exchanged glances with Merlin. As one, they finished their cappuccinos. Neither of them were children of Pont- ar-Eden for nothing: time to beat a hasty retreat.
As in, now.
‘It would certainly be worth a try,’ Nesta was saying. ‘I’d assist in any way I could, of course. But what with my responsibilities with the WI, not to mention the Guides and the Inner Wheel and the school Eisteddfod…’
With Nesta’s abdication of any pretention to be queen of this proposed uprising, all eyes turned, as if one, towards Edna.
‘No time for hanging around,’ muttered Merlin, under his breath. Carys reached for her bag. ‘Edna has a great reputation in the village for getting things done,’ he added, rising and shoving his book in his back pocket. ‘From what I can see, that usually involves delegating –’
But the time for escape was long gone.
‘You know David and Huw better than any of us,’ came Edna’s voice, shooting straight towards them. Her eyes had fixed themselves purposefully on Carys.
‘That was a long time ago,’ murmured Carys, dismayed.
‘But you were up there at Plas Eden all the time, at one time,’ persisted Edna. ‘You were such a comfort to them all, Rhiannon used to say.’
Which was a very un-Rhiannon thing to say and a load of flummery. Not that you could exactly say that out loud.
‘And besides,’ added Haf, an alarmingly (as far as Carys was concerned, anyhow) sentimental look in her eyes, ‘weren’t you once engaged to David Meredith?’
‘No!’ said Carys, louder than she had intended, her face growing hotter by the minute. ‘You must be thinking of someone else.’
‘Broke his heart,’ Haf was already adding, oblivious, in confidential tones to her neighbour. ‘No wonder it never came to anything with any of those girls Rhiannon was hoping he’d marry and bring the joyful patter of tiny feet to Plas Eden. Broken heart. Too afraid of having it broken again to try. That’s what always does it.’
‘That’s nothing to do with me!’ Carys stared at her, aghast. Trust the gossips of Pont-ar-Eden to make a mountain out of a molehill and end up blaming her for the lack of a new generation of young Merediths. Maybe it wasn’t too late to phone the nursing home and inform Gwenan it was all a mistake and she couldn’t do this after all, and rush back to Joe. Who’d undoubtedly receive her with forgiveness and more than a little triumph.
Which was possibly worse.
‘Don’t you think you’re being just a little unfair, putting all the responsibility on Carys for talking to the Merediths?’ demanded Merlin, gallantly abandoning his own proposed flight, and turning to face Edna. ‘I rather imagine she has quite enough on her plate at the moment.’
Edna snorted loudly. Around her, however, several heads were nodding (not too obviously, especially those closest to the matriarch herself).
Edna’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve got money, Merlin,’ she stated, with unashamed bluntness. ‘And weren’t you saying in an interview not so long ago that you owed everything you had ever done to Pont-ar-Eden?’
‘ Sunday Times ,’ provided Haf’s bird-like little voice, helpfully.
Merlin groaned.
‘And really,’ said Edna, pressing home her advantage, ‘I’m certain you are one of the few people well able to afford to buy Plas Eden. And wouldn’t that be rather fitting?’
‘Why on earth would I want to buy a place like Plas Eden?’ demanded Merlin, his voice echoing in the sudden stilling of every conversation in the room.
‘And would you like a jacket potato or chips with that?’ came Buddug’s voice from the counter.
‘Well, isn’t it what pop stars do?’ put in Nesta, not to be outdone.
‘Rubbish,’ came Buddug’s voice loudly, and clearly not referring to her customers’ choice of saturated fat on their potatoes. ‘You’ve been reading too many OK s, Nesta. Not every pop star is as rich as sin, or wants to throw their money around. I’m
As in, now.
‘It would certainly be worth a try,’ Nesta was saying. ‘I’d assist in any way I could, of course. But what with my responsibilities with the WI, not to mention the Guides and the Inner Wheel and the school Eisteddfod…’
With Nesta’s abdication of any pretention to be queen of this proposed uprising, all eyes turned, as if one, towards Edna.
‘No time for hanging around,’ muttered Merlin, under his breath. Carys reached for her bag. ‘Edna has a great reputation in the village for getting things done,’ he added, rising and shoving his book in his back pocket. ‘From what I can see, that usually involves delegating –’
But the time for escape was long gone.
‘You know David and Huw better than any of us,’ came Edna’s voice, shooting straight towards them. Her eyes had fixed themselves purposefully on Carys.
‘That was a long time ago,’ murmured Carys, dismayed.
‘But you were up there at Plas Eden all the time, at one time,’ persisted Edna. ‘You were such a comfort to them all, Rhiannon used to say.’
Which was a very un-Rhiannon thing to say and a load of flummery. Not that you could exactly say that out loud.
‘And besides,’ added Haf, an alarmingly (as far as Carys was concerned, anyhow) sentimental look in her eyes, ‘weren’t you once engaged to David Meredith?’
‘No!’ said Carys, louder than she had intended, her face growing hotter by the minute. ‘You must be thinking of someone else.’
‘Broke his heart,’ Haf was already adding, oblivious, in confidential tones to her neighbour. ‘No wonder it never came to anything with any of those girls Rhiannon was hoping he’d marry and bring the joyful patter of tiny feet to Plas Eden. Broken heart. Too afraid of having it broken again to try. That’s what always does it.’
‘That’s nothing to do with me!’ Carys stared at her, aghast. Trust the gossips of Pont-ar-Eden to make a mountain out of a molehill and end up blaming her for the lack of a new generation of young Merediths. Maybe it wasn’t too late to phone the nursing home and inform Gwenan it was all a mistake and she couldn’t do this after all, and rush back to Joe. Who’d undoubtedly receive her with forgiveness and more than a little triumph.
Which was possibly worse.
‘Don’t you think you’re being just a little unfair, putting all the responsibility on Carys for talking to the Merediths?’ demanded Merlin, gallantly abandoning his own proposed flight, and turning to face Edna. ‘I rather imagine she has quite enough on her plate at the moment.’
Edna snorted loudly. Around her, however, several heads were nodding (not too obviously, especially those closest to the matriarch herself).
Edna’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve got money, Merlin,’ she stated, with unashamed bluntness. ‘And weren’t you saying in an interview not so long ago that you owed everything you had ever done to Pont-ar-Eden?’
‘ Sunday Times ,’ provided Haf’s bird-like little voice, helpfully.
Merlin groaned.
‘And really,’ said Edna, pressing home her advantage, ‘I’m certain you are one of the few people well able to afford to buy Plas Eden. And wouldn’t that be rather fitting?’
‘Why on earth would I want to buy a place like Plas Eden?’ demanded Merlin, his voice echoing in the sudden stilling of every conversation in the room.
‘And would you like a jacket potato or chips with that?’ came Buddug’s voice from the counter.
‘Well, isn’t it what pop stars do?’ put in Nesta, not to be outdone.
‘Rubbish,’ came Buddug’s voice loudly, and clearly not referring to her customers’ choice of saturated fat on their potatoes. ‘You’ve been reading too many OK s, Nesta. Not every pop star is as rich as sin, or wants to throw their money around. I’m
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