woman of the world even with an uncultured savage like myself.’
Tamsyn was taken aback. ‘At least in my country we treat young people as individuals with original ideas of their own!’ she replied heatedly.
‘So it’s your country now, is it?’ He smiled mockingly. ‘We’re not concerned with our Welsh ancestry any more, is that it, bach?’
Tamsyn pressed her lips together irritably. He was the most infuriating man she had ever met and completely outside her range of experience. But where had she gone wrong? What had she said to create this friction between them? She sighed. It was simply that he rubbed her up the wrong way and his calm indifference was somehow hard to take.
‘You’re deliberately trying to make me say things I’ll regret later,’ she accused. ‘Why? What have you got against me?’
Hywel Benedict’s expression hardened for a moment, and she wondered what he was thinking behind those enigmatic black eyes. It was impossible to tell, and when he said: ‘Why, nothing, bach,’ she was almost disappointed.
CLOUDS were rolling up from the hills ahead of them and Tamsyn shivered, although it was a warm evening. How much farther had they to travel? Would it be dark before they got there? There was something faintly menacing about the prospect of driving in the dark with Hywel Benedict.
Presently, he slowed and she saw ahead of them a small wayside public house. Its timbered facade was rather attractive, and when he turned into the parking area she glanced at him questioningly.
‘We’ll stop here for something to eat,’ he said. ‘Are you hungry?’
Tamsyn was tempted to retort that she couldn’t eat a thing, but she found she was hungry after all, and there was no point in depriving herself to irritate him, for she felt quite sure he was completely indifferent to her reply.
Nodding her acquiescence, she waited until he stopped the car and then opened her door and climbed out. A faint breeze cooled the air and she watched her companion as he slammed the car door and came round to her side. She eyed her cases on the back seat rather doubtfully, particularly as he had not locked the car, and as though sensing her indecision, he said: ‘Would you rather I put them in the boot?’
Tamsyn studied his dark features. ‘Will they be safe?’
‘Have faith,’ he remarked dryly, and walked away towards the lighted entrance.
Grimacing, Tamsyn followed him, and caught him up at the door. She was too interested in her surroundings to argue with him and she wondered in anticipation what they would have to eat. Steaks, perhaps. Or salmon salad. Her mouth watered. It would be her first taste of English cooking for ten years.
A smoky passageway led through to a bar at the back of the building. There were several people in the bar which was discreetly lit and exuded an atmosphere of tobacco and spirits. But where was the food? Tamsyn’s stomach gave a hollow little rumble and she glanced up defensively as Hywel Benedict looked down at her in amusement.
‘What do you want to drink?’ he asked. ‘I know you’re not eighteen, but no one here does, so how about a shandy?’
‘A shandy?’ Tamsyn frowned. ‘All right.’ She wasn’t quite sure what he meant. ‘But where do we eat?’
‘Here.’ He indicated the bar stools which lined the attractive little bar, and she slid on to one with some misgivings.
‘What do you mean—here?’ she whispered as he took the adjoining stool.
‘Wait and see,’ he advised, summoning the bartender without any apparent effort. ‘A shandy and a beer, please.’ He looked along the counter and Tamsyn, following his gaze, saw an assortment of bar snacks under perspex covers at the other end. There were meat pies and sandwiches, fruit tarts and cakes, and her heart sank.
‘Is this what you mean by something to eat?’ she demanded impatiently.
‘Yes,