

### The Graceful Solution

# Rosalie E F Ross

First published in the United Kingdom in 2019.

Copyright © Rosalie E. F. Ross 2019.

Rosalie E. F. Ross has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this book.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any

means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise,

without the prior permission of the author.

Scripture quotations are taken from The Holy Bible,

New International Version.

Copyright © 1978 by New York International Bible Society

1983 Edition.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, dialogues,

including all unscriptural quotes and references, are products of

the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.

Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead,

is entirely coincidental.

Cover Photograph: Craig Goch Dam, Elan Valley, Powys, Wales.

Used by kind permission of: Chris Downer: www.geograph.org.uk

To Phil, who has been given the grace

to be married to a writer.

# Table of Contents

Chapter 1: A Life-Changing Suggestion

Chapter 2: Getting on Board

Chapter 3: The Sisters

Chapter 4: The Fourth Photograph

Chapter 5: The Letter

Chapter 6: Sympathy

Chapter 7: A Medical Emergency

Chapter 8: Dark Eyes

Chapter 9: Challenge at Elan

Chapter 10: Clearwen

Chapter 11: Talk of the Devil

Chapter 12: Showdown

Chapter 13: Aberystwyth

Chapter 14: Another Life Story

Chapter 15: Evening 'Discussion'

Chapter 16: The Anti-Hero

Chapter 17: Snowdon

Chapter 18: Harlech

Chapter 19: Betws-y-Coed

Chapter 20: Llangollen

Chapter 21: The Journey Back

Chapter 22: Memories

Chapter 23: The Day Conference

Chapter 24: The Sister

Chapter 25: The Introduction

Chapter 26: A Partial Revelation

Chapter 27: The Drama

Chapter 28: The Book and the Gypsy

Chapter 29: The Baptism

Chapter 30: After the Dinner

Chapter 31: Branderby Hall

Chapter 32: The Missed Conference Notes

Chapter 33: The Buy A Tile Session

Chapter 34: Theo's Story

Chapter 35: A Life Saved

Chapter 36: A Sister's Intuition

Chapter 37: Briony's Concerns

Chapter 38: Umbrellas

Epilogue

Appendix 1: Briony's Letter to her Mother

Appendix 2: The Full Day Conference Notes

Appendix 3: Briony's 'Grace' Notes

Bible References

By the Same Author

# Part 1

#

# September 1971

**"** **For I know the plans I have for you,"**

**declares the LORD,**

**"** **plans to prosper you and not to harm you,**

**plans to give you hope and a future..."**

_(Jeremiah 29:11. New International Version.)_

Note: Scripture references are listed at the back.

# Chapter 1

#

# A Life-Changing Suggestion

Briony had spent the past six weeks walking closely with death. Her mother had died first; she was buried. Her father followed five weeks later. On the ninth day after his cremation, and with the image and sound of the blue velvet curtains gliding closed in front of his coffin still fresh in her mind, she walked purposefully into a local travel agency and went to stand directly in front of the counter. She was on a mission. She had just twenty-five minutes left of her lunch break and didn't have time to look through the rows of brochures displayed on the stands behind her, each one claiming to hold the answer to her current problem, which was that she was in serious need of a break. She was determined to get away. Right away. Right away from death - and all things to do with it.

'Yes?' The busy manageress looked up from her half-typed letter. 'Can I help you?'

'I hope so. I want to go away. Somewhere not too crowded and where there's some lovely scenery. And I want to go on Saturday.'

The manageress's mouth opened as her eyebrows shot up, reactions which surprised her, because she was used to surprises in her line of work. 'Saturday? _This_ Saturday? The day after tomorrow?' she asked, trying not to sound too incredulous.

Briony held her ground. 'Yes.'

'Er, well, that all depends - '

'And I've only got sixty pounds,' interrupted the young woman, staring so unwaveringly down at her.

The junior clerk, who had been busy filing in the back office, poked her head around the door, curious to see what the client looked like and keen to hear how Old Bossy Boots was going to deal with her.

'And I'd like to go somewhere in the U.K.,' Briony added, attempting to be helpful, at the same time wondering if she had posed the woman a bit of a challenge. It had been an unseason-

ably wet summer, but she would just have to take her chances. And she really didn't feel like going through all the palaver that organising an overseas trip usually involved.

Having quickly regained her composure, the manageress asked, 'I see. Well, I'm sure we'll be able to find you something. How many is it for?'

'One, just me. And I'm open to suggestions, although I don't want to go anywhere too busy, but near enough to places of interest.'

The manageress shifted her focus and pointed to one of the brochure stands behind the prospective client, who, she now decided, was slightly younger than the impression created by her severely drawn-back hairstyle. 'Well, in that case, why don't you take a look at some of the holiday cottages? I can recommend "Cottage Hideaways", the large blue one on the second shelf down.'

'Sorry, I should have said, my car's in the garage so I won't have my own transport, and I don't want to stay anywhere too far from any facilities ...' Her voice trailed off as the manageress's frown deepened. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

The junior clerk, still peeping around the office doorway, smirked. She was sick of having to put up with the old girl's frequent boasts that, 'The client hasn't been born yet that I can't satisfy.' Now how was she going to sort this one out?

The manageress swivelled her head around and gave her junior a fierce stare. 'Trudy! Have you finished that filing yet?'

As though blaming her for her trouble, Trudy shot Briony a withering look. 'Yeah, well I had to answer the phone and you wanted your coffee, and the flipping duplicator's playing up again.'

'Never mind all that. For goodness sake, just get on with it!'

Reluctantly, the girl turned and resumed her hated task, all the while straining to listen to what was going on in the front.

The manageress turned her attention back to her client. 'And will you be requiring full-board?'

'Not necessarily. Half-board would do; it all depends on the price. And I don't want to share. I must have a single room.' Briony had shared once too often, and usually ended-up regretting it.

The manageress tapped her pencil on her notepad. Today's 'To Do List' stared challengingly up at her; so far only two items had been crossed out. Still, she was a seasoned hand at dealing with such awkward clients, and she would not allow this one to spoil her hard-earned and unblemished record. She hesitated, then wondering if it might not be the most suitable solution for this particular client standing so expectantly in front of her, nevertheless, decided to give it a try. Putting on her most confident and don't-challenge-me-I-know-what-I'm-talking-about tone, she declared, 'Then it will have to be a coach tour. Most companies will be finishing this week, but there are a few that have a slightly longer season.'

Now it was Briony's eyes that opened wide as she repeated, obviously taken aback at the idea, 'A coach tour?' Images flashed across her mind of rows of elderly, freshly- permed women, sitting beside their brown-and-beige-clad, pipe-smoking husbands, looking down from their elevated positions as they glided past on one of those comfortable looking coaches.

'And I think I've got the very thing,' added the manageress, standing and walking quickly around the counter to select two copies of the same brochure from one of the stands. The company was well established, but with luck, might still have a few seats left to fill. She also happened to know that it was one of the very few that didn't charge single room supplements when there were still rooms available in the hotels. She handed one copy to Briony and returned to her seat. 'You know you're rather late, but you might be lucky enough to get a cancellation.'

Briony accepted the brochure reluctantly. 'But aren't they more for pensioners? I'm not quite there yet,' stopping short at saying that she might feel like one, and becoming alarmed at the disturbing thought that she might even look like one.

'Actually, they're becoming quite popular with younger people these days; family groups too. Take a look. There might be something that appeals to you.'

Half-heartedly, Briony began to leaf through the pages, until her attention was caught by one in particular:-

_New for 1971:-_

_All Wales. Central mountains, Snowdonia, North,_

_West and South Coasts and Wye Valley. 7 days £42._

_Every Saturday from May 8 to October 2._

Scanning the details, she found herself becoming interested in the short descriptions of the places the tour visited:-

_The Cotswolds, the Elan Valley reservoirs, Bala and_

_the Valley of the Dee, the Horseshoe Pass, Swallow_

_Falls, Betws-y-Coed, Beddgelert, Caldey Island._

Wonderful, atmospheric and romantic sounding places; places that she had only ever heard about, or seen pictures of in magazines. She sat down and studied the more detailed itinerary.

Two more silent minutes passed before the manageress, who had completely rearranged her list, and trying, but failing, to control her impatience, asked rather sharply, 'This Saturday then? And how long for?'

Briony looked up and across at her. Yes, why not? She would have all her transport, accommodation, meals, and even entertainment laid on. And if she did end up being the only thirty-something on the bus, then so what? She didn't mind old folk, actually, in many ways she preferred them to her own age group. She nodded, 'Okay, I'll give it a whirl. And I'd like to go for at least a week, but ten days would be better.'

The manageress gave a self-satisfied smile. 'And what part of the country?'

Briony turned to the front of the brochure and glanced at the map of the United Kingdom; thick red lines showed the main routes of the areas covered by the company's tours. 'Er, maybe somewhere scenic, but not too busy. The one on page eighteen sounds very appealing, but it's only for seven days.'

The manageress turned to the back of her copy of the brochure, her pencil already hovering over the telephone dial. 'Why don't I phone their booking office and see what's available?'

Knowing that the woman was talking sense, Briony nodded. 'Alright. Would you mind?' After all, she could be in there all day, deliberating and deciding, and then come out with nothing at the end.

The manageress lost no time and began to dial.

Briony emerged from the office fifteen minutes later, the envelope containing her copy of the booking form and a return ticket to King's Cross Station safely tucked inside her handbag. Her first two choices had been fully booked, but the third hadn't sounded too bad. At least she was going away. Bemused, and laughing inwardly at what she had just let herself in for, she hurried back to the hospital. Her mission accomplished.

Still sulking over the filing, Trudy reluctantly admitted to herself that the old girl had done it again. Although how that woman was going to cope with being cooped-up for so long with a load of old fuddy-duddies was beyond her.

# Chapter 2

#

# Getting on Board

Briony's train pulled into King's Cross ten minutes late; she was relieved that she had already taken such potential hindrances into account by taking an earlier train. She caught the tube to her destination: Victoria Coach Station. The air inside the terminal was filled with exhaust fumes, and the sound of dozens of engines idling, hissing, revving and roaring, seemed to attack her already delicate state of mind. People were talking loudly, whilst some felt it necessary to shout. Individuals, pairs and small groups stood around in queues as others jostled and hurried past, most of them struggling with heavy suitcases and an assortment of hand luggage. Many were obviously excited, quite a few looked concerned, several appeared to be confused, and one or two looked nauseas.

It took Briony several minutes to find her boarding bay. And there it was \- the vehicle she would be spending many hours in for the next ten days of her life; travelling to places she had never been to, and surrounded by people she had never met. The display panel on the front of the coach announced the tour's title:-

**Mountains, Coast and Lakes of Wales**

Emblazoned in burgundy print across the light beige livery on the vehicle's side, were the words:-

**Halcyon Tours**

Beside it, smartly dressed in the company's black and burgundy uniform, stood a man busily checking the details of a small queue. She went over to join them, and was slightly taken-aback at noticing how young he was, and guessed that he was in his mid-to-late thirties; she had been expecting someone at least middle-aged.

'Booking form?' he asked, holding out one hand whilst clasping a clipboard in the other.

She handed him the document.

'Miss Briony Beresford. Welcome Miss Beresford. You're on seat number twenty. Your case...' He took her suitcase from her, tied a label onto the handle, then stored it away in the luggage hold behind him.

She climbed on board and manoeuvred her way along the narrow aisle until she reached her seat, eight rows back from the driver's position. A quick inspection of her space revealed that all was clean and tidy. Satisfied, she removed and folded her jacket, pushed it into the overhead shelf, then settled down. She wondered who would be occupying the seat next to her, and hoped that he, or she, would prove to be a polite and thoughtful travelling companion. A fidgeter, nail-biter or chatter-box could ruin this break. Some of the other passengers were chatting and introducing themselves, and she decided to join in. Sliding onto the empty seat next to her, she leaned forward and peered around at the profiles of an elderly couple sitting directly in front.

'Hello. I'm Briony. Pleased to meet you.'

'Pardon?' came the man's terse reply as he turned his head to look at her, frowning.

'I said, hello. I'm Briony Beresford, and I'm pleased to meet you.' She looked past him, only to be met with an equally deep frown from his companion.

'Yes, well, hello,' came the very unenthusiastic reply as he turned his face towards the window and made a great show of studying the view outside. The couple's whole manner revealing their disagreeable, 'Leave us alone; we aren't interested in you, and we don't want to know anything about you,' attitude.

Well! Thought Briony, sitting back. How rude. Talk about antisocial.

More people were boarding; without exception, they all looked to be at least twenty years her senior - and all in pairs. Although the coach door was open, she began to feel uncomfortably warm, and now the air was being tainted with the smell and faint vapour of pipe smoke. She reached above and pointed the air nozzle in her direction.

'It won't work until we're under way,' came a man's voice from behind.

She turned around to look at the voice's owner, and was relieved to see that he was not the pipe-smoker. Hoping for a friendlier response, she smiled and said, 'Just getting it ready. And hello. I'm Briony.'

He poked his hand through the gap between the seats. 'Malcolm Burrows. And this good lady's my wife, Peggy.'

Thinking that it was just as well she didn't suffer from back problems, she twisted even more in her seat and shook the elderly man's hand. 'Hello Malcolm. Briony Beresford. How far have you come today?'

'Ramsey. And you?'

'Allensborough. Not quite as far as you,' she replied, standing now to reach his companion's outstretched hand.

'We stopped overnight,' commented Peggy. 'You know, just in case. We aren't into rushing around these days. But they organised the whole thing; got us a really nice room in a hotel nearby, and not too far away.'

Briony did her best to look suitably impressed.

Malcolm added, 'Food was alright. Full English breakfast. Can't be bad.'

They were disturbed by the arrival of a few more passengers who went to sit opposite the couple.

The driver appeared at the front, his clipboard still in his hand. An expectant hush descended. Smiling, he said, 'Good morning everyone. Welcome to Halcyon Tours. I'm Reuben Zimmerman, your driver-courier. You'll see there's still plenty of empty seats, but they'll get filled as we go along. There's just one more job I've got to do, so please stay on the coach while I go to sign-off at the office, then we'll soon be on our way.'

He turned and almost skipped down the steps. Apart from Briony, everyone's attention returned to their own situations. She watched as he stopped to talk to another company driver. Something amused him, and he laughed. Some good teeth there, she thought, plenty of calcium, and probably got that tan from sitting behind that windscreen for hours on end.

'He sounds a lively one,' Malcolm commented.

'Well, he'd better not rush us around,' quipped Peggy.

'Don't fret, Peg. They're not all the same.'

The antisocial woman, sitting immediately in front of Briony, hissed loudly into her male companion's ear, 'Oh good Lord, he's Jewish! With a name like that, he's got to be one.'

'Ssh!' came the man's equally loud response.

'Don't you tell me to shush! It's... it's _disgusting!_ How dare they put us with someone... like _that!_ Driving us around all week. Our safety in his hands. It's unthinkable!'

Briony held her breath. Realising just how easy it was to eavesdrop in this situation, and not wanting to, but unable to help herself, her whole attention now shifted onto the couple.

There followed a hushed, rushed, and obviously strained conversation. Briony looked out of the window, hoping that the subject of their shock and dismay would stay away until the couple had had enough time to come to terms with whatever was alarming them. She began to wonder if they were right. That name, Reuben Zimmerman, certainly sounded Jewish. _Very_ Jewish. And now she wondered if the man's dark complexion was due entirely to the nature of his work. Well, so what if he was Jewish? What did that have to do with his ability to do his job? There was also the fact that, since becoming a Christian five years ago, she had developed a new interest and respect for all things Jewish. After all, Her Lord and Saviour had chosen to come to Earth as a Jew.

Several minutes passed before there was a sudden flurry of activity as the pair stood and hurriedly began to gather their belongings together. With horror, Briony realised that they were leaving. She was incredulous. How could anybody be _that_ prejudiced? A sudden feeling of righteous indignation swept over her, and she leaned forward, and said, 'Excuse me.'

Unnoticed by the three of them, the driver had just stepped back on board.

The man turned and stared down at her, his face flushed with anger or embarrassment, she couldn't tell.

'What are you doing?' she asked, not caring who heard her.

'Mind your own business!' the woman replied, glaring down at her.

'You're not leaving, are you?'

'Be quiet! It's got nothing to do with you,' ordered the woman.

'You are, aren't you? But why?'

'That's enough,' said the man, struggling to pull their overnight bags from the overhead shelf.

'Is it because the driver might be a... a Jew?'

The bags freed, the woman exclaimed, ' _Will_ you mind your own business!' putting her hand on her husband's back now in an attempt to push him along the aisle.

Briony couldn't help herself, as she called after them, 'Well then, you might be interested to know that Jesus is a Jew!'

There was a shocked silence as, making their way to the front, the couple noticed the driver for the first time. They pushed past him, as the man said, 'We're not staying; my wife's not feeling too well,' before quickly making their way down the steps. Once outside, the man called, 'We'll have our luggage - _now,_ if you please!'

All eyes focused on the driver. He stared down at the couple, then, as though coming to terms with something, turned his attention back to the coach's interior. 'It appears that we've got a slight problem. Please remain where you are for now.' He reached up to operate the door control which hissed shut behind him.

Briony watched as what looked like a heated discussion began outside. At one point, the woman put her hand on her forehead, then moved it to her chest a few seconds later, when she appeared to have a coughing fit. The man began to thump her, none to gently, between her shoulder blades.

Being a nurse, Briony wondered if she should go out and offer to help, but then she felt sure that this was all play-acting. The only thing wrong with the woman was a bad case of antisemitism. It was all she could do to stay where she was, as she saw the woman glare angrily at her husband before transferring her hands into the small of her back.

'She'll make her bloody mind up in a minute!' came a man's voice from somewhere behind her. 'Lot of fuss and nonsense. So what if he's a bloody Jew? As long as he can drive the damn bus, I don't care if he's from Timbuctoo!'

Feeling that the mention of 'a bloody Jew' had been completely uncalled for, Briony turned to see who the owner of the voice was.

'Hear! Hear!' called another voice, a woman's this time. 'I hope he doesn't let them get back on. I don't fancy putting up with shenanigans like that all week.'

'Nor me,' called another female voice.

The hiss of the door sounded again.

Now Briony felt she had the right to speak. After all, everyone else was voicing their opinion, why shouldn't she? Standing and looking around, she said, 'I really can't see what the driver being a Jew... if he is, has got anything to do with it. Haven't we learned _anything_ from the war?'

'Just a few more minutes, folks,' came the driver's voice from behind her now. 'Thank you for your patience.' He turned and left, this time leaving the door open - and Briony feeling more than a little embarrassed.

The passengers began to talk amongst themselves, quietly this time. She wondered if she had overreacted and maybe should apologise; the last thing she needed to do was to alienate the people she would be spending time with all week, and at such close quarters. Still unsure, she felt someone touch her shoulder. She turned to see Peggy smiling at her.

'Don't take it to heart, dear. It's a right shame, but it'll get sorted.'

Malcolm nodded his agreement. 'They won't be back, mark my words. And good job too. Look, he's getting their cases.'

'This is madness!' Briony exclaimed, 'I can't believe that it really is just because he might be a - '

'Naa! I reckon they'll put them on another tour,' interrupted Malcolm.

The trio outside began to walk away. She noticed that the driver was carrying both cases, and smarted at the realisation that not only had they just insulted him, but now they expected him to act as their lackey as well.

There followed an awkward ten minutes for Briony who had decided that keeping quiet was the best policy. She steadfastly refused to take part in the continuous stream of comments and speculations that were being freely voiced by the other passengers. Peggy and Malcolm tried to draw her in several times, but she only smiled and nodded politely back at them.

'Look! There they are,' exclaimed a woman's voice. 'Over there. They've got someone with them. He's taking them over to that other coach.'

'Is it another Halcyon one?' asked Peggy, who was very short sighted.

'Yes. Now... now they're... he's gone now.'

'Who's gone? Where?' asked an increasingly frustrated Peggy.

'That man, the other man, he's gone off. And now the driver, the other one, I think... yes, he's taking their cases.'

'And good riddance!' exclaimed another woman's voice, loudly.

A white-haired man, nimble for his obviously advanced years, stood and quickly made his way along the aisle, declaring, 'I'm going to see where they're off to.'

Briony watched him hurry across the concourse. He paused for a brief second to glance at the information panel at the front of the other coach. Reuben noticed and approached him, and the two had a brief conversation. The man patted Reuben's shoulder before hurrying back.

'The Emerald Isle!' he announced, 'They're off to the Emerald Isle.'

'Got no problem with the Irish then,' Malcom quipped.

Briony could have added that the woman must have had a miraculous recovery, but decided to keep her thoughts to herself.

The driver returned a few seconds later. He appeared to be totally unmoved by the whole incident as he thanked everyone for their patience. She listened carefully as he went on to explain that there was a tight schedule to keep and that he didn't want to be late arriving at their next pick-up point, which would be at Reading.

Peggy called out, 'We'll be stopping before then, won't we, driver?'

He looked over in her direction. 'We aren't scheduled for one, but there are several places en route if you're caught short. Just give me a ten-minute warning if you're desperate.'

Peggy didn't sound at all embarrassed, as she replied, 'Alright dear. Just so that you know.'

'Well then, let's get this show on the road.' he commented, turning to take his seat as a few cheers and handclaps erupted from the more extrovert passengers.

The powerful Volvo engine roared into life.

'There they are!' exclaimed a voice in front of Briony, as they pulled out. 'Over there.'

She had a clear view of the couple as the coach glided past, and saw the man's face contort into an ugly sneer when he looked over in their direction. She stared hard at him, shaking her head disapprovingly. Whether or not he noticed, she never knew. But then, it didn't matter. The problem had been solved, and in such a calm and business-like way by the driver, that she felt there was no point in anyone continuing to make a big issue out of the whole unpleasant affair. She was on her way. It had been a long and difficult summer, and at last her much-needed break was beginning.

She sighed and sat back as they emerged from the station's semi-gloom and out into the bright daylight.

# Chapter 3

#

# The Sisters

Despite the heavy traffic, they made good progress through the busy streets of London, arriving at their first refreshment stop at Reading just five minutes later than the scheduled time. Approaching the bus station, Reuben switched on his microphone and spoke over the internal communication system, informing them what time they needed to be back on board. The door hissed open and he went out to stand beside the bottom step, offering his hand to any who needed assistance as they stepped down, which most of the women did.

'I can manage, thanks,' Briony said, ignoring his outstretched hand.

He nodded and smiled. She noticed how very brown his eyes were, almost black. Well, that was a good thing in his line of work, she mused, putting her sunglasses on and walking away; sunlight and fair eyes, like hers, were a dangerous combination, especially when one wanted to prevent cataracts in later life.

Most people headed straight for the café, whilst others, including Peggy, were keen to find the public toilets. Briony went to join the café queue. In front of her were two of her fellow passengers, who, she assumed, were related because of their similar features and the almost identical way they dressed. She couldn't help noticing that they appeared to be in a state of some agitation.

'You should have spoken up before now,' said the slightly taller of the pair.

'But I've only just realised,' replied the shorter one.

'Goodness knows what state the place will be in when we get back,' said the first, before adding ominously, 'If the whole house hasn't already gone up in flames!'

'Oh, don't say that, Daphne. It was all such a last-minute rush, and I couldn't remember if I'd packed my spare eye-drops; you know I have to have them. And you would keep hurrying me.'

'And whose fault was that? All that fussing around. And why'd you have to go and turn it on anyway? It wasn't that cold - '

'But it was! I was perished.'

'Then why aren't you in your vests? I've been back in mine for weeks. And look. There he is. Go on, tell him. What he'll think of us... you... I dread to think.'

Briony turned to look in the direction the taller one was pointing at and saw Reuben walking in their direction.

' _Go on!'_ demanded Daphne, sounding very impatient now.

The smaller one gave a squeak and shrank back. Daphne quickly pushed her directly in Reuben's path, making her almost collide with him. 'Driver! Driver! Just a moment. My sister's got something to tell you. Haven't you, Monica?'

However, it seemed that Monica needed a bit more time to prepare herself.

'Go on Monica! Speak up, for Heaven's sake. We haven't got all day,' ordered her domineering sister.

Monica whimpered, then amongst much hand-wringing, began to talk so fast that her words came out in an incomprehensible jumble. 'It was so cold... you know... have them... for my eyes, you see ... I must have... the drops ... suitcase ... kitchen table... cold... the stove... warm... so cold - '

As soon as he was able to interrupt the torrent of words, Reuben, who had managed to grasp something of the situation, began to ask a series of questions. 'Do any of your neighbours have a key?'

'We don't have neighbours. Thank God! Just think, if the place blows up,' declared Daphne.

Monica whimpered again.

'Alright, what about family, or a friend who lives nearby?'

The pair looked at each other.

'Jessica. She does. But... Oh no! Oh dear! She's in hospital... having her fourth...' whined Monica, who now looked as though she was ready to burst into tears.

Reuben patted her shoulder. 'Please try to stay calm, Miss Biggins. We'll get this dealt with. What about the husband?'

The sisters looked at each other again.

'Jessica's husband?' he queried.

'Oh, but she's not - ' Monica began, to be quickly interrupted by Daphne, who looked around and scowled at anyone who was rude enough to be listening, especially Briony, who couldn't help herself. 'He'll be in bed, asleep. He works nights.'

The queue moved forward and they were obliged to move with it.

'Good. Then he'll likely be in,' Reuben speculated. 'Have you got their number?'

'Seven. It's number seven,' replied Monica, looking slightly relieved that she had been able to provide one piece of useful information at last.

'No. Telephone number. Have you got it?' he asked.

Once more, the pair looked at each. 'Well, no. Not here - ' Monica replied, with a voice now full of dismay. 'I mean, why would I? It's not the type of thing one does take with one... I mean... is it?' her voice trailed off.

'Okay then, let's have the address. Number seven what?' he asked, taking out a small notebook.

The calmer one spoke up. 'It's seven. Seven Lindisfarne Road.'

'And town?'

'Barnet,' volunteered Monica, bravely.

'And his name?'

Monica again found the courage to reply. 'George Rogerson. But he won't be happy being woken up. He's got such a temper - '

'Be quiet, Monica!' ordered Daphne.

'Alright. Look, I'll tell you what we'll do,' Reuben said, calmly. 'I'll ring my head office and ask them to phone the nearest police station, and get them to go and knock him up. Just give me your address.'

'102 Gladstone Street. He's got a car. It won't take him ten minutes. Do get them to make him hurry. I dread to think of the gas bill we'll be faced with,' replied Daphne.

Again, they were obliged to move forward. 'Alright. I'm sure we can get this sorted out,' Reuben stated reassuringly, as he began to walk away. 'Now get yourselves a nice cup of tea and try not to worry.'

Briony's heart went out to the sisters when she noticed how pale and anxious the meeker one was looking. 'Why don't you go and sit down and let me fetch you some drinks,' she offered, trying to be helpful. 'Look, over there,' she pointed, 'there's some empty tables. What do you want?'

The sisters stared at her; Monica with surprise, and Daphne as though she had been stung by a bee. Not put off, Briony continued, 'Do you fancy some of those scones as well? They look nice.'

The pair remained silent, their unspoken message the cause of their lack of response, which was that they had already decided to give this trouble-maker a wide berth.

'No thank you,' said Daphne at last, attempting to inch away. 'We can manage quite well without any help from the likes of _you._ '

By now they were at the head of the queue. They made their purchases and walked over to one of the empty tables, leaving Briony perplexed as to what the cause of their obvious hostility could be. Then she remembered the scene with the prejudiced couple on the coach, and wondered if this was a taste of how she was going to be treated from now on. If so, it looked as though she had some placating to do.

Reuben reappeared several minutes later. She watched him approach the sisters' table and talk to them. Then, ignoring the queue, he went over to stand beside the till. No-one seemed to mind when the café assistant immediately served him with a take-away drink. Fair enough, she thought, he's just spent a good proportion of his break sorting out someone else's problem. It's only been a few hours, and he's already had to deal with two awkward situations. He must be a very patient sort of person.

She finished her drink and returned to the coach. A few other passengers were already on board and she spotted some new faces amongst them. Others were standing nearby, talking and smoking, a few with pipes. Reuben was back in his seat, also smoking. She gave him a quick smile as she passed him. Being a non-smoker, she thoroughly disliked the habit and was relieved that the smokers had all been given seats at the back.

Soon, they were on their way again. People began to chat, whilst others had their eyes closed. Minutes later, she followed their example, and closed hers.

By early afternoon they had crossed the Severn Bridge. Several people cheered and a few clapped when Reuben announced that they had just crossed the border into Wales.

'Welcome to a land renowned for its myths and legends, and, of course, song. And if you're interested in castles, then you'll see plenty on this tour, like the one you can see in front of us now, and to our right, Chepstow Castle. It was commissioned by William the Conqueror about a year after the Battle of Hastings, and is said to be the oldest surviving post-Roman stone fortification in Britain.' He went on to give them a few more facts and figures about the castle and the surrounding area, before finishing with, 'We'll be arriving at our next stop in a few minutes. Can you all be back by two o'clock, please, and just check before you leave the coach that there's no valuables left on board.'

Feeling refreshed, Briony returned in good time for their departure. Reuben was sitting in his seat and smoking, a half-empty plastic cup of what looked like strong coffee on the dashboard in front of him. She thought quickly, then realised that she hadn't noticed him buy anything to eat in the café.

'Is that your lunch?' she asked, looking pointedly at the cup.

'Hmm,' he replied, inhaling deeply.

'Well, that won't do you much good, will it?' she said disapprovingly, turning her attention to his hands, and noticing the nicotine-stained fingers. 'Didn't you get anything to eat?'

He shook his head. 'I eat later.'

As far as she was concerned, this was foolishness, irresponsible even; he needed to stay alert in his line of work. Taking a half-eaten packet of Opel Fruits out of her bag, she asked, 'You're not diabetic, are you?'

'Not that I know of.'

She placed the packet on the dashboard. 'Take a couple every hour. You need to keep your blood sugar level up.' Then, not waiting for a reply, she returned to her seat, wondering how long it would be before his respiratory and digestive systems began to give him trouble. And that was as far as her thinking about Reuben Zimmerman went.

# Chapter 4

#

# The Fourth Photograph

More passengers joined the tour at Chepstow. The seats directly across the aisle from Briony were now occupied by a couple who looked to be in their early forties. Once settled, they lost no time in introducing themselves as Scott and Leyla Masters from Ohio.

Reuben stood at the front, looking around at them all and smiling. 'Hello everybody. Let me introduce myself, I'm Reuben Zimmerman, your driver-courier, and I'd like to welcome you on board Halcyon's "Mountains, Coast and Lakes of Wales" Tour. You've no doubt noticed that we still have a few empty seats.' Several heads swivelled around, some in Briony's direction, where the seat next to her, and the two immediately in front, previously vacated so unceremoniously by the prejudiced couple, were still vacant. 'However, we've now got our full complement, but before we set off, there are a few things I need to point out...'

He then went on to give what sounded like a well-rehearsed ten-minute speech, beginning with the location of the emergency exits and how to operate them, as well as some of the other features of the coach, including the overhead air nozzles. He emphasised the need for punctuality: 'It isn't fair to other passengers when one or two are late for no good reason. Our hotels expect us to arrive at prearranged times, and everything should run smoothly if we all make the effort to be where and when we should be. Talking of time, you'll notice the clock.' He pointed at the timepiece, situated above the dashboard, then at his own watch. 'According to the Speaking Clock this morning, it's now eleven minutes past two.' Many watches were inspected and some altered. He continued, 'I appreciate that it can be difficult to remember the various departure times, so you'll find details of each day's schedule, including any extra excursions, on the notice boards in, or near, the reception areas of our hotels.

'There are two cardinal rules which I trust everyone will comply with: the first, that no valuables should be left on board when we leave the coach for any reason; that's overnight as well. All the hotels have safes and will store anything you are concerned about, like jewellery, passports or travellers' cheques. Just make sure you remember to collect them before we leave. The second, is that you remain in your seats when we're moving. If you start to feel a bit off-colour, I'd appreciate it if you'd do your best to give me a few minutes' warning so that I can try and find a safe place to pull over. The tour is arranged so that we have frequent stops, however, because we'll be travelling through some remote areas, it might not always be possible to find anywhere suitable. But I will do my best. I think that's all for now. Are there any questions?' No-one spoke up. 'Okay. _Crickhowell's_ our next stop, and we should arrive at around a quarter past three.' He rubbed his hands together, as though relishing the idea, 'Right then, let's get going.'

Briony looked behind her as they pulled out of the station.

The sisters appeared to be relaxed, and she assumed that Reuben had been able to resolve the problem to their satisfaction.

Scott Masters looked across the aisle at her, and asked, 'Are you vacationing alone?'

She slid onto the empty seat beside her, before replying, 'Yes. Yes I am.'

'Is that right? Well now, don't you worry, honey,' said Leyla, peering past her husband, 'No-one stays alone for long on one of these trips.'

Quite liking being called by the very American-sounding endearment, Briony replied, 'Really? I shan't want to impose myself on anyone.'

'Oh, you won't do that, honey,' Leyla added. 'Looks like there's a bunch of couples on here, and some of them might be glad of a bit of extra company. We do, don't we Scott? We get all talked-out.'

Scott nodded his agreement. 'Met some great people so far. Some can be kind'a pushy, but you get used to dealing with them.'

Leyla went on to explain, 'We've been on the road since early August. We're doing the whole of the U.K., and this is trip number four.'

'Your fourth! Your fourth coach trip?' Briony exclaimed, wondering if she had heard right.

Leyla nodded energetically, 'A'ha. And it's been just fabulous!'

'What, all with the same company... Halcyon?'

'Too right, honey,' Leyla affirmed.

By now, several other passengers were showing signs of being interested in the conversation.

'Got a good deal too,' added Scott. 'We decided against the "All-Britain Tour". They didn't cover the South West so much, and missed a chunk off the North of Scotland. You see more on these individual state tours. And it suits us having a break in-between. We've been able to see the sights of London and take in some shows. This last time we stayed with Leyla's cousin in Bristol.'

'I always like to get my hair fixed and get the laundry freshened-up. It's worked out just fine,' said Leyla, looking very pleased with herself.

Briony had already noticed the woman's carefully coiffured and obviously peroxided hairstyle; not a hair seemed to be out of place, nor were there any tell-tale signs of darker roots showing through.

Leyla continued, smiling broadly, 'This is our last trip, and we're hoping to see more of your fabulous scenery, and I just adore being by the sea. Scott's more for the mountains, and everyone tells us we're in for a real treat when we get to Snowdonia.'

'Yes, I'm looking forward to that too,' agreed Briony, beginning to wonder what Scott did for a living. To come all the way from America and afford to go on so many coach tours must have cost a pretty penny.

Reuben's voice sounded over the internal speaker system, announcing that he would be giving them details of some of the places of interest they would be passing as they went along.

She smiled at the couple and moved back to her seat, determined not to become one of those 'kind'a pushy' people Scott had mentioned.

'Starting as we mean to go on, and especially for the sake of our overseas visitors,' Reuben continued, 'here's some information about Wales. Did you know that it's said to have more castles per square mile than anywhere else in the world?' There were a few exclamations of surprise. 'And during the next ten days you'll be seeing a lot of some of the much-loved symbols of the country, including the Red Dragon, as seen on their national flag... '

And so they heard of the first recorded use of the symbol, as well as those of the leek and daffodil. He then went on to tell them something about the House of Tudor, the 15th century royal family of Welsh origin, finishing with some facts about Saint David, the country's patron saint.

Some of the passengers were obviously not interested about such things and continued their conversations, and Briony found herself having to concentrate quite hard to hear what he was saying.

The minutes passed, and eventually everyone seemed to settle down. The atmosphere was calm and relaxed as they journeyed on through the green hills and valleys of Monmouthshire. Every so often, Scott and Leyla would attract her attention and make some appreciative comment about the passing scenery.

At last, they entered the Brecon Beacons, and arrived at _Crickhowell_ soon after. Reuben had already described the small market town, giving brief details of its history and recommending several cafés.

'You're okay sitting by yourself?' he asked, as she stepped down from the coach.

'Yes, fine thanks,' she replied, once more refusing his hand. 'Actually, I think I prefer it.'

He nodded and turned his attention to the passenger behind her.

She was still debating whether to find a café first or go for a walk by the river, when she was joined by Scott and Leyla.

'Are you going to the river?' she asked the couple.

'No, we want to take in the town,' Leyla replied. 'It looks so olde-worlde. I just can't get enough of these cute little places.'

Overhearing, and standing close by, Reuben, had just finished his disembarkation duty, and came over to join them. 'In that case, you'll be seeing plenty more,' he remarked.

Leyla beamed at him. Scott tapped the expensive looking camera that was strapped around his neck. 'Great! I managed to get some shots of that flat-topped mountain as we drove in.'

'Then you'd better make sure you've got plenty of film,' added Reuben. 'Did you get any of that ruined castle near _Abergavenny_?'

'I surely did!' he replied, looking very satisfied.

'Anyhow, suppose you let us take a shot of you?' asked Leyla. 'We've taken some of all our drivers so far, and you'll make our little collection complete. It'll be a great reminder. You know, something to show the folks back home? Won't you make my day, and go and stand by the coach?'

Used to such requests, although he always feigned false modesty, Reuben replied, 'Well, okay. If you insist.' He discarded a half-smoked cigarette, ran a hand through his already tidy hair, buttoned up his blazer, and went to pose at the front of the coach.

Scott began to click away.

'He's a real poster boy, don't you think?' Leyla commented quietly to Briony.

'Er, well - '

'And not wearing a wedding band, so I'm guessing there's no little woman waiting back at the ranch.'

'Oh really?' replied Briony, 'I hadn't noticed,' which was the truth.

