State of Emergency by Hilary Green

Author:Hilary Green [Green, Hilary]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sharpe Books
Published: 2019-04-15T22:00:00+00:00

FIVE - IDYLL

The farm stood at the head of a shallow valley, the hills rising steeply behind it but the land in front sloping away more gently towards the now distant Wye. There was a sprawl of grey stone buildings, not pretty but solidly determined to ignore the rotting window frames and other evidences of long neglect. By the creaking iron gate which barred the lane a faded and drunkenly angled sign bore the name ‘Brynwcws’.

“That means ‘Mount of Health’ in Welsh,” Barney said, leading the horse through while I held the gate open. “Least, that’s what they say. I wouldn’t know myself.”

“Are you sure it will be ail right for us to stay here?” I asked, voicing the anxiety I had stifled while we plodded up the lane. “I mean, who does it belong to?”

He grinned. “Nobody, I reckon. Not now. Don’t worry, it’ll be all right.”

As the horse clopped into the yard a door opened and a young man came out. Seeing us, he stood for a second, one hand resting on the door post, looking us over. He was dressed in jeans cut off above the knee, a tattered shirt open to the waist and sandals. His dark hair was long, lying thickly on the back of his neck, and his skin wherever it was visible was deeply tanned.

Barney said, “I found them down on the main road. They’ve got nowhere to go.”

The young man moved forward. He carried himself very erect, like a dancer, so that I was surprised when he came up to me to find that he was only a few inches taller than I was. His eyes were very large, hazel in colour, and defined by a line of thick dark lashes. He extended his hand.

“Hallo. I’m Hal. Welcome to Brynwcws.” The voice was carefully classless but unmistakeably cultured. The hand clasp was warm and firm.

“My name’s Nell Fairing,” I said. How many times had I been through all this in the last week? “These are my children, Simon and Tim.”

Barney had helped the boys down off the horse and they stood close to me on either side.

Hal said, “Come on in. I expect you’re tired.”

The farm kitchen was long and low, with a stone floor and massive wooden beams. The deal table in the centre was littered with what I assumed was the remains of lunch for several people and the primitive sink in one comer was stacked with dirty dishes and pans. Muddy wellingtons and discarded coats lay about. Hal cleared three chairs, displacing a pile of books, a guitar and a sleepy tabby cat, and we sat down.

An interior door opened and an amazingly beautiful girl drifted through it. Part of her long fair hair was plaited and twisted around her head to hold the rest in place and she wore a long soft cotton skirt in subtle colourings which could only have come from India and a peasant blouse with wide loose sleeves. She could have stepped straight off the pages of a book of fairy tales.

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