Black-eyed Devils by Catrin Collier Page B

well. I’ve a real treat for you, Tom.’ He pulled the young man forward. ‘Meet Amy Watkins. The prettiest girl in the whole of Wales.’
    â€˜If you weren’t a priest I’d call you a liar, Father.’ Amy kissed the priest’s cheek. Her family were Baptist, but everyone in town, Anglican, Chapel and Salvation Army loved Father Kelly. The day the strike had been declared he’d been the first to open a soup kitchen by turning the Church hall of St Gabriel and St Raphael into a canteen. Whenever help was needed, he was always first on the scene. And he never spoke of religion outside the church unless someone asked him to.
    â€˜As if an Irishman let alone an Irish priest would lie about a woman’s beauty.’ He slipped his arm around Amy’s shoulders and hugged her. ‘Amy, darling, this is my brother’s son. Young Tom Kelly.’
    The young man towered above the short, plump priest. Amy’s mouth went dry and she froze. Her three older brothers were all over six feet, “Young Tom Kelly” was at least four inches taller. He had the same thick curly hair as his uncle. The priest’s was iron grey, Tom’s blue-black and glossy. His eyes were dark and gleamed like wet coal.
    Tom offered Amy his hand. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Watkins.’
    Amy was aware of the warmth of Tom’s fingers as they closed over hers. The seductive lilt of his voice, the fresh, clean smell of wind and rain that clung to the shabby, tweed suit that was too small for him. But most of all she was aware of the warmth of his body as he stood next to her. And her image, mirrored in his eyes.
    â€˜Tom’s visiting me for a bit,’ the priest explained. ‘He’s on his way to America.’
    â€˜America,’ Amy repeated.
    â€˜It’s a grand land with lots of opportunity for a hard working man. I’ve relations out there who’ll see me all right.’ Tom continued to stare at her.
    â€˜We’d best move on, Amy, Tom.’ Father Kelly nudged his nephew. He’d spotted one of the London policemen who’d been sent into Tonypandy.
    The officer walked up to them. ‘You’re blocking the pavement, Father Kelly.’
    â€˜Sorry, constable, it’s my nephew. He can’t move because he can’t stop staring at Miss Watkins. He’s never seen a girl as pretty as her before.’
    The constable studied Amy as if she was a piece of meat on a butcher’s slab. She shivered.
    â€˜Your father a miner?’ he demanded.
    â€˜Yes.’ Amy lifted her chin. Her father had ordered everyone in the family to avoid the soldiers and police who had been sent into the town to keep order after the strike had begun. But he’d also told them not to treat the officers with more respect than they did any other man.
    â€˜Yes, what?’
    â€˜Yes, constable.’ Amy knew he wanted her to call him “Sir” but in her opinion, the only difference between him and other men was the uniform he was wearing.
    â€˜What’s your father’s name?’
    â€˜James Watkins.’
    â€˜Jim Watkins the strike leader?’
    â€˜He’s an organizer,’ Amy acknowledged.
    â€˜You’ve three brothers. Jack, Matthew and Mark?’
    She was worried where the questioning was leading but she refused to show fear. ‘I have.’
    Tom Kelly gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. Father Kelly drew closer to her.
    â€˜Tell Jack from me, he’d better behave himself. He’s been seen digging in the illegal mines on the mountain. One day we’re going to catch him at it and then he’ll be sorry.’ The officer pointed at her with his index finger.
    The crowd that had gathered around them fell silent when Tom caught the officer’s hand in mid air. He held it fast.
    â€˜Where I come from we don’t insult a lady by poking her,’ Tom said quietly. ‘I think you should