Leyla nudged her with her elbow. 'Well, I don't mind telling you, if I was ten years younger - '

'Hush up, woman!' exclaimed Scott. 'Behave yourself, and leave the poor girl be, and go take your position.'

Leyla grinned mischievously as she sauntered past him and went to stand beside Reuben. Hooking one arm through his, she beamed up at him as she pulled him closer. 'Move a little closer, honey. Shame you weren't on the Loch Lomond Tour, I'd have been sorely tempted to hightail it off to Gretna Green with you.' Then, directing her next remark over in her husband's direction, added coquettishly, 'This one's more... how'd these British say ... more "my cup of tea"?'

Playing along, Reuben grinned back as he gave her a very obvious wink.

Briony decided that Leyla had a point, Reuben was indeed a very good-looking man. The archetypal tall, dark and handsome type inhabited by many women's hopes and dreams. Well, so what? He could be as handsome as he liked; she wasn't in any mood for thinking about that kind of thing. She looked over at Scott, who was carefully re-focusing the camera lens, and a wave of grief threatened to overtake her as she remembered how proud her father had been of his treasured Rollieflex.

'Come on, hon, you too,' called Leyla, signalling that she went over to join them.

She hesitated, trying valiantly to hold back the tears.

'Hey! Come on now,' Leyla persisted. 'I won't take no for an answer.'

Scott glanced in Briony's direction, and said quietly, 'Oh, didn't you know? She's already got you two hitched.'

'Come on, I won't bite,' called Reuben, holding his free arm out in her direction.

She knew there was nothing for it but to comply. She went to stand beside him, but kept her gaze resolutely in the camera's direction.

Scott clicked away, before deciding that it was his turn to be in the frame. Following his instruction to, 'Just aim and press that,' she took several pictures of the couple with a widely grinning Reuben in the middle.

Her hesitant reaction had not been lost on Scott, and Leyla approached her soon after. 'Are you alright, hon? Scott reckoned you looked kind'a embarrassed back there. I do get carried away sometimes and am liable to forget my manners.'

Briony touched the tanned forearm with her own pale hand. 'It's alright, Leyla. It... it's just that my father...' not sure if she could continue without breaking down, she swallowed hard and looked away.

'Oh my! Is there something wrong, hon? You have been looking, well, kind'a preoccupied.'

Briony had been determined not to wear her feelings on her sleeve, and felt annoyed with herself now for allowing her emotions to get the better of her. Who wanted to hear of someone else's heartache on holiday? This was _her_ sadness, _her_ grief. She would tell no one. But, if the efforts of this unexpected, friendly, and possibly persistent matchmaker were to be thwarted, then maybe she should say something. Deciding to explain the barest of details of her current situation, and telling herself firmly that she must not cry whilst doing so, she began, 'It's just that both my parents died recently. Very recently. And I needed to get away. You know, right away. Go somewhere different - '

'Oh, hon!' exclaimed a shocked, and now mortified, Leyla. 'Oh, hon. I'm so, _so_ sorry!'

Arms were flung around her, making matters worse. Sympathy was not what she needed right now, especially as, once again, she could feel the unwelcome pinprick of tears begin to form behind her eyelids.

Now the hugging turned into a tight squeeze. 'Me and my big mouth. Say you'll forgive this foolish woman. Oh, I could just kick myself - '

Keen to put an end to the embarrassing scene, which, she was aware was being witnessed not only by Reuben, but by some of the passengers at the front of the coach as well, she attempted to extricate herself from the all-encompassing hold. 'Please don't worry. You weren't to know.'

However, Leyla was not to be moved. She lowered her arms around Briony's waist and looked deep into the troubled eyes. And then, with a woe-begotten expression on her own face, gave her captive one last hug before releasing her, making up her mind that, somehow, she and Scott would have to find a way to cheer-up this poor, sad young woman. What a terrible misfortune, to lose both parents, and recently too. That meant she was an orphan. Yes, that's what she was. A sad, lonely little orphan.

Briony returned to the coach after a solitary, twenty-minute walk along the river bank. Climbing on board, she avoided Reuben's gaze as she stepped past him. Aware of a few curious looks from some of the others who had witnessed the scene, she took her seat, thinking what a holiday this was turning out to be. It was still only the first day, and goodness knows how many of her fellow passengers she had managed to alienate with her earlier outburst about Jews and the war. And now she had upset the kind, but misguided, Leyla. Dismayed, she closed her eyes and could hear again her sister's freely expressed opinions about this holiday.

'Tell me you're joking, Briony! I've heard of some things, but _a coach tour?_ I can't understand why you're so fixated on not coming with us to Margate, and the site's even got its own club house. Why'd you want to go wasting all your money ... '

Dear Claire. It was alright for her; she was happily married and had been blessed with the sort of temperament that always bounced back quickly after life's misfortunes. To Briony, it seemed that her younger sister had barely been touched by their parent's death; there hadn't been many noticeable tears. Older than Claire by eight years, she had single-handedly dealt with all the funeral arrangements after Claire had declared, 'I'm really sorry, Bri, but I can't be doing with all that miserable funeral stuff.'

Both parents had suffered from different forms of cancer. Her father, who had been a heavy smoker, had the disease in his bladder, and had been expected to live for a good while longer. However, pneumonia had set in during a course of radiotherapy and hastened his death. Somehow, it didn't seem fair to the girls that their mother, who had never smoked, had been the one to suffer from cancer of the lungs. Claire was still quite bitter about the fact and frequently blamed the God she didn't believe in. She was unable to accept Briony's explanation: 'But He doesn't send us these things. All He wants to do is to help and heal; that was part of the reason why He died for us - '

'Oh, don't go on about all _that_ again!' she had protested, 'I'm glad you find some comfort in it all, but you know I don't go along with all that religious claptrap.'

Recognising that the time was not right - although it never seemed to be - Briony did as she always did, and backed-down.

Her father's Will still had to be read, but they already knew that it would be as straightforward as their mother's had been: she had left them various items of furniture and whatever personal items they wanted.

The family had always lived in council accommodation, and it came as no great surprise when her parents had legally separated six years before. Their mother had never worked, always seeing her main role as, 'Being there for the girls'. She never made any secret of her disapproval of their father's liking for the local pub and betting shop, and regularly complained that he had, 'Never wasted his time and money in places like that when we were courting.'

Claire had left home a few months after their separation and moved in with Grant, her long-term boyfriend, who she went on to marry a year later. Briony had already left home years before, and had lived in nurses' homes and various flats near the hospital ever since.

Now, she wondered if Claire had been right after all. And try as she might, she just couldn't stop the embarrassing tears from falling in this most unsuitable of environments. Well, there was only one thing for it. She closed her eyes and prayed. 'Oh Lord! Now what shall I do? Please help me to put things right. Otherwise, I might as well get off right here and now, and let the rest of them get on and enjoy their time without having to put up with my miserable face.'

Her praying was interrupted when Reuben's voice sounded over the speaker system again. 'That was our last stop before we reach _Llandrindod Wells._ '

Several people carried on talking and ignored him as he began to give them a potted history of the town, which apparently, had been a thriving spa in its Victorian heyday.

In an attempt to hear what he was saying more clearly, Briony looked into the large mirror above him, which had obviously been strategically placed to enable him to view the full length of the interior of the coach from his vantage point. She could just make out his eyes, and wondered if he could see hers, and assumed he must be able to. Not quite sure how she felt about that, she rested her head back, and tried to concentrate on talking to the Lord again.

# Chapter 5

#

# The Letter

Leyla had been watching Briony, and, feeling deeply moved to comfort her again, didn't say a word as she came to sit beside her and covered one of her hands with hers. It was such a simple, small gesture, but its effect on Briony was overwhelming. The touch of this woman, this stranger, who didn't know her, or anything about her, caused the tears to flow once more. She allowed her hand to remain covered as she closed her eyes. Her tears were for her mother; only God knew if there were any for her father. How different their endings had been; so much drama with both. And she had been involved with both.

As she had done so often during the past six weeks, she imagined herself back in the hospital on the day the phone call had come; the one informing her that her mother was dying. She was escorting a seriously injured patient to the specialist spine department of another hospital, when Sister Thomas had telephoned and left a message, asking that she call back urgently. Having handed the patient over, Briony rushed to find the telephone trolley. She wheeled it into the Day Room, and was relieved to find it empty. Her hands shook as she dialled the number and asked to be transferred to the ward. There followed a tense wait until someone answered, then another wait, this one even more agonising, until at last, Sister Thomas's voice could be heard.

'Is that you Briony?'

'Yes. My mother... I had a message - '

'I'm afraid you must prepare yourself, my dear. She's still Cheyne-Stoking, and it looks like she's not long for this world.'

Briony went cold. 'I must get to her. But I'm at least an hour away. Do you think... will she...' she faltered, unable to finish the awful question; unwilling to hear the inevitable reply.

There was a short, ominous silence on the other end. 'I don't think you'll make it in time, and we've been trying to contact your sister.'

No! This couldn't be happening. Briony wouldn't let it. To know that her mother was dying without being able to tell her, once more, how much she loved and appreciated her, was unthinkable. But where was Claire? Why wasn't she there? The time was running out - had run out. Too soon. She still wasn't ready. Her mother wasn't ready - was she? If she couldn't be there physically, then she must find another way to be there, to talk with her and pray for her, and help guide her safely into Jesus' arms. She could not, _would_ not allow her mother to be claimed by Hell. Her eternal destination _must_ be Heaven. If only she knew if she had made that decision. Had she taken the letter seriously? Had she responded? And if so, in what way? She _had_ to know.

'Please Sister, I must speak to her. She's got a phone in her room. Can I ring her there? I've got the number.'

'But she may not be able to hear you, Briony. She's in and out of consciousness \- '

'Yes, yes she will. I'm going to pray. God can do it. _Please!_ I _must_ speak to her.'

'Well... okay. I'll see what I can do. But you'll have to give me a minute.'

'Thank you! Thank you so much.' She slammed the phone down and began searching in her bag for her notebook with the number. Finding it, she took more change out of her purse; thank goodness she had plenty. With her hands still shaking, she began dialling, pleading out loud, 'Jesus, Jesus. Help me to tell her how much she means to me. Give me the words. And please don't let her die until she's surrendered her spirit into Your safekeeping.'

She remembered how many times she had tried to talk to her mother and sister about her beliefs, her father too. But they had never taken her faith seriously. Her mother and sister habitually dismissed her attempts with polite comments about it being, 'Just a phase you're going through', initially reassuring each other that, 'she'll soon get over it.' Her father had impatiently scorned it as 'rubbish talk'. But the 'phase' had lasted for five years now, and showed no signs of abating.

The wait was agonising, and even though the cancer in her mother's lungs had spread to the walls of her chest and into her stomach, making the outcome inevitable, Briony still felt unprepared for this moment. Three weeks ago, her mother had taken a turn for the worse. Desperate to make one more attempt to convince her to take her spiritual state seriously, she had felt compelled to write her a letter. Ten days earlier, she had placed the envelope on her hospital locker.

_Dear Mum,_

_You may be wondering why I am writing this letter. The truth is, I felt compelled to do so. Please read it, no matter how strange it may sound to you._

_You are so very ill now, and, unless there's a miracle, both you and I know that you are very near to the end of your life. I'm writing because I love you very much, but also, (and, I believe, more importantly), because I know that God does too - and far, far more than I do. He always has..._

_..._ _Mum, I know we have already spent some time talking about God and the reasons why I started to go to church. Do you remember when I tried to explain to you that I don't have a 'religion', with its strict set of rules, but a relationship - with a living Person, Jesus Himself? I hope and pray that you will want to know Him as your own Saviour too, by making that decision. If you do, here is a short prayer you can pray. It's called 'The Sinner's Prayer of Salvation':-_

_'_ _Dear Lord Jesus,_

_I confess that I have thought, said and done wrong things in my life._

_I believe that You came to pay the full price for all of these wrong things - my sins - by taking my punishment upon Yourself and dying in my place on the Cross._

_I am sincerely sorry and ask You to forgive me._

_Please come and live in my heart now._

_(Mum, here's a bit I added just for you) - Please may I especially experience Your grace and peace when I feel alone, helpless, or in pain. And, at those times, please speak quietly to my heart and reassure me about my place and future with You in Heaven._

_Thank you, Lord Jesus._

_Amen.'_

_Mum, I hope I have managed to convey something of what has been in my heart for you for so long. It would be wonderful to know that you had said this prayer. Will you let me know if you do? It would mean so very much to me._

_All my love is with you, now and forever._

_Briony. Xxx._

_(For full version of Briony's letter, see Appendix 1.)_

And now the end was here. Had her mother prayed that prayer? She hadn't said so, only that she had read the letter, and that it was, 'Very nice.' Was she standing now on the very edge of that precipice, looking down at the terrifying, gaping blackness of eternal separation from God - of death and Hell? Or was she looking upwards, into the glorious, loving light and eternal life in His Presence - of Heaven?

She _had_ to know.

At last, someone picked up the receiver in her mother's room. She fumbled as she inserted the coins, everything in her pleading, 'Jesus, let her hear me. Open her ears and let her hear me.'

'Hello, is that you Briony?' came Sister Thomas's voice.

'Yes. I'm here.'

'Alright, but she's unconscious... and, well, you'll have to be very quick. She's hardly breathing. I'm putting the phone to her ear now.'

Briony allowed another second to pass; all she could hear was silence. Then she spoke, 'Mum, Mum, it's me, Briony. I'm sorry I can't be there with you. Oh Mum, I love you, I really love you. You know I do. And thank you, thank you for all your love and care for me... and for Claire. You've been - are - a wonderful mother to us both... '

She needed to pause to take a quick breath, 'But, I'm so sorry, but... you... you're going now... soon. It's just a matter of minutes, maybe seconds. This is your time. Remember the letter? I told you about that decision? Well, this is the time to make it, if you haven't already.' Closing her eyes, she paused again, needing one of those precious seconds to grasp her absolute resolve to enter the fight.

Amazed at how calm her voice sounded, she continued, 'I'd like to guide you, to help you make that decision. I can pray that prayer for you. You just have to listen and agree in your mind. Just say "Yes" to everything. I know you must be so frightened, but Jesus understands, and He won't turn you away. He's standing by you, right there, with you, waiting, His arms wide open... wanting you.' Now, how did she know that? And yet she did. Somehow, she knew He was there. She could feel herself weaken. Determined not to give way to her emotions, and recognising that it would have to be a shorter version of the prayer, but hopefully, just as effective, she began:-

'Dear Jesus,

I believe that You came and died for me so that I can know Your Father as my Heavenly Father.

I'm really sorry. Please forgive me for all my sins.

Please be my Saviour, and come and live in my heart now, and take me to live with You forever in Heaven.

Thank you Jesus. Amen.

'Mum, Mum, did you hear me? Did you follow me in your mind? Oh, please, _please_ try and make a sign: lift a hand, a finger, _anything_ to show that you heard and said "Yes" to Jesus.'

More silence followed. Briony waited, hardly able to breath, listening and straining so hard that all she could hear was the sound of her own blood coursing through her ear canals. For the first time in her life, she knew what the expression 'The silence is deafening' truly meant.

Then, at last, Sister Thomas spoke. 'What was that? Did you say something, dear?'

Desperate now, Briony asked, 'Did she say... what did she say? Sister, sister, can you hear me?'

'Yes, Briony. I think... she said, at least, I'm sure it sounded like she was trying to say... well, "Yes". Just "Yes." Does that help, dear?'

And now, overcome at last, Briony gave way to the floodgates and allowed her emotions free reign as she began to cry. 'Yes... everything... it means everything. Thank you. Thank you so, so much Sister. Can I speak to her again?'

Margaret Beresford took her final breath just seconds later, still hearing, somewhere in the distance, Briony's broken voice telling her, once more, how much she loved her, and that they would be together again, one glorious day.

The battle was over, but Briony knew where her mother had gone. Her earthly walk was over, but her Heavenly journey had just begun. She had arrived. She was safe - forever.

# Chapter 6

#

# Sympathy

Leyla stayed with Briony for the next twenty minutes, attempting to offer, what she hoped, were suitably comforting words. Throughout the past few months Briony had not needed much in the way of human sympathy, finding that her faith had proved to be a steady and effective support.

'That's it, hon,' Leyla said, squeezing her hand. 'It'll do you the power of good to cry it all out.'

Briony hoped she was right, although she never did find crying about things to be very beneficial. In fact, sometimes it made her feel even worse.

'Is there a problem?' Reuben asked as she stepped off the coach at _Llandrindod Wells,_ their destination for the next two nights.

Calm again after her emotional episode, she wondered if he was thinking that there was something upsetting her about the tour. 'No. It... it's just that I've had a few upsets recently. I'm fine now, but thanks for asking.' Before he could enquire any further, she quickly walked away to join the queue at the hotel's reception desk. Now she knew that she would have to be more careful about allowing her feelings to have free reign on the coach. That mirror above his head was something she was going to have to bear in mind.

Her room was small but pleasant. Her suitcase arrived a few minutes later and she quickly unpacked. She changed into a skirt and blouse and walked into the dining room, curious to find out what the first proper meal of the trip would be like. If it was anything like the food in the hospital canteen, then she would be quite satisfied. A waitress guided her to a table, laid just for two, and she had already finished her soup by the time Leyla and Scott were led past.

'Aw, that's no good, hon!' exclaimed Leyla, coming to an abrupt stop. 'All alone? Now you just come on and join us. We'll be glad of your company.'

However, the waitress informed them that there would be no spare place at their table, and hurried them along.

Not having anyone to talk to, she soon finished her meal and left, coming to terms with the fact that this would probably be the way of it from now; she would be eating her meals 'all alone'.

Coffee was being served in the lounge, and she went to sit at the side of the large room. People gradually filtered in. Malcolm and Peggy noticed her and stopped to ask what she thought of the hotel so far.

Peggy then went on to ask, 'Are you alright now, dear? We couldn't help noticing that you were a bit tearful earlier on, you know - '

'Yes, I'm fine now, thank you,' Briony interrupted. Although she was touched by their concern, she really didn't want the fact that she had recently lost both parents to define and dominate the holiday. 'It's just that I'm getting over a recent upset.'

'Nothing to do with that awful couple that got off at Victoria, then?' Malcolm asked.

'What? No. Oh no! I've forgotten all about them already.'

'Good. We're better off without people like that,' commented Peggy. 'Our poor driver. But he handled it well, don't you think? I wouldn't have been so polite with them.'

'Yes. He did well,' agreed Briony.

'They're all talking about it, you know,' Peggy went on to say, as Malcolm began to carry a few chairs over. 'We'll join you. You don't mind, do you?'

'Please do.'

'But that American couple seem very nice,' continued Peggy.

'Yes. They are.'

'Didn't I hear them say something about it being their fourth tour?' she asked. 'They can't be short of a few bob or two. I hope they won't turn out to be loud, you know, like a lot of Americans.'

Briony smiled. 'I rather like loud Americans. They make the world a far more interesting place.'

'Alright in small doses, I suppose,' remarked Malcolm. 'But not so clever when you're stuck just a few feet away from them.'

'Well, she's obviously got a way with her, and it looks like she's taken a real shine to you, anyway,' Peggy said, then went on to ask, 'And, are you sure you're really alright now, dear?'

Briony considered. It was obvious that Peggy was more than just a little curious about things. Now what should she do? If she did confide in them, then would her recent loss soon become general knowledge?

Peggy continued, 'I think you were crying all the way from _Crickhowell._ Not loud though. If we hadn't been sitting behind you, we wouldn't have known. Would we, Malcolm?'

Malcolm nodded. 'I didn't have a clue till Peg told me.'

'Oh, I could see that there was something wrong as soon as I met you. There was just something about you, dear. I can always tell.'

They were interrupted when the waitress came over with their coffee, giving Briony a few more seconds to decide what to say. Her parent's death wasn't exactly a state secret, and if she stressed that she would prefer that it be kept just between them - and Scott and Leyla - then maybe it could do no harm. 'Okay. I'll tell you. But I'd really appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone else. I don't want people to feel... it's just that...' and so she went on to give them a few details, hoping that would satisfy them.

The couple's faces fell as they came to realise just how serious the 'something wrong' Peggy had suspected actually was. However, instead of satisfying her curiosity, the old lady then went on to take the conversation to another level by asking Briony why her father had been cremated instead of being buried, like her mother.

'That was his choice. And we had to go along with his wishes,' Briony explained. There was a lot more she could have said, particularly how she had spent days looking into the whole burial-versus-cremation debate from a Christian perspective. She had searched, but could find nothing specific about the subject in the Bible. As a nurse, she had devoted the past seventeen years of her life respecting and caring for other people's physical bodies: alive or dead. In the end, and taking Jesus as her example, she had come out on the side of burial. If He had chosen to be buried in a tomb, unlike the surrounding pagan nations of His day who burned their dead, then she would too. Not that she expected to be laid in any such tomb herself, but burial was the nearest equivalent method she could think of in the present-day culture.

There followed several minutes of sympathetic remarks and reassurances by the kindly couple. This was exactly what she had wanted to avoid, and after ten more minutes of the same, and finding that it was all becoming too much for her, said, 'You'll have to forgive me, I'm really tired. I think I'll turn-in.'

Peggy nodded. 'I don't blame you, dear. You won't miss anything; there's nothing on tonight, and that was a lot of travelling we did today.'

'I don't think we'll be far behind you,' added Malcolm, rubbing his eyes.

Leyla and Scott entered the room just as Briony was leaving. She waved at them and hurried past, not wanting to risk getting involved in another possibly upsetting conversation. Turning to climb the stairs, she looked back, and noticed the two couples talking. Oh well, she thought, so be it. Tomorrow's another day, and comforted herself that there would be grace enough to face it. And felt thankful that there always was.

# Chapter 7

#

# A Medical Emergency

Briony went into breakfast feeling refreshed after a good night's sleep.

Good morning,' she said, passing the sisters' table, only to be met with a frosty glare from Daphne and a fearfully weak 'Good morning' from Monica.

Afterwards, she stopped to check the Information Board by reception and saw that there were no changes to the morning's itinerary. The sisters walked past her. Undaunted, she ventured, 'Looks like a nice day out there.'

Monica cast a swift glance at Daphne, who, ignoring Briony, continued to look resolutely in front of her.

'Come on, Monica!' the dominant sibling called, 'Stop all that dawdling!'

Briony pursed her lips, sensing that the submissive one might have made some sort of half-pleasant response if she had been alone. If Daphne had been her patient, by now she would almost certainly have had a quiet word with her and attempted to get to the bottom of her unfriendly attitude. But she was on holiday, and so were they. Apart from which, she was in no mood to deal with any difficult confrontations or unexpected challenges. She looked back at the board to check the details of the optional afternoon excursion and didn't notice Monica glance back at her.

Try as she might, Monica couldn't quite believe Daphne's harsh assessment of the young woman. And, in her opinion, that awful couple in London had been very rude about their driver. In fact, truth told, she had been secretly relieved when they had left the tour. But of course, she would never tell Daphne that.

Reuben had already given them a brief description of what to expect in the town and recommended several places of interest. Most people headed for the shops, however, Briony made her way to the lake instead, having decided to save any souvenir shopping until later in the holiday when they would be visiting a Welsh woollen mill. Every so often she would come across some of her fellow passengers; most acknowledged her with a friendly 'Good morning'; others either didn't recognise her, or chose not to.

A tour of a working slate mine was on the afternoon itinerary. Having visited a coal mine in the past and knowing what to expect, Briony changed into a pair of dark slacks before making her way down to the lounge, passing Reuben on the stairs.

'Hello there. Everything okay?' he stopped to ask her.

'Yes, thank you.'

'We didn't see you in the bar last night.'

'I had an early night.'

'Just as well, you didn't miss much. But there's a pretty decent folk singer on tonight.'

'Okay.'

'I can recommend her. You should come.'

Unwilling to commit herself, she gave another half-hearted, 'Okay.'

He smiled and left, leaving her to assume that he was just showing a routine courier-to-passenger type of interest.

All on board, they set off ten minutes later. As they went, Reuben pointed out several age-old cairns and standing stones dotted around on the surrounding hills.

Upon their arrival, they were kitted-out with hard hats and waterproof capes before being driven deep underground on a narrow railway. Several people began to make nervous sounds as they travelled further and deeper along the damp and dark tunnels. Their guide was knowledgeable, and with the aid of several exhibits, gave graphic accounts of the typical life of a miner, both past and present. Like those around her, Briony felt awed when they were shown into a vast cavern, and suitably impressed later when he demonstrated his slate-splitting skills.

The tour over, and afterwards in the gift shop, she was sorely tempted to buy some of the attractive hand carved items, but disciplined herself to just a set of slate coasters that had been decorated with an intricate Celtic knot pattern.

Back on the coach, there was much rustling of tissue paper and exclamations of appreciation as satisfied shoppers began to show off their purchases.

Scott held up a large carrier bag in Briony's direction, 'Look at this! Leyla went crazy in there. How about you, did you find anything?'

Wondering how much spare luggage space the couple had, she replied, 'Some really attractive coasters. Interesting, wasn't it? But what a hard life those poor people had.'

Leyla held her hands up, a pained expression on her face. 'Oh, my! I could have cried! Some of those old photos - those half-naked women, and some of them never allowed to see daylight. And that statue of a little boy. It was horrible. Just _horrible!'_

'Don't dwell on it, honey,' Scott replied, 'They were made of sterner stuff back then.'

'That may have been, but I thank God for people like Lord Shaftesbury,' remarked Briony. Then, guessing correctly that they may not have heard of the Victorian politician in Ohio, went on to explain, 'He was a social reformer who did a lot for the poor, including campaigning to stop women and young children from working down the mines.'

All this was heard by the sisters, who just happened to be passing by in the slow-moving queue.

They were well into the return journey when Briony thought she could hear sounds of alarm coming from several rows behind. Malcolm tapped her on the shoulder a few seconds later.

'Did you say you were a nurse? I think there's something wrong with the man behind us.'

She stood and went to take a look. The man was hunched over in his seat, his hands clenched into fists and pressed tightly across his chest. He was obviously in considerable pain and having trouble breathing. The woman next to him, who she assumed to be his wife, was distraught. 'George, George! What is it? What's the matter? Speak to me... George, George!'

Suspecting some sort of cardiac event, Briony looked around, and called out, 'Is there a doctor on board?' Only to be met with silence and much head shaking from many of the passengers, some of whom were now beginning to become alarmed. Turning back to the man, she took hold of one of his wrists. 'Can I feel your pulse? It's alright, I'm a nurse.' It took her several seconds before she could feel anything, such was the interference from the motion of the coach. When she did, she could detect only a faint and very irregular beat. This, along with the man's obvious pain, his pallor, and his laboured, shallow breathing, confirmed her suspicions that he was having, or about to have, a heart attack.

'Does he have heart trouble?' she asked his companion.

'Heart... no. _No!_ ' the woman replied, sounding shocked.

'Is he on any medication?'

'What? Oh, I don't... yes. Yes, he is. For his kidneys; he gets stones. But... the pain... he gets it in the back. Not there.' She pointed at the man's chest. 'Never there.'

Briony's mind was racing, then settled quickly on the word 'Aspirin'. What was it about the drug? Then she remembered. Hadn't Sister Spencer mentioned, just the other day, that she knew someone who worked at the Royal College of Surgeons in London? Yes, she remembered now; there had been something about the drug being used to block the formation of thromboxane platelets. The research had shown that it had an antithrombotic property, and was proving useful in preventing further heart attacks for those who had already had one. Well, she speculated, if it could be used in those circumstances, why couldn't it be used in something like this? And went on to ask, 'Any stomach problems? Ulcers?'

The woman shook her head.

Making up her mind, she returned to her seat and retrieved her travelling bag from the overhead shelf, at the same time asking Malcolm to go and tell Reuben what the situation was. 'I think he's having a heart attack, or soon will be. He needs to be taken to a hospital - and quickly.'

Grabbing the small tin of Aspirin from amongst the small supply of medical items she always took away with her, she hurried back to the man, who was now gasping for breath. She began to loosen his tie and undo his shirt buttons as she spoke firmly to his companion, 'He needs to be made more comfortable. Can you undo his belt and trouser buttons?'

The distressed woman nodded, her fingers trembling as she attempted to obey, 'But what is it? What's the matter with him? Why - '

'I'm not sure,' interrupted Briony. 'But there may be a problem with his heart. Are you his wife?'

'Yes. _His heart!_ Oh dear! Oh dear!'

'And what's your name?'

'Audrey, Audrey Cook. And he's George ... my... my... husband... George... Cook.'

'Okay Audrey. This is what we're going to do. I need you to hold his hand whilst I give him an Aspirin.'

' _Aspirin?'_ Audrey exclaimed loudly. 'Oh, but what good will that do?'

'It could help if it is a heart problem.'

Looking and sounding very unconvinced, but knowing that there was no-one else who was willing to help, Audrey reluctantly agreed. 'Okay. But only if... if you're sure.'

'I think it's worth a try,' replied Briony. Then, knowing that he was in no fit state to swallow, she told the man to try and chew one of the unpleasant tasting tablets. He grimaced, but she encouraged him to do his best.

Malcolm returned. 'The driver says there's a hospital about twenty-five minutes away.' He began to turn all the nearby overhead air nozzles in their direction. 'Do you think ... will there be enough time?'

Briony nodded. 'Let's hope so.'

Reuben's voice sounded over the intercom, announcing that, due to a medical emergency, there was a change of plan, and that they were now heading for the nearest hospital.

'Anything else I can do?' Malcolm asked.

'No. Not now. But I'll let you know if there is.'

'Make sure you do,' he replied, returning to his seat.

Briony remained where she was, offering up a stream of silent prayers as she held on tightly to the backs of the seats around her in an attempt to keep her balance. She checked the man's pulse every few minutes and spoke reassuring words to him and his wife, who was keeping herself occupied by squeezing and rubbing her ailing husband's arm. Assessing the situation, Briony knew that CPR would be difficult to do in such a small space. Recalling one very unpleasant instance when she had needed to perform the procedure on a toddler who had vomited, she checked her pockets, and was relieved to feel her handkerchief, which, if necessary, would come in useful as a mouth-to-mouth barrier.

They travelled on, Reuben doing his best not to jolt them too much as they sped along the narrow country lanes.

Apart from the odd concerned comment, all the passengers had remained respectfully quiet. All that is, except Daphne, who found it necessary at one point to demand to know, 'Exactly what is going on up there? Is the man ill, or isn't he?' Adding, several minutes later, 'This is all stuff and nonsense. It'll turn out to be nothing but a bad case of indigestion, mark my words. And did I hear her say something about giving him Aspirin? What if it turns out that he's starting with an ulcer? Does that girl know what she's doing? I think she's doing him more harm than good. And she'd better be careful, or she could end up getting sued.'

Reuben switched on the intercom after hearing this last remark, and said, his tone firmer than usual, 'We're making good progress, and I, for one, am _very_ glad that we've got someone on board who's doing everything possible to help and not hinder the situation.'

This had the desired effect, and no more negative comments could be heard coming from Daphne's vicinity afterwards.

Much to Briony's relief, they arrived at the small cottage hospital fifteen minutes later. George had slipped into unconsciousness a few minutes earlier. Briony had prepared herself to go into action with the handkerchief when she noticed that his lips and finger tips were beginning to turn blue.

Knowing that the car park was not big enough to accommodate such a large vehicle, Reuben parked the coach as near as he could on the nearby road. He told everyone to stay where they were as he ran down the steps and headed for the main entrance, emerging less than two minutes later, accompanied by a doctor, a nurse, and two porters carrying a stretcher. The doctor and nurse boarded the coach. The doctor took one look at George and instructed the porters to carefully do what they could to carry him off. Briony gave a hasty and brief account of the situation as the porters cradled the patient in their arms and began to shuffle along the aisle, using an awkward, sideways manner. Three minutes later, having had even greater difficulty negotiating the steps, the porters laid the still unconscious man onto the waiting trolley.

'You'd better come with us,' the doctor called to Briony over his shoulder as the stretcher party hurried away.

Reuben stood and addressed the remaining passengers. 'I'd better go and see what's happening. I'll keep the door open in case anyone needs some fresh air, but please don't wander off. I'll be back as soon as I can.'

Unwilling to let the incident pass without letting everyone know what she thought about it, Daphne's voice broke into the ensuing silence, 'Oh, I bet that girl's enjoying all this! Let's see how cock-a-hoop she feels when she finds out that she's only gone and made matters worse.'

Reuben gave all the necessary contact details to the receptionist in the Accident and Emergency Department. Then, told that he wouldn't be needed any more, found the nearest public telephone box and contacted the hotel. The manager was sympathetic and assured him that they would hold the evening meal. Feeling the need to be alone for a while, he lit a cigarette and went to stand some distance away from the entrance. Briony emerged a few minutes later.

'How is he?' he asked, quickly stubbing out his third cigarette as he walked over to her.

She shook her head and looked glum. 'Not good. They're doing what they can. His wife's staying; they're arranging a bed for her.'

He breathed out heavily. 'My God! From the look of him, I felt sure he was a goner.'

'Hm, it was a close call. But he's in good hands now.'

'And you're not needed anymore?'

'No. They said I could go.'

'Alright. Come on, we'd better get going. Everyone'll be keen to hear how he is and to get moving again.'

They began walking towards the waiting coach. Briony knew she shouldn't, but couldn't help herself from remarking, 'Especially that Daphne.'

He nodded. 'Don't you worry about her. I'm just glad you were with us. Briony, isn't it?' And then, not waiting for any reply, went on to say, 'And as for _that_ woman, I think I'll be having a few words with her.'

Sorry now that she had passed the remark, she said, 'Don't be too harsh on her. Maybe she was as shaken as the rest of them, and it was probably just her way of handling the shock of it all.'

'Yeah, well, I'll think about it. Anyway, the hotel's holding dinner, but they'll be chomping at the bit to get it over with. I'll give the hospital a ring later on and see how things are.'

They boarded the coach. Everyone listened without comment as Reuben gave a brief report, before once more taking his position behind the wheel. There was an almost palatable sense of relief when the engine roared into life and the vehicle moved off.

Daphne's voice, uncharacteristically low now, murmured to those around her, 'Well, I'll tell you for nothing that my sister and I aren't at all impressed by the way things have been handled. I'd have dealt with the situation far more efficiently if it had been left to me. But _that girl_ was a bit too quick to jump in and interfere, and goodness knows what damage she's done to the poor man now.'

Stephanie Blanchard had heard enough. She spun around in her seat and glared back at her. 'Well, why didn't you then? No-one was stopping you.'

'How could I? Or anyone? It was obvious that she wanted to deal with it herself. And fancy giving him that Aspirin! Whosever heard of such a thing? And I'm sure she forced it down his neck, poor soul! _And_ she didn't have his permission.'

'She couldn't. He wasn't in any fit state to speak. And weren't you listening? She got his wife's permission, anyway.'

'Yes, but only after she'd browbeaten the poor woman,' Daphne retorted, becoming even more belligerent. 'And someone needs to keep an eye on the girl. Didn't you hear the way she carried on at Victoria? All that nonsense about the Jews? I'm sure she's some sort of radical political activist. I'm going to have to think about all this. And I wouldn't be at all surprised if I feel it my responsibility to inform the authorities about her interfering and... and inflammatory behaviour... when I get home.'

# Chapter 8

#

# Dark Eyes

Reuben waited until dinner was over before telephoning the hospital. The news wasn't good. George had not regained consciousness and preparations were being made to transfer him to the general hospital in Cardiff. 'I'd better get their belongings together and bring them over. Will he still be there for the next hour or so?' he asked the helpful Ward Sister.

'Probably. But don't be much longer. And you know, we think that he wouldn't be alive now if it hadn't been for that dose of Aspirin. Your passenger did some quick thinking there.'

He hurried off to find the hotel manageress, who could deny him nothing, and offered him the use of her own car for the thirty-minute journey back to the hospital.

Briony took her time changing, and found that the entertainment was well under way by the time she entered the lounge. Peggy spotted her and motioned for her to join the group, consisting of Malcolm, Scott, Leyla, and another couple she recognised from the tour, who were introduced as Simon and Shirley Frensham.

It was almost ten o'clock when Reuben walked in. He looked around the crowded room as he made his way to the bar. 'Hi there. Mind if I join you?' he asked, approaching their table a few minutes later, a pint of beer in his hand.

Leyla beamed up at him. 'Come on, honey. Just you rest back and relax.'

The others greeted him as he settled himself down.

'Any news about that poor man?' asked Peggy.

'Still unconscious,' he replied, offering a packet of cigarettes around; only the Frensham's accepted. 'They're transferring him to the general hospital in Cardiff. Seems they're better equipped to deal with the more serious cases.'

'What about his wife? Poor love. She must be at her wit's end,' Peggy went on to ask.

'She's still with him. I've just been to take their luggage over.'

'That's a darn shame,' exclaimed Scott. 'To come away on vacation and end up... you know.'

Shirley Frensham joined in, 'It's awful! Just awful! We saw the whole thing. Well, couldn't help it, could we? Sitting where we were, just opposite. I said to Simon just before it kicked off, I said, "He looks peaky. There'll be trouble there." I did, didn't I Simon?' She looked at her husband, who gave her a blank stare. Undeterred, she continued, 'I said there'd be trouble, and I was proved right. Trouble alright. Looking like that. Grey, like a ghost, so peaky. Awful! And to lose all that money. Such a shame. They could have been saving for ages; maybe on a holiday of a lifetime, and looking forward to telling the children all about it. I'm sure I heard her say they had two, no, three... or was it twins? That was it, twins, one of each I think, or was it two girls...' She looked around, as though expecting someone to reveal the answer.

Reuben quickly took advantage of the interval. 'The company'll probably give them a full refund. They're good like that.' He glanced over at Briony. 'And thank God you were there, Miss Beresford... Briony. You did a great job.'

'Hear! Hear!' agreed Malcolm, enthusiastically.

'I'd have been a wreck if you hadn't been there, dear,' commented Peggy, who looked and sounded as though she might give way to tears at any moment. 'I felt sure that he'd go at any minute. It shook me up badly, I can tell you. To think that that could have been you, Malcolm.'

Malcolm patted her shoulder reassuringly, 'Come on, old girl. I'm not for the knacker's yard just yet.' He looked around and explained, 'Just a touch of the old angina. All under control. Anyway, come on everyone. For goodness sake, cheer up! We're supposed to be on holiday.'

Scott felt inclined to lift the atmosphere as well. Standing, he took hold of Leyla's hand, and said, 'Too right. Come on honey. It's high time we tripped that old fandango again.'

Leyla didn't need any persuading as she stood and followed him onto the dance floor.

Malcolm grinned at Peggy. 'Well, love, what do you think? You promised me one dance this week. Shall we risk it before we hit the sack? It's a nice slow one.'

Peggy acquiesced with a resigned sigh, and slowly rose to her feet. The Frensham's followed their lead, leaving just Reuben and Briony at the table. She wasn't in the mood to dance and hoped he wouldn't ask her. She needn't have worried; his whole attention was on the attractive blonde singer, who, every so often, cast a look in their direction. Briony sipped her sherry, which wasn't as smooth as she would have preferred, and noticed that the woman was wearing a wedding ring, then wondered if the man adjusting the amplifier behind her was her husband.

Two full minutes passed before Reuben turned to look at her. 'Thought you'd like to know, the hospital said that the Aspirin you gave him probably saved his life.'

'Really? Just as well I had some with me then.'

'There's some in the medical kit on the coach. I'll have to remember if that kind of thing ever happens again.' His eyes moved from her face and down the length of her light brown hair, which reached nearly to her waist. 'What type of nurse are you? I mean, rank - level - or whatever?'

She gave a small laugh. 'Just a staff nurse.'

'"Just a staff nurse?"'

'That's right. I'm in no hurry to be a sister.'

'Why's that?'

'They spend more time doing paperwork than with the patients. I'd miss that. To me, that's what nursing's all about, being with them, and not stuck behind a desk.'

'You're a people person then?'

'I suppose you could say that. You must be too, doing the job you do.'

He nodded and took a long draft of his drink. 'I think of it more like people management. I pick 'em up, drive 'em round, drop 'em off, and try and deal with whatever else they need in-between.'

'Like sorting out gas cookers that have been left on? I was standing directly behind those sisters back in the station café at Reading, and couldn't help overhearing. They are sisters, aren't they?'

'Ah, yes. The Misses Biggins. Now there's a classic example of people management. The little one's okay, but the other one's got a tongue like a viper. I'll definitely be having a few words with her, and the sooner the better. Best to nip this sort of thing in the bud before it gets out of hand.'

The hotel receptionist came over and told him that there was a call waiting for him in the office. He excused himself and left, leaving his drink on the table.

Malcolm and Peggy returned; she was limping badly. 'Tender today,' she said, rubbing her left hip. She sat down slowly and looked around her. 'Where's the driver?'

'Went to take a call,' replied Briony.

Peggy looked concerned. 'Maybe it's the hospital. Maybe that poor man. Oh dear!'

'Come on, Peg. Don't go getting your knickers in a twist,' remonstrated Malcolm, yawning widely behind his hand. 'Anyway, I'm bushed and ready for my bed. If you're quick with all the creaming, there's a fair chance we'll have lights-off by midnight.'

'Well, yes. I do need my beauty sleep,' Peggy conceded, trying to yawn discreetly herself. She finished her pineapple juice, then attempted to stand on knees that appeared to have seized-up. Malcolm stood quickly and helped her out of her seat. Once upright, she sighed heavily and looked down at Briony. 'Say goodnight to the others for us, won't you, dear?'

Malcolm grinned at Briony as she wished them a good night. 'It'll work one of these nights,' he said.

'What will?'

'Her beauty sleep,' he replied, winking, before following Peggy, who was limping slowly away.

Scott and Leyla came back soon after and the three sat in companionable silence as they listened to the singer. The Frensham's came to collect their drinks and announced that they were going to join some friends at another table. Everyone politely said their goodnights as Briony wondered at their claim at having made friends so soon on the tour.

Reuben returned and sat down just as the singer introduced the last song.

'Well, what d'ya know!' exclaimed Leyla. 'That's one of our all-time favourites.' The couple took a few sips of their drinks before heading for the dance floor again.

'Was that the hospital on the phone?' she asked, keen to hear if there was any news.

'No. Head office. Just a routine call.'

They watched the couples dancing for a while. A wave of tiredness come over her, and she was trying to think of a way she could leave without appearing rude, when he surprised her, by asking, 'Why aren't you up there? You don't need a man; look at those old girls, behind there,' he gestured at a nearby pillar. She looked over and saw three elderly women, their hands joined as they swayed in graceful unison to the music.

'Actually, I was just thinking of turning-in. I'm really tired.'

He nodded. 'It can take some getting used to.'

'What can?'

'Touring. All the travel, a different routine, and new sights and sounds every day. Being in a different bed most nights, being in close proximity with people you don't know - and trying to be friendly - even if you don't feel like it.'

'I see what you mean. But I was feeling a bit jaded before coming away anyway.'

'Been going through a rough patch then?'

She sighed. 'You could say that.'

'What was it? A broken heart?'

'No. Not at all,' she retorted, feeling mildly irritated that he had been so quick to presume she was suffering from man-trouble. Why did everyone jump to that conclusion with single women? Did married women get asked the same question when they said they were tired?

'Sorry. Didn't mean to cause offence,' he said, not sounding sorry at all.

She took another sip of her not-so-smooth sherry, knowing she had overreacted.

He spoke again. 'Speaking of which, I've been meaning to have a chat with you about what happened at Victoria, and how you spoke up. I've been treated as an "undesirable" before, but that was kind of extreme.'

'Yes. It was. But I just couldn't sit there and say nothing. It was so unfair. I can't believe there are still people like that around. Haven't they learned anything after... after - '

'Auschwitz, Belsen, Buchenwald, Dachau, Treblinka?' he offered.

Her face took on a pained expression at hearing the hateful, evil names again. 'Exactly. How could they? How could _anyone_ treat anybody else with such hate?'

'Huh! There's nothing new under the sun. You should try being a Jew for a while. You'd soon find out.'

'Or a young woman about to give birth when there's no husband on the scene. I've seen a few of them come in for some rough treatment,' she added, recalling several instances when she had witnessed such patients being belittled and insulted by one of the more senior sisters on Maternity. Then, feeling that the conversation needed lightening, went on to ask, 'Do you get many overseas visitors on the tours?'

He nodded. 'Regularly. Quite a few from Canada, some Americans. Not so many from nearer to home, and none from Germany... yet.'

'But you're bound to have some from there eventually, don't you think? Maybe even Italy and Japan as well?'

He considered, then shrugged. 'As long as they give me no grief, I won't give them any.'

She could have said how prejudiced he sounded, then thought better of it, remembering how wary she could be towards the few elderly and middle-aged Germans she had come across. Somehow, she always found it less challenging to deal with those aged thirty or under, and then came to the conclusion that prejudice, it seemed, was a nasty, insipid thing that could creep into a person's psyche undetected. 'But not every German was a Nazi,' she said. 'And I expect the majority of ordinary folk were just as horrified as the rest of us when they found out what was going on.'

He frowned heavily. 'I don't know about that. It was those same "ordinary folk" who put that devil in power.'

'Hm, devil alright,' she agreed, looking thoughtful.

He sipped his drink before placing the glass down slowly on the table. 'I'm curious about you, Miss Beresford. That cross...' he pointed at the small gold cross and chain around her neck. 'Nothing unusual about it, but I reckon there was about the way you spoke-up. I found it... kind of touching, except that bit about that Jesus being a Jew. I've only ever come across talk like that from religious types.'

So, now the conversation was taking yet another turn, and one that could prove equally challenging, and one that she felt in no way ready, or alert enough, to deal with just now. Nevertheless, she felt she should make some sort of response.

'" _Been_ a Jew" _?_ Actually, I think I said " _Is_ a Jew" _._ He's still alive, you know.'

He lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly as he looked around. 'Where is He then?'

Nonplussed, she studied his face and looked into his dark brown eyes, that appeared to be almost black in the room's subdued lighting. Alerted to the idea that he might be mocking her, she replied, confidently, 'Everywhere.'

'Even in bed? Now that's a good idea.'

That was enough, and before she said something she knew she would need to ask for forgiveness for afterwards, she stood. 'You were right about it being difficult to adjust to this type of holiday, I am very tired.'

'What's the matter? You don't want to talk about the man?' he asked, screwing his eyes up in an effort to avoid the drifting cigarette smoke. 'I thought you religious types like to harp on about how wonderful He is.'

'His name is Jesus.'

'Naa! _The man_ suits Him better. And that's all He was anyway. Just a man. Another plain, sweaty, stupid man. Loafing around the place and pontificating; getting up everyone's noses.'

She glared at him, desperately trying to think of how to respond to such deliberate blasphemy.

'Okay. So it's goodnight then, Briony,' he continued. 'It is Briony, isn't it? Miss Beresford is so formal, don't you think? And seeing as we're going to be seeing a lot more of each other over the next week, you'd better get used to calling me Reuben. And one more thing before you run off...'

She waited for him to finish, hoping he would be quick. She had been telling the truth about feeling tired, and now his rudeness was tipping her over the edge to real tiredness.

He smiled, a secretive type of smile as he looked up at her. 'Only fair to warn you, and just so you know, I enjoy a challenge.'

'What... what do you mean?' she asked, genuinely mystified.

'Well, I've got a feeling you'll turn out to be just my type after all. With or without that thing around your neck.'

Suddenly wide awake, and feeling her face begin to flush, and not knowing how to deal with this last comment, she turned and began to walk away. This needed some thinking about. Then, without any clearly defined conscious decision on her part, she surprised herself when she found herself walking back to him. 'Is that right, Mr. Zimmerman? In that case, I shall have to disappoint you, and tell you that you'll have to look elsewhere for your _challenge._ '

She stood her ground and waited for his response as he took another long drag of his cigarette, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. 'Oh, I don't think so,' he said at last.

She looked steadily at him. 'Well, it's up to you. But I don't think you'll enjoy yourself much if you do persist.'

'Do enlighten me.'

She replied, her voice firm and even. 'Because I shall talk about nothing else but _that_ _Man_ every time you come near me.' Then, not waiting to see his reaction, she turned and left. And this time her feet obeyed her.

# _Chapter 9_

#

# _Challenge at Elan_

It was sunny and dry when the coach pulled away from the hotel at half past eight the next morning. Briony felt physically rested and mentally sharp; prayer had helped to cancel the troubling effects of the previous night's conversation with Reuben from her mind.

Everyone had turned up carrying an assortment of raincoats and bags. Reuben was already in position in the driver's seat, and she gave him a curt 'Good morning,' as she passed him. She had not changed her mind about her declaration to respond only about the things of God - should he persist in treating her as some sort of entertaining 'challenge'.

They set off as soon as the passenger list had been completed and joined the main road. Reuben switched on the speaker system, 'Good morning everybody. I hope you're all feeling bright-eyed and bushy-tailed today? What did you think of last night's entertainment?'

Various remarks were called out, ranging from 'Smashing,' to 'Not bad.'

Satisfied, he went on to say, 'Several people have asked me about Mr. Cook, the passenger who collapsed yesterday. All I can tell you is that he's been transferred to the general hospital in Swansea, and his wife's still with him. I'll let you know if and when I hear anything else.'

He paused to peer out of the window and up at the sky. 'It's looking good, weather-wise, which is just as well, because we'll be spending the morning in what's been described as "The Lakeland of Wales", the 70 square miles of the _Elan_ _Valley_. I'll tell you more about the place as we go along. But for now, why don't you sit back and enjoy the ride.'

As usual, the passengers began to talk amongst themselves, and it was to be several minutes before the chatter died down. Reuben had been watching and listening for his opportunity. Switching on the speaker system again, he began to give them details about their destination. 'Birmingham's about 80 miles away, and towards the end of the last century, and the beginning of this, it found itself needing a greater supply of clean water. It had become very industrialised, and its population had grown as more people were moving in from the countryside looking for work. To relieve the pressure, the decision was taken to flood - some say drown - the river valleys of _Elan_ and _Clearwen_. Today we'll be travelling along part of the chain formed by the four man-made reservoirs and six dams that go to make up a 73-mile aqueduct.'

'Six? Six dams?' came an incredulous sounding voice from somewhere near the back. 'You're not going to make us do some sort of dam-watching marathon, are you?'

Curious to learn who the questioner was, all heads turned in his direction.

'I mean, we will be stopping for refreshments every so often?'

Reuben recognised the owner of the voice and quickly tried to reassure him. 'You can always stay on the coach, Mr. Thomas. And don't worry, we'll be stopping for lunch at a local hotel.'

'But what about a tea break? Surely the place has a café?'

'I'm afraid not. That's why we'll be having an early lunch.'

'No café! But... what about lavatories? If there's nowhere to sit down and have a cup of tea - '

Once again, Reuben was quick to explain the situation. 'There are public toilets in various places.'

'Oh, well, I expect that will have to do then. Just as long as they're up to scratch,' replied the now disappointed sounding passenger.

Reuben resumed his commentary. 'The area also has some famous literary associations, amongst them the poet Shelley, who came to visit his uncle, and liked the place so much that he leased another house nearby to take his new wife to. Both houses were eventually submerged, as well as eighteen farmhouses, a school and a church. The garden walls of one of the lost houses can often be seen when the water is low, and is supposed to have been the inspiration for the novel, "The House Under the Water", written by one of Shelley's contemporaries.

'As well as nature lovers, the area's popular with ramblers, cyclists, fishermen, bird watchers, horse riders and dog walkers. And there's still some stretches of ancient woodland around, although most of the area's covered in pine. We've had an exceptionally wet summer, so I'm pleased to report that the reservoirs are looking pretty healthy. To watch the water spilling over the dams is a sight worth seeing and should give the photographers among us a real treat.'

Briony turned to Scott and found herself smiling at the look on his face, such was his growing anticipation, as Reuben continued his obviously well-rehearsed commentary.

'It took up to 1,000 navvies to complete the work on the reservoirs and dams, and the project was officially opened in 1904 by King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra. _Caban-coch,_ the first dam, should be coming into view soon. It's 120 feet high and gives its name to the reservoir behind it, which can reach a depth of 184 feet, and is capable of holding 7,800 million gallons of water. It's three and half miles long, and just under a third of a mile wide. A bit bigger than your average garden pond!'

Various comments were made, including one, 'Don't put ideas in her head, driver!' which caused some tittering.

Soon, they were approaching the main entrance to the valley, and Reuben announced, 'Welcome to the _Elan_ _Valley_ everyone. There's the _Caban-coch.'_

Gasps of delight came from inside the coach as the dam came into view.

'Quite a sight, isn't it?'

Briony could hardly believe her eyes. She had never seen, nor even imagined, such a dramatic scene before. To her, the cascading water looked like an enormous, rippling, snow-white lace curtain as it rushed in one continuous deluge over the crest of the dam.

All eyes appeared to be transfixed by the spectacle as they came to a halt.

'What are those buildings beside it?' asked Malcolm.

'Ah yes, sorry, I should have mentioned them before. There's some pretty powerful electricity generating turbines inside them. Right, we'll have just under an hour here; that should give you enough time to take a look around. For those who don't want to go too far, there's a pleasant stretch through the village, just over the bridge to your left. It's the only purpose-built Model Arts and Crafts village in Wales.

'For the more energetic among us, about half a mile upstream, and partially hidden by trees, you'll find the remains of the 35-foot-deep, 180-foot-long _Nant-y-Gro Dam,_ which was originally built to provide water for the navvies' village, as well as to power the steam locomotives and other plant used in the construction work. It was used by Barnes Wallace to conduct some of his first live, secret experiments. As I'm sure you all know, he went on to develop the bouncing bomb, which was used so effectively by the "Dam Busters". In case the Germans decided to return the favour, the dams had to be carefully guarded during the war, and protective steel cables were hung across the valley.

'Well, I think that's enough information for now. Can we all be back at the coach by a quarter to ten please.'

The door opened, and immediately the roar of rushing water could be heard.

Briony stood in the aisle and joined the queue. Like nearly everyone else, she was keen to leave the coach, and was slightly taken aback when Reuben asked, 'Fancy some company?' when she eventually stepped outside.

'No thanks. I'd rather be on my own.' She made straight for the bridge and climbed the steps hugging the side of the impressive construction. Once there, she stood, staring across at the sight of the roaring, white water.

Peggy and Malcolm came to stand beside her a few minutes later. Peggy was gasping for breath and clutching Malcolm's arm tightly. Recovering slightly, she drew nearer to Briony, and asked, 'Have you ever seen anything like it? It's so loud! I feel a bit, you know... frightened.'

Briony had to agree. There was something wild and untamed about the tumbling cascade. 'I know what you mean. It's so powerful. But stunning, isn't it? And all that water!'

Scott and Leyla approached them. She noticed that Scott had another impressive looking camera strapped around his neck. He looked at Briony, and pointing at a small flat area nearer the spraying edge of the dam, asked, 'If we stand over there, can you take some footage of us? I want the folks back home to see this.'

'Isn't that a different camera?' she asked.

'Surely is! A cine camera. But it's pretty easy to use. Here, let me show you.' He removed the device and placed the strap carefully over her head. 'You just have to look through here and keep this button pressed down. And try to keep it still. A minute should do it. Okay with you?'

Never having used one before, she was fairly reluctant, but quickly managed to overcome her fear as she focused on the view finder. She watched the couple walk over to the grassy area, took a deep breath, then pressed the relevant button and hoped for the best as they posed, smiling and pointing at the scene behind them. All was going well until she noticed the familiar figure of Reuben enter the small screen. He stopped and remained where he was, like a statue, and looking in their direction. He waved, causing her to give an involuntary jolt of the camera. She looked up and over at Scott, 'Sorry Scott. I think I've just messed it up.'

He came over and took the camera off her. 'Thanks, little lady. It'll be just fine, but I'll let you know later.'

Reuben came over to join them. 'Hope you've got plenty of film left? There's a lot more to see yet, especially when we get to the last dam, and again this afternoon.'

Rolling her eyes whilst being led away by her determined-to-see-absolutely-everything-husband, Leyla declared, 'Don't you worry, honey! He never travels light.'

'Don't forget, nine forty-five,' Reuben called after them.

Briony also began to walk away. A few seconds later, she came across Peggy and Malcolm sitting on a bench, relaxing, and obviously enjoying the spectacle before them.

'All well here?' Reuben asked, coming from behind her, and putting a cigarette in his mouth.

'Don't you mind us, young fella,' replied Malcolm. 'This is far enough for us after that climb.'

Reassured that all was well, Briony set off again, this time she was joined by Reuben.

'Well now, this is fun,' he remarked, after they had gone a hundred yards without either of them having made any comment.

Disappointed at the intrusion, especially because the breeze was blowing his cigarette smoke her way, and unable to hide her irritation, she asked, 'Do you have to do that? All this wonderful fresh air. Why do you have to go and contaminate it?'

He took one long drag, before dropping what little was left of the cigarette and crushing it underfoot. 'Satisfied?'

'Thank you.'

'You don't like me, do you?'

Trying not to show her surprise at being asked such a question, she replied, 'I don't know you. But I do know that I don't like that smoking habit of yours. Do you know what you're doing to your lungs? And it would have been better if you hadn't littered the ground.'

'No bins around here,' he replied, appearing unmoved by her health warning. 'Well, I'm waiting.'

'What for?'

'Your threat. To talk about _that man_. I assume I'm _pestering_ you now? Or were you just bluffing? Don't tell me you're going to disappoint me? I've been looking forward to hearing all about how you've been taken in by it all.'

There it is, she thought, looking around her, and deciding that anyone within five yards of them was just about to hear how she was _not_ going to let a challenge like that go unanswered. Even so, knowing she needed wisdom, she began to pray silently.

'What's the matter?' he broke into her thoughts, 'Cat got your tongue?'

'Be quiet! I'm praying.'

'Bloody hell! You're serious, aren't you?'

'Deadly. Now be quiet for a second.'

He did as she asked, fighting the urge to light-up again, and wondering what he was in for if it needed praying over.

At last, she began. 'Well, to begin with, I've not been "taken in by it all", as you so politely put it. No-one tricked me, or forced me to believe in God; I _choose_ to believe in Him. I did five years ago when I first heard the truth about Him, and everything I've learned about Him ever since has only gone on to confirm that that was the best decision I've ever made.'

Several tour passengers were busy taking photographs and blocking the path. Skirting around them, and attempting to keep up with her increasingly brisk stride, he said, 'This is interesting. Go on. And slow down a bit; this isn't a race.'

Coming to terms with the fact that she wasn't going to be free of him any time soon, she decided she might as well co-operate, and slowed to a more comfortable pace. 'Alright, and remember, you asked for it. I don't come from a Christian background. My parents aren't... weren't religious.'

'Weren't? Are they now?'

Realising that she had just inadvertently revealed that her parents were existing in the past tense, she replied, hesitantly, 'No. They're... they died, recently.'

'What! Both of them?'

She nodded.

'Accident? Crash - ?'

'No. Illness,' she replied, feeling disappointed that, yet again, she was being asked to talk about the very thing she didn't want to reveal, or discuss.

'Gone to hell, then? If they weren't religious?'

She stopped in her tracks, shocked at being asked such an uncalled for and insensitive question. 'What! No. What a thing to say. They... I think... I mean, I feel sure they...' she hesitated, then went on to say more assertively, 'I'm sure they met with the risen Christ before they breathed their last.'

_'_ _The risen Christ!'_ He repeated, in a very obvious mocking tone. 'There He is again, that _man_. Fat lot of good He's done the world.'

'Well, you would say that, wouldn't you?'

'Why?'

This was a direct challenge, because she felt sure that he would know what her answer would be. Unwaveringly, she gave it. 'Because you're a Jew. You don't believe that He's the Messiah; the One you Jews have been waiting for, even though He proved it over and over again when He was with you.'

As she had expected, he took objection to this, and said, 'Here we go. "You Jews are Christ-killers!" Can't you play a different tune? And pardon me, but I thought we were talking about _you_ now.'

She was disappointed that he had raised the offensive accusation, and was quick to respond, 'I never said that. And I don't believe it anyway. We're _all_ responsible: He died for the sins of the _whole_ world; Gentiles and Jews alike. That means you and me. Everyone. And if you'd care to stop interrupting, then I'll explain why I believe. It's like I said, I wasn't really brought-up to go to church. It wasn't that we didn't believe in God, it's just that we didn't think anything about Him - although there were times when I wondered if there was some power above and beyond us all. But that was as far as my thinking about Him went. I just got on with life.'

Such was their concentration that they were both startled when a voice behind them called, 'Driver! Driver!'

Turning, they saw the sisters standing less than a few yards away.

Daphne spoke sharply, 'Are we to be ignored?'

Reuben looked at the woman, and asked, 'Pardon?'

'I said, are we to be ignored? Why haven't you told us about this lake?' She pointed to the reservoir on her right. 'Are we expected to glean the information from thin air, or is it just the chosen few...' she paused to give Briony a withering look, 'who you choose to favour with your undivided attention?'

'Weren't you listening?' Reuben replied, 'I gave some facts and figures when we arrived. Remember? The dimensions, and the submerged country houses, Shelley - '

'Yes, yes, yes!' she interrupted. 'All very interesting to be sure. But you haven't told us about the marine life and the flora. Look at it!' She pointed at the heather-clad hillside beside them. 'What about all these different ferns and mosses? And what about the age of these rocks? Surely providing details like that are part of your responsibilities as well?'

Having already felt that this particular passenger needed putting in her place, Reuben now decided that the time and opportunity had unexpectedly presented itself. He braced himself and spoke-up. 'Marine life? Rock ages? I think you've got the wrong idea of what my job is, Miss Biggins. I'm here to drive you around and make sure you arrive at our destinations in one piece. Any information I _choose_ to provide about the places we visit has to be kept general, otherwise I'd be accused of lecturing and boring the socks off you all. If you want to know every single detail of every type of fish in every stream we pass, or the age of every rock, and all about the local flora and fauna, then may I respectfully suggest that you should have gone on a natural history tour instead! Failing that, why don't you go and buy a damn good book on the area?'

Miss Daphne Biggins was unused to being spoken to in such a way. Somehow, she managed to straighten her already ramrod straight back as she glared at him, her eyes gimlet-like, and replied, sounding almost triumphant as each word was delivered with the precision of, what she hoped would sound like, and have the effect of, a bullet. 'Impertinent! How impertinent. You don't know your place, _driver_. And I'm not going to waste any more of my time trying to tell you. It's obvious where _your_ energies lie.' She gave Briony another disdainful look before stalking off, calling behind her, 'Come along, Monica, we know when we're not wanted. To think we paid good money to be treated in such a shoddy manner. Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. Well, we shall have to see what Halcyon's head office has to say about this so-called employee of theirs when we discuss the matter with them, won't we?'

Monica scuttled around and past them, her face a picture of mortification.

Briony stared at the pair, wondering if Satan was up to his old tricks again. She invariably found that he would cause some sort of disturbance whenever she began to talk about the Lord to an unbeliever.

'That'll be a complaint,' Reuben said, his voice sounding flat. 'Oh well, can't please 'em all. Well, go on, don't stop now. Don't let that daft old biddy put you off.'

'But don't you think you should go and join some of the others?'

'No. I _join_ them all the time.'

She had to agree, remembering the times she had seen him walking and chatting with the other passengers. 'Aren't you worried? What about your head office? What will they say if she does go ahead and make a complaint?'

'They're not daft; they know what we have to put up with,' he replied, sounding very matter-of-fact.

'Even so. I think you should go. There's no point in antagonising her.'

He sighed. Stopping, he lit another cigarette. 'Alright, have it your way. But don't think I'm letting you off that easily.'

'Why? What do you mean?'

He gave her a sly looking smile. 'Let's just say it's always good to know who I'm up against; who the opposition is.'

' _Opposition?_ What... who?' she asked, feeling genuinely bewildered. Surely, he wasn't talking about the Lord? But who else could he be referring to?

'You know, Miss Briony Beresford, I've got a feeling about you, and have had since I first clapped eyes on you,' and with that, he strode ahead, saying over his shoulder, 'By the way, this is just the first dam. I'm looking forward to hearing what you've got to say for yourself at _Clearwen._ '

# Chapter 10

#

# Clearwen

Scott and Leyla arrived back just in time, breathless but satisfied. 'Had to do a bit of scrambling, but got some great footage,' he informed Briony, disentangling himself from an array of photographic paraphernalia.

Leyla rolled her eyes as she removed a sprig of heather from one of the straps. 'I couldn't see much, just some big chunks of concrete lying around. Guess that's what gets the menfolk excited.'

Reuben's voice came over the speaking system as they set off again. 'Okay everyone. Thanks for getting back on time. We'll follow the shoreline now for about a mile before crossing the _Garreg-ddu Viaduct_ , which is really a submerged dam.'

Minutes later, they began to climb, and another dam came into view soon after. They watched, fascinated, as rows of white, shimmering storm water cascaded down the huge structure.

Reuben began to speak again. 'In front of us is the largest and most recently constructed dam in the chain, the _Clearwen,_ taking its name from the river below. It was one of the Queen's first official engagements when she came to open it in 1952. It's a gravity dam, which means that its total weight should equal the pressure of the reservoir behind it. It stands 184 feet above the river bed, and took just 470 navvies, using more modern construction methods, six years to build, instead of the 1,000 used for the others. It's made of concrete, but they used dressed stone on the face, and had to bring over a hundred skilled stonemasons from Italy to do the job. Most of our workers were already busily employed, mainly on restoration work on the Houses of Parliament.'

By now, they had arrived at a parking area and the coach came to a standstill. 'The reservoir holds as much water as the other three in the chain. Thankfully, there's no wild weather to contend with today, and I can recommend a walk over the top. It's a good stretch, but well worth the effort for the fine views, and should satisfy the photographers and nature lovers amongst us. It's something I never get tired of, and something I'm particularly looking forward to today.'

Briony could have sworn that he was looking directly at her through his overhead mirror as he made the last statement. She looked away, silently praying, 'Well Lord, I really don't know what his game is, but it looks as though he's not taken the hint yet. I really don't feel up to it, but if this is one of Your divine appointments, then please help me not to let you down.'

Standing at the front now, Reuben asked, 'Is there anyone who doesn't want to venture out?'

Several voices called out as hands were raised, Peggy's amongst them.

'Okay, I'll leave the coach open, and can we all be back by eleven forty please. 'The door hissed open and he ran down the steps, calling behind him, 'Right, let's go and catch some of that fresh mountain breeze.'

A gust of cold air came rushing in, carrying with it the roar of falling water. The passengers who were leaving hurried to organise themselves, and soon a line of people were moving along the aisle. Daphne was near the front and stood, quickly causing an obstruction; Monica was still sitting, and appeared to be searching frantically for something under their seats.

'Oh, for goodness sake, Monica!' exclaimed an exasperated sounding Daphne, not moving. 'You were responsible for the bag. I just can't trust you with anything. You don't expect me to go out there without it, do you? Give me your bag, and take another look underneath. And hurry up, for goodness sake!'

'Excuse us please,' the man in front of Briony asked, politely.

Daphne turned to give him a glare. 'Patience!' she exclaimed. 'Can't you see we've got a situation here? What's the matter with you people? Why all the rush? That dam's not going anywhere.' Nevertheless, she leaned in towards the seat and allowed him to squeeze past. Noticing who was behind him, she quickly leaned back. Taking hold of a capacious shoulder bag, she tipped the contents onto her seat. Loud sighs and impatient comments could be heard coming from some of the passengers who were still queueing behind Briony.

'Ow! Oh, my back!' exclaimed Monica, slowly sitting upright. 'It's not there. I told you.'

Compelled to offer some assistance now, Briony spoke up. 'Can I help? What have you lost?'

'We can manage very well, thank you,' Daphne replied haughtily, refusing to make eye contact with her.

'But Daphne - '

'Be quiet, Monica! And don't let her near you, or she'll have your back out. Look what she did to that poor man yesterday.'

'Is there a problem?' Reuben's voice came from the front. Aware that there was a hold-up, he had re-entered the coach and had witnessed the last few exchanges.

Monica whimpered, 'Her headscarf. I've gone and lost her headscarf.'

More impatient exclamations came from the increasingly frustrated queue; already several minutes of their precious time had been wasted.

'Please move aside and let people pass, Miss Biggins,' instructed Reuben.

'I hope you're not expecting me to go out there bare-headed? I suffer with dreadful earache - '

_'_ _Please_ move aside and let people pass,' he repeated, firmer this time.

Slowly, and with obvious bad grace, Daphne did as she had been told, and sat down heavily on her seat.

Reuben went to take his usual position at the bottom of the steps as Briony and the rest of the queue, some still muttering their complaints, passed the sisters.

Relieved to be out and in the fresh air again, Briony saw a group of passengers inspecting a plaque on a nearby wall and went over to join them. Shirley Frensham came to stand beside her. 'That woman's a menace. Don't you think so? The way she looks at you; talk about the evil eye! Makes me shiver. I said there'd be sparks sooner or later, didn't I Simon?'

Her husband nodded, keeping his gaze fixed on the plaque, apparently finding the information recorded on it far more interesting than anything his wife had to say.

Shirley continued, hardly stopping for breath. 'And that sister of hers, how she puts up with it, I really don't know. A drudge, a doormat, that's what she is, a real drudge. Being bossed about all the time by that bully. I wouldn't have it. I'd soon tell her where to go. I would, wouldn't I Simon?' Simon grunted. 'But, then again, maybe it's like water off a duck's back if the poor woman's had to put up with it all her life.'

Several people began to move away.

'Er, yes. It is unfortunate. Never mind,' replied Briony, keen to get away herself.

'Why don't you ask if they can be moved? I think there's a couple of empty seats nearer the back.'

'Well, it might come to that yet.'

'That would soon settle her hash. Put her nose right out of joint, and serve her right, carrying on like that. Who does she think she is? Royalty? Huh! She could learn a thing or two about manners from them. She would, wouldn't she Simon?'

Busily writing something in a notebook, Simon grunted again.

Briony made her escape a few seconds later, only to be joined by another elderly woman, who, she quickly decided, was the epitome of the blue-rinsed, permed, and sensibly-dressed-for-warmth-and-comfort pensioner brigade. 'Pity she didn't leave at Victoria with that other awful couple,' the woman commented, 'And Bri... Bri ... What _is_ your name?'

'Briony. Briony Beresford.'

'I'm Stephanie Blanchard. And I sit just in front of them with my friend, you know... ' she pointed at another woman striding a few yards in front of them. 'That gangly one's always complaining about something. If she's not going on about the driver, it's her seat, or something wrong with the hotel: the food, the bed, the drawers, even the draughts! It's spoiling our holiday. We've decided to speak to the driver about her. He seems a nice enough young fellow; he'll have to do something. And that woman had the right idea about getting them moved to the back. Of course, then she'll go on about the smokers, but she'll have to put up with it, after all, she'd only have brought it on herself.'

Briony nodded. 'Possibly. You can only try.' She realised now that the idea seemed to have taken root amongst the other passengers and wondered how Daphne would react, and suspected that it would probably result in an even stronger complaint going to the company's head office. She looked over the river side of the dam and watched, fascinated, as the water appeared to have a life of its own as it cascaded furiously down the steep slope. Removing her Kodak Instamatic from her bag, she said, 'I think I'll stop here and take a few snaps.'

'Looks a long way down,' commented Stephanie, moving away from the wall. 'I'm glad this road is as wide as it is, I don't have a head for heights.'

Totally absorbed with the view, it took Briony a few seconds to realise that someone was smoking nearby. Her heart sank when she saw Reuben standing just a few feet away.

'Did they find it?' she asked, looking behind him, but seeing no sign of the sisters.

'Nope! My guess is she dropped it at the first stop. And we're not going back to look for it either.'

'She's not expecting us to do that, is she?'

'Insisting on it, but she can insist till she's blue in the face.'

'Are they still on the coach then - and missing all this?'

He nodded. 'Stupid woman! The sister wants to come out, but she won't let her get past. I had to get out quick or I'd have said something I'd regret later. She'd better tone it down or I'll have the rest of them up in arms. A few have already changed their minds and got off.'

'That's awful!'

'Yes, well if she doesn't calm down soon and start playing ball, I'll have to move them onto the front seats where I can keep a closer eye on them. That'll mean asking the couple already there to move, which is something they might refuse to do, and I wouldn't blame them.'

They were well onto the dam now. He pointed at a bird flying high above them. 'Another peregrine after his dinner.'

Her daily Scripture reading that morning had been from Isaiah, and now the words came back to her as she stared up at the bird's graceful flight:-

... **but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.** 1

She had claimed the promise many times during the past months, and the Lord had undertaken in every way. Now that the difficult time was over, why was she feeling that her own spiritual wings had shrunk to the size of a budgerigar's?

Reuben walked over to a viewing platform and climbed the steps. Stubbing out his cigarette, he called, 'Come on, I won't bite.'

She hesitated, but followed when her curiosity got the better of her. She stood and stared across the vast expanse of water, reaching as far as the eye could see; the stiffening breeze causing myriads of ripples to race along its blue-grey surface.

'Looks like there's more rain on the way,' he said, peering at some greying clouds, gathering in the distance. 'We'll be lucky to have much longer; long enough for you to spill the beans.'

'What "beans"?'

'About _that_ _man_ , of course, and why you're so keen on Him. That's what...Who... all this is about, isn't it, and why you can't let yourself go and have some fun?'

More passengers came to stand near them. Feeling the need for more privacy, Briony turned and stepped back down onto the road. He came to join her and they set off again.

'Well now, seeing as you've asked,' she said, 'I'll tell you. I've already told you that my family weren't religious, and neither was I. But that changed five years ago when I noticed another nurse wearing a small cross pinned to her uniform. The hospital has a no-jewellery policy, and I asked her about it. She told me that she was a Born-Again Christian. Of course, I'd heard the expression before, but wasn't exactly sure what it meant. Anyway, she told me that it was the difference between having a religion, which is just a head knowledge about God, or having a living relationship, which is a heart knowledge of Him.

'A few days later, she offered me some tickets to a weekend conference at a Bible College. She'd been booked to go, but a relative had died and she wanted to go to the funeral. I was off that weekend and had nothing better to do, so I agreed. A friend went with me, and two days later we found ourselves sitting amongst a large crowd in a marquee on the grounds of a Bible College near Sheffield. One of the speakers was a young evangelist, and he didn't mince his words; somehow it felt as though he was talking to me personally. He told us that God demands justice - after all, he created it.'

'Created? What, justice?' Reuben asked.

'Yes. And he said that someone, Jesus, had come and satisfied God's requirements for that justice by dying on the Cross and paying the price for all our sins. I'd never thought of myself as a sinner, but... well, the penny dropped - '

'Ah, here we go!' he interrupted. 'Wondered when you'd get around to all that miserable sinners and fires of hell stuff. It always sounds as though you lot are trying to drag the rest of us down there with you.'

'Er, well, that's because people don't know - or understand, or are reluctant to admit - that they're sinners too. Everyone is. There's only ever been one Person Who's lived a truly sinless life.'

'Let me guess, _that_ _man_ again?'

She chose to ignore his derogatory tone, and continued, 'I heard someone describe our... predicament... as being like a huge oil slick of sin. We contaminate nearly everyone and everything we touch, even the natural world. That's why there's so many so-called "natural disasters", the Earth's contaminated; it's been _dis_ -eased by all our selfishness and greed.

'Anyway, going back to that day in the marquee, the evangelist went on to explain how Jesus had allowed Himself to be crucified in our place. In other words, He'd taken my place on the Cross; now the way was clear for me to know God as my Father too. I felt shocked at hearing all this, and wondered why I hadn't heard about it before. But then maybe I had, but somehow it had never registered with me. All I can say is that God must have given me the gift of faith then, the faith to believe that what I'd just heard was true. And I knew that I had to do something about it.'

By now they had reached the far end of the dam. 'This way,' he said, walking ahead of her and onto a narrow path. Waiting patiently just ahead of them were Scott and Leyla.

'You will do the honours, won't you?' Scott asked, stepping towards them. He removed the cine camera from around his neck and placed it around hers. 'Can you do a panoramic sweep and get us in? Remember how?'

'Come on then,' she said, not at all surprised, and feeling quite philosophical about having yet another interruption when she was talking about the Lord to someone: the Devil really didn't have any new tricks. She focused on the viewfinder and began filming. A full minute passed before Scott declared himself satisfied.

Setting off with Reuben again soon after, he remarked, 'Looks like we're going to cop some rain after all. Maybe we'd better head back.'

'Not before I've finished,' she said, determined now that no wet weather, or any other type of hindrance, was going to prevent her from telling him what she felt he must hear.

'If you must,' he replied, unenthusiastically.

'I must. I intend to keep to my part of the deal even if you don't. Er, where was I? Oh, yes - I'd reached the bit where I knew I had to do something about what I'd just heard. And then he, the evangelist, held his arm out, and said, "I'd like to introduce you to Someone; Someone Who died to meet you." All I can say is that ... ' she paused, knowing that what she was about to say would probably subject her to even more ridicule.

'Well, go on then,' he said. 'What can you say?'

She looked directly at him. 'All I can say is that I was very aware that Jesus was standing right there next to him, and looking at me! Over the heads of the crowd, I could see His face... and His eyes. He was holding His arms out, and saying, "Come to me. Come to me now." I was shocked and didn't know what to do. I just sat and kept staring at the... the vision. Because that's what it must have been. I can't think of another way of describing it.' She looked at him, willing him not to start his mocking.

'Hm, "vision" - ghost. Whatever. How nice for you.'

'It wasn't a ghost! I _really_ saw Him.'

'Alright, alright! Keep your hair on. But it all sounds a bit crazy to me.'

Remembering Claire's similar reaction when she had told her about it, she sighed, and walked on in silence.

'You're convinced you saw... something, aren't you?' he asked.

She replied with a firm, 'Yes.'

'But, come off it!' he exclaimed. 'It must have been one of those mass-hysteria type of experiences. You probably got carried away with all the hype.'

'You can rationalise it away as much as you like, but I _know_ what I saw.'

'Did anyone else see it?'

'I don't know. Maybe. Possibly. I didn't think to ask.'

'I would have. That would have been the first thing I'd have done.'

'Well, good for you! Anyway, people have visions of all sorts of things. Maybe this one was just for me. I don't know. All I know is that it was real. It really happened.'

'Well, you can't blame me for being a bit sceptical. So, go on then, what happened next? Did you faint and have to be carried away?'

'I'm not the fainting type,' she replied, indignantly. 'And will you please stop interrupting! I just kept sitting, and then the evangelist made an altar call. I had no idea of what one was, and held back when others went forward. Then they began to sing the hymn "Just As I Am". I'd never heard it before, and somehow my pride, or embarrassment, or stubbornness, whatever it was, seemed to leave me, and I felt a real sense of peace come over me. And the next thing I knew, I was walking out to the front and kneeling with the others. The evangelist said a short prayer, and then we were taken into a chapel where it was explained what had happened to us. I learned that, because I had recognised that I really was a sinner, and had come to realise just how much I needed rescuing, in other words, a Saviour, and that Jesus was that Saviour, I had been forgiven and given a new life. I was part of a new family now, and that God Himself was my Heavenly Father. In effect, I had been "born again". I started going to church as soon as I got home. And the rest, as they say, is history.'

Now it was his turn to remain silent as they walked on. She looked at the wide, open space around them; at the green and heather-covered slopes and darker areas of forest, and wondered at the quality of light, before gazing down at the dark, mysterious depths of water below them. 'Take it or leave it. That's the truth.'

At last he spoke, 'How many were ... affected?'

Once again, she disciplined herself to ignore his negative tone. 'If you mean, how many were born again, there was about a dozen in the chapel. Why do you ask?'

'Because your story would be a lot easier to digest if there were others who could confirm it. You've got to admit, it does sound very far-fetched.'

She had to think how to reply. Although she was absolutely certain that she'd had the experience, trying to convince others about the validity of it had always been difficult. 'I'm afraid there's nothing more I can say to prove to you that it really did happen. Unless you take into account about how my life began to change from that moment on.'

'Change? You mean you stopped being such a rotten sinner?'

'No, I mean yes. I'm still one, but one saved by grace.'

'That's a shame.'

'Why?'

'Well, just think of the fun we could have if you were still one!'

It was obvious to her now that her testimony hadn't made the slightest impact on him; he sounded just as skeptical as before. She tutted and shook her head. 'Er, well, that's not going to happen any time soon - or ever.'

'And there's no room for manoeuvre? You never let yourself take a little break from it all - every now and then?'

'I certainly do not! I don't need to. Anyway, it doesn't work like that.'

'Sounds kind of harsh to me. You might as well have gone off to convert the heathen in Africa, or, better still, become a nun, and get yourself locked away with a load of other dried-up old spinsters.'

'That's not what God wanted... wants... me to do.'

'So, what does He want you to do?'

'Exactly what I'm doing now. To stay where I am, and tell people about Him. And as far as work goes, I was a nurse before I gave my life to Him, and that's what He still wants me to be.'

'How do you know? You sound very sure of yourself.'

'He confirms it in all sorts of ways that are meaningful to me. All I can say is that I usually feel peaceful when I go to bed at night, and if I don't, then I know that I've stepped out of His will.'

'"Peaceful"! Now you're sounding like one of those drippy flower children.' He reached across and took hold of the end of her long ponytail. 'You've got the hair for it. Hair this long needs freeing. Shame your Jesus isn't into free love and stuff, like that Krishna dope.'

'Now you're being facetious.'

He looked at his watch, then took a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket. 'Good word, "facetious", haven't heard it for, hm, let me think, probably not since my grandmother passed away.' Lighting one, he said, 'Anyway, it's time I headed back.'

He turned to a group of passengers who had been walking some distance behind them. 'Hi there!' he called. 'Enjoying the view?' A few drops of rain began of fall, creating dark patches on the soil. 'Looks like we're going to cop it after all. Well, I'd better do my duty. Don't bump into any more visions; it'll probably be one of those clouds landing on your head anyway.' And with that parting remark, he left her to join the others.

Well, that's that, she thought, feeling a mixture of disappointment and some relief as she opened her umbrella. 'He's heard about You now, Lord. Let's hope he'll decide to give me a wide berth from now on.'

# Chapter 11

#

# Talk of the Devil

The rain stopped after a while and the rest of the excursion went problem-free. The sisters remained in the coach until the last dam, where they ventured out to take a short stroll. Several people remarked at the fact that Daphne wore a headscarf, whilst Monica was bareheaded.

Lunch was taken at a hotel a few miles away from the valley. Reuben was no-where to be seen in the dining room. Briony had noticed that he sat apart at breakfast and the evening meal, and assumed that he was drinking coffee and smoking somewhere behind the scenes now.

Refreshed and rested, they journeyed on, eventually joining the _Aberystwyth_ road. They were close to their next destination when Reuben began to give them a brief talk about the area. ' _Pontarfynach_ is Welsh for "The Bridge on the Mynach", better known as "Devil's Bridge". You'll see three bridges that have been built on top of each other, and spanning a gorge, 300 feet deep.

'There are various ideas about the builders. One is that the first was built somewhere around the 12th century by Cistercian monks from _Strata Florida_ , a ruined abbey about eight miles away. Seems they were an enterprising lot, and made it their business to construct roads and other bridges in the area. Others say that it was built by the Knights Hospitallers, a military religious order who were also around at the time. But the one I favour \- and remember I told you that Wales is known for its myths and legends - is that the Devil built it after striking a bargain with an old woman whose cow somehow got itself stranded on the other side. The deal was that he would build a bridge and claim the soul of the first creature to cross it. But she was a canny old girl, and guessing what he was up to, threw some bread across - which was promptly followed by a hungry dog.'

Sounds of sympathy were made for the unfortunate mystical animal, before a sharp, female voice exclaimed, 'What stuff and nonsense!'

Looking into his overhead mirror, Reuben focused on the sisters' direction, then added, 'Don't worry, folks. Apparently, the Devil wasn't interested in the animal; it was the old girl's soul he was after. And, you know, over the years, many writers and artists have drawn inspiration from some of these old Welsh tales. I've heard people say that hearing them seems to add something to the whole experience of visiting places like this. What a dull life it would be without a bit of imagination and romance.'

Briony's shoulder was touched. She turned around to see Peggy looking at her. 'Good for him,' she remarked. 'Let's hope that keeps her quiet for a bit.'

Briony hoped so too. But she also felt sorry that it had to come to this; such an antagonistic type of atmosphere was not the healthiest of environments to be trapped in at any time, especially on holiday, and in such a confined space. If only the older sister would keep her opinions to herself, then maybe life on board would be a lot more pleasant for everyone.

Reuben continued, 'It's thought that the original bridge became unstable, and a second one, made of stone, was built directly over it in the 1700's. The third bridge, made of iron, was built in 1901.

'"Jacob's Ladder", the name given to the 91 slate steps going down to the bottom of the gorge, can be difficult to negotiate when they're wet. Others say they find the chasm claustrophobic, and I'm guessing that it won't be too bright down there today.

'In my opinion, the best view of the falls can be found at the bottom, where the rivers _Mynach_ and the Rheidol converge. If you do go down, look out for an old hideout called "The Robbers Cave", and I'd recommend that you allow yourselves a good three-quarters of an hour. For those who don't feel up to it, there's a short ten-minute walk to some large pot-holes that have been carved out of the rock by the river, called "The Devil's Punchbowl", also known as "The Devil's Cauldron".'

Pulling into the hotel's car park, he gave them a brief summary of what to expect, adding that a 24-foot skittle alley had recently been installed alongside the bar and lounge areas.

'Childish nonsense!' commented Daphne, loudly.

Ignoring her, he went on to remind them to be careful if they did attempt the gorge. 'The waterfalls are a lovely sight, but make sure you wear sensible shoes. We don't want the Devil to have the last laugh now, do we?'

It didn't take Briony long to get settled in her room. Keen to make the most of what was left of the afternoon, she left the hotel minutes later. Some passengers were relaxing in the lounge, whilst others were already involved in a noisy game of skittles.

She passed a cosy looking café and decided to have a coffee before tackling the gorge. Once seated, her thoughts returned to her parents again. How her mother would have loved all this. She had been brought up in the countryside and took every opportunity to holiday in a static van, sited on a piece of land belonging to an enterprising farmer, just outside the Suffolk coastal town of Southwold.

Stirring her drink, she remembered the noisy excitement she and Claire had felt each time they packed to go. Their father had refused to join them after the first time, finding the place too quiet for his drinking and betting ways. But that didn't matter, the farm was close enough to the town and beach, and they always found plenty to do.

Simple pleasures on such hot and happy days. How she missed them. But those days were over now; her parents were gone. But only physically. As far as spiritually, and concerning her father, only the Lord knew. If only he hadn't been so stubborn. She recalled those last few minutes, kneeling by his bedside, trying desperately to help him to understand, and accept God's love before he took his final breath. Despite his semi-comatose state, she had been convinced that he could still hear her; his eyes and mouth were too tightly shut for someone who was feigning sleep.

'Please Dad! You know where Mum's gone. She made her peace with God before... before she went. She's in Heaven now. I _know_ she is. And that's where I want you to go too.

'Don't let all those things that happened to you in the war stop you from knowing how much He loves you. I've told you before that it wasn't Him who caused all that. All He wants... wanted to do was to help. It was people who caused all that misery. But the Devil was the force... the influence behind it all. We all need to make our peace with God and tell Him we're sorry. We've all broken His rules, all of us, every man, woman and child that's ever lived. I know you've never listened to me before, but please, please listen to me now.'

She was surprised that she was being so forthright. Normally, she wouldn't mention the Devil when telling someone about God's love. But this was a different situation; she was desperate for her father to be saved. His time was running out. She never took her eyes off his face, and was disconcerted when she saw his bottom dentures begin to slide out of his mouth. It seemed that the final enemy, Death, was closing in. Still, she fought on.

Crying now, her throat hurting with the effort to let her anguished words escape, she pleaded, 'Just agree in your mind with what I say.' She put her face close to his and began to recite 'The Sinner's Prayer of Salvation' as she clung to his thin hand. If she could have, she would have reached inside and made the decision for him. But he still had his freewill, even now. '... Dear Lord Jesus...'

A voice broke into her reverie. 'You'll make a hole in that cup.'

She started and looked up. Reuben stood there.

'Mind if I join you?' he asked, a glass of Coca-Cola in his hand. Without waiting for a reply, he sat down opposite her. 'You look like you've got the weight of the whole world on your shoulders.'

Forcing herself to rally, she replied, 'Thankfully, no, I haven't. I'm pleased to say that I'm not the One in charge of it.'

He rolled his eyes. 'Here we go again. Still spouting all that stuff.'

'I did promise you.'

'Sounded more like a threat to me. What are you doing here anyway? What's wrong with the coffee at the hotel?'

'I didn't feel like one then. And I could ask the same of you.'

'Huh! I'm just trying to escape.'

'Escape? What from?'

'Not from, who. And who'd you think?'

'Oh no. What's she been up to now?'

He rolled his eyes again, this time more dramatically. 'Only banged on every door in the place until she found mine.'

'What? But... why?'

'Why else? To do what she does best. To complain, of course. The staff wouldn't tell her where I was. And quite right too. Now she's well and truly overstepped the mark. And more passengers are complaining about her. I'm definitely going to have to try and rein her in.'

'How will you do that?'

'Tell her straight. Toe the line, or...' he shrugged.

'Or what?'

'Issue a final warning. Tell her she'll have to go if she doesn't calm down. She's obviously very dissatisfied with everything, including me. And I'm damned if I'm going to let her carry on ruining everyone else's holiday. I'd be only too happy to get her a rail ticket back to London.'

'That sounds drastic. What about her sister? She seems okay.'

'Yeah, shame about her. She seems a sweet old girl. I'd probably give her the option; stay, or go with the sister.'

'I don't envy you. And I can only imagine what kind of trouble she'll try and make for you with your employers if that does happen.'

'She's doing that anyway. She's already told me she's made a long list of things she's not satisfied with.'

'But what on earth has she got to complain about?'

'Huh! Let me see: they've been given a room with a double bed instead of twins; claims she's got a frozen shoulder and can't reach the pole in the wardrobe; the bathroom's too far - it was too near in the last hotel; the view's not to her liking, and the drawers aren't lined. And I could go on.'

'Goodness! I can understand about the double bed, but then again, we were told that could happen when we booked. Can't the hotel give them another room?'

'None to be had. They're fully booked.'

'But can't she put up with it? We're only here for one night.'

'She's not the type to "put up" with anything. Woman's a damn hypocrite. Her bag was four pounds overweight when we set off, but I chose to overlook it, so I'm finding all this moaning kind of rich coming from someone who expects perfection from everyone and everything else, but doesn't mind breaking the rules herself. And I'm not worried about Head Office; they'll back me up.'

'Are you sure about that?'

He nodded. 'Yep! It's only happened once before, with a drunk. I had to get him off on day two. But it's a bit unfortunate about the timing of this one - if it comes to it.'

'Why?'

'I'll have eight seats down: two empties anyway, then that couple at Victoria, the man who collapsed and his wife, and now maybe those two. Almost sounds as though the tour's jinxed.'

'But why should you be held personally responsible for the unreasonable attitudes of others? And it's not your fault when someone falls ill.'

He shrugged. 'I'm not too worried. It'll get sorted. Changing the subject, are you doing the gorge?'

'Yes. In a minute. And, if it would do any good, I'd be willing to send a positive type of letter to your head office when I get back; it might help to counter some of her complaints.'

'Would you now? That would be very good of you,' he said, smiling at her.

'Yes, and I'm sure some of the others would as well if they knew about that list of hers.'

'Hm, possibly. But I wouldn't count on it.' He looked at his watch. 'Right, I'd better be off. Things to do.' He drained his glass and stood. 'I'll get these.' He went over to the counter and paid, then returned to the table. He leaned a little closer to her, his face less than a foot away from hers. 'You know, Miss Briony Beresford, I've got a feeling you won't be writing any such letter.'

'Oh yes. And why's that?'

'I've been thinking about this sinner business. You said you're still one. Am I right?'

'Yes, I did say that, but you should have listened more carefully; I also said that I was one saved by grace. And why do you ask?'

'Because I still reckon it would be kind of fun to test your theory, and find out just how much of one you are.'

She could hardly believe her ears, and to think that she had just offered to write a letter of appreciation about the tour to his employers. What a fool he was. Or, rather, what a fool she was. 'Honestly! Don't you ever give up?' she asked.

'You should have listened more carefully too. I told you I enjoy a challenge, and I've got a feeling you're going to be one of the most interesting I've had in a long time.' Then, before she could gather her scattered thoughts, he turned and headed for the door. 'See you later,' he said, as though he hadn't a care in the world. 'And watch out for that old Devil down there.'

Down there, she thought, not just down there; it seems I've just been talking to one of his disciples up here!

# Chapter 12

#

# Showdown

Briony managed the gorge in record time. Attempting to push all thoughts of her conversation with Reuben away and concentrate on the sights and sounds of the rushing water, she had literally marched up and down the steep, slippery slate steps.

Returning to the hotel, she met Simon and Shirley Frensham on the stairs. Like her, they were on their way back to their room.

'My dear, where _have_ you been?' asked Shirley, appearing to be very animated. 'You've missed all the fun. Those sisters! What a carry on. Our poor driver. How he kept his temper with that _awful_ woman I'll never know. She just wouldn't leave him alone. Made such a fuss. Do you know, she actually _demanded_ that he tried to get the hotel to move someone out of a single room so she could have it! "Let them go to another hotel!" she said. "Get that trouble-maker out!" Of course, we all knew who she was talking about, didn't we, Simon?'

Unusually, Simon was showing some interest in what his wife had to say, and nodded.

'I mean, the cheek of the woman!' Shirley continued, hardly stopping for breath, 'Wanting your room. Can you imagine?'

'But the receptionist didn't say anything to me about it just now,' said Briony, already attempting to think of some sort of solution. Should she volunteer to go to another hotel? _Was_ there another hotel? She hadn't seen one. Then again, if there was one, would there be a vacant room? 'What happened, then?'

As though relishing her role as informer, Shirley continued, 'What a commotion! Worked herself up into a right lather. The manager had to come and get her into the office, you know, behind reception. But even he couldn't get her to calm down. On and on she went; we could still hear her. Well, we couldn't help it, could we Simon? Shouting her head off like that. Making a dreadful racket, enough to wake the dead. It really is too bad of her, upsetting us all and showing us up like that. Shameful, I call it. Oh, is that your room?'

As they often did, some of Jesus' words came into Briony's mind as she turned her key in the lock:-

**Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God.** **2**

'Yes,' she answered, noticing small beads of sweat beginning to form on Shirley's forehead. 'Well, as you can see, I'm still here! Maybe the driver's already on top of the situation, and maybe we should leave him to it.'

But Shirley was not to be pacified. 'Well, let's hope so. Bullies like her need a firm hand. But I've had an idea, haven't I Simon?'

Simon nodded his head slowly, then actually spoke, 'She wants to get up a petition.'

'A _petition?_ ' repeated Briony, looking at him with alarm.

'Yes. You know, to get her off the tour,' Shirley said, looking very pleased with herself. 'We did one before, didn't we Simon? Worked a treat too; it stopped those women from hogging the side lanes in the pool. You'll sign it, of course? After everything she's been saying about you. Even that American woman was upset and told her to shut up, especially because of your parents, and you just burying them and all.'

Briony stared at her. 'She... Leyla said that?'

'Oh yes! Really upset, she was. What a terrible thing for you. And to have an old witch like her sticking the knife in. Well, it's shameful. Shameful I call it. Simon takes a dim view of it all too, I can tell you. Don't you Simon? And you'll be the first to sign it, won't you? The others will soon follow; just you watch if they don't.'

Briony was disappointed at the news that now even more people knew about her parents. No doubt, the whole coach would know about it soon - if they didn't already. And she also knew that there was no way on earth that she could ever be persuaded to sign any such document.

'We've been looking forward to coming away all winter. It's just too bad. Too bad of her, isn't it Simon? Poor lamb, he's been poorly with a nasty infection, you know, down below - '

Simon had already unlocked their door and managed to speak again, 'Come on, Shirl, she doesn't want to hear all about that. And I'm needing a lie down - '

'But Simon, this is too important - '

'I think that's a good idea,' encouraged Briony, quickly stepping into her own room, and hoping that Shirley would stay in hers. 'And I think I'll put my feet up too. See you later.'

Muffled voices could be heard coming from the adjoining wall, and she felt sure she could hear the word 'petition' being mentioned several times. Maybe someone should warn Reuben about the possibility of such a potentially destructive document being passed around. And maybe that someone should be her.

Over an hour later, and feeling some apprehension, she walked into the dining room. Knowing that most of the other passengers would congregate in the lounge area before going in, and wanting to avoid any unnecessary conversation, she had deliberately waited until the last minute before going down. However, her plan was thwarted when she was shown to her place at a table with four others.

'We wondered who we'd be sharing with,' one of the women said. 'You're alone, aren't you?'

Briony nodded, then felt someone tap her on the left shoulder. Looking up, she saw Leyla's anxious face looking down at her.

'Can I see you afterwards? I need to tell you something. I'm afraid I've done... said something, and I need to explain. Will that be alright? Afterwards?'

'Yes, of course,' Briony replied. 'And if it's about what we discussed about my... recent situation, then please don't worry. It's okay. I've already been told what happened.'

Leyla looked alarmed. 'You have?'

'Yes, and it's okay, Leyla. Honestly. Please don't upset yourself. I'll see you afterwards.'

Leyla gave a faint smile, nodded, and returned to her table.

'Well, if there's no-one else coming, I'll nab that roll,' said the portly man sitting opposite her, reaching over and taking the bread roll from the vacant place next to her. Briony recognised him as the passenger who had been disappointed that there had been no café at the _Elan Valley_.

'The starters look small; blink and you'll miss them. Let's hope the main course is worth looking at,' remarked the woman sitting next to him, obviously feeling that some sort of explanation was needed. 'By the way, I'm Ann,' she tilted her head towards the portly man, 'and this is my hubby, Bill.'

'Hello, I'm Briony.'

'At least it's not that horrible woman and that sister of hers. Thank God they've gone,' said Ann.

'And I'm Maisy Prentergast, and this is Tom,' said the woman beside her, not elaborating as to what relationship the man was to her. 'Mind you, I felt a tad sorry for the sister; you could tell she wanted to stay.'

'They've gone?' asked Briony, quickly looking around the large room, and seeing no sign of the sisters.

'Yes, and what a good job you weren't here to hear it all,' said Ann.

'You missed a right old shindig!' exclaimed Maisy, who then went on to describe what had happened. 'She had a right go at our driver, twice, in front of everyone, over there.' She pointed her fork in the direction of the reception desk, clearly visible through the open dining room doors. 'It was bad enough the first time, but then she only went and ambushed him again later.'

'Ambushed the man. Bloody disgusting!' exclaimed Bill, popping the remnant of the bread roll into his mouth.

Looking pointedly at Maisy, Briony asked, 'When did all this happen?'

'Um, it must have been... about an hour ago,' she replied.

Briony knew that she had been in her room for well over an hour, and went on to ask, 'So what happened?'

The four exchanged swift glances before Ann took it upon herself to speak up again. 'Called him a "lazy good-for-nothing", and said he'd been slack about keeping the coach clean. But it was when she told him to try again to get the hotel to get her a couple of singles - '

'More like demanded, you mean,' interrupted Maisy. ' _"I demand"._ That's what she said. _So_ rude!'

'Disgusting!' repeated Bill, busily looking around for any sign of the waitress.

Affecting an imperious tone, Ann went on to repeat what they had heard. '"If they won't give us a twin, I demand that you _insist_ that they provide single rooms. I told you before, my sister and I can't possibly share a bed; she's got restless leg syndrome and I'll be black and blue in the morning. Do your job, driver, and make the hotel do theirs." That's what she said. But what could he do? It's not up to him who gets what room, and the manager had already told her that there weren't any left.' She paused, uncertain about reporting the next bit of news.

Bill had no such qualms as he picked-up the thread. 'Wanted yours. Told him to shift you over to another hotel. Played merry hell with him when he refused. That other one was blubbering. Can't stand a blubbering woman. Now where's that waitress?'

Briony was thankful that the Frensham's had already told her about Daphne's unreasonable demand. The others looked at her closely, and seeing no sign of shock, all four felt it might be alright to reveal the rest of the news, and went on to detail the list of accusations that had spewed out of Daphne Biggins' mouth after Reuben had told her, in no uncertain terms, that he had 'no intention of doing any such thing'.

'But we'd heard it all before,' continued Ann. 'When we stayed on the coach at that big dam. That man who sits behind you had to tell her to tone it down. But she wouldn't, and then didn't she only go and start going on again about that man who collapsed, saying that you'd made the situation worse, and actually done him more harm than good! You know, I think you could have her for defamation of character, it was that bad.'

Bill appeared to light-up when the waitress arrived with their first course. 'Told her that he had a responsibility to his other passengers, and that she'd been difficult from the start. Gave her a choice - '

'Start co-operating or he'd have no choice but to eject her off the tour!' interrupted a very animated Maisy. 'I thought she was going to hit him! Did you see that look she gave him? Sent a shiver down my spine, I can tell you. Stupid woman! She really lost it then and started calling him a... a... what was it?'

'"An amateur."' Once again Bill had no qualms about revealing something unpleasant. '"An ignorant time-waster. An upstart who didn't know his place". Went on about London, and how, if she'd have known what he was like, they'd have got off there and then - like that other couple. Said they'd had the right idea.'

'Bloody shame she didn't, if you ask me,' said Tom, deciding to join the conversation at last.

'Actually, I wonder, you aren't Jewish as well, are you?' asked Maisy.

'Me? No. Why do you ask?' Briony replied, slightly shocked at the question.

'Oh, you know. It's just that, well, after what you said to them. And you do look a bit, you know. It must be your hair.'

Briony stared at her. 'My hair?' she asked, puzzled.

Maisy turned a light shade of pink, and replied in a faltering voice, 'Well... it's so long and... and, well, it looks a bit, you know, ethnic. And I was thinking, that could have been why she's been so nasty about you. If you were. I mean, you never know, do you?'

Somehow Briony knew that the woman had not meant anything unkind, and deciding to excuse her ignorance, replied, 'Oh, I see. But us humans come in all shapes and sizes, don't we? And have all sorts of hair styles. And, you know, we all fit the same size bedpan.'

Four shocked faces stared at her, and it was Bill who was the first to respond. Slamming his flattened, fleshy hand hard down on the table, he exclaimed loudly, causing several people in the nearby tables to jump, ' _Bedpans!_ By jingo! She's right! Ha-ha! I like that! Bloody bedpans!'

Recovering, the other three quickly agreed, stating that that was one expression they would find hard to forget.

And so the meal progressed. Halfway through the first course, Maisy expressed her sympathy at Briony's 'recent sad loss.' Whereupon each one began to narrate a list of friends and family members they had also lost, along with some graphic accounts of the diseases they had died from.

Briony sat and listened patiently, and was almost glad when the subject returned to the dramatic departure of the sisters. She learned that Reuben had given the sisters just fifteen minutes to pack their belongings before meeting him at the front of the hotel. Somehow, he managed to get them onto the coach, then drove them the twelve miles to _Aberystwyth_ , where he found them a hotel. He then went to the station and bought two single tickets to London for the following day.

And now the sisters had gone, and Reuben would have the difficult task of explaining to his head office why there were two more empty seats on the coach.

At last the meal was over. She found Scott and Leyla waiting for her in a corner of the lounge.

'Can I get you something?' he asked, standing as she approached them. 'Coffee, or something stronger?'

'No thanks,' she replied, sitting down and trying to smile reassuringly at Leyla, who was looking very sorrowful. 'It's okay, Leyla. I already know what happened. Please don't upset yourself.'

However, instead of looking relieved, Leyla looked even more troubled. Scott looked on sympathetically as he sat down again.

'I wouldn't have told them for the world,' Leyla said, her voice breaking. 'But she was saying such horrible things about you. I just couldn't help myself, and I broke my promise. I feel just awful.'

'You were provoked. I understand. And you know, I might have done the same thing in your shoes.'

'There, honey!' Scott said, 'Listen to her now. There's no real harm done. We all understand.'

'Yes, we do,' agreed Briony. 'Honestly. We do. Try and forget all about it. There's been enough unpleasantness already, but it's all over now. Don't let it ruin your holiday. I'm not going to - and neither should you.'

Scott smiled at the two of them as he shook his head slowly. Turning his gaze towards the window, he said, 'You girls! And now it looks like the light's gone; and I'm guessing it'll be too dark to do that gorge.'

'I wondered where you were,' said Briony, keen to change the subject. 'I didn't see you when I went down.'

'No. This... thing kicked-off, and we didn't get out there. We'll try and head on down before we leave tomorrow.'

'Just you do that, honey. You'll be quicker without me,' Leyla said, before turning back to Briony, 'And you really aren't cut-up? You don't hate me?'

'Hate you? Of course not. And I'm not "cut-up" at all. Honestly. But I will be "cut-up" if you don't cheer up. So what if everyone knows about my parents? It's not the end of the world. And now, after all this business, they've got something else to talk about anyway.'

Leyla looked so pathetically relieved that Briony reached over to pat her hand. 'Please cheer up. That's an order!'

'Aw, okay, hon. You're such a sweetie. I promise.'

'Good, and I'll hold you to it. Now, how about a game of skittles? Did I hear someone say it was invented by the Germans?'

'Is that so?' asked Scott, who just happened to be a keen bowler. 'Well now, that might be. But we know how to play the game \- and win. Don't we?'

# Chapter 13

#

# Aberystwyth

Reuben was already in his seat when she boarded the coach the next morning. He winked at her as she stepped past him. Ignoring him, she focused her whole attention on Scott instead, and asked, 'Did you manage to do the gorge?'

'Sure did,' he replied, sounding very satisfied with himself. 'But boy, didn't that rain come down! Had to go real steady.'

Several minutes passed before Reuben stood, clipboard in hand, and asked, 'Has anyone seen the Thomas's?'

Shirley Frensham called out, 'I think he's having a bit of tummy trouble.'

'Alright, we'll give him a bit longer,' he said, trying not to show his impatience. The minutes passed, then he announced, 'I'd better go and find out what's happening,' just as the missing couple emerged from the hotel doorway. They rushed over and clambered on board, both looking flustered.

'Sorry folks,' Bill said, placing his hands over his protruded abdomen as he made his way down the aisle. 'Gippy tummy. Think last night's steak didn't agree with me.'

Briony knew that wasn't the case. She had been sitting with them at breakfast and had witnessed how he had worked his way through an enormous meal, consisting of a large bowl of porridge, a plate full of fried food - of which he had seconds, and at least four slices of thickly buttered toast, all smothered in marmalade.

Ticking them off the passenger list, Reuben began his now customary morning talk. 'Right, now we're all here, good morning everyone. How many of you braved the gorge?'

At least half of the hands went up.

'Well done! Hope you did it yesterday, it wouldn't have been much fun in this.' He looked through the rain-streaked windows. 'There's a few things I need to tell you. Some of you will already be aware that the Misses Biggins are no longer with us.'

A variety of 'Oh?' and 'Ah!' exclamations were made as necks craned in an attempt to look in the direction of the empty seats. Others could not resist making some restrained, 'Hurray's!'

Quiet again, Reuben continued, 'For reasons of their own, they decided to leave the tour yesterday afternoon. They stopped overnight at _Aberystwyth_ and will be making their way back to London today. The other bit of news, I'm afraid, is sad. I'm very sorry to have to tell you that George Cook passed away last night.'

More sounds, this time of shocked sympathy, came from many of the passengers, and it was Peggy's voice that was the first to call out, 'Was it his heart?'

'Head office weren't able to say,' he replied. 'But I imagine so.'

Peggy spoke up again. 'I think we should send a card to his family. You know, just to say how sorry we are.'

'Nice idea, Mrs Burrows. I know the company will be sending one. If you like, I can ask them to add a note expressing our sympathy. Is that something the rest of you would like me to do?'

It seemed that everyone agreed as many assenting noises were made.

'Okay, then I'll do that. But, come on, let's think of happier things, like what's in store for you today. I can tell you that we shan't be surrounded by dams, reservoirs and waterfalls, but we'll be having the sea for company from now on.

'We'll start by taking a trip to the popular seaside resort of _Aberystwyth_ on British Rail's only all steam-powered train still in operation, on the _Rheidol_ Narrow Gauge Railway. It's only a twelve-mile journey, but it takes up to an hour due to the stops on the way.

'We'll spend the afternoon in _Aberystwyth_ , which should give you plenty of time to do the Cliff Railway, which, I'm sure the rail buffs amongst you will know, is the longest funicular railway in the British Isles, and has an impressive gradient of about fifty percent.

'The Promenade's a pleasant stretch, although it might be a bit breezy today. Unfortunately, the Pier is still out-of-bounds, having been badly damaged in a storm in the 1930's.

'Please stay on the coach when we get to the station. I'll go in and collect your tickets. I shan't be coming with you, but I'll drive on and meet you at the town at half past three this afternoon. You'll find the coach parked just outside the station; you won't be able to miss it.' He paused to peer out of the windows again, 'It's a shame about the weather, but I'm told it's due to clear up a bit later.'

The _Owain_ Glyndŵr stood waiting and hissing noisily as it emitted clouds of white smoke when they arrived at the station. Briony boarded one of the three carriages and went to sit next to one of the other single passengers on the tour. They swapped pleasantries as a shrill whistle sounded; the train gave a lurch and began to move forward slowly. Although not a keen railway enthusiast, she was determined to make the most of the trip and took several photos of the hard-working engine as it pulled the carriages up the steep gradients and around some sharp bends.

It was still raining when they arrived at the town an hour later. Many of the passengers hurried to find shelter in the shops, but a few others, including Briony, decided to brave the seafront.

Reuben had been right, it was indeed 'breezy', and the sea was restless. Pulling her woolly hat - one of her special pre-holiday purchases - tightly over her ears, her mind drifted back to another promenade she had walked along some seven years before. On that occasion, she had not been walking alone, but with Mark, the man she was hoping to marry. But things had not worked out, and, as a result, she had experienced a long and extremely painful chapter in her life.

She often looked back with regret at the wasted five years she had spent pouring herself, body and soul, into the relationship. With the wisdom of hindsight, she came to recognise that it could never have been anything other than the doomed one it eventually turned out to be. All the signs had been there, right from the start. But she had stubbornly kept her head in the sand and chose to ignore them.

In the early days it had been easy for her to dismiss his regular and candidly announced statement, that: 'I'm not the marrying kind,' as just some typical male bluster. As time went by, she became adept at convincing herself that he was sure to start feeling differently, especially after she had moved into his flat and started to care for him like any devoted wife would.

Foolish, foolish girl!

The sea had been restless then too, the day she had managed to find the courage to confess that she had been secretly hoping that he would change his mind about marriage. The catalyst had arisen when she had seen the look of pure tenderness and wonder on his face when he held their friends' newborn baby in his arms. It was an image she couldn't forget; for months it had eaten away at her. And then, on that other wet and windy walk, she had decided to open her heart and lay it bare before him as she told him how much she loved him. She would even be willing to adopt a baby, or an older child - or two - whatever he wanted.

He had taken a step back at this, shaking his head vigorously from side to side as though she had suggested something abhorrent.

'No! You're not playing fair, Bri. Don't go laying that guilt trip on me. You _know_ that'll never happen. _Never!_ '

Yes, she knew. She had always known, right from the time he had introduced her to his younger brother, a helpless invalid with just months to live. He had prepared her, telling her all about the inherited and incurable disease that had plagued various members of his family for generations. Although he had been tested and pronounced physically clear of the faulty genes that caused the congenital form of muscular dystrophy, he was badly emotionally affected by the anger and guilt that still burned incessantly inside him, and that, from an early age, had become the driving force behind all his major life decisions - including having a vasectomy.

He had never wavered from his choice of career, and she had encouraged and supported him as he had devoted the years they had been together to gaining the qualifications he needed to become the almost fanatical medical researcher that he had become; his sole - and only \- ambition in life, to discover and eradicate forever from the Earth the hated disease.

Even now she could feel an echo of the painful disappointment she had felt, when he went on to say, 'I've always been straight with you. You can't accuse me of being anything else. And I need to stay free. You know yourself how things are finally starting to take off for me. I'm going to be away a lot more from now on, maybe even abroad... '

Yes, of course she knew, had always known. He had never led her to believe otherwise. But - five years! Five of her young, productive, and, maybe, even best years of her life. Always, at the back of her mind, had been the uneasy, nagging feeling that she was wasting that precious time; but still she had allowed herself to be used. Now she knew that it had all been for nothing. Yes, he had cared for her, maybe even loved her. But not enough. There really was nothing to show for all that time, all that care and concern. And all that love. Now she must accept what he had always told her, and its consequences, its awful, empty, heart-breaking consequences: his career, his sole, burning mission in life, must, and always would, come before any relationship; particularly of the matrimonial kind.

Taller than her by six inches, he had sounded genuinely concerned as he looked down into her stricken face and held her cold hands. 'Look, maybe it would be the kindest thing, for both of us, if we went our separate ways. It's been great, and I'm grateful. But, well, a girl like you. You're bound to find someone else, someone who's looking for the same things...'

Time had passed, but that 'someone' had not come along.

And so, here she was, stuck on a very high shelf at the age of 33, and, according to Claire, very set in her ways. It had been a shock when people had started asking, 'Did you never find Mr. Right, dear?'

And so she had learned what most women in her circumstances already knew, that society's expectations of women were different from those it had of men of a similar age. It was fine for them to be single; in fact, they were often envied and admired. No doubt, like Mark, they were ambitious, and would eventually get around to collecting a wife and children - but only when it suited them. But single women in their early thirties were another matter, particularly if they weren't divorced, which would have somehow been more understandable, even acceptable. After all, divorcees had usually suffered from some sort of rotten luck, and would, hopefully, get it right next time.

Briony had learned to accept, and eventually embrace, her 'singlehood'. Instead of seeing it as some sort of failure, or something for which she should be pitied, she had come to look upon it as a gift, and one that was full of opportunities and challenges to be discovered and enjoyed. This was especially the case when she had become a Christian and found her niche in the local Baptist Church. There, she had been welcomed, and it wasn't long before she had become a fully-fledged, active member. She watched with interest how quickly any available Christian man who wandered in would be 'snapped-up'. Somehow, she couldn't bring herself to put her peaceful, single condition under threat by entering the competition.

But that was enough introspection. In keeping with her decision to concentrate purely on any positive and life-affirming experiences offered by this break, she decided she might as well take a ride on the Cliff Railway after all. The wind was blowing hard against her as she turned and headed back. Speaking aloud, she declared some of Jesus' words to the elements:-

"... **No-one who puts his hand to the plough and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God."** 3

# Chapter 14

#

# Another Life Story

Considering that the beach was just a few hundred yards away, Briony thought that the proprietors could have chosen a more imaginative name for The Grand, their hotel for the next two nights. She was disappointed that her room did not have a sea view, but then she hadn't requested one, and she had made a very late last-minute booking. Nevertheless, she decided that her single room was pleasant enough.

The journey to the small town of Barmouth had been as scenic as everyone could have hoped for. Their route took them through _Aberdovey_ , which Briony had heard of, then _Machynlleth_ and 111 _Dolgellau_ , which she had not. Some stretches of road were lined, sentry-like, by mature, native trees, and a colourful array of early autumn leaves and twigs fell on the roof of the coach as it passed under their drooping branches.

They were a few miles away from their destination when Reuben began to give them a brief description of the area.

'We'll soon be arriving at Barmouth, which is _Abermaw_ in Welsh, _Aber_ being the Welsh for "confluence, or mouth of", and _Maw_ the old name for the estuary you can see to your left, now called the _Mawddach_. If anyone knows what _ddach_ means, let me know. The estuary's eight miles long, and joins the sea at the town, which is situated just outside the south west border of the Snowdonia National Park. The railway arrived in 1867, and helped to make the town popular in the early 1900's. Welsh is the first language around here, but you'll find that everyone speaks good English. A clever lot, these Welsh!

'On your left, and just coming into view, you should just be able to make out Barmouth Bridge. It's quite impressive, and actually a viaduct with a single railway track, about 2,300 feet long. When we're closer, you'll be able to see a drawbridge section that allowed tall ships to sail through, but the coming of the railway killed off that kind of shipping. I doubt if we'll ever see such a sight again, more's the pity.

'The beach is of the long, sandy type, and there's a promenade, a mile and a half long, which should satisfy anyone in need of a decent stroll.'

They rounded another bend and the bridge came into full view. Reuben had not been exaggerating, it was indeed an 'impressive' sight. The tide was in, and the whole scene caused Scott some consternation as he suddenly realised that he had reached the end of the film. As a result, he missed the opportunity to capture the image for his already sizeable library of holiday memories.

The weather front had moved away by the time the evening meal was over, leaving a clear, pale blue sky. Briony felt like stretching her legs and left the hotel soon after. She headed for the beach, and looked back every so often at the broad, clumpy looking mountain that brooded silently over the town. Areas of dark green woodland, interspersed by swathes of fading heather and expanses of still bright green grass, were interrupted by outcrops of grey rock, making it a colourful sight. As though placed there by some giant hand, grey-slated houses and cottages sat perched on its slopes. In the early evening light, she decided that the most impressive building by far was a large, grey and salmon-coloured stone church. Maybe she would go and take a look at it whilst she was here.

She soon reached the promenade, and the sight and sound of the sea began to fill her senses. She would have liked to have gone down the steps and had her first beach-walk of the holiday, but the tide was coming in, and only a few small patches of dry sand remained exposed.

'Well, if it isn't Miss Briony Beresford!' came a voice from behind her.

She spun around, and saw Reuben striding towards her.

'Oh, it's you again,' she replied, unable to disguise her disappointment.

'Pleased to see you too.'

'Don't you ever give up?'

Reaching her, he tilted his head to one side. 'Hm, let me see, Briony Abagail. No, Briony Casandra. Maybe not. What is it? Your middle name. You have got one, haven't you? You look the type.'

'The type? What do you mean?'

'Briony, it's a... fancy kind of name. Needs something with it.'

'Well, for goodness sake! Why do you want to know anyway?'

He shrugged as he lit a cigarette. 'Just interested.'

She watched him inhale and thought how foolish he was; to come to a place like this and chose to subject his lungs to the poisonous tar, instead of filling them with the pure fresh sea air. A gull landed on the wall a few yards in front of them.

'Sorry mate, you're out of luck,' he said. 'You'll have to watch out for them, Briony what's-your-name; they'll snatch at anything that's on show.'

'It's so big!' she remarked, watching the bird take several steps further along the wall.

Realising there were no pickings to be had, it opened its wings and took flight, creating a whooping type of sound.

'Mine's Samuel, after my grandfather.'

'What is?'

'My middle name.'

'Well, that's nice,' she commented lamely, unable to think of anything more complimentary to say.

'And yours?' he persisted.

Feeling that she might as well be a bit more gracious about things, after all, it was a harmless enough question, she replied, 'Nothing fancy I'm afraid. Just plain old Ann. It was my mother's middle name, and my grandmother's too.'

'Ann, eh? Well, it could have been worse. But what about the "Miss" part? Never married?'

She hesitated, so that was it. It wasn't so much her name that he was interested in as her single title. 'No.' she replied, curtly.

'Is that right?' he said, sounding mildly surprised. 'Good for you. Oh, and by the way, I should have said before, I was sorry to hear about your recent loss.'

'Thank you.'

'Both parents, wasn't it? Can't be easy, coming to terms with a thing like that.'

She told herself not to become emotional. The last thing she felt like being right now was tearful, especially with somebody like him. Sounding almost casual, she replied, 'It was expected; they'd been ill for some time.'

'But even so, both of them. It must have hit you hard?'

'Well, yes. But, you know, you get through it, with the Lord.'

'That sting of death thing, then?'

This took her by surprise, and she went on to quote the whole of the Scripture that had meant so much to her over the past few months:-

**Where, O death, is your victory?**

**Where, O death, is your sting?"**

**The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is**

**the law.**

**But thanks be to God! He gives us the**

**victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.** **4**

'Blimey! You're like a ruddy walking Bible!'

'Just keeping to my word. And, just so you know, "the law" it refers to is like a mirror, it reveals our... wrongdoings. But because Christians have put their trust in Jesus, they believe they won't go to Hell when they die - that's the "sting", the punishment - but go to be with Him.'

'Hm, fascinating,' he commented, with more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice. 'And you really believe all that rubbish, don't you?'

'That's just the kind of response I'd expect from someone like you,' she retorted.

'What do you mean?'

'Well, someone who isn't ready to face the truth, and take responsibility for their own spiritual state.' Then went on to add, emphatically, 'And it's precisely because of what I've been through recently that I _know_ it's true.'

'Is that so?'

'Yes. Losing my parents hasn't been easy, but I know that God's helped me all the way through it. Of course I'm sad; it's okay to grieve. It's a natural and necessary human process. But I feel comforted. I have an inner sort of peace, hope too, especially because I believe I'll see my mother again one day.'

'And you're sure about that, are you?'

Digging her hands deeper into her pockets, she watched a tiny object move almost imperceptibly across the horizon. The fact that she couldn't see it clearly didn't mean that it wasn't there, or that it didn't exist. She allowed her mind to go back to the minutes just before her mother's death. Even now, she had no guarantee that she had made it to Heaven. But that was where faith came in, strengthened by the unshakable feelings of peace and hope she felt about her.

'Well?' he persisted.

'For my mother, yes. There's no "sting" when I think about her.'

'And your father?'

'I don't know. He was so stubborn. And only God knows. But I'm trusting in Him. All I know is that He answers prayer, and I prayed so much. I believe that those prayers weren't a waste of time.'

'And what would you do if you found out that he's ended-up in the other place?'

She found herself slightly taken aback by his insensitivity, but managed to reply, 'Oh, so you admit that there is a Hell then, do you?'

'I didn't say that. But you obviously do. And answer the question. How will you feel about your precious God if you find out that He hasn't answered your prayers, and that your father didn't make it after all?'

The idea wasn't new to her, in fact, it was something she had already had to face and come to terms with. 'My father had his freewill, right till the end. Of course I'd love to know that he did "make it", but God's been giving me a sort of peace about him.'

'Well, I think you're deluding yourself. You're clinging to a fantasy. Sensible people know that there's nothing but oblivion when their number comes up.'

She turned to look at him, feeling more pity than annoyance at his obstinate spiritual blindness. Even if her atheistic and agnostic friends had felt like him, they had had the decency to keep their opinions to themselves over recent months. 'Thanks for that. How very kind and thoughtful of you! And how do you know anyway? Where's your proof about this so-called "oblivion"?'

He shrugged. 'Well... Houdini... and no-one's made it back. When you're gone, you're gone.'

' _Houdini?_ ' she exclaimed. 'And that's it? That's all you can come up with?'

'And every human being who's ever lived.'

'Ah, now, that's just where you're wrong. Jesus _did_ come back after He was resurrected, _and_ He was seen by loads of people for fifty days afterwards. He's a proven historical figure; Someone Who _really_ lived. He taught a lot about life after death and about where our spirits go when our earthly bodies come to an end. Unless, of course, you're accusing Him of being a liar - '

'Alright! Alright! Enough preaching. Bloody hell! I was only asking.'

She came to a standstill. 'No, no you weren't. You were mocking and ... and provoking me. And I've had enough. You can't have it both ways. Leave me alone, or have the decency to listen to what I've got to say without mocking me all the time.'

He had to admit that she was right. What was he thinking? The girl had just buried her parents. And why was he goading her like this when all he really wanted to do was to soften her up? Knowing that it was time for some damage limitation, he said, crushing the cigarette under his foot, 'You're right. Guess I wasn't thinking. Truce? And come on, or that gull will think we've got something for him.'

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Opening them again, she looked directly at him. 'You know, Reuben, as long as you keep on denying everything about Him, you're playing right into the Devil's hands. And now you're going to tell me that you don't believe that _he_ exists either?'

They set off again. He lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply, then blew a slow stream of smoke into the air. 'As a matter of fact, I don't. But let's drop it. You're supposed to be on holiday, and all this talk of death and hell can't be doing you any good; and after what that Biggins woman put you through ... '

A sudden thought occurred to her, and appalled at the very idea, she went on to ask, hesitantly, 'I hope you didn't get rid of her... just because of me?'

'Not at all. Don't flatter yourself! She was driving me crazy. And I was getting fed-up having my ear bent about her all the time.'

'She must be a very dissatisfied and disappointed sort of person to behave the way she does.'

'Naa. You're being too kind. That's no excuse. We've all got things we're disappointed about, but it'd be a hell of a world if we all went around making everyone else suffer for them.'

She could have commented, 'Actually, we do,' but said instead, 'I felt sorry for her sister. It was a shame she couldn't have stayed.'

'It was her choice. I gave her the option.'

'You did?'

'Sure. Why not? She wasn't the problem. Anyway, enough about them.' He pointed at a set of steps just ahead of them. 'I'll make a deal with you. You'd have heard my life story by the time we reach those steps. Only fair; I've heard yours - and that took a darn sight longer.'

She sighed, conceding that he had a point. And she was a bit curious. 'Well, alright.'

Without any preamble, he began. 'Born, Stepney, London, 35 years ago. Parents, ran a market stall selling and repairing watches, clocks and jewellery, before opening café in same market; retired now. Left school at 15. Got an apprenticeship at a local garage. Worked there till 20, then started as driver's mate for a haulage firm. Passed driving test at 21 and given my own wagon two years later. Got my All Classes Driver's Licence soon after and took on weekend jobs driving coaches, day trips, things like that. Started with Halcyon four years ago and am walking along Barmouth's Marine Parade with a beautiful sinner now!'

True to his word, they had reached the steps. Choosing to ignore his last remark, she commented, 'Job-wise, all very interesting, but what about your parents? Are they still alive? And do you have any brothers or sisters?'

'Both alive, but not well. Brother, one; sisters, none.'

'What's wrong with your parents?'

'Father, had a stroke; mother, usual ailments, creaking and grinding around.'

'Is it serious \- with your father?'

He shrugged. 'Suppose you could say that. Still can't talk properly, or use one of his arms.'

'And your mother?'

'Arthritis and other female stuff. She doesn't let on much.'

'And what about your brother? Where's he?'

'Married a Canadian girl and moved over there a few years ago. Got his own business. Not seen him since, but he sends the old folks photos of his growing brood.'

'And, your parents, are they God-fearing?'

He gave a small laugh. 'No, thank God!'

'That's a strange thing to thank God for,' she commented, thinking that an over-abundance of religion at an early age might not be the cause of his obvious anti-faith attitude now. 'So, why are you so antagonistic about Him?'

'Who?'

'You know Who I mean. You're very negative about Him. And you've got to admit that you've done nothing but criticise and judge my faith. Or is it just Christians you've got a thing about? How about Buddhists or Sikhs, or pagans? Are you just as critical about what they believe?'

'Bloody hell! Here we go again.'

Reluctant not to let him off the hook, she went on to ask, 'Or are you one of those people who can't be bothered to think for themselves and just go along with the crowd? Maybe you think it's _cool_ to get by in life under your own steam?'

'And what's wrong with that? I'm a great believer in self-reliance. And you can't leave it alone, can you? Got to get the knife in, one way or another.'

She was horrified. _'Knife!_ Is that how it feels? That I'm ... attacking you? If that's how I've come across, then I'm really sorry.' Another Scripture came to her:-

**Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone.** **5**

Concerned that all she had done was to push him even further away from being open to God, she added, 'I was just trying to show you that there's another way. Another sort of way to handle life - '

'Hm, well, you can keep your "way", Miss Briony Ann Beresford. I can "handle" mine just fine, thank you.'

Chewing hard on her lip, she searched for something she could say that would ease the tension between them, but it was him who broke the silence, when he went on to ask, 'And when are you going to get around to asking the all-important question that all you women seem so desperate to find out?'

'What question?'

'If I'm married.'

Nonplussed at the way the conversation had taken such a turn, and with the uncomfortable recognition that he was right; she really did want to know the answer to that particular question, and thinking how conceited he sounded at the same time, she decided not to give him the satisfaction, and remained silent.

'Well, go on, ask away,' he prompted.

'It's none of my business.'

He smiled. 'Playing that game, are we? Okay, I'll tell you anyway. Was. Once. For six years. Ended three years ago, and am now very happily divorced.'

She began to feel even more uncomfortable, and then annoyed with herself, when she exclaimed, 'Divorced! What happened? Although, like I said, it's really none of my business.'

'Lots of things. On both sides, but mainly hers. Reckoned she was fed-up with me being away all the time and found ways of consoling herself. Oh, I knew she'd started messing around, and thought, hey, what's good for the goose can be _really_ good for the gander!'

'So you started "messing around" too?'

He shrugged. 'Sure! Why not?'

'And you didn't think about getting a job closer to home, and trying to save your marriage?'

'Nothing to save.'

'That's a sad tale.'

'Oh, I don't know. No ball and chain; footloose and fancy free, that's me.' He laughed, and now she thought she could detect some bitterness in his voice.

'It was a relief when she got hitched again. Can't be doing with any ex hanging around. Got my own plans.'

'What plans?' she asked, once more unable to stop herself.

'Start my own company. Be my own boss. Drive my own coach.'

'Your own company! Really?'

'Too right! Been in this game long enough to know what I like. Start small, think big. That's my motto.'

'But... where, I mean, all by yourself? Won't that be a bit risky?'

He became animated. 'Naa. Why should it be? I've got a mate coming-in with me, another driver. All planned. We'll take turns to be on the road. The other'll be back at base, taking care of the maintenance and admin. A couple of sixteen-seater rigs'll do us.'

'Sixteen-seaters?'

'Like I said, start small, think big. We're hoping to attract a more selective type of punter. This company rushes things, but we'll take our time and take them to places off the beaten track.'

'It sounds exciting. And where will you go?'

'Scotland, the far North, the Islands and Highlands. We'll concentrate on them and branch out later. I've done a few seasons up there and made some good contacts who are _very_ interested.'

'And what will you call yourselves?'

'Why? Thinking of trying us out?'

'Just curious.'

'Still thinking about it, although the current favourite's "Secret Glens". Would that tempt you?'

She took her time mulling the name over, before announcing, '"Secret Glens". I like that.'

'Then that's what it'll be.'

She looked at him. 'Really? What about the other driver? Don't you think you should ask him what he thinks?'

'No need. He'll go along with it. He's pretty laid-back. And I'm putting more into the business anyway.'

'Well, I hope it works out for you.'

'"Hope"? There's no hoping about it. It can't fail. I've already put too much time and effort into the thing. We've got the routes planned and the promise of some great accommodation. We'll be offering a ten-day tour to begin with, maybe twelve if there's enough interest, or even longer... '

And so he continued to talk enthusiastically about his plans as they walked on.

Briony listened, only interrupting occasionally to ask a question. At one point, the thought crossed her mind how she was regularly expected to listen to, and to even agree with, other peoples' ideas, hopes and dreams. And yet, when she began to mention hers, particularly in relation to her faith, they would become uninterested, even impatient. This happened so often that she had learned to become pragmatic about it.

And so she schooled herself to listen patiently to Reuben's plans and business philosophy for his new venture. To her, it sounded as risky as it did exciting.

By the time they returned to the hotel, she couldn't help thanking the Lord that she wasn't part of Reuben Zimmerman's uncertain and restless world.

# Chapter 15

#

# Evening 'Discussion'

The folk singer was well into his first set by the time Briony walked into the lounge. Reuben was standing by the bar and appeared to be involved in a conversation with a young woman who she recognised as one of the hotel waitresses. She went to stand at the other end of the counter and ordered an orange juice. Turning to flick some ash into an ashtray, Reuben noticed her reflection in the glass wall tiles behind the barman, then turned back to give his full attention to the waitress again.

Briony went over to join the usual crowd: Peggy and Malcolm, Leyla and Scott, and Simon and Shirley. The latter was regaling her audience about her cherished _Portmeirion_ pottery collection.

'I had the whole of the Botanic Garden range, including two casserole dishes. But clumsy-fingers here dropped a cup. You did, didn't you Simon?' she accused, casting her hand in her husband's direction. 'But he's still got some room in his case, and I might as well get stocked-up whilst we're there.'

'Are you all going on the excursion?' Briony asked.

All six said they were.

'What about you,' asked Peggy. 'It looks like a lovely place, and they say it's going to be a fine day.'

'I certainly am,' replied Briony, who knew of the small, Italianate-styled village. 'Apparently, Noel Coward wrote "Blithe Spirit" there. He went for a break after his London office was bombed, and they say it only took him six days to write the whole thing. And it'll be interesting to see where "The Prisoner" was made.'

'Yeah, I saw the show when it came to the States,' confirmed Scott. 'And, you know, I've been thinking it might be kind'a fun to make our own little home movie version when we're there. Apparently, some of the buildings trick the eye and are smaller than they look from some ways off. Boy, I could have some fun with that!'

'Aw, there you go again. Shucks honey, how about having a few hours' break? You'll wear your poor finger out,' remarked Leyla.

Knowing exactly how to get around her, Scott replied, 'And I'm also thinking how you're going to love all that china when you clap eyes on it. You scratch my back, and I might let you have some space in my bag - you get my drift?'

Leyla had no idea of what _Portmeirion_ pottery looked like, and quickly decided to keep her options open. 'W-e-ell, okay. You just might have yourself a deal there.'

'Thanks, honey. And I've already come up with an idea, but we'll need a few more players. What about it, Briony?'

Briony hadn't been paying much attention to the conversation, having become distracted by the sight of Reuben and the waitress leaving the lounge together. She was in the midst of making a fleeting, unpleasant judgement about him, and thinking that it was just as well he was divorced, when she became aware that Scott had asked her something.

'What about it, Briony? Are you up for it?' he repeated.

Forcing herself to refocus on her companions, and only partially aware of what had been asked of her, she replied, 'What? Oh, yes. I'll be there.'

'Great! That's settled then. And it should help that the kids are back at school.' He looked at Leyla. 'Got a busy day ahead. I want to take a good look at this place. That little harbour looked promising. We'll need to get out there right after breakfast to catch the light.'

'Don't go rushing me now,' she complained.

Hearing one of her favourite expressions, Peggy felt obliged to back Leyla up. 'And you too, Malcolm. You've been all of a fidget ever since we got here. We'll have plenty of time to look around. And we still haven't bought any postcards yet.'

'They've got some by reception, but they're not up to much,' advised Shirley, who was very selective about such things. 'You'd do better to get some from the town.'

'It looks like such a pretty place, don't you think?' asked Leyla. 'I'm just dying to get into those quaint little shops we passed on the way in. I'm sure to find some cute little knick-knacks in them.'

Reuben reappeared and returned to the bar. He was alone.

This time Briony made a real effort not to become distracted. Having convinced herself that he had been going off to do \- whatever - with the waitress, she realised now how quick she had been to judge him, and immediately began to feel guilty.

And so the group continued to talk and compare notes about what they had seen and done on the tour so far. Briony couldn't help noticing how Reuben was moving from table to table, spending some time at each as he chatted and laughed with other passengers.

'Everyone happy?' he asked, reaching them at last, and pulling up a chair next to Scott.

Everyone agreed that they were, especially Shirley, who added, 'I am, now that that nasty woman's gone. I don't mind telling you she was really getting on my pip. She was, wasn't she Simon? And if you hadn't got rid of her, he was planning on starting up a petition; you know, to help you out a bit.'

Simon frowned, his eyes moving swiftly from side to side, trying to remember exactly whose idea the petition really had been.

Obviously unwilling to discuss the matter, Reuben gave the couple the briefest of smiles before changing the subject. 'Seems that we've got nearly a full coach for the excursion tomorrow. Weather report's on our side.'

'How long will we have there?' asked Scott, hoping that he would have more than enough time to do the filming, and knowing that he would have to be careful; many popular tourist attractions banned the use of cameras. But there were always ways and means.

'About two hours. That should give you enough time to look around and see the main parts.'

There followed a few more questions before Briony announced that she was going to fetch another drink. 'Anyone else?' she asked. They gave their orders and she made her way to the bar.

'She'll need a hand,' said Reuben, quickly following her.

'You knew about that petition?' she asked, as he came to stand beside her.

He nodded. 'Mr. Burrows warned me about it. Can't be doing with things like that. The woman had to go. Anyway, I've been thinking, we got a bit waylaid earlier. You didn't finish telling me what happened to you after you'd gone all religious.'

This was unexpected. She hesitated, thinking that this wasn't really the most suitable of places to discuss such things. But his tone had sounded serious, and there may not be another opportunity for a while. 'You really want to know?'

'Asking, aren't I?'

'But I've already told you. I carried on nursing, and started going to church.'

The barmaid came and took their order.

'And that was it? That was all?'

'Well, no. I began ... certain things began to lose their appeal'

'Such as?'

'Er, well, things like going to the pub, or parties; not that I was much of a drinker before. And I began meeting people who seemed to be able to enjoy themselves without the help of all this.' She pointed at the row of spirit bottles behind the bar.

'Weed?' he asked, lighting a cigarette.

'Pardon?'

'Pot, grass, cannabis, marijuana. You must have tried it?'

'What? No!' She almost shouted. 'There are other things in life that help people to relax and enjoy themselves, you know.'

'Such as?'

'Er, well, good company for a start, and other activities, especially at church. And, well, all sorts of things that are interesting and challenging. The things I'm involved in are anything but boring.'

'Sounds all a bit too cerebral for me. You can't beat a good joint.'

'Oh, for goodness sake!' she exclaimed. 'How much more poison can your body take?'

He laughed. 'Say it like it is. And you really think you're having a better time of it now? I reckon you just dropped out; pulled up the drawbridge. Doesn't sound like any kind of life to me. Since when's sitting on a rock-hard pew been fun? Or listening to some boring old man droning on and on. Bloody hell! If you were a dog, I'd end your misery and have you put down.'

Somehow, she wasn't surprised at his reaction, although slightly disappointed; for a moment he had sounded genuinely interested. 'You've got no idea, have you? No idea at all. It's really not like that.'

'Alright, so what is it like then? Tell me what's so wonderful about something that's got you so uptight.'

'I'm sorry if that's how I come across. Actually, the opposite is true. I lead a very full and enjoyable life... now.'

'"Full"? Do tell.'

'Well, evening classes, the pictures, out with friends, and, like I said, all my regular weekly church activities, like the house group. And I sometimes help with the service at our local old folks' home, then there's the drama group, barbecues in the summer, and days out, film nights and conferences with special speakers. It's a very lively church. There's always something going on.'

He visibly winced at her mention of "special speakers".

'You mean those Bible-thumping American evangelist types? And you really go in for that kind of thing?'

'Yes, actually I do. I find them very stimulating, and the things I do extremely satisfying. A darn sight more interesting and worthwhile than sitting in pubs and pretending to enjoy myself at boring parties anyway.'

Her order complete, he helped her carry the drinks back to the table. Peggy and Malcom were talking to a couple on another table nearby and the others were dancing. Her heart sank when she realised that she would be alone with him.

'I still think you're kidding yourself,' he commented, taking a long draught of his beer.

She found herself becoming more than a little annoyed at his persistent critical attitude, and decided to make a stronger stand. 'Why? Because I don't get drunk on a Saturday night, and then having to spend the rest of the weekend trying to get over a hangover? Or having one-night stands, and feeling cheap afterwards? And trusting people who only go and let you down in the end?'

'Ah, now we're getting somewhere. Tell me more about those "one-night stands".'

'Why? What do you want to know for?' she asked, beginning to regret her outburst.

'Sounds like you... indulged?'

She stared hard at him. Much to her shame, it was true that she'd been foolish enough to have a few. After Mark. But then, after meeting the Lord, she had confessed and sincerely repented of each one. And she knew she had been forgiven. 'A few. When I was younger. But I didn't make a habit of it. And I hated the way I felt afterwards. All that guilt and feeling cheap. Using others, and being used.'

'That's a shame. You obviously picked the wrong type.'

'As far as that kind of thing goes, I don't think there is a right type.'

'My, my! You do sound bitter.'

'Do I? Well, I'm not. I've done all my forgiving. Of myself as well.'

'Forgiving, eh? Now, if you'd have been with me, I promise you wouldn't have felt the need to do any of that. The only thing you'd have felt sorry about was that it couldn't go on a bit longer. I've got a knack of leaving my women more than satisfied.'

Before she could stop herself, she began laughing, finding his self-confidence in his own attraction and sexual prowess as shocking as she did funny.

'Why are you laughing?' he asked, looking surprised, 'Don't you believe me?'

'Er, well, I'm sure you know what you're talking about.'

'Oh, believe me, I do.'

'Well, that might be fine for you, but not for me, thank you very much.'

'Liar!'

'What?'

'I said, liar! Do you know, Miss Briony Ann Beresford, I've noticed how you try to avoid being alone with me; sometimes you won't even look at me. But when you do, like now, your pupils grow like the dark side of the moon. And all that hair twiddling you do, preening yourself in readiness - '

'What!' she interrupted, unnerved at hearing that she might have been sending him such involuntary "come hither" signals. Dropping her hand into her lap, she took a sharp intake of breath as she realised that she had been coiling her hair around her fingers for the past few minutes. It was true that she found him attractive, and she was even prepared to admit - but only to herself - that she would have been interested in him if he had never married, didn't smoke, and had walked into her church. She decided to try to take control of the conversation, and quickly went on to say, 'Well, what a nerve! I'm sorry to disappoint you, but you'll just have to carry on chatting-up the waitresses ... or whoever ... and get your nightly fixes elsewhere. You're _really_ going to have to believe me when I say that I'm _really_ not interested.'

He appeared to be totally unmoved by her objections. Stubbing out his cigarette, he smiled almost benevolently at her. 'Now you know that's not true. You'd have got up and left before now if you weren't just a bit curious.' He reached out and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. 'Can't help yourself, can you? Like a moth to the flame.'

As though she had received an electric shock, she pushed his hand away roughly. 'Don't touch me. Don't you dare touch me!'

He leaned a little closer to her, and spoke quietly, 'I dare. And what was that about being let down? Like the rest of us, then? Had your heart broken?'

'What gives you the right to ask me things like that?'

'Thought so. Must have been a bad 'un. What'd he do? Go off with your best friend? Leave you at the altar?'

Was there no end to this man's nerve? Just then, she noticed that Malcolm and Peggy seemed to be saying their farewells to the couple at the other table. Realising that they would be coming back at any second, she knew she would have to be quick. And now she knew exactly what she needed to say. 'Silly me! I forgot my promise to talk about my faith every time you pestered me. So, now I'll tell you why I am what I am. It's because I'm exercising my God-given freewill and _choose_ to believe that God loves me. And now, I'll ask you a question. What makes you think you're so special that you're the only person who's ever lived that God _can't_ love?'

'Fancy, they're from Lutterworth,' interrupted Peggy, coming to sit down. 'And he knows someone who works at our son's company.'

Reuben smiled at her, 'Really? Small world. Now, you'll have to excuse me, I've had enough excitement for one day and am all stimulated out, and there's things I need to attend to.'

_Someone_ you need to attend to _,_ you mean, thought Briony, staring hard at his departing figure.

# Chapter 16

#

# The Anti-Hero

Barmouth did not disappoint. Immediately after breakfast Briony headed for the beach, which, apart from a few dog walkers, was almost empty. She walked barefoot on the sand, stopping every so often to pick up and examine a shell or pebble that had caught her eye. She felt that this was a special time and place, and made a determined effort to push all thoughts of the previous night's conversation with Reuben out of her mind. It had helped to spend some time praying about the situation before going to bed, and now she felt peaceful as she sat and watched the miniscule life darting around in the clear, salty water of a rock pool.

Time was getting on, and reluctant to return to the hotel so soon, she walked on, and found a conveniently situated bench just by the harbour. A small fishing boat was making its way out to sea, passing a crowded pleasure boat on its return journey. She watched a train crossing the viaduct, and thought what a splendid scene it made with the green-clad mountains as a backdrop, clearly in view now that the early morning mist had been burnt off by the late morning sun. People were sitting outside at café tables, and she passed several of her fellow passengers as she walked under the railway bridge and on into the town. Many of the buildings were Victorian, but instead of going into any of the shops, she chose to explore some of the steep and narrow alleyways between them. Eventually, she came across the church she had noticed the night before, but was disappointed to find it locked.

She arrived back at the hotel in good time for lunch. Passing the coach, she saw Reuben walking slowly down the aisle. He bent and picked something up and put it in a large plastic bag. Thinking about it, she came to realise that the coach's interior, as well as its exterior, always looked immaculate.

She was enchanted with the village of _Portmeirion_. So many lovely vistas opened-up each time she turned a corner that she had to remind herself that she was still in Wales and had not been transported to some delightful Italian coastal village. She had arranged to meet Scott and Leyla on the café terrace, and it was here that Scott explained his outline for the 'little home movie' he was planning to film: Leyla was to play the villain, and Briony the victim of some nefarious plot. At various locations, Briony was to act as though she was trying to escape from the persistent, menacing Leyla, who would make a great show of chasing her.

'It sounds just like a scene from "The Prisoner", Briony remarked, still wondering how she had managed to get herself involved.

Scott beamed at her. 'That's just what I'm after. But we'll have to get the job done quickly and try to avoid the onlookers; they'll spoil the edgy atmosphere I'm wanting to create.'

And so, despite having some reservations, Briony found herself becoming enthusiastic about the project and decided to play along, thinking that it might be fun after all.

'Come on, you two, shake a leg!' said an increasingly excitable and impatient Scott, looking up at the sky and around him, 'There's not many folk around right now, and the light's perfect.'

'As long as we don't go breaking them,' quipped Leyla. 'And give us a minute; us girls need to fix our hair. You go ahead sweetie, and we'll meet you down there.

There were a few other visitors strolling around the small, flower-surrounded village green when the two women joined him a few minutes later. Leyla had applied a thick coat of scarlet lipstick to her own lips after explaining how she always looked anaemic on film.

Briony was given a piece of cardboard, on which the figures **6½** had been printed in thick black ink. Scott instructed her to, 'Hold it up every time we reach a new location, and say, 'I'm not a number; I'm a free woman.'

Leyla had the figures **2½** printed on hers. 'You don't have to say anything, honey. Just look fierce,' he said.

She began grimacing and contorting her even features. 'Like this?'

'That'll do just fine. Just be yourself,' he replied, grinning.

' _Monster!'_ she exclaimed, hitting his shoulder with her cardboard prop.

An elderly couple, who had been sitting on a nearby bench, looked over at them disapprovingly, before standing and walking away, tutting loudly.

Relieved, Scott waited until they were far enough away, and, hopefully, out of earshot, before announcing to his small cast, 'Go for it!' as he rushed off to an elevated position fifty yards ahead of them.

Remembering that she was supposed to be trying to escape some dreadful tyrant, Briony tried hard not to laugh as she began running towards the camera, holding the sign up in front of her. She glanced behind and saw how Leyla was making a great show of stalking her fast-moving prey.

Once into the swing of it, the trio made steady progress around the village. The two women hid behind statues, dashed through arches, and raced through tunnels, all the while trying to keep up the pace on the cobbled paths, before making their way through the woodland area with its hidden gazebos. Every so often they were obliged to stop and wait for other visitors to move away, or, as happened frequently, the two found themselves so helplessly overcome by fits of laughter that they were unable to go on.

At last, and after much good-humoured reprimanding from Scott, they reached their final destination, a small beach area just below the quayside.

'Where's our hero?' called Leyla. 'I thought he was supposed to meet us here?'

'We're a bit early, I told him four o'clock,' replied Scott, looking around once more to make sure that no-one was checking-up on his photographic activities.

'Hero? What hero?' asked Briony, thinking she wouldn't mind if Patrick McGoohan, alias the original show's Number **6,** would put in an appearance.

Leyla grinned sheepishly. 'Oh, the handsome stranger who's going to rescue you from my evil clutches! And here he comes,' she announced, pointing at the tunnel they had just emerged from. 'And right on cue.'

Briony tried not to sound too disappointed when she recognised Reuben's dark outline coming towards them. 'What - _him!_ '

'Hi all,' Reuben called. 'One hero coming up. Where'd you want me?'

Scott pointed at a boat, moored by the quayside. 'Down there. But hang fire a minute, we've got company.' He gestured towards a small crowd of people who appeared to be examining the vessel.

As they waited, Reuben told them something about the boat. 'It's not the real thing; it's cast in concrete. Sir Clough, the owner, had it modelled and built after his original fishing ketch got wrecked in a storm.'

'Quite a guy!' exclaimed Scott, obviously impressed.

'Fancy being that fond of a boat,' remarked Leyla, 'Good job he didn't do it to his women... or did he? Some of those statues - '

'Come on, let's get into position,' interrupted Scott, watching the crowd step off the boat and move away. 'Okay, Reuben, all you have to do is help Briony get on board, then give her a hug.'

'Think I can manage that,' he replied. 'But a hug? Is that all he gets? After risking life and limb for her?'

Scott and Leyla looked at each other, then at Briony, who was desperately trying to think of some reasonably sounding reason why nothing of the sort should happen.

'Well, maybe a quick kiss on the cheek then. Okay with you Briony?' Scott asked her, uncertainly.

But this was _not_ okay with Briony, and she quickly told him so. 'Er, well, wouldn't a shot of us both gazing out to sea be better? You know, approaching freedom; something like that?'

Scott obviously liked the idea, however, Leyla wasn't so keen. She had seen how the couple had been spending time together over the past few days and how upset Briony had looked the night before, and thought that a little kiss and cuddle now might be just the thing to straighten out Cupid's arrow. 'Oh, but a kiss. We must have a kiss!' she exclaimed, enthusiastically.

'You women!' remarked Scott. 'Alright, let's have both; a hug and a kiss. Now Leyla, I need you to go back up those steps, then come rushing down \- without breaking your neck. You too Briony, you're still in front, making for the boat. Reuben, you're already on the boat, having just sailed in. Help her aboard, then the hug, and, er, maybe a kiss. Then make as though you're casting-off. I'll edit it to make it look as though you're well away from the shore. Then Briony, you look over at Leyla, and call, "I told you I'm not a number; now I'm a free woman." Okay everybody? Let's make the best of it now we've got the place to ourselves. And... action!'

Obviously in high spirits, and giggling excitedly, Leyla ran effortlessly back up the steps.

Briony caught Reuben's eye just before he stepped onto the boat, and said, quietly, 'No kiss! I mean it.'

And so the scene was set. Leyla appeared at the top of the steps just as Briony reached the stone boat. Reuben bent over the side to help her get on board. Normally, Briony could have managed quite well without the need for any such assistance, but somehow her legs felt as though they had been cast in concrete too, and she began to resist and pull back.

'Whoa! Whoa!' called Scott. 'What's up? He's not the enemy, Briony. He's saving you.'

If only you knew, she thought. 'Sorry. I'll... let me try again.'

'Okay. Leyla, back up. And let's take it from where Briony reaches the boat. And... action!'

Once more, Briony took the few hurried steps towards the side of the boat. This time, making a determined effort to ignore the heaviness she still felt in her legs, she allowed Reuben to grab her arm and pull her on board. He hurried himself pretending to cast off, then turned towards her, and was about to put his arms around her, when she turned and held up her sign towards Leyla, who had just reached the bottom of the steps, and called, 'I told you I'm not a number. Look, now I really am a free woman!' She waited, hardly able to breath, aware of Reuben's body standing very close behind her.

'Come on, we've got to hug, and the rest,' she heard him speak softly, somewhere near her right ear.

Scott began to wave his arm in a circular motion towards them, signalling that they hurry-up.

Determined not to turn her whole body, which was stiff with tension, she inclined her face very slightly towards Reuben, and said, sharply, 'If you must, but on the cheek. _Just_ the cheek!'

However, Reuben had other ideas. Taking her completely by surprise, he gripped her shoulders tightly from behind and spun her round to face him, before putting his arms around her and planting his lips on hers. He kept them there, featherlight, hardly pressing down at all. Motionless, she held her breath and waited, her arms still pressed tightly against her sides by his vice-like grip.

With his lips still barely touching hers, he whispered, 'It's alright. It's alright.' And then he released her.

'Terrific!' exclaimed a triumphant Scott.

'Did you get it... that kiss?' asked Leyla, her whole focus on the pair, and trying to remember when she had last seen anything so romantic.

'I surely did. And one more shot of you, honey. You've been foiled; throw your number down like you're crazy mad.'

Leyla dragged her eyes away from the couple on the boat, who, much to her disappointment, were now standing several feet apart. With great gusto, she looked furious as she hurled her sign down onto the sand and began to stamp her feet.

Seconds later, Scott aimed the camera back onto the boat again, and called, 'Last shot. Put your arm around her, Reuben, and look out to sea. Let's have you both looking into the sunset.'

Briony found herself manhandled again as Reuben turned her around before placing one arm firmly over her shoulders. 'Nice view, isn't it?' he remarked casually, as though nothing had happened.

'I told you not to do that. You... you're _i_ _nfuriating!'_

Satisfied at last, Scott called, 'Okay. That's a wrap. Great job, you two, like a couple of pros. What an ending! Oh boy! This is gonna be great!'

Briony was relieved to feel that her legs had regained their normal strength as she moved away from Reuben.

'What are you complaining about?' he asked. 'You enjoyed it as much as I did.'

Leyla could still feel the adrenalin coursing through her veins. She rushed towards them and stepped onto the boat. Hugging Briony, she declared in a loud voice, 'Aw, honey, you were just perfect. And you, you gorgeous man!' She released Briony and began to hug him just as enthusiastically, 'So-o dashing! My heart's still pounding at the thrill of it all.'

Briony felt her own heart pounding too, and very, very fast; that kiss had seriously upset her equilibrium. He was right. She had 'enjoyed it,' and somehow she had the alarming feeling that it - the kiss - was unfinished. Had he given her a taste, a very light and delicate taste, of what she could have if she would only give in? And why did her body feel that as though it wanted... needed... to go to him, and put itself back into his arms? Disturbed at this, for her, unnatural state of affairs, she avoided all eye contact with him as she stepped off the boat and back onto the path.

Leyla followed her. 'I've still got time to visit the shop, haven't I?' she asked Reuben, having recovered now from the romance of it all, and keen to start the shopping session Scott had promised her once the filming was over.

'Plenty, forty minutes,' he replied, sitting on the boat's side and lighting a cigarette.

Leyla looked concerned. 'Just forty? Is that all? Oh my, I'll have to hurry!'

'I'll come with you, Leyla,' said Briony, keen to get away from the place.

Still focusing on the sea, Scott called after them, 'See you back at the coach. And Briony, make sure she doesn't get carried away. The plane won't be able to get off the ground if she gets more than a teacup.'

Reuben sat and watched the women walk away, his fingertips lightly touching his lips, and smiled.

# Chapter 17

#

# Snowdon

And so Briony came to realise that, from now on, she would have to make even more of an effort to keep some distance between herself and Reuben. That kiss had been a warning. The trouble was that she had enjoyed it. It was a surprise, a shock - a revelation, and it was all she could think about for the rest of the day.

Instead of joining the other passengers in the lounge after dinner that night, she left the hotel, and making sure that he was no-where to be seen, went for another long beach-walk. She wanted to talk to the Lord all about it again, in particular about her attempts to try and put Reuben off by insisting on talking about her faith. Did He want her to stop? In which case, she would have to pray for the wisdom to think of another way. After all, it did look as though that little plan was failing miserably. Or did He want her to continue? If so, she would need a lot more sensitivity.

Nearly two hours later, and feeling that she had soaked the problem in as much prayer as she was able, she returned to the hotel.

Despite the grey sky and constant drizzle, the atmosphere on the coach the next morning was upbeat, for today they were going to 'conquer' Snowdon.

Reuben stood at the front, calling the passenger list.

'Morning everyone, and let's hope it'll prove to be a good one and that this rain will decide to clear up. At least it was fair at _Portmeirion_. I think I can safely say that we all had a good time there yesterday?'

There were many sounds of agreement. No-one noticed his swift glance in Briony's direction, or, if they did, no comment was made as he went on to provide brief details of what they could expect that day. Briony listened carefully for any clue that he would be accompanying them on the morning's excursion, having noticed that he would often stay on the coach, or go off elsewhere, and return to collect them later.

Peggy prodded her shoulder as the engine roared into life. 'Hope you've remembered your anorak. It gets that wet up there. This'll be our third time.' She crossed her fingers, 'Third time lucky, but I'm not counting on it. Such a shame.'

Briony looked sympathetically at Scott, who was looking down wistfully at the camera, which was in its usual position, strapped around his neck. She tried, but failed, to think of something encouraging to say.

They journeyed on, frequently turning to each other to make some comment about the passing scenery.

Reuben's voice came back over the speaker system as they neared their destination. 'We'll be arriving at _Llanberis_ soon. If it was clearer, you'd be able to see some jagged peaks to your right, the highest of which is Snowdon, Old English for "snow hill". For those of you who don't already know, it's 3,581 feet high, and the highest mountain in Wales and England, being 856 feet lower than Ben Nevis's 4,437. From the summit, there are views of Snowdonia, Anglesey, Pembrokeshire, the Isle of Man, Ireland and even Scotland - and if you've got the weather, time and inclination, you'd be able to count 24 counties, 29 lakes and 17 islands - but only on exceptionally clear days.'

Some suitably impressed sounds and comments came from some of the passengers.

'It took 150 men, using picks, shovels and dynamite, 14 months to construct the narrow-gauge rail track, which was officially opened in 1896. It's just over 4½ miles long, and the steepest gradient on the route is 1 in 5.5. For the technically-minded, they used the Swiss rack-and-pinion system. We're fortunate to have the luxury of a railway carriage these days; the first tourists had to rely on ponies and mules, and there's an old record of one crazy motorist who managed to drive up using the track as a road.

'The old station at the top was replaced with a new one in 1934, and was designed by none other than the eccentric Welsh architect, Sir Clough Williams-Ellis, who, you may remember, was the owner and creator of _Portmeirion_.'

At the mention of the place, and just in case he glanced in her direction again, Briony kept her eyes fixed on the view outside her rain-streaked window.

Reuben continued, 'The first recorded ascent was by a Thomas Johnson in 1639, and you might be interested to learn that Edmund Hillary trained for his Everest expedition on its slopes. Er, what else, oh yes, it's home to the rare Snowdon Lily, which can be found only in a few other locations around the world. And, of course, we must have the odd legend or two, these include the presence of fairies and a water monster. But my favourite is that it's believed to be the tomb of Rhitta Gawr, a giant who wore a cloak made of men's beards, and was killed by King Arthur, the mountain being the cairn, or barrow, that was thrown over him after his defeat. Hence its Welsh name of _Yr Wyddfa,_ meaning "the tumulus" or "barrow".'

Just then, as though in perfect timing, the coach came to a standstill. He gave a few more instructions before opening the door. It was still drizzling as they made their way out and onto the platform. However, they only had a short five-minute wait until the sound of a steam locomotive could be heard approaching the station.

Briony managed to find a seat some distance away from Reuben in the carriage, and it wasn't long before the engine began its slow and steady ascent, arriving at the summit just over an hour later. Instead of joining the long queue at the café, she decided to venture out into the cold, damp air, passing Scott, who was peering around him and trying to detect any break in the all-encompassing mist. She made some sympathetic sounding comments and walked on, until only a few muffled voices could be heard coming from behind. To all intents and purposes, she was alone.

'High enough for you?' came Reuben's voice from somewhere nearby.

Disappointed and annoyed, she spun around, and saw the very person she had been trying hard to avoid all morning. But then thought that this could be a good thing - for now she was free to deal with this man - and once and for all.

Reuben flicked on his lighter, an unlit cigarette already in his mouth.

'Don't you dare!' she said sharply. 'There's enough mist around already without you adding to it.'

He removed the cigarette and replaced it slowly in its packet. 'Am I sensing more hostility here than usual?' He moved closer to her and looked searchingly into her face. 'Don't tell me you're still on your high horse about that little scene at _Portmeirion_?'

She stared hard into his eyes. So dark. So unfathomable. Then, hoping that there wasn't anyone within earshot, she began. 'Never mind all that. There's something I want to say to you. It won't take long, and then you can go off and puff your life away to your heart's content. I want you to leave me alone. I've told you before that I'm really not interested. And if you carry on making a nuisance of yourself, then you'll leave me no choice but to... to leave.'

His eyebrows raised a good half an inch.

'I mean it. I'll leave the tour. And what would your head office have to say about that? Another passenger - '

'You're serious, aren't you? he interrupted, sounding incredulous, 'You'd really leave?'

'Just you watch me!' she replied, hoping she sounded more confident than she actually felt.

'Bloody hell! You're a strange one.'

'What's so strange about wanting to stop being pestered? I keep telling you to leave me alone. It's not my fault if you choose to ignore me. You're responsible for your own actions.'

'Damn! Reckon all that God-talk's really twisted you up.'

She felt dismayed that he had chosen to bring God into the situation, then felt uncomfortable when she remembered that that was exactly what she had been doing with him. 'On the contrary, knowing Him has straightened me out.'

'Yeah, like a straitjacket. Rigid. No give. Someone's done a hell of a job on you, getting you to go along with all that religious tosh.'

'In that case, a third of the world must be living in straitjackets as well. And no-one "twisted me up". I told you before, I believe because I _choose_ to believe. You choose not to, and that's your prerogative. You've got just as much free will as I have. But I don't go around insulting you because you've made a different choice.'

He shrugged, then said, dismissively, 'Ah well, if that's what you want to believe, then good luck to you. And "choice"? What "choice"? Can't remember making one.'

Feeling that she really should explain herself a bit more, she replied, 'Can't you see, that by not making one, you've already made one? Some kind of belief, or non-belief - both are types of choice.'

'Well, excuse me, but that's as clear as mud.'

She needed a few seconds to think, then went on to explain, 'Let's say that by choosing to come on this particular tour, I chose to reject all the others that were on offer. It's just the flip side of the same coin.'

'And what do you call the side of the coin I'm on then?'

'I don't really know, but you make all the sounds of being a non-believing Jew, and you talk like an atheist. And if the cap fits ...' And now, a sudden and very unexpected feeling of sympathy for him came over her. His animosity towards the Christian Faith was more obvious than most and could have some deep-seated root. Why? she wondered. What had happened to put him off all forms of religious belief? Had he come across too many anti-Semitic people, like that awful couple that took objection to him and left the coach at London? Tentatively, she offered, 'You know, this has nothing to do with you being a Jew. I hope you don't think that.'

'Ah, back to the Jewish thing again. I wondered when you'd get around to it.'

'But it's true.'

'Are you sure about that?'

'Absolutely!'

'Hm, well, _some_ people would believe you.'

'And you don't?'

He shrugged. 'Who knows what's going in that pretty little head of yours?'

'Well, I do. And I can tell you this, I'd be a strange sort of Christian to dislike Jews, especially because Jesus chose to come as one when He came to live on Earth.'

'He shook his head. ' _That_ _man_ again. This is getting beyond boring. Stubborn little critter, aren't you? Alright, let's play it your way. How do you explain everything that's been happening to the Jews ever since He poked His nose in? It was tough enough for them before, but He only went and made things worse.'

'How do you mean?'

'Well, look how your lot make our... their lives even more difficult. Every time they try to settle somewhere, even in this so-called Christian country, they get labelled _Dirty Jews. Christ killers!'_ He almost spat the words out.

She knew he was right. She frequently came across people, who, thinking they were being good Christians, habitually treated any Jew with suspicion, feeling it acceptable to ignore, or deride, even to reject any they met. She wondered how she would have coped, growing-up in such an antagonistic environment. But then, in a small way, a very small way, didn't she experience something akin to prejudice herself, especially when she declared herself to be a committed Christian? There were a few colleagues who seemed to find some amusement in mocking, even challenging her and her beliefs. But maybe this was nothing to what he might have had to endure over the years.

'You talk about them, the Jewish people, as though you aren't part of them. And, actually, I think you'll find that it was the Romans who killed Jesus, but it was the Jewish religious leaders who organised the trumped-up charges against Him and insisted that He be killed. So, you could say that it was both the Jewish _and_ Gentile races that were responsible for His death.'

'Yeah, well, thanks for the history lesson.'

Undaunted, she went on to explain, 'You know, Christianity is all about trying to show God's love to people. Too many people use religion as an excuse to fight their own causes. If they really _knew_ Him, and had a _real_ experience of Him, they'd find it hard to treat others with prejudice or hatred; they'd have no appetite to hurt or harm anyone. Instead, they'd want to lay down their weapons and do all they could to live in peace.'

'Pacifist as well then?' he asked with more than a hint of anger in his voice. 'You'd have been one of those "Do-Gooders" that spoke all lovey-dovey to Hitler and his henchmen.'

'Certainly not!' she retorted. 'There's nothing "lovey-dovey" about God's love. He's as loving as He's just.'

'Too bad His so-called Son failed then.'

'Failed?'

'Died, didn't He? Even you've got to admit that all that pontificating around the place came to nothing in the end.'

' _Nothing!_ Are you blind? What about the Church? His life is still flowing in every Christian's veins two thousand years after His death, which, by the way, was certainly _not_ a failure. It was prophesied, and all part of God's plan for the salvation of mankind. He took the weight of every sin, every act of cruelty, every second of man's inhumanity to man - and all the suffering of Creation - into His own body. He took all that punishment on our behalf. Oh no, there was nothing weak about His death: it was the most selfless and powerful act of love that there's ever been.'

'And very nice too. But you still haven't said what you'd have done about Hitler.'

She made a real effort to refocus her mind on his question. 'Well, of course, evil must be challenged and resisted, and punished, but in such a way that's just. Us humans can take it too far: we get bloodthirsty, greedy, power-mad.'

'And if there was another war, what would you be doing?'

'Probably what I'm doing now; nursing, and helping the wounded.'

'What? Both sides? The enemy's too? Knowing what they were doing to your side?'

'Well, Jesus was tortured. And He knew they were going to do it, and was still prepared to sacrifice Himself, even for them. But, I'll be honest with you, in a situation like that, I think I'd find it a real challenge, but one I would hope I could meet with dignity and fairness. Actually, Reuben, thinking about it, we've got something in common here; we both have to deal with difficult people and situations; you have passengers, I have patients. A lot of them are demanding and sometimes expect too much from us, but I've seen how hard you try to be fair and keep the peace.'

This seemed to appease him, and unable to think of anything else to find fault with in her argument, he remained silent.

'Can I take it then, that you'll leave me alone for the rest of the tour?' she asked, hopefully, attempting to steer the conversation back to her original purpose.

Like a child, mulling something over, he began to roll a stone around with his foot. At last he spoke, 'Alright. Have it your way.'

She breathed a sigh of relief, then remarked, 'Well, thank goodness for that!'

'Just one more thing,' he said, turning to look at her full in the face, 'I know damn well that you enjoyed that kiss as much as I did, despite your puritanical ways. Can you deny it?'

She tried desperately to think of something she could say that wouldn't be a downright lie.

Her hesitation caused him to smile. Then, recognising that he had gained at least one point, he went on to say, 'Well, well. Isn't that interesting? Okay, madam. You just keep on living in cloud cuckoo land and enjoy the rest of the tour; no hassle. But I still think you're a bloody fool.'

He began to walk away, calling after him, 'Don't stay out here too long, and don't go any further. You don't want to go falling off the edge now, do you? Any edge.'

His low, slow whistle broke the silence.

She began to shiver, only now beginning to feel the penetrating coldness of the place.

# Chapter 18

#

# Harlech

The morning's grey mantle of cloud had dispersed, exposing vast patches of clear, blue sky, when Briony set off to explore the old town. Upon their arrival, Reuben had told them that the town was situated in the foothills of _Snowdonia_ , '... just on the edge of Cardigan Bay, and overlooks _Tremadog Bay_ , with the _Llŷn_ peninsula to the west. You'll see for yourselves how lovely the place is, and it's no wonder that a lot of artists and writers, including people like the First World War poet, Rupert Graves, found inspiration when they visited the area.'

However, she was so preoccupied with still trying to understand what had occurred between herself and Reuben on Snowdon's summit earlier that day, that she had been unable to fully appreciate the character of the place and its surrounding, natural beauty. She felt that she had made her position very clear, and he finally seemed to have got the message. But had she done the right thing? Of course she had. After all, to her way of thinking, he was unsuitable for her in every way.

If she was to make a list of their incompatibilities, the first, and most important, item would be the issue of faith - of which she felt sure he had none; even his Jewish roots appeared to be insignificant to him - and she was a committed Christian. The fact that he was a Jew might not have been a problem if he had been a Hebrew Christian, but he sounded to be a million miles away from making any such decision and becoming one.

The second item on the list would have been the fact that he was divorced, which, for a non-Christian, might have been difficult enough to come to terms with, but for a Christian, well, that was a whole other matter. Then there were the many ways his lifestyle was at odds with hers; his job was all about movement, and involved constant changes of environment and people; hers, although the faces in the beds were always changing, at least the routine of the ward was something she could rely on; it was fixed and steady. And, she assumed, rightly or wrongly, that due to the nature of his job, the only socialising he did was in bars and hotel lounges; hers was spent mainly in Christian environments.

Then there was the thorny issue of sex; he had made it very clear that he was into the quick, one-night-stand type of encounter, and she definitely was not. Even his dependency on nicotine was a considerable issue for her; how she hated it! And these were the differences she had come to recognise just during the past seven days; she had no doubt that she would discover many more if she was ever to spend any serious time with him. So, why was she feeling so uneasy?

She was on her way back from visiting the medieval castle ruins when she came across Scott and Malcom. Both were humming enthusiastically to the strains of the unofficial Welsh anthem, 'Men of Harlech'. She greeted them, 'Well, hello there. Where's Peggy and Leyla?'

'Leyla's hitting the shops,' replied Malcolm, 'and Peg's taken refuge in a café. I tried putting her off, but she wanted to come. But these streets aren't doing her any favours.'

'I'm ready for a drink myself after that climb. Where's the café? I might join her.'

'Would you? I don't like leaving her when she's like this, but she insisted that we go ahead without her. The café's just down there.' He turned to point at the street behind them. 'Off a little side road to the left. You can't miss it; it's got a sort of sandy beach display in the window.'

'Penny for them?' Peggy's voice broke into her reverie.

Turning her attention away for the window and back into the café's interior, Briony looked across the table and watched her gather the few remaining cake crumbs from her plate. 'Sorry. What were you saying?'

'I said, penny for them. You've been that quiet since coming in. Are you thinking about your Mum and Dad again?'

'What? Oh, no. Sorry, Peggy. I'm fine; just a bit tired, that's all, and that was quite a climb to the castle. And did I hear you right? You did say that Reuben said he was going to keep the coach open?'

'Yes, and I think I'll go and try and snatch forty winks before Malcolm gets back. We have paid, haven't we?'

'Yes. And I've seen enough now too. You won't mind if I go back with you, will you?'

'Would you? Oh, you are a dear. Just give me a minute to pop to the loo, then we'll make a move.'

Briony watched her struggle to her feet, almost upsetting the table's contents as she did so. She had been complaining about the pain in her hip ever since they had set off that morning, and what little she had managed to do of the town's steep streets couldn't have helped. As she waited, she went over to look through a stand displaying a selection of postcards. Choosing one of the lettercards, she opened it and read the information printed at the bottom of each portion.

_..._ _The seaside town of Harlech is dominated by the Rhinog mountain range and best known for Harlech Castle, which sits on a rugged promontory, itself a spur of the Harlech Dome: the oldest known geological rock formation in the world._

_..._ _Construction began in 1283 by Edward I of England. It was captured by OwainGlyndŵr in 1404, and it was from here that he was officially crowned as Prince of Wales._

_..._ _The castle was recaptured by the English in 1409 and eventually became the stronghold of Henry Tudor. The song and military march "Men of Harlech" is thought to describe events that took place during the War of the Roses, when the garrison suffered a seven-year siege from 1461 to 1468, the longest known in the history of the British Isles._

This was all very interesting, but she had already sent her postcards. She carefully refolded and replaced the lettercard on the stand. She enjoyed this light, educational aspect of the tour, and always listened carefully whenever Reuben shared his knowledge of the places they were passing through, or stopping at overnight.

They made their slow but steady way back to the coach. Reuben was standing near the open door, talking to a group of other passengers who had also returned early. Most of them were smoking. Peggy acknowledged them with a friendly waive, before starting the painful process of mounting the steps.

The ordeal over, Briony sat back in her own seat and opened her current book, 'The Enchanted April', an absorbing tale of romance by the Victorian writer, Elizabeth von Arnim. Helped by some of the entertaining and intriguing machinations of the problem-centred characters, she eventually succeeded in leaving her own worries behind, and became totally absorbed in trying to solve theirs.

That evening she kept a close eye on Reuben as he circulated amongst the passengers in the lounge. Aware that she was overreacting, she quickly made her excuses and stood to leave as soon as she noticed him approaching their table.

'Going so soon?' he asked, looking pointedly at her.

'Yes. And you know why,' she replied as discreetly as she could as she passed him.

'Don't be daft. I told you, you've got nothing to worry about. And isn't there supposed to be safety in numbers?'

'Not as far as you're concerned.'

He grinned. 'Am I _that_ dangerous?'

'You said it. Good night.'

# Chapter 19

#

# Betws-y-Coed

The route the next day took them into the Snowdonia National Park. Briony felt that parts of the journey from Barmouth to Betws-y-Coed were equally blessed with some real beauty and good old-fashioned charm.

Reuben was hardly off the speaker system as he informed the passengers about the many interesting and curious facts about the places they were passing through.

'If you look over to your right, you'll see Dolgellau. Take a good look at the old grey-stoned buildings as we drive through. The narrow streets need some negotiating, and, like most of these old Welsh towns, definitely not designed to cope with today's type of traffic. That mountain overlooking it is Cadair Idris; "Idris's Chair" in English. Idris was supposed to have been a giant warrior poet who made a seat at the top so that he could sit back and enjoy the view of the heavens. At 2,930 feet, it's not as high as some others, but impressive enough, don't you think?'

Twenty minutes later, they began travelling through the forest of Coed y Brenin. 'That's Welsh for "King's Forest", or the "Forest of Kings." It lies at the centre of the Welsh gold prospecting area, and is the oldest and most wide-ranging area of woodland in Wales. There's some great scenery in there, mainly by the river, which has to be near the top of my list of favourite riverside walks.'

The small slate town of Blaenau Ffestiniog was also on their route. They learned that it had been created to support the workers of the local slate mining community, and had a reputation for being known as "The town that roofed the world."

Much to Scott's delight, Reuben would often park the coach near a particularly pleasant and attractive spot, giving any who wanted the opportunity to stretch their legs or take a photograph. On one occasion, and just before doing so, he told them about some castle ruins they would soon be passing.

'Here's something that might interest our American friends. According to folklore, a prince by the name of Madog ab Owain Gwynedd, of _Dolwyddelan_ Castle, took a group of local people and sailed off in search of new lands. It's thought that he reached America in 1170, beating Columbus by about 322 years by my reckoning. Apparently, he landed at Mobile Bay in Alabama and travelled up river, constructing several forts on the way. The local Cherokee Indians called them the "White People", and the reason I'm telling you all this is that the style of these forts actually resembled Dolwyddelan Castle.

'Just to add to the mystery of it all, an Indian tribe called the Mandans was discovered in the 18th century. They were described as being white and spoke a language very similar to Welsh. The theory is that they were descended from Prince Madog's shipmates. Unusually, their villages and towns were laid out in streets and squares. They were also known as the only Indian tribe never to go to war with America. But you won't come across any today, they were wiped-out by a smallpox epidemic in the 1800's.'

Their lunch break was spent in the village of Betws-y-Coed, which Reuben explained was, 'Welsh for "prayer-house-in-the-woods", and probably refers to the 14th century church of St. Michael's, one of the oldest in Wales. The village is the main one in the National Park, and a popular centre for walkers and climbers. Most of the main buildings were built either before or during Victorian times. From here you can catch a train to Porthmadog, just over 13 miles away. The line is run by the Ffestiniog Railway, which, at 200 years old, is the oldest narrow-gauge railway in the world.

'There's some important bridges nearby, including one built by Thomas Telford. There's also a Neolithic burial chamber and some impressive falls. It's a pity our schedule only allows us to spend a couple of hours here.

'As far as refreshments go, I can recommend the _Caffi Artistiaid_ on the main street. The walls are covered with pictures and writings of some of the artists, poets and writers who've found inspiration in the area. Apparently, this was the place of Britain's very first artist colony.'

Although a coffee would have been welcome, Briony joined Malcolm, Leyla and Scott as they set off to see as much of the village as they could. Peggy was now experiencing a considerable amount of pain in her lower back as well as her hip, and had decided to stay on the coach.

'Look, there's that couple who kept us waiting the other morning,' exclaimed Leyla, looking into a café window they were passing. 'Oh, Lordy, Lordy! Look what he's got there!'

Glancing in, Briony saw Bill Thomas tucking into a large, brown slab of _Bara Brith._ Quietly, she hoped that he would suffer no unpleasant consequences as a result of digesting all that rich, dried fruit and mixed spice.

They walked on, frequently passing groups of serious looking, well-clad and heavily-booted walkers. Scott and Leyla paused to look over a bridge, and it wasn't long before he felt the need to do more filming. Malcolm and Briony strolled on, then stopped to admire some oil paintings in the window of a craft shop a few minutes later.

'Now, I really like that one,' he commented, pointing at a mountain range, glowing pink and red in the sunset. 'Peggy loves that kind of thing. You know, I'm tempted to go in and take a closer look.'

'You won't mind if I leave you?' Briony asked, keen to make the most of the time they had left. She left him to his deliberations, and came across a large Anglican church soon after. A sudden pang of guilt came over her at the realisation that she hadn't thought much about her parents all day. She went in, hoping that a few minutes of silent contemplation in a cool and quiet environment would prove beneficial. Other people were sitting or talking quietly, and she soon began to feel the benefit of being in the peaceful sanctuary. It was to be another forty minutes before she made her way back out into the daylight again.

She was looking for her sunglasses when, somewhere close and to her left, she heard Reuben's voice. 'Hello again.' Shading her eyes, she peered over, and there he was, looking relaxed on a bench, with one arm resting over the back and holding the habitual cigarette in his other hand.

'Hello,' he repeated.

'What are you doing here?' she asked, 'I thought you were going to stay on the coach.'

'Allowed out, aren't I? It's a free country. And it's shady.'

'Then why don't you go in?' she asked, pointing at the church. 'It's cooler inside.'

'Naa. I'm alright here.'

'You are allowed in there, you know.'

'You sure about that? Even a dirty Jew like me?'

'Oh, for goodness sake! You know I don't think like that. And for your information, God's house is open to everyone.'

'Everyone? You sure about that?'

'Now look, Reuben!' she exclaimed, beginning to sound as exasperated as she felt. 'Don't go blaming God for the fact that I'm in no mood to handle you right now.'

He nodded. 'Yeah, well, I suppose I have been forgetting about your recent loss... and all. But you're not the only one with a lot on your mind.'

Had she heard right? Had this man - who she had come to look upon as nothing but a nuisance and an unwelcome flirt - just made some sort of apology?

He looked up at her, his expression thoughtful, 'You're different, Miss Briony Beresford. Very different. Guess I'm not used to dealing with someone like you. I called you a challenge, and you are... were. Seems you're not into playing games. You say it like it is, and it's taken me some time to realise that's what... who you are...'

She was nonplussed, and it took her a few more long seconds to find her voice, as well as her sunglasses. 'Thank you. But I'd rather you didn't talk to me like that.'

'Yeah, well, I've been doing some thinking, and there's something I'd like to know.'

'What is it? She asked, wondering what it could be, especially because she knew he wasn't interested in hearing anything more about her faith.

'I get it that you don't want to sleep with me, but why won't you let yourself relax and talk nicely to me, like you do with the others?'

'You really have to ask?' she exclaimed, a bit too loudly, causing several heads to turn in their direction.

'Asking, aren't I? I want to know. Tell me.'

'But why? I'm ... not sure I can. What good would it do anyway?'

He sighed. 'I don't know. Try me.'

She studied his face; gone was his usual self-assured expression. His dark eyes appeared to have a look of uncertainty, even bewilderment, about them. Could it be that he really had no idea why she had been trying so hard to keep him at arm's length for the past week? Hadn't she made her feelings abundantly clear to him? She couldn't have been any more direct, even to the point of rudeness at times.

He could see and feel her hesitancy. 'You keep saying it's got nothing to do with me being a Jew. And I know damn well that you don't find me physically repulsive, despite your high and mighty words. But, hey, we've already crossed that bridge. So, what is it? Why all this offhand business?'

She had winced at his "physically repulsive" remark. Noticing her reaction, he went on to ask, 'Well, go on. Let's hear you try and deny it.'

She couldn't. She couldn't deny that she found him dangerously attractive, and had done so from the moment she first set eyes on him.

'Go on,' he persisted. 'I'm not all mouth and trousers, you know. Or don't you think I've got the right to know?'

'Well, maybe ... only I don't think you'd understand.'

'Go for it. I might surprise you.'

Frantically, she searched her mind for the least offensive sounding reason she could offer. At the top of her list was the fact that he wasn't a Christian; second was that he was divorced. But how could she tell him either of them? Most unbelievers would find it hard to take her seriously and accuse her of being narrow-minded and judgmental. But all she was really trying to do was to take the Scriptures seriously, in particular the part of St. Paul's letter to the Corinthian Church, where he advised:-

"Do not be yoked together with unbelievers. For what do righteousness and wickedness have in common? Or what fellowship can light have with darkness? What harmony is there between Christ and Belial? What does a believer have in common with an unbeliever?" 6

Then there was the very unfashionable verse in the Book of Malachi, where God's words were addressed to the men of Judah:-

"I hate divorce," says the LORD God of Israel, "and I hate a man's covering himself with violence as well as with his garment," says the LORD Almighty. So guard yourself in your spirit, and do not break faith. 7

No, it would have to be the third item on her list, and the one that she hoped he would accept.

'Okay. It's just that your way of life is so... alien to mine. You come across as a very restless soul. You're always on the move, going places, meeting new people; and you obviously want to keep on doing it. But I'm more of a stay at home type of person. I like routine and a certain set pattern to my life. Anyone involved with you would have to be content with a here-today-gone-tomorrow type of relationship. And they'd have to trust you ... and from what ... well, I couldn't do that.'

He looked away, smoking, thinking. At last, he replied, 'I suppose you're right. Didn't help my marriage anyway,' he conceded, much to her relief. Then, as though changing his mind, went on to say, 'But, damn it! Other drivers are married, and have the whole package. The mate I'm going into business with is married, and he reckons his wife does alright.'

'I'm not saying that it could never work, and I'm sure there are plenty of women who don't mind that kind of... arrangement. Some may even prefer it. They obviously trust the men, and cope well enough when they're away. But it's not for every woman. Not for me, anyway.'

'For Christ's sake, woman! I'm not trying to propose to you. I just wanted to know why you've got such a downer on me.'

She literally cringed at his blasphemous use of the Lord's name. 'You were the one who brought the subject up. And I've already told you. We've got nothing in common.'

'And to suit you, I'd have to give up my job and become a nine-to-fiver?'

'Amongst other things. Anyway, it probably wouldn't suit you; you'd end up hating it. And why are we talking like this anyway?'

'Just interested.' He stood. 'Alright. It's been bugging me. And now I've come to the conclusion that you're kind of dangerous, and shouldn't be allowed out to mix with us lower mortals. Women like you should come with a government health warning.' He looked at his watch, then at her. Knowing how she felt about it, he dropped his cigarette end on the ground and crushed it slowly underfoot. 'Right, I'm off before I catch whatever's... infecting you. You've got another twenty minutes. Make sure you're not late, or you'll have to get that God of yours to do something useful for a change and give you wings.'

She stood and watched him go, then spoke quietly, 'There you go again. You've got a habit of walking away, haven't you?'

How had it come to this? All she had wanted to do was to get away for a break; to go somewhere pleasant, and see and do different and interesting things. Instead, she had somehow become embroiled in this unsought for and unwelcome relationship - or non-relationship.

"Twenty minutes," he had said. Well, that was time enough to go back into the church, and lay all this down - again.

# Chapter 20

#

# Llangollen

The Glyndŵr Woollen Mill, situated just outside the town of _Corwen_ , was the last opportunity for the passengers to do any gift and souvenir shopping. Reuben had told them that the town was known for its connection to Owain Glyndŵr, a descendant of the Princes of Powys, and the last Welshman to hold the title of Prince of Wales, between 1404 and 1415.

'Many wanted him to be king, and followed him when he led a revolt against the English rule of Henry IV. He was eventually caught, but managed to escape. Rewards were offered for his capture, but he was so highly thought of around here that he was never betrayed. He even refused the two pardons Henry V offered him.'

They arrived at the mill, and Briony smiled at Reuben as she stepped down from the coach. He flashed one back at her, but his eyes, which looked to be as dark and unfathomable as ever, appeared to have a type of coldness about them. She told herself to focus on the job at hand, and it wasn't long before she found herself being drawn to a small, hand carved love spoon in a Celtic knot design. Not only did she buy one for herself, but keen to take the opportunity to make an early start on her Christmas shopping, bought another for Claire and Grant. Three pairs of dolls in traditional costume for the children of some of her married friends came next, and she was examining a pair of sheepskin slippers when Peggy came and drew her to one side.

'What do you think, dear?' she confided, looking very pleased with herself, 'It's our ruby wedding anniversary soon, and I've just bought that big piece of wood over there, the one behind that big fruit bowl Malcolm's looking at. See it? I shan't be able to hide it in my case, and it's too heavy anyway. I've had a quiet word with that big girl, the one with all that hair behind the jewellery counter, and she says she'll arrange for it to be sent on to our son. Malcolm will be so surprised. He likes his woodturning, you see. What do you think? It's a good idea, isn't it? And it's got a sort of reddy tint to it, you know, ruby? I've got it all arranged.'

Briony nodded enthusiastically. 'I think it's a great idea. Well done, Peggy.'

Settling back on the coach soon after, she thought what a pair they were; a real 'Darby and Joan' couple. Earlier that day she had been with Malcolm as he had admired a painting. Later, he told her that not only had he bought it, but had arranged for it to be packaged and posted to their son's address, ready to surprise 'the old girl' with on their anniversary. And now here was 'the old girl' conspiring to do the same thing for him! She experienced several moments of envy, knowing that, if she ever did marry, she would want what they had: someone to share her life with, _all_ her life, especially her faith. She couldn't settle for someone who was constantly going away and spending his time and energy on things she couldn't take part in; someone who lived most of his life amongst strangers - a good half of whom were women.

They arrived at their final hotel of the tour in good time to prepare for the much-anticipated Welsh Banquet. Three other coaches were parked outside, all belonging to other tour operators.

Reuben had told them that the name _Llangollen,_ '... was made up of _llan_ in Welsh, meaning a religious settlement or enclosure, and _gollen,_ which is supposed to be a mutation of the Saint's name, _Collen._ It used to be an important link between London and Holyhead, and is well known for holding an annual _eisteddfod._

'There's some good walking and fine views to be had in the area, including around the Horseshoe Pass, and up there...' he pointed at what looked like some ruins, outlined high on a hill overlooking the town, '... at what's left of _Castell Dinas Bran_ , "Crow Castle" in English. Yet another site where the Holy Grail is said to be buried. The canal's an easier walk, and for those with a head for heights, there's the _Pontcysyllte_ Aqueduct, which, at over 1,000 feet long, and 126 feet high, is said to be the oldest and longest navigable aqueduct in Great Britain - as well as being the highest in the world. You'll hear more about the town later, the locals put on a pretty decent show. But watch out for the mead; the hotel's very generous and leave bottles of the stuff on the tables. Remember, we've got a lot of travelling to do tomorrow.'

Briony had been keeping her full-length cotton dress by especially for the occasion. Finding it badly creased, she went to reception and asked if she could borrow an iron. The receptionist disappeared into a back office and emerged with one, as well a slightly scorch-marked sheet. Back in her room, she spread the sheet out on the floor and set to work.

Half an hour later, she walked into the room labelled 'The Banqueting Hall' and looked around for any familiar face. Peggy spotted her, and told Malcolm to stand and try to attract her attention. Having succeeded in doing so, he signalled her to join them at the far end of one of the four long rows of tables. Scott and Leyla, the Frensham's, Stephanie Blanchard and her friend were already there, and all seemed to be in high spirits.

'Thanks. What a crowd!' she remarked, going to sit beside Leyla.

'Going to be a bit of do by the look of it,' remarked Peggy. 'We were lucky to get these seats.'

'But it's a shame we're so far away from things,' said Stephanie, pointing at a stage area at the other end of the large hall.

Scott smiled and patted his ever-present camera. 'Hey, no problem! Got a mighty powerful lens here. It'll pick up all the action.'

There was an almost palpable air of expectancy as the noise level continued to increase, aided, no doubt, by the enthusiastic drinking of the complimentary mead. Looking around, Briony couldn't see any sign of Reuben, and wondered if he would bother to put in an appearance, assuming that he must have seen the show many times already.

Fifteen more minutes passed before the background music faded and the red velvet curtains hanging over the stage opened. A man and woman, colourfully dressed in costumes that reminded Briony of the dolls she had bought earlier, stood waiting patiently for the crowd to notice them and quieten down. Then, in a sing-song and richly accented voice, the man welcomed everyone, before launching into a brief description of what they could expect during the next three hours.

'... But first, please enjoy your meal of traditional Welsh fare, all reared and tenderly nurtured by local people.'

He left the stage, and the woman began to play a gentle, lilting tune on the harp, which would have been drowned out by the sound of the noisy crowd, had there not been a strategically placed microphone nearby.

Reuben's warning about the mead was ignored by most: bottles of the sweet, honey-made, alcoholic drink were copiously consumed, as bowls of lamb cawl, chunks of bread and several types of cheese were served. The desert consisted of a type of apple cake, the topping of which had the consistency of a crumbled scone, and accompanied by a choice of custard, cream, or ice cream. Everyone appeared to have had their appetite more than satisfied by the time tea and coffee were served.

The compare returned to the stage and began to tell them about the first Musical Eisteddfod to be held in the town.

'It was held in the June of 1947, and lasted for five days. There were about 40 choirs from England, Scotland and Wales that first year, as well as 10 groups from other countries. The Queen came in 1953, when singers and dancers from 32 nations competed. Young Luciano Pavarotti came in 1955, and sang in the winning male voice choir that was conducted by none other than his father.

'Over the years we've had many other famous names performing their art here. You'll all have heard of the dancer Margot Fonteyne? And the conductor, Sir Adrian Boult? How about the Russian cellist and conductor Mstislav Rostropovitch? Or the violinist Yehudi Menuhin? He came the same year as the Queen. Yes, they've all performed here too.'

'What did the Queen do?' asked a voice from the crowd, causing some laughter.

'Well now, she put on a good show!' came the compare's swift reply, to be rewarded with some applause.

'But let us not forget such singers as the marvellous Joan Sutherland, or David Lloyd, and the two visits from Tito Gobbi. Placido Domingo came three years ago, and publicly acknowledges that it was his first professional engagement in the United Kingdom. There's a funny story about him. His tent was just 100 feet away from the audience, and as was his habit, he needed to loosen his vocal cords. But how was he to do it, being so close to the main stage? Help came when one of our lady volunteers gamely stood on a chair and peeped through a crack in the canvas. Every time a performance ended and the applause began, she would raise her handkerchief as a signal that he could start. As soon as the applause began to die down, she lowered it, and Placido had to stop. They say the system worked well.'

The evening's entertainment continued as the hard-working group of local people performed a selection of traditional songs and dances. Their rich, melodic voices rang out with heartfelt recitations and poems in-between some light-hearted anecdotes.

After one exceptionally energetic clog dance, one of the women regaled them with the history of 'The Ladies of Llangollen', two Irish women, who, in the eighteenth century, found themselves ostracised by their families due to their 'unusual relationship'. 'They set up home in _Plas Newydd_ , a large house nearby. Such was their notoriety that they were visited by the rich and famous of the day, including William Wordsworth, Caroline Lamb, Sir Walter Scott, Percy Shelley, Josiah Wedgewood, the Duke of Wellington, and even royalty in the form of Queen Charlotte - the wife of George the Third.'

There wasn't much opportunity between acts for any casual chatter. However, Malcolm did manage to sound out all those around him about the idea of 'passing the hat around' on the coach the following morning. The idea was quickly and unanimously approved.

'He's a damned good driver. I've been watching him,' he remarked. 'The way he handles all those narrow roads and sharp bends. Peggy and I've been very taken with the way he's made our outings interesting; he doesn't have to do that, you know. And I know for a fact that some of the places he's let us have a quick look at haven't been on the itinerary.'

Peggy joined in, 'And don't forget the way he handled that nasty couple before we left. And those sisters! Can you imagine what we'd have had to put up with all this time if he hadn't got rid of them?'

Leyla was keen to add her praise. 'Well, I don't mind telling anyone who wants to hear, he's been the best driver Scott and I've had on all the tours we've been on. Scott's over the moon with all the filming he's been able do. And I think I'm gonna kind'a miss him. He's been such a cutie.'

Stephanie Blanchard and her friend confessed to feeling a sense of anti-climax now that the tour was nearing its end. One by one, the others agreed that it had been an extremely enjoyable break from their otherwise humdrum lives.

Briony listened carefully, and came to the conclusion that all such praise boded well for Reuben's future plans. He certainly seemed to have a way with him, despite his flirtatious ways.

At last, the show came to an end. Everyone began to file out of the hall, including those who had imbibed a bit too much mead, and, as a result, needed some encouragement and help - a staggering Bill Thomas amongst them. Eventually, the corridors emptied and only hushed voices could be heard coming from behind closed doors.

Alone in her room again, Briony stood over her partially packed suitcase and decided that she would need only ten minutes in the morning to do the last-minute packing. The priority right now was to get into bed and attempt to get her mind into a peaceful state. And the only way she knew how to do that was to offer all her mixed-up feelings and thoughts to the Lord. He was always there, listening, understanding, and offering his peace. And He would know where, and with whom, Reuben had spent the evening. But, unlike Leyla, of one thing she was already certain - he was the one person from the tour she knew she was not going to miss. As Peggy was fond of saying, 'She felt it in her bones; what was left of them.'

# Chapter 21

#

# The Journey Back

Most of the next day was spent travelling. Reuben did what he could to keep the atmosphere upbeat, but, like a cloud, many of the passengers seemed to have an almost physical aura of despondency hanging over their heads.

Their morning break was spent in the Shropshire spa town of Church Stretton, aptly nicknamed 'Little Switzerland' due to its hilly surroundings.

Setting off again soon after, Stuart, a passenger who sat two rows in front of Briony, broke the rule about leaving his seat when the coach was in motion, and came to stand beside her. He opened his jacket to reveal a large envelope. 'For the driver,' he said, passing it to her before hurrying back.

Reuben had seen the incident from his overhead mirror, and guessing what was happening, chose to ignore it. The end-of-tour tips always came in handy, especially because he only declared a small portion of them to the tax man.

Thankful now that she had set aside a reserve fund for such things, Briony added her contribution before handing it to Peggy, who had been doing her best to monitor the envelope's progress.

'Thanks dear,' she said. 'Malcolm's going to give it to him when we get to Oxford. He's found out that there'll be a few leaving there, and it'll be nice to do it while we're still all together, don't you think?'

They had lunch in a hotel just south of Moreton-in-Marsh, a small town in Gloucestershire. After a disappointing meal, consisting of a watery tomato soup, a limp ham salad, and a small slice of dried-up apple pie that looked stranded in a pool of thin custard, Briony, Scott and Leyla began making their way back to the coach.

'It's very pleasant around here, but I guess I'm missing all those lovely mountains. And I don't know when we'll be near any sea again,' sighed Leyla, looking disconsolately around her.

Briony nodded her agreement. 'I know what you mean. But you'll be back home in a few days, won't you? You must be looking forward to seeing everyone again?' She looked at the camera, resting in its usual position against Scott's abdomen. 'And you've captured so many happy memories.'

'Yes, indeedy!' Scott replied, enthusiastically. 'Reckon I've got enough footage for a couple of sessions. Pa'll be keen to see it all; he was over here during the war.'

'Why don't you get one?' asked Leyla. 'They're all the rage back home. And one'll be just the thing when you settle down, and just great when the babies come along. I can see you whirring away at the sight of the first tooth; the first day at nursery; their first little play. Now don't tell me you've not thought about it?'

Briony considered, thinking it strange that Leyla obviously thought that someone needed to get married and have a family before it was worth their while to possess such an item. 'Well, yes, the idea has crossed my mind. But I don't think I'd have to wait until I got married; that might never happen anyway.'

Quickly realising her faux pas, Leyla hastened to smooth it over. 'Oh my! Well, of course not, hon! I certainly didn't mean... it's just that, you know, an outgoing girl like you. I guess you've got so many... other kinds of interesting things going on in your life.'

Feeling the need to come to the aid of his struggling wife, Scott added quickly, 'Well, if you do, take my advice and get yourself a good second-hand one. You can always upgrade further down the line.'

They were approaching the car park and could see Reuben standing near the front of the coach. As usual, he was smoking.

Leyla couldn't help herself, and went on to ask something that had been exercising her mind for several days. 'Don't think me rude, hon, but I've just _got_ to ask. Have you two made any plans to meet-up, you know, afterwards? He's definitely got the hots for you. I lost count of the number of times he asked us where you were. And I kind'a think you're pretty sweet on him too.'

Briony wanted to be as honest as possible with this curious but well-meaning woman, and began, 'Er, well - ' but was interrupted when Leyla went on to say, 'It would be great, you know, and after... your recent loss.' Sitting just across the aisle from the poor girl, Leyla had often noticed her looking so sad. And then, attempting to be even more sensitive, went on to say, 'But maybe the timing's not quite right,' finishing with a hopeful sounding, 'But, you know, maybe, in a little while?'

'No, Leyla. We've made no plans to keep in touch,' Briony managed to reply, hoping that would be the end of the matter.

Leyla looked startled. That kiss she had seen the couple share on the stone boat must surely have meant something. 'Oh, but... you two... Are you sure? I could have bet my last dollar - '

'Hey now, sweetie!' interrupted Scott, noticing Briony's frown.

'It's alright, Scott,' said Briony. 'I suppose we have been seen talking together quite a bit. And I do admit that he is very attractive, but I'm afraid he's just not my type.'

'No-o-o!' persisted Leyla. 'Now I can't believe that. You two look just so _good_ together.'

Briony knew she would have to be even firmer. They were almost within earshot of the coach now, and she stopped, causing the couple to stop as well. She spoke quietly, 'It wouldn't work, Leyla. There are just too many... imponderables, difficulties. His way of life wouldn't suit me at all. He's a bit of a flirt, you know, and I'd never know what he was up to, and who with.' She paused, really hoping now that that would suffice. But she was to be disappointed when it became obvious that Leyla wasn't going to give in that easily.

'Oh, well, yeah. I guess he has to be nice to us ladies in his line of work. But if it was true love, I'll betcha he wouldn't be so keen on looking anywhere else. And don't you think it would be kind'a fun going on these trips with him?'

Briony had to think quickly, and tried to let her imagination fast-forward to what a future scenario like that would involve. 'I don't get that many holidays. And anyway, I can't see my shifts fitting in with his schedule.'

'Okay, so quit your job. Get something to fit in with his.'

'Give up nursing!' exclaimed Briony, sounding as aghast as she felt. 'I can't do that! And even if we did end-up together, what do you think would happen if any children came along? I couldn't just leave them, and go gadding-off around the country.'

Leyla too, had to think quickly. Then, feeling pleased with herself, proclaimed confidently, what she considered to be the ideal solution to the problem. 'An au-pair! Get an au-pair. And that would be great company for when he was away.'

'Ladies! We need to get going,' interrupted Scott, walking on ahead of them. They hurried after him.

Very near the coach now, Briony made one more determined effort. 'I'm really sorry Leyla, but it's just not going to happen. But I appreciate your concern, bless you.'

Reuben had been aware that the trio had been having words, which was a shame, they had been getting on so well all week. And the wife, especially, had been fun to have around. 'Everything alright?' he asked, as they approached him.

Leyla nodded and gave him a sympathetic look.

'Yes, thank you,' replied Briony in a business-like fashion.

Scott looked at him, and rolled his eyes dramatically as he mouthed 'Women!'

Reuben shrugged and dropped his cigarette, then ground the glowing butt slowly with his foot. As usual, at this stage of the tour, he was feeling beat. But there was still the office to deal with, and, as was his practice, he would keep his report on the tour as short as he could get away with. He assumed that, by now, they would have heard from that Biggins woman, but hopefully that heart attack episode would counter any negative repercussions he might have to face. Soon he would be his own boss, and it couldn't come quick enough. Thank God his partner in the venture was more than happy to leave all the major decisions to him. It was just as well one of them had the drive and ambition to get the thing off the ground. Attempting to focus on the here and now, he climbed onboard and began calling the passenger list. The sooner he could drop this lot off, the sooner he could get down to some serious R&R.

Their last stop was at Oxford, where Scott and Leyla would be leaving. After the usual announcements, Reuben told them that they would be saying goodbye to six passengers at this point. Just before he opened the door, Malcolm announced that he wanted to say a few words. He went to stand at the front, holding the large, buff envelope in his hand.

'While we're all still here, I think we'd all like to say a big thank you to our driver. Without going into details, there's no doubt in my mind that he's helped to turn a good tour into a _really_ good and memorable one. Peggy and I have been very impressed with his people skills.' He turned to look at a smiling Reuben, who was well used to such speeches. 'Those of us who've been on other tours know that it's not every driver who puts as much effort into finding those extra places where we've been able to stretch our legs, and I'm guessing not all of them were on the schedule?'

Reuben tilted his head slightly, as though in silent acknowledgement.

'I know I've learned a lot,' Malcolm continued, 'and I definitely appreciated being able to sit back and let someone else do all the driving.'

Several voices called out in agreement, 'Hear, hear!'

Knowing that time was short, he decided to round things up, and handed the envelope to Reuben. 'Here's a little something by way of appreciation. Come on everybody, let's give the man a clap!' He then went on to lead them all in a noisy rendition of 'For He's a Jolly Good Fellow,' followed by another enthusiastic burst of clapping, before returning to his seat.

Holding the envelope, Reuben thanked them, and then went on to say, 'You've been a great bunch; good time-keepers too. And despite some hiccoughs at the beginning, it's been one of the best tours I've done this season.' Reaching over to open the door, he continued, 'Talking of time, it's back by half past two, please. And can those who are leaving here join me outside to collect your luggage.'

There was the usual hubbub as the passengers began to collect their belongings and shuffle out of their seats.

Standing behind her in the queue, Leyla took hold of Briony's hand, and asked, 'Are we alright, hun? I wouldn't upset you for the world. You know that, don't you?'

'Of course I do. Please don't think any more about it.'

'And you promise to come and stay with us if you ever make it to the States? You've kept our address safe?'

'I promise, and I have. And remember, the same goes for you and Scott.'

Once outside, she gave the couple a final, farewell hug as she said a heartfelt, 'God bless you both,' before hurrying away to the station café, not wanting them to see the tears in her eyes. Dear Scott and Leyla; how fond she had become of them.

They arrived in London nearly three hours later. More passengers had been dropped off en route, including Peggy and Malcolm. One fortunate pair were deposited at the end of their road.

Opening the door for the last time, Reuben made haste to begin the process of handing over the remaining luggage.

Having already said her goodbyes to some of the other passengers she had become friendly with over the past ten days, Briony went to join the queue. She remembered standing in the same queue on that first day - when everyone had been a stranger. Little did she know then what was in store for her. If she had, would she have turned around and gone home? No, she decided, despite the 'hiccoughs' Reuben had mentioned, and how he had been such a nuisance, at least she had been able to tell him something about the Lord. And, taking everything into consideration, she had really enjoyed herself; it had been the break she had needed. So, yes, she would have stayed.

He was ready for her by the time she reached the head of the queue. Handing over her suitcase, he asked, 'And so, Miss Briony Beresford, here we are. I hope you... allowed yourself to have some enjoyment over the past ten days?'

She was a great believer in making partings as painless and gracious as possible, and held out her hand, thinking how his eyes look even darker than usual in the station's semi-gloom. 'I certainly did, despite one or two... difficulties. And I agreed with every word Malcolm said. Oh, and I hope that your plans are successful and that everything works out for you.'

'It will. And, who knows, maybe you'll force yourself to break out of that straight jacket and come and find out for yourself one day?' He released her hand, then added, 'I'd even give you a special rate.'

She shook her head, thinking how incorrigible he was, before saying her parting words. 'Goodbye, Reuben, and please don't ever forget that God really does love you.'

He shook his head slowly, his lips pressed tightly together in a thin, hard line.

She walked away without a backward glance.

The tour was over.

### Part 2

### January 1972

**"** **Grace is God's hand, giving;**

**Faith is man's hand, receiving."**

_(Anon.)_

**Grace is a Person called Jesus.**

_(Derived from a quote by Joseph Prince.)_

# Chapter 22

#

# Memories

Briony knew that the first Christmas without her parents would be challenging, and did what she could to emotionally cushion the weeks running up to the festive season. She was an enthusiastic member of her church's drama group, and it helped that their latest production, entitled 'The Greatest Gift of All', had been very well received when they had performed it around the local churches.

By Christmas Eve, most of the beds on the female orthopaedic ward were empty; the only patients remaining were those in need of twenty-four-hour nursing care.

With the morning part of her split shift over, she changed out of her uniform and walked the mile-and-a-half to the local cemetery. She stood alone, looking down at the stark plot that was her parent's grave. It was a forlorn and dejected sight. At least the bunch of red roses and holly she had attempted to display in the vase added a bit of colour to the snow-covered soil. The exceptionally wet autumn had been followed by a winter that had brought with it several heavy snowfalls, resulting in many parts of the cemetery becoming waterlogged. Some of the gravestones around the plot were leaning at awkward angles as the clay beneath them lost its integrity. She and Claire had been informed that the ground would need at least another three months to settle before their parent's stone could be erected.

'I really don't want to come here again,' her younger sister had announced after another rainy visit. 'It's so depressing. Anyway, Mum made me promise not to hang around here before she... she said she'd rather that I got on with my own life.'

Briony wasn't surprised. Her mother had said the same to her. 'It's okay, Claire. I don't mind coming alone, and I expect I won't come as often as time goes by.' Her thoughts returned to the day of her mother's funeral. Following the coffin into the church, the Minister's sonorous voice could be heard clearly above the noise of the traffic coming from the nearby road:-

**' "...** **I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die." '** **8**

Claire had challenged her about the words afterwards. 'What did he mean about living even if they die, and then never dying? That doesn't make sense?'

This was unusual for Claire, who rarely asked Briony anything about her faith, and always avoided any talk of death. On the few occasions when the subject of death had come up, Briony had tried to describe the times she had stood beside the bed of a dying patient and watched the failing body come to a full and final end. The desperate, fearful struggle for one more breath, and the look of terror in their glazed eyes, was always upsetting to witness. And yet, maybe just days before, some of these same patients had been adamant about their belief that, 'there was nothing but... nothing on the other side.'

Now, she tried to give as compact and comprehensive answer as she could. 'It means that everyone who believes in Jesus only dies physically; their spirits go to be with Him at the point of death. They, their _real_ selves, never really die.'

'And where'd you get all that from?' asked Claire, looking at her warily, and sounding very cynical.

'The Bible, of course. There's quite a lot about what we can expect to happen to us all when we die. In Jesus' own words too. And He certainly wasn't lying.'

As usual, Claire decided to change the subject, and went on to talk about 'more sensible things'.

It was mid-January when Briony received a small package from America bearing the Ohio postmark. The only people she knew from that part of the world were Scott and Leyla. She slit the envelope open and carefully removed the padding. Inside was a film cassette and a covering letter, written in blue biro, and by a neat and flowery hand:-

_Mr & Mrs S & L Masters,_

_1998 Charlesville Road,_

_Chillicothe,_

_Ohio, 4233,_

_U.S.A._

_Tuesday, 2nd November 1971._

_Hello Hon,_

_Yes, it is us! I guess you're kind'a surprised to hear from your old coach buddies again! You see, we told you that we wouldn't forget you, and here we are with a small gift that we hope will bring back some happy memories._

_I can't tell you how long Scott spent on the editing. He came down with a bad dose of flu after we got back, then he picked up a kidney infection, and it's taken him months to get back on his feet. But he's fine now, and I think he's done a great job, and I hope you will think so too when you've seen it. All those truly wonderful places - and the people! You Brits are such a peculiar lot, but we got very fond of you, (apart from one or two - who shall remain nameless, but you know who I'm talking about)._

_We've just booked our next trip. My vote was for the Italian Riviera, but Scott's had a hankering for the Alps. I let him win, but only because he promised to take me to Lake Como AND Venice the year after! (You're down on our postcard list)._

_We often talk about you, and hope that you've got some good friends who are cheering you up, but then I remember how fondly you spoke of your church, so I guess you have._

_I'll sign-off now, hon. Missing you and sending you our love._

_From your old coaching buddies,_

_Leyla and Scott. xxx._

_PS: It would be great if you let us know if you receive this safely._

The only person Briony knew who had a cine camera was Allen Cummings, a member of her church. She showed him the cassette the following Sunday. He looked at it carefully before stating that it looked to be compatible with his projector, and arrangements were made for her to go and view the film at his house the following Saturday morning.

The day arrived, and Allen's wife, Sue, opened the door with a cheerful, 'Hello there! Welcome to the Odeon cinema, par excellence!'

'Hi Sue. Are you sure you don't mind me invading your home like this?' Briony asked, holding out the box of chocolates she had stopped to buy on the way. 'I hope you both like these.'

'Oh, Milk Tray. Very nice. Come on then. He's waiting for you in the lounge. You won't mind if we leave you to it? There's a sale on at Bryce's that needs my attention, and Allen's got some shelves to put up in the kitchen; he's been trying to get around to doing them since before Christmas.'

'Of course not.'

She was ushered into a room, already in semi-darkness. The heavy brown velvet curtains were drawn, and a large white screen had been erected against one of the walls. Allen was peering into the side of a large projector and acknowledged her with a grunt.

'Take a pew,' instructed Sue, 'I'll fetch the coffee. White with one sugar, isn't it?'

Briony went over and handed Allen the cassette before going to sit on the sofa. She was relieved to hear that she would be watching the film alone, especially because she wasn't sure what the _Portmeirion_ scene would reveal - if anything.

With nimble, practiced hands, Allen inserted the cassette into the appropriate slot of the projector. A series of clicks and whirs began to emanate from the humming machine. Seconds later, a series of strange symbols and numbers began to flash across the screen.

'It's of that coach tour you went on, isn't it?' he asked, leaning back and putting his hands in his trouser pockets.

'Yes. Last September.'

'Never fancied going on one myself. All that rushing about doesn't appeal to me. Sue's done a few with her sister; she loves them.'

'I know what you mean. But we were given enough time to look around when we stopped anywhere, although we did have to keep an eye on the time. It suited me anyway. Have you and Sue been to Wales?'

The flashing stopped. 'Several times, always the Mumbles; it's one of our favourite places.' He bent to peer into and around the machine again before giving the lens a last-minute wipe, the action reminding her of Scott. At last, and satisfied that the preliminary checks were over, he turned and looked at her over a pair of half-moon glasses. 'All systems go. Ready?'

She nodded, 'As I'll ever be.'

Sue reappeared, just as Leyla's smiling image filled the screen. 'Who's that?' she asked, handing Briony a mug and going to sit down beside her.

'One of the other passengers. Her and her husband sat near me on the coach,' Briony replied, experiencing a sudden and unexpected feeling of affection at seeing Leyla again. 'Her husband was the photographer. They were American, and I got to know them quite well. They were a lovely couple.'

'She looks jolly,' remarked Sue, 'and that's one heck of a perm.'

'Okay then. I'll leave you to it,' said Allen. 'Nothing should go amiss, but I'll be in the kitchen if you need me.'

Sue patted the box of chocolates before deftly opening it and selecting a few. 'I need the energy. And I'll have to get going too. No point in going to a sale if you can't get a bargain. Will we see you at church tomorrow?'

Briony shook her head. 'On duty. And thanks once again you two. I really appreciate this.'

Her mouth full of chocolate, Sue grinned as she gave a small wave and followed Allen out of the room, leaving Briony alone.

Leyla was pointing at the display panel above the coach's windscreen. In her American accent, sounding stronger than Briony could remember, she announced, 'This is our fourth trip, and our last. We're going to spend ten days touring the mountains, coast and lakes of Wales. Scott's all excited about going on those cute little trains we've been promised some rides on, and I'm just dying to walk by the sea again.'

'Well now, let's begin. We joined the tour at Chepstow, a great little place with a great castle. Right now, we're heading out to find 'a cup of tea...' she spoke this last phrase in a decently effected English accent, '... at a place with such a quaint name: _Crickhowell_. Come on now, let's take a look around.'

There followed some images of the town with the flat-topped mountain nearby, after which Scott's disembodied voice could be heard explaining that, at this point, he had inserted, '... a few shots of the journey we've just made from Chepstow, including one of the ruined castle near _Abergavenny_. We're told there'll be plenty more of these to see in the coming days. And now, let's introduce you to our Courier/Driver, Reuben Zimmerman.'

The next picture caused Briony to take her first sharp intake of breath, for there, smiling and smoking as he leant against the front of the coach, and appearing to be completely relaxed, was Reuben. Yes, she thought. There you are. And looking as handsome as ever. She had been curious, and just a bit concerned, about how she would feel at seeing his image again. Now she knew: she felt completely unmoved.

He appeared in the next photo as well, still in front of the coach, only this time flanked by Leyla and herself. She tried to study her expression as Scott introduced her. 'This lovely lady's Briony. A fine British nurse who we made a good friend of, and who came to the aid of one of the passengers who fell ill on the coach.'

The next picture was of Scott, Leyla and Reuben. This was the photo she had been persuaded to take, and she remembered how nervous she had felt at her first handling of the expensive looking camera. Scott had been right; it had turned out well.

'Ah!' she exclaimed when the Biggins sisters' images appeared next. Sitting upright in her seat on the coach, and scowling at a doleful looking Monica, Daphne appeared to be completely unaware that they were being photographed. Then there was Simon and Shirley Frensham, followed by Bill and Ann Thomas; the former looked to be concentrating hard on something he was chewing. Tom and Maisy Prentergast came next, then George and Audrey Cook. Briony studied George's face, trying to detect any warning sign of the heart condition that was to kill him just a few days later, but the limited interior lighting of the coach revealed no clue.

Now came dear old Malcolm and Peggy. Poor Peggy, she thought, wondering how her hip was, and how the two surprise gifts had gone down at their Ruby Wedding Anniversary party.

The exterior view of their hotel in _Llandrindod Wells_ came next, and looked more impressive than it had actually been, which made Briony consider again how the phrase 'The camera never lies' should be reworded to 'Warning: The camera does not always give a true representation'.

There followed several pictures of a hotel room, which she assumed was Scott and Leyla's, and then several of the passengers relaxing in the hotel bar.

Some of the attractively fronted Victorian and Edwardian shops of the town came next, followed by the slate mine. Here, Scott began using the cine camera \- and had obviously been impressed by the miner's slate-splitting display - which he had filmed in its entirety.

That evening's singer was allowed a few seconds footage as the camera panned around the lounge, recording the passengers as they chatted and danced. And there she was again, wearing her tan-coloured, velveteen dress, and talking with Reuben. That had been the time when he told her how much he 'enjoyed a challenge'. Well, maybe she had been some sort of challenge for him, but not in the way he had hoped. Sighing heavily, she popped a strawberry cream into her mouth.

The next morning's excursion to the _Elan_ _Valley_ looked impressive, and the room filled with the sound of cascading water as it rushed down the face of the first dam they had stopped at. The few minutes she had filmed of Scott and Leyla standing in front of the _Clearwen_ Reservoir had turned out well, and she was pleased that Scott had managed to edit out the part where she had jolted the camera.

More water scenes followed, this time of the bridges and gorge at Devil's Bridge. Was it here that Reuben had the showdown with Daphne Biggins? Yes, she recalled hearing about it when she returned to the hotel - and how alarmed she had felt when Shirley Frensham suggested starting a petition.

But she wasn't allowed to dwell on that unfortunate episode for long, when the steam engine, the _Owain Glyndŵr_ , appeared on the screen, emitting clouds of white smoke and accompanied by the sound of loud hissing.

This was followed by some shaky footage of the densely-wooded route the train had made on its rain-soaked way to _Aberystwyth_ , after which there were several minutes taken on the Cliff Railway. The rain had stopped, and she hoped that Scott had been pleased with the views he had been able to take of the town and Cardigan Bay from the top of Constitution Hill.

And then came the first view of Barmouth Bridge, immediately followed by a few seconds of the Grand hotel. The harbour looked idyllic, and she was pleased to see that Scott had caught something of the massive shape of the clumpy looking mountain that overlooked the town.

Then, there was Leyla again, smiling broadly, and striding confidently along the long, sandy beach, as she deftly tied a headscarf around her carefully-coiffured hair.

The _Portmeirion_ scene came next, and she couldn't help laughing out loud at the sight of Leyla and herself, frantically chasing around the village. And then, at last, there was _that_ kiss on the stone boat. But Scott had been clever with his editing and had managed to show the scene from some distance, only panning in on her face when she held up her sign, and called out, 'I told you I'm not a number. Look, now I really am a free woman!' The section finished with a few seconds showing her and Reuben, their backs to the camera and with his arm around her shoulders, as they stood looking out to sea.

And now the view was of another steam train, this time climbing up Snowdon's steep slopes. There wasn't much time for her to dwell on the short, but unpleasant exchange between Reuben and herself on its misty summit, as Scott's disembodied voice broke in, once again, to introduce a Welsh male voice choir singing 'Men of Harlech', as the castle came into view.

This was followed by a few scenes of _Betws-y-Coed_ , including St. Mary's Church. And now she recalled that discussion between herself and Reuben on the bench; he had sounded so sincere when he had asked why she was not willing to take him seriously. How hard she had tried to give her reasons for not wanting to start any type of relationship with him, fleeting or otherwise. And now, after all the reminders of all the tour's places, people and experiences she had just seen, it was this one memory that finally succeeded in getting through to her. If she could have, she would have stopped the film right there and prayed, but the projector continued its soulless, mechanical whirring. She tried to push the memory away as scenes of the colourful interior of the Welsh woollen mill and all the music and drama of the medieval banquet followed.

Then, as it had started, so the film finished, with the noise and bustle of the interior of Victoria Coach Station. And there was Leyla again, standing beside the coach, and giving one of her bright, evenly-toothed smiles.

'That's all, folks. Hope you enjoyed it. We're back in London, and what a great time we've had. Hat's off to Halcyon Tours; they took great care of us and we've had some wonderful times. We've met some charming people and eaten some... interesting food. But it's back to the States for us now. So, as they say in this part of the world, it's "What-ho" and "Cheerio" from me and Scott.'

At last, the words, 'The End' flashed onto the screen, closely followed by another rapid series of incomprehensible symbols and spots. And then the whirring stopped. The room became quiet. She sat immobile, once again feeling the relief that there had been no contact of any kind from Reuben since the end of the tour. For some weeks after her return, she had spent several long prayer times interceding for him in the way she had once prayed for Mark; asking the Lord to open his spiritually blind eyes and deaf ears, and, especially, to soften his very hard heart. She had also felt the need to ask the Lord to forgive her for being so insensitive and argumentative every time she had spoken to him, having come to the conclusion that that was not the way to encourage or draw anyone to Him.

'He's all Yours, Lord,' she said, quietly, her eyes resting on the empty screen. 'Thank You that You can take my failures and do something with them, and that, one day, he will come to realise and understand how much You really do love him. And thank You, once again, for the tour, and for some of the lovely places I saw and lovely people I met, especially Scott and Leyla, and Peggy and Malcom.'

The door opened and Allen stepped in. 'All done?' he asked, walking towards the projector.

'Yes. Thank you,' she replied, picking up her bag. 'And please don't think me rude, but I'm on duty this afternoon and I'd better be making tracks.'

'Hang on a minute,' he replied, operating the controls.

The machine was fast, and just seconds later he was able to hand her the rewound cassette. 'Did it bring back some good memories?'

'Yes, very,' she replied, feeling that despite seeing Reuben again, it had. It really had.

Two days later, she wrote to Scott and Leyla to thank them. Enclosed in the envelope were copies of some of the photographs she had taken of the couple, each one showing them in various locations. On the back of one, where she had come across them walking hand-in-hand on Barmouth beach, she had written, 'I love this one and have had it enlarged and framed. It's on my lounge wall, and every time I look at it, it reminds me that true love really does exist.'

# Chapter 23

#

# The Day Conference

'Will you be there on Saturday?' Reverend Donaldson asked as they shook hands by the main door after the morning service. 'I should imagine it'll be right up your street.'

'Yes. Of course,' Briony replied emphatically, stepping aside to make way for the people behind and allow the hand-shaking to continue unhindered. The conference, entitled: 'How to Respond to the Challenge of Euthanasia?' was being held the following Saturday in the church hall.

Reverend Donaldson had inaugurated a series of such conferences soon after his arrival at Neville Street Baptist Church, and very popular they had proved to be too. After being in the ministry for nearly 30 years, and although confident about what the Bible's teaching was on a variety of controversial subjects, he had chosen to invite Christian experts in each field to come and address his flock. Invitations were sent to all the nearby churches, and it was not uncommon to find over a hundred people crowding into the church hall for the bi-monthly events.

Age-old, 'thorny topics' were tackled, as well as some more contemporary issues, including: The Bible: Fact or Fiction?; Is God Ever Silent?; Jesus: Was He Mad, Bad, or Sad?; Misconceptions about the Nativity; Evolution-versus-Creation; Who, or what, is Responsible for "Natural" Disasters?; The Return of Christ; Hell and Heaven: Are They Real?; Violence Within Marriage, and, What Does the Bible Say about Abortion?

After what Briony had witnessed of her parents' suffering, she had become unsettled about the whole problem of mercy killing - for that is what she felt euthanasia actually was. As a Christian, she had come to believe that a person's lifespan was in God's hands. There were Scriptures stating this, such as:-

**...** **All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.** **9**

But now she wasn't so sure. The argument: 'If we can end the suffering of animals by helping them die, then why can't we do the same for humans?' had begun to sound more reasonable these days. So yes, she would be grateful for the opportunity to hear what those who had studied the subject in much greater depth than she was capable of had to say.

The hall was full to capacity when Revered Donaldson handed over to the speaker, and the middle-aged, distinguished looking man lost no time in launching into the subject.

'The act of helping someone to end their life because they are going through some form of suffering, such as a terminal illness, is called euthanasia, also known as mercy killing, or assisted suicide. None of these terms are specifically mentioned in the Bible. But let's consider one of the Ten Commandments, the sixth to be precise, where God clearly states that He classes the taking of a human life as murder:-

**"** **You shall not murder."** **10**

'The Hebrew use of the command encompasses causing death through carelessness or negligence. From this, we can confidently state that killing is not God's will, be it intentional or unintentional. It's of great concern to many of us that, at some time in the future, our government will see fit to legalise euthanasia. If, and when, this unfortunate state of affairs does occur, would we, as Bible-Believing Christians, be obliged to obey? For those of you who answer "yes", I would respectfully ask you to consider the many times society has legalised things that are diametrically opposed to the Word of God.

'When Peter and the other apostles appeared before the Sanhedrin for preaching the Gospel and healing people - in other words, obeying God - were they wrong in saying:-

**... "** **We must obey God rather than men! ... "** **11**

'And how many times did our Lord speak out against the superfluous, man-made rules and traditions that the Jewish leaders of the day added to the Law that had been handed down to them through Moses - many of which proved to be impractical and burdensome, some even quite ridiculous?

'But let's get back to our origins. Genesis describes how we are made in the image of God, and it is He who gives us life. Also consider what the book of Job says:-

**Man's days are determined; you have decreed the number of his months and have set limits he cannot exceed.** **12**

'This statement is all the more remarkable, coming as it did from the mouth of someone who was going through his own unbearable suffering. Extreme as it was, Job knew that only God had the right to decree when his end should be.

'Now let's look at the issue from another angle. We can find nothing in the Bible that obliges us to do everything in our power to keep someone who is suffering alive for as long as possible. Instead, the whole tone of Scripture, specifically throughout the New Testament, is that we should do all we can to bring them comfort and ease their pain, but _without_ hastening their death.'

Briony had worked the previous night, and had arrived hoping that her tiredness wouldn't make it difficult for her to concentrate. However, she found the morning session so interesting that she hadn't really needed the coffee that was served during the break. The speaker had a fine, clear voice, and with the aid of some colourful slides and a logical, step-by-step teaching method, sprinkled with some humour, had, in her opinion, succeeded in making the subject palatable as well as thought-provoking. She recognised many of the faces present. Like her, a regular core of people turned up for the conferences, and she was on friendly terms with several individuals. One such group came from another Baptist Church, and she found herself sitting with two of their number over the lunch break.

'Fancy one of these?' Cynthia asked, holding out a Tupperware container full of what smelled suspiciously like egg sandwiches. 'I ran out of mayonnaise and had to use salad cream instead.'

Briony accepted one, before offering her own cheese and pickle ones.

The exchange completed, Cynthia's friend, Sheila, tilted her head to the side of the hall, and remarked, 'Wonder what Geoffrey's making of all this after losing Pauline. I'm surprised he's here.'

Briony looked over and saw a group of men sitting on the hard-backed wooden chairs along the side wall. She and her companions had chosen to stay on the more comfortable plastic chairs in the main body of the room.

Sheila continued, 'He only buried her a few weeks ago. Ugh!' she shuddered. 'Dreadful day. It just wouldn't stop raining. I thought I'd catch my death of cold standing by that grave.' She paused to take a drink of some strong looking tea. 'I'm still sniffling, but thank God it's not gone to my chest. And there's that awful man, Theo... whatshisname with him. He's a strange one. Can't figure him out at all. He's divorced you know. Has been for some time, and they say it was a really bad one.'

'It's Davidson,' said Cynthia, who wasn't as expressive as her friend, and had an aversion to all forms of gossip. 'And we don't know that, do we? And it's nobody's business but their own. Just because he's the quiet type - '

' _Quiet!_ Huh! You can say that again,' Sheila interrupted. 'He's not spoken more than half a dozen words to me this past six months. Like trying to get blood out of a stone. And it's not just me, I'll have you know, it's a lot of us. Treats us like we've got the plague. In fact, I think he does everything he can to avoid us. Strange carry-on, if you ask me.'

Knowing that she should take no notice of such things, Briony couldn't help feeling curious enough to look over at the subject of their discussion. She had noticed the man before, and now she thought about it, she had never really spoken to him, nor he to her. He was casually but smartly dressed, and she wondered what he did for a living. His hair was light brown, greying at the temples, and she tried to decide how old he was. Forty? No, nearer fifty; maybe somewhere in-between. So, he was divorced, well, that was nothing new; there seemed to be an increasing number of divorcees coming along to church these days. 'What does he do?' she asked, 'I can't quite place him.'

'Teach. Deputy Head at the local Grammar. Oh, he's clever alright, got it up here,' Sheila pointed at her forehead, then at her chest, 'Doesn't mean to say he's got it down here though; a right cold fish. I'm surprised they let him stay on, being divorced. Doesn't sound right to me, being so close to children. What kind of example is that?'

Cynthia felt moved to say, 'We don't know what went on, do we? For all we know, he might have been the innocent party. And why should he be penalised for... whatever his wife did, or didn't, do?'

But Sheila wasn't about to have her opinion of the man changed quite so easily. 'Alright then, you tell me why he never joins in with things? You won't see him at any of the clubs. And look how he was at the barn dance; just stood there, like a spare part. He wouldn't even dance with Joyce when she asked him. I don't know why he bothered going. A right queer carry-on.'

'I know he tries to get along to the house group whenever he can,' replied Cynthia, keen to continue defending someone she was quite fond of. 'And he's here now, isn't he? Maybe he's like a lot of men, and doesn't like dancing. And his school responsibilities must keep him busy, specially at night.'

'What? The odd parents' evening?' challenged Sheila, unwrapping a packet of Cadbury's Snack chocolate biscuits, and still unwilling to give the man the benefit of the doubt.

'Well, there must be all sorts of meetings he has to go to, him being the Deputy Headmaster.'

'Oh, go on with you!' Sheila exclaimed, offering the pack around. 'You'd excuse a mass murderer if he looked sorry. Anyway, I fancy another drink. Anyone else for one? All this talk about suffering and death's been drying up my vitals.'

Still feeling slightly thirsty herself, Briony offered to fetch the drinks. Nearing the group of men, she stole a brief glance at Theo Davidson. Something must have amused him because he was laughing. He looked up at her as she walked past, and she noticed the laughter creases around his eyes. A genuine laugh there, she thought.

After another teaching session, they were asked to form small groups and share any experiences they might have had regarding 'the suffering that could only lead to death.' It soon became obvious that several members of Briony's group were keen to relate details of their own harrowing experiences. At one point, she looked around, and noticed that Theo Davidson and his lunch companions had joined the group next to hers.

Geoffrey, the widower of just two weeks, eventually managed to break into the discussion, and told them that he had spent the past eighteen months nursing his wife, Pauline. 'Someone told me about the Suicide Act they brought in about ten years ago, and I had to keep reminding myself that I'd be breaking the law if I did give in and... and... you know.'

'1961,' another member interrupted.

'Was it? Well, anyway, she kept begging me, specially during those last months. But it's like he said about a higher law, God's law, and how we need to stick to it, no matter what the law of the land says. I believed that, and I'm convinced that's what held me back from doing anything stupid in the end.'

'Good job you didn't then!' remarked Sheila, as usual, never backwards in coming forwards. 'Or you'd have been had up for murder. And how'd your Pauline have felt about that - knowing that there'd have been a big court case, and you'd have to spend goodness knows how long in prison?'

'What did she say when you wouldn't do it?' Asked someone else.

Geoffrey considered. 'She knew about the consequences. And there was one time when she seemed to perk up a bit after they upped her pain relief. We were even able to celebrate our diamond wedding anniversary, and she told me she was glad I hadn't given in. She'd always had a thing for paperweights, and I got her one: glass, with a small diamond inside. She loved it. I... I...' here he paused, struggling to maintain control. 'It was her favourite; wanted it buried with her.'

Everyone remained silent, sensing the need to allow him a few moments to compose himself. Briony glanced across at the group next to them, who also appeared to be going through a time of relative silence. Theo Davidson had his head bent low as though he was praying. He looked up and over in her direction, and she quickly turned away.

Sheila had felt that enough time had passed, and felt compelled to comment, 'I've heard of people changing their minds. And what about that woman he spoke about?' She looked over at the speaker who was walking slowly around the hall. 'The one who thanked her son for not doing it, and how she lived long enough to hold her grandson. Sounded like she'd just had a dose of depression to me.'

Briony spoke up now, again remembering her own experiences with her parents. 'But it's not that simple. And isn't it only natural that people go through all sorts of negative emotions, including times of hopelessness and real despair when they're facing death? The sheer discomfort and pain and lack of dignity must be really hard to deal with. It must be awful to find yourself helpless, especially when you have to completely rely on others to care for all your basic needs.'

'That's where counselling helps,' commented another member of the group. 'Our doctor arranged some sessions for me and my daughter when my husband passed away. But we could have done with it before, you know, when he was still with us.'

'Then you were lucky! There's nothing like that at our doctors,' added another, who had remained silent so far. 'And what about all these old people losing their minds? I think it's cruel to keep them alive. They're never going to get better. It must be terrible for their loved ones, watching them deteriorate. Degrading I call it. I wouldn't put my dog through it. We're quick enough to have them put down when it's their time.'

Relieved at having had this issue resolved during the morning session, Briony spoke up again. 'Didn't he cover that? Remember, in Genesis, where God gave us authority over the animals?'

A severe looking woman joined in the discussion now. 'But what about science, and how it's helping us to live longer these days? A bit _too_ long, in my opinion.'

'Are you saying that we don't need God anymore when it comes to deciding how and when we should die?' asked another member.

The severe looking woman's brows furrowed to meet in the middle, as she retorted, 'I didn't say that! But we do need to be mature about this. It's no good shirking our responsibilities for those who are in desperate need and really should be ... assisted in some way.'

Everyone stared at her, wanting to, but feeling they shouldn't, ask how many people she had 'assisted in some way.'

Cynthia had remained silent until now, but entered the conversation at last. 'Don't you think that God's already taken into account the times we live in? Modern-day drugs and scientific advances are wonderful blessings, but no surprise to Him.'

Several heads nodded in agreement.

However, the severe looking woman stubbornly stuck to her point of view. 'Well, be that as it may, I just hope that the law's changed by the time it comes to _my_ turn. _I_ don't want to be a burden to anybody.'

'Nor me either. My children have got enough to deal with. I'd feel guilty making them... deal with something like that,' yet another member added.

Briony thought back to the times her parents had expressed their feelings of guilt over the amount of time she was spending with them. To think that they would have chosen to shorten their days just to ease her burden was unthinkable. And who knows what level of guilt she might have been left to deal with if - for her sake - they had been allowed to voluntarily end their own lives.

'And the cost!' declared the severe looking woman. 'Looking after them must be very expensive. And what about all the other things we need the money for? Look at what's going on in Northern Ireland, the Army... and what about all these immigrants? Can the country afford to look after them too? Half of them go straight on the dole.'

Briony felt she should speak up again, and asked, 'Are you suggesting that we put a price-limit on a life? And if we did, how much, say, for a sick 40-year-old, or a 50-year old? What about a young drug addict, or an alcoholic? Once they've used up their allotted life-allowance, that's it! Time to get rid of them! Where would it end? Any type of financial sliding scale like that could eventually lead to all sorts of things coming in that we'd find shocking now. Don't forget when he said that once a law is passed, it often gets revised - stretched, like a piece of elastic, to encompass... include - other things further down the line.'

The woman looked uncomfortable. 'Well, no, of course not! I'm not suggesting that for one moment.'

'Pardon me, but that's exactly what it did sound like,' replied Briony, holding her Bible up, and declaring, 'Remember how much God values each and every human life? By allowing His Son to come and pay for your ransom, and mine, with His own death. And not in pounds, shilling and pence, but with His own blood!'

'Come on ladies!' exclaimed a distinguished looking grey-haired man, who had not yet had the opportunity to contribute to the discussion. 'I think the young lady's made a valid point. We've already started passing laws about abortion; the beginning of life. You watch if they don't go and 'adapt' the law and allow a woman to abort a child earlier. The ice is broken, and that's why I'm dead set against any government interference over this matter. We'll always have folk who are passionate about things, but they need to be reminded that a lot of us might not feel like them.'

'Aren't we allowed to have our say, then?' asked Sheila, who had quietly found herself agreeing with the severe looking woman.

'Well, of course you can,' the man replied. 'But the minority can't be allowed to demand that the majority change their ways to suit them. Just because they shout the loudest, it doesn't mean they've got it right, and that the law should be changed. By all means, their... concerns should be taken into consideration. And look at that "Burn Your Bra" lot! _Very_ vocal. Can you imagine if they had their way, and a law was passed forcing all women to burn theirs? I know it's just a symbol of their... grievances. And what they're really after might be very worthy, but I can't help feeling that things could go too far - '

'Oh, go on with you!' quipped Sheila, growing in confidence. 'No-one takes them seriously.'

'You might think that, but there are those who do, and _very_ seriously. And, you mark my words, this is just the beginning. I agree with the speaker, our priority should be to help those who are terminally ill by making them as comfortable as possible. We don't have the mandate to hasten death; we must allow it to take its natural course. And the young lady made another good point, if euthanasia is allowed in, then who's to say that society, in its wisdom, won't include others who aren't being productive to the list, including the frail elderly, the depressed, or even those who are just a bit fed-up with life? No! All moves towards making it legal needs stopping, and right now!'

It was with some relief to the majority of the group that the speaker chose that particular moment to announce that their time was up.

'It certainly sounds like there's been some stimulating discussions going on. Now, if you'd choose a spokesperson, I'm sure we'd all be interested to hear if you've been able to reach any conclusions, or maybe even found something you could actually agree on.'

The obvious person in Briony's group was the distinguished looking man. He agreed, and it was noticeable how Sheila, and the very opinionated, severe looking woman, chose to remain quiet.

After the feedback session ended, the speaker summed-up with what, in his opinion, was the only truly compassionate and Christian solution to the dilemma: the provision of a comprehensive programme of care for those nearing the end of their lives.

'It is my absolute belief that only by providing all-round nursing care, specifically effective pain relief, along with every available social, psychological, and spiritual support for the terminally ill _and_ their families, that we can help those who are approaching, or are already facing, their final chapter. To continue deliberately and stubbornly _prolonging_ the suffering of a dying person is unacceptable, and even, some would argue, cruel. Surely our responsibility is to find ways of easing their passing whilst allowing them to die a _natural_ and _dignified_ death. Let us help them pass from this world to the next, but at the time and day that has already been ordained, and not by any method outside the will of their Creator.'

He went on to tell them about the work of St. Christopher's, a hospice in South London founded six years earlier by Dr. Cicely Saunders. Briony had heard something of the work done there, and found herself agreeing with him wholeheartedly. Of course, this was the ideal answer, and surely the only logical and clearly God-given one to the problem. How good, in every way, it would have been if her parents could have ended their days in such a place - instead of on a busy and noisy hospital ward. And so, for her, the matter was settled.

The speaker continued, 'You might be interested to know that a small group of people have recently formed a steering committee to look into the possibility of bringing such a facility to this area. Unfortunately, none of them were available to join us today due to a previous commitment. But if anyone is interested in knowing more, do make sure to give your contact details before you leave, and I'll pass them on. I know they're looking for people from all walks of life. If you can walk and talk, then you can help.'

The day ended with a question and answer session. Before she left, Briony added her name to the list of those interested in knowing more about the proposed facility.

She woke early the next morning and spent some time making notes in her 'Day Conferences' folder. She was grateful that she had had the opportunity to spend a whole day dedicated solely to the matter of caring for the dying. The few hours of teaching she had received during her training had been limited and sporadic, and, in her opinion, woefully inadequate. Now she was more convinced than ever that, just like maternity hospitals, places like the St. Christopher's should be an integral part of every community.

At the end of the pre-printed notes, which they had all been given, she added a comment of her own:-

_A well-balanced, responsible society should help its members to accept and care for those at the end of their lives - just like it does for those at the beginning._

# Chapter 24

#

# The Sister

Mr. George, the Orthopaedic Consultant, was expected at any moment. As usual, Sister McCartney was on high alert. Everything had to be perfect. Amongst the many things that frequently upset her was an untidy bed space, just like the one her critically searching eye had spotted on her latest unscheduled ward inspection.

'Nurse Fairfax!' she called sharply to the nearest member of the ward team, whose misfortune it was to be walking past at that precise moment.

'Stop dawdling, girl, and come and sort out Mrs Standish's bed. Look at the state of it! What am I running here? A rubbish dump?'

The young pupil nurse halted and looked uncertainly at the used bedpan she was holding. Already behind with the list of jobs she had been given to complete by the morning's break, she was in a hurry to get to the sluice and test the pan's contents.

'Come on, girl! Jump to it! And what's that doing there? Get rid of it,' ordered the increasingly impatient Sister, pointing at a magazine laying open on another patient's bedside locker. Was that Mr. George's voice she could hear? She marched off, her sensible laced-up shoes hitting the thoroughly bleached linoleum floor hard on her way back to the office.

Briony looked on sympathetically. She was occupied with helping Mrs Lattimer into bed. The poor woman was looking faint after just having had twenty-seven large, thick black orthopaedic stitches removed from her right knee. Although the procedure had been carried out under local anaesthetic in theatre, four of the stitches had been so firmly embedded in the flesh that they had needed to be cut out.

The young nurse hurried past Briony.

'Here,' Briony said, reaching her hand out for the bedpan, and noticing how miserable she looked. 'Give me that, and whose is it?' she asked, pushing it under the bed.

The nurse halted. 'Mrs Harding's. It needs testing for sugar.'

'Okay, I'll deal with it. You'd better go and sort out that bed space; it sounds like Mr. George has already arrived.'

The nurse hurried away. Briony stooped to take hold of Mrs Lattimer's leg. The old lady shuffled her bottom onto her bed as Briony supported the limb's almost dead weight.

'Ooh! It hurts terribly, nurse. Can't you get me something for it?'

Briony poured some water into a glass and offered it to her before placing the protective cradle over her legs. 'Can you wait until Mr. George has been round? He'll want to see you.'

Accepting her fate, the patient leaned back on her pillows and took a sip. 'Alright nurse. But I don't ever want to go through that again.'

Making a mental note to try to prevent the physios from descending upon her, at least until the next day, Briony laid the sheet and counterpane over the cradle. 'Well, it's over now, and I'll be coming round with the medicines soon.'

She retrieved the bedpan from under the bed and walked out of the ward, passing the consultant and his entourage as she did so.

'What are you doing, Staff Nurse?' asked Sister McCartney, glaring at the offending article. 'Get rid of _that_ and join us immediately!'

'Yes, Sister.'

Towards the end of the ward she noticed Nurse Fairfax holding a vomit bowl in front of a patient who looked as though she was just about to eject her breakfast. Knowing how long the round usually took, and hoping that she wouldn't be missed for a few more minutes, she decided to deal with the pan's contents first.

Alone in the sluice, she considered how the atmosphere on the ward had changed since dear old Sister Spencer had retired. This new one was a real tartar, and had lost no time in terrifying most of the junior doctors and nurses. But what was worse, and much, much worse, was the unnecessary distress she was causing many of the patients.

Trained as an Army nurse, Moira McCartney had brought her strict, military disciplinarian ways with her into Civvy Street. It seemed to Briony that the patients' care and comfort came a poor second to the Sister's unbending adherence to the all-powerful routine - which seemed to be her whole raison d'être. Now, instead of walking onto the ward to begin each new shift with a confident, almost relaxed step, Briony had to steel herself to spend at least part of the day trying to deal with some very upset patients and tearful junior nurses.

She tested the urine and went to join the round.

'Hi,' mouthed the doctor she went to stand next to, and one who regularly experienced the sharp end of Sister McCartney's tongue. 'Looks like the old bag's on form today,' he whispered, drawing his forefinger across his throat.

The entourage made its slow and steady progress along the ward. Standing as though to attention beside the consultant, the Sister agreed with every comment, request and decision he made as though her own life depended upon them. One by one, the patients also submissively agreed to undergo whatever unpleasant tests or painful level of physiotherapy they were told they needed.

At last the round was over. Briony lost no time in starting the drugs round and give the now seriously drooping Mrs Lattimer the next dose of some much-needed pain relief.

She called in at the travel agency after the shift, hoping to get a few ideas about how to spend her next week's break. The manageress, who had advised her before, was busy with another client, and she was left alone to scan the shelves of the new season's brochures. Amongst them, she could see no sign of anything resembling Reuben's idea, 'Secret Glens', and felt a slight pang of disappointment. She might have refused his advances, but she still wished him well with his proposed business venture. She left after choosing a few on coach tours; Halcyon's Tours was not amongst them.

Several minutes later she noticed a colleague waiting at a bus stop, and pulled over. 'Hello Wendy, do you want a lift? I'm going your way.'

Staff Nurse Williams lost no time in getting in. 'Thanks. Sam needed the car. Are you going to your sister's?'

'Yes, for tea. You look shattered; things as hectic as ever on Female Gynae?'

'You can say that again. We had a massive theatre list this morning and got two on Brompton's. Don't expect they'll be around after tomorrow. It's a crying shame they can't have the side rooms, but they're full of infectious cases.'

'Can't Intensive Care have them?'

'Full.'

'Same thing happened when my parents were in. They're always busy up there. I always feel sorry for the relatives; trying to control their emotions in such an impersonal and clinical type of atmosphere doesn't help. Actually, I've just been on a day conference about caring for the dying. Have you heard about a hospice in London called St. Christopher's?'

'It's strange you should mention that; Mr. Jerome was only talking about it the other day. He reckons there's a real groundswell of opinion pushing for something to be done with the old cottage hospital. You know, the one they closed down a few years ago, just outside Branderby, near that big roundabout?'

'Really? I wonder if that's the proposed facility I heard about at the conference? If it is, they might take in patients from the surrounding area as well.'

Obviously wanting to lighten the mood, Wendy went on to say, 'Anyway, changing the subject, I was asked what good toenails were today. One of our D&C's has got a nasty looking ingrown one. All I could think of was that they finish off our toes and must be some sort of throwback to our monkey days. Maybe they grew really long and helped us to hang onto branches and grab hold of... whatever we ate back then.'

Even now Briony felt some disappointment at the way many of her colleagues referred to the patients as just being body parts. She always looked upon them as being whole people: with bodies, souls and spirits. Amongst those lying so needily in their beds, or limping painfully around on crutches, or struggling to get around on wheelchairs, were people who - if their stories could be believed - were leading, or had led, some harrowing and challenging, even extraordinary, lives; retired nurses and doctors amongst them. And, as a Creationist, she wasn't able to agree with Wendy's comment about humans evolving from monkeys. However, rather than getting into the whole controversial 'Evolution-versus-Creation' argument, she chose instead to say, 'They must have some purpose, like our fingernails. Now they're very useful.'

'Audrey, you know her, she's the new sister on the Children's Ward? She said she'd do away with our tonsils and adenoids, or at least design them so they shrivelled up completely after childhood.'

'That would be useful. And what about the appendix?'

'Yeah, why not? And our coccyx too while we're at it. But it's my darned wisdom teeth that I'm really fed up with. And whilst we're on the subject, why the heck have men got nipples? Wouldn't be so bad if they did their share of the breast feeding. And why can't women be born without reproductive organs, and only grow them when they're ready to have children - if they want them.'

'Sounds a bit drastic to me. Don't you think there'd be a lot more sleeping around going on if that did happen?'

'Oh, I don't know. Anyway, we've got the pill. And another thing, our third eye-lid; that can be a nuisance when it gets inflamed. And what about that useless little bit on our ears?'

'Darwin's point, you mean? You know, there's no real evidence that we got that from monkeys.'

She turned to study Briony's closest ear. 'You don't look as though you've got them. I had an old boyfriend who could wiggle his ears about; went down well at parties. Anyway, they say we're getting less hairy, and not many are born now with a spare top rib, but it's still normal to find a spare pair at the bottom.'

'Hm, well, there's no doubt about it then, we really are

**"...** **fearfully and wonderfully made."** **13**

'Shakespeare?'

'No. Bible.'

Remembering that Briony was supposed to be religious, Wendy, who was leaning more towards atheism these days, decided to drop the subject. 'Talking of fearful things, how's the old dragon? Still spitting fire in all directions?'

'Dear old Sister McCartney? She's in fine fettle. Thankfully, I'm starting nights next week, so I'll only be seeing her at handover.'

'Then you'll be spending most of the morning rushing around with a bin bag. Is it true what I hear, that she's giving the patients points for keeping their bed spaces tidy?'

'Er, yes. That's her latest... initiative.'

'Stupid woman! She's a law unto herself. Makes you wonder what she'll come up with next.'

'Hm. I dread to think.'

# _Chapter 25_

#

# _The Introduction_

Briony received an invitation in the post, giving details of a public event to be held in Branderby Library about the hospice project. Her interest hadn't waned in any way, and two weeks later she walked into the room where the inaugural meeting was to take place.

'Briony!'

Recognising the voice, she turned to see Cynthia, standing alone, and looking slightly overwhelmed amongst the noisy crowd.

'Oh Briony, am I glad to see you. Look at all these people! Who'd have thought it?'

'Hello Cynthia. Are you on your own? Is Sheila here?'

'No. She wasn't really that interested. But you will sit with me, won't you? I'm feeling quite daunted.'

'Of course. Come on, let's find a seat before they're all taken.' She led the way to some vacant seats near the front. A printed agenda had been placed on each chair, and the two women began to scan the content, pointing and commenting at various items.

The meeting started a few minutes later. Sitting behind some tables at the front were four professional looking people. Diagrams showing the external and interior layouts of the old cottage hospital had been pinned on notice boards either side of them. The speakers took it in turns to introduce themselves, before regaling their audience with some highly charged and emotional accounts of their own considerable involvement with the dying.

Over an hour passed before a break was announced. Briony went to join the drinks queue, and it was only then that she noticed two familiar figures sitting on the back row: Mr. Jerome and Theo Davidson. Something had obviously amused them, because they were both enjoying a good laugh. She recalled how she had seen Theo laughing at the last conference, and concluded that, despite the limited knowledge she had of the man, he probably had a good sense of humour. It was then that Mr. Jerome looked up and saw her. He signalled her over; she signalled back that she would, after she had obtained the drinks.

'Weak tea, one small sugar and a custard cream, as ordered,' she said, handing Cynthia her drink. 'And you'll have to excuse me, there's someone over there who wants a word with me. I won't be long.'

'Ah, good, here she is,' the doctor commented, remaining in his seat. 'Theo, this is Staff Beresford, and a damn fine nurse she is too. Got a mean way with the bedpans, as well as a reputation as a bit of a Rottweiler when dealing with our more awkward visitors.'

Momentarily taken aback at the strange introduction, Briony attempted to smile as she looked down at the two men. 'Yes, but only with those who contributed to the patients' problems to begin with, Mr. Jerome, and would continue to do so unless they were told to change their ways.'

Theo bent to place his mug on the floor before slowly getting to his feet.

'And good for you, Briony,' the doctor replied, realising how unnecessarily offensive his remark must have sounded. 'And, er, this is Theo Davidson, Deputy Head at the local Grammar.'

Theo held out his hand. 'Actually, we have come across each other before. How do you do, Miss Beresford.'

She accepted his hand, noticing that his face held no trace of the laughter he had been enjoying just a few seconds earlier. In fact, he was looking at her now with what could only be described as a stern, even cold, expression. Had Sheila been right to label him as 'a right cold fish'? She then found herself being discomforted even more when Mr. Jerome announced, 'Ah, I've just spotted someone over there I need to see. Do you mind if I leave you two alone to get acquainted?'

Theo's frown deepened as he stared at the departing gynaecologist's back.

He's a good ten inches taller than me, she thought, before saying the first thing that came into her head, 'You go to Park Lane Baptist Church, don't you?'

He turned and looked down at her. Several silent seconds passed before he replied with an abrupt, 'Yes.'

Unprepared to be on the receiving end of such an unfriendly sounding response, she reacted physically, and took a step back. She hit the chair behind her, causing the occupant to spin around and look at her. 'Oh, I'm sorry,' she exclaimed, before turning to face 'the cold fish' again. Unable to think of anything more interesting to say, she offered, 'I go to Neville Street Baptist Church.'

'I know.'

She was feeling more uncomfortable by the second, however, inspiration came at last when she went on to say, 'It's good to see so much support for the hospice. And all those fund-raising ideas sound like fun, don't you think?'

A look of complete disinterest, even boredom, crossed his face, as he replied, 'If you like that sort of thing.'

Although becoming frustrated at his continued indifference, she decided that she would remain as friendly and polite as she could be in the hope that he would start responding likewise. 'Your church will join in and hold a few events, won't it? I'm sure my church will.'

Making no effort to hide the disdain in his voice, he replied, 'No doubt. However, there are those amongst us who certainly won't be participating in any stale-smelling jumble sale, or coerced into selling raffle tickets outside any busy shop doorways.'

Totally bewildered at his manner now, she could not help herself from asking, 'Really? Then what on earth are you doing here if you're not interested or concerned about the project in any way? You must have heard what they said about needing all the help they can get?' She watched his cold look turn icy. Then, feeling her own hackles begin to rise, added, 'And thank goodness there are those amongst us who aren't hampered with such useless things as false pride; it's such a costly and wasteful thing to have, don't you think?'

Trying not to show that he had been taken by surprise, although his slightly raised eyebrows betrayed him, he recovered quickly, and went on to say, sarcastically, 'Fascinating! I've no doubt you'll be in your element selling stale cakes... or hysterically congratulating some coconut-smashing he-man at a fête.'

The image amused her, and she tried not to smile too much, as she replied, 'And you don't think the cause is worthy enough to come and join us?'

He leaned forward a few inches and fixed her with a hard stare. 'Now then, Miss Beresford, are you sure you aren't mistaking my interest in the project with any you could possibly imagine I have in you?'

' _What?'_ she almost shouted, feeling suddenly perplexed, even offended, that he could even _think_ of such a thing. The blatant conceit of the man! How dare he? Someone really ought to tell him that he shouldn't go around talking to people like that. And, right now, it looked like it would have to be her. In her most evenly controlled voice, she went on to ask, 'Mr. Davidson, I understand that you're the Deputy Head at the local Grammar school. I assume that you still take some classes?'

Once again, his eyebrows rose, then lowered again, as he deigned to reply, 'Of course.'

'What in?' she persisted, thinking that this really was like trying to get blood out of a stone.

'Religious Instruction.'

There, that didn't hurt, now did it? she felt like saying. Instead, she went on to ask, her tone still firm, 'Anything else?'

'History,' he replied, his face resuming its perfectly straight appearance, despite the curiosity he was feeling as to where this line of questioning could be leading.

'And is that all?'

'Some geography, when the need arises.'

'Then I'd be right in saying that your main subject is Religious Instruction?'

'Of course.'

'Really? You do surprise me.'

'What do you mean?' he asked, peering curiously down at her.

'Well, I'm wondering what happened to make you come across as being all head and no heart!' she exclaimed, having come to the conclusion that Sheila had been right about her emotional assessment of the man.

The carefully fixed mask of indifference that had come over his even features slipped, and he replied, haltingly, 'What... what do you mean?'

'I mean, Mr. Davidson, that you might well have gained all sorts of qualifications and fancy degrees to get where you are, but that doesn't mean that you have a true heart knowledge of the _real_ Teacher, and are, therefore, in my opinion, not really qualified to teach others about Him.'

His composure regained, he was able to reply with just a hint of incredulity in his tone, 'Are you _actually_ asking me if I'm a Christian, Miss Beresford?'

'That's right. But please don't bother to reply if you're just a nominal one,' she answered, almost derisively.

'In that case, I _can_ reply. I've been walking with the Lord for the past six years.'

She had not expected him to use such evangelical terminology, and felt slightly confounded. 'I see.'

'And you?' he asked, looking at her expectantly.

'Er, well, about six years as well. Yes, nearly six years now.'

He began to smile, and she felt her confidence slip as an uneasy feeling that she had just walked into a trap crept over her.

'Interesting. I know why I took so long, but what about you? Why the delay? Or did _your_ head get in the way?'

Touché! She thought, feeling that maybe he had earned the right to challenge her, and wishing she had never started this. 'Er, my head? Well, no, not really. It's just that I didn't know... it wasn't until I heard a clear Gospel message being preached for the first time that I... I...' she paused, trying to recall the usual expression that someone used after such a statement, and puzzled about the fact that she had never had trouble remembering it before.

'Well? You what?' he prompted.

'I... responded,' she replied, relieved that the word had finally come to her.

'There, that wasn't too hard now, was it?' he replied, condescendingly.

She stared hard at him; her previous indignation returning like a flood as her already severely stretched patience snapped. The man really was insufferable! Attempting to match the coolness of his voice with her own, she said, 'I'm curious, Mr. Davidson, do you treat all women in this offensive manner, even the mothers of your pupils, or is it just me you've obviously taken a strong disliking to?'

His reply, when it came, only went to confirm what she had already been told about him. Nevertheless, it still had the effect of shocking her.

'I think you'll find that the mothers of my pupils are quite comfortable in my presence, Miss Beresford. However, let me tell you here and now that I do not welcome, seek, or need the intrusive and needling companionship of your... your type of person. Now, have I made myself clear?'

She could feel the red, hot heat rising up her neck and begin to suffuse her face. A few seconds passed before she felt composed enough to make a reply. She knew it would be most unchristian, and probably come across as being just as offensive as his comments had been, but she just could not help herself, as she declared, 'Perfectly. Absolutely. Well, all I can say to that, Mr. Davidson, is that I hope you never have the misfortune to find yourself in the unhappy position of having to tolerate the _intrusive_ and _needling_ assistance of any female nurse!'

Then, not waiting to see or hear how he would respond, and being careful not to upset any more of the surrounding chairs, she spun around and walked quickly away.

# Chapter 26

#

# A Partial Revelation

It was during the last conference, entitled 'Why Allah isn't Another Name for Jehovah', and with some consternation, that Briony noticed how regularly Theo looked over in her direction. Unless he had developed a fascination for the wall behind her, she could think of no other reason for his strange behaviour.

Apparently, Cynthia and Sheila had noticed this too, the former curious enough to ask her, 'Why does Theo keep looking at you like that, Briony? He looks so cross. Have you two had words?'

'Er, well, I suppose we have. I seem to have aggravated him in some way. Maybe I remind him of someone. I don't look like his wife, do I?' The thought having occurred to her as the only plausible explanation for his unfriendly attitude.

Both women studied her face before looking her up and down. 'Well, I didn't really see that much of her. She wasn't a church-goer,' Cynthia declared, before Sylvia added, 'But, I suppose, but no, not really. I mean, she had the same - similar hair colour, but hers was much shorter, you know, one of those modern cuts, very angular. And she was a good deal plumper, mainly around the hips. And taller than you, altogether bigger-boned.'

From such a sketchy description, Briony decided that there probably wasn't much about her that could resemble the ex-wife. 'Well then, I suppose you were right, Sheila, he must have a thing about women. He must think we're all out to get him - or something.'

'Oh, I don't think so,' said Cynthia. 'He's as nice as can be with... with some of us older ones.'

'But John must have got wind of it; they've been meeting-up for a while now,' said Sylvia, shifting her position and looking uncomfortable. 'Tarnation! I'll have to go to the loo again. My blasted haemorrhoids are playing me up something awful today. Keep my seat.'

Briony knew that John was their minister's Christian name, and went on to ask, 'Is he having counselling?'

Cynthia shrugged, 'Oh, I expect so.'

Briony found herself intrigued as to how their minister was tackling the problem. At the same time, she recognised Cynthia's reluctance to continue the discussion, and felt she shouldn't press her for any more information. The trouble was that it had taken her a few days to calm down after the hospice meeting, and, as a result, she had not even been able to take communion, knowing that she was having trouble trying to forgive the man. She took the Lord's words seriously, particularly when He said:-

**"** **And when you stand praying, if you hold anything against anyone, forgive them, so that your Father in heaven may forgive you your sins."** **14**

How could she participate in such a sacred act with a heart still tainted with such negative thoughts? Hopefully, she would be well and truly over this hurdle - and have found a way of dealing with any future encounters with Theo Davidson in a far calmer and more Christian manner - by the time the bread and the wine came around again.

She was jolted out of her reverie, when Cynthia exclaimed, 'Well, I never! I think, yes, it looks like he's - '

'Good morning Cynthia, Miss Beresford.'

Having turned her back on the subject of their brief conversation, Briony had been totally unprepared for such an eventuality. 'What? Oh, Mr Davidson. Er, yes, good morning.'

Theo smiled warmly down at Cynthia. 'How's that back of yours now, any better?'

The old lady put her hands behind her and pressed them into the small of her back. 'Wonderful! the Lord is good.' Then, by way of explanation, she went on to tell Briony how, at the last house group, of which both she and Theo were part, several members had laid hands on her and prayed. 'They took authority over my lumbago and commanded it to leave. It was gone when I got up the next day, and there's been no sign of it since. Wonderful! Here, look at this...' She then went on to prove the point by standing, bending forward slowly and almost touching her toes, before standing upright again, her face beaming at the non-pain and non-stiffness of it all. 'There, what do you think of that?' she asked, triumphantly.

'Terrific!' commented Theo. 'But I'm not sure if Miss Beresford wouldn't be too happy about being confronted with evidence of such a healing, particularly about the method.'

Briony found herself as disappointed as she was nonplussed. Why was he deliberately trying to goad her? 'On the contrary, I'm happy to hear about any healing that the Lord gives to His children. In fact, I'd like to hear of a lot more. It's just a shame that we can't seem to believe and accept everything that He died to give us.'

'Is that so? Now you do surprise me, Miss Beresford.'

Now she was sure he was trying to provoke her. And why did he keep on saying her name? 'Really? And why is that, _Mr Davidson?_ '

'Am I to take it then, that you have no issue with the laying on of hands? Nor anointing the sick with oil?'

'Of course not! It's Biblical; we're told to do these things.'

'Precisely. In that case, don't you think you're being rather hypocritical?'

Cynthia stared up at him, shocked and perplexed that he had said such a thing. Silently, she began to pray.

Briony needed a few seconds to think what could be behind such a question. Theo watched her closely, and saw how her usually clear, green eyes had filled with something akin to confusion.

Then, hoping that she had reached the right conclusion, she went on to ask, 'Are you referring to the fact that because I'm a nurse, I should only believe in human medicine - and not in divine healing as well?'

'You tell me! Aren't all you people in the medical field only experimenting with, and manipulating, God-given substances? You very rarely hear of anybody crediting God with providing them in the first place.'

Taken aback at having to defend herself over a subject she had never really considered in any great depth before, Briony felt that he had made some sort of sense. She modestly conceded the point, by replying, 'I think I see where you're coming from. Well, you may be right - '

'I know I am.'

By now, Cynthia had heard enough, and felt strongly that she must do what she could to diffuse the situation. 'Theo, behave yourself!' she exclaimed. 'I'll have you know that Briony works very hard helping people, day and night. You should be thanking her, not going on like this. And I know she prays for her patients. She... she tires herself out. You really should apologise - '

' _Prays_ for her patients!' Theo interrupted, looking questioningly at Briony. 'Is that allowed?'

'Why not? Why shouldn't I? Especially if they ask me to. Sometimes it's the only thing I can do for them. And I believe it's what the Lord wants me to do. But what about you, don't you pray for your pupils? I expect you can't _with_ them, but what about _for_ them? I hope you do.'

Ignoring her question, Theo went on to ask, 'You think it's ethical to cover both bases, the human and the divine? I assume you're hoping that one will work if the other fails?'

Frustration and anger began to rise up in Briony now. Why was he deliberately twisting and misinterpreting her words? 'That's not true!' she exclaimed. 'Yes, you're right to say that God has provided so much for us to help the sick, but I can't see that praying for a patient to have a good response to their medication is in any way hypocritical. If that was the case, then why do we pray over our food, and everything else that God has provided for our welfare? Or are we all being hypocritical?'

Now it was Theo's eyes that took on a look of concern as he tried to consider and find a way of dismissing her challenge.

Cynthia felt moved to place herself between the pair. Placing a hand on each of the combatants' forearms, she chided, 'Will you two stop this! It's not honouring to the Lord. Never mind what differences you feel you may have, look at the things you _do_ have in common. You're both sincere and active children of God; you're both working in a caring profession, and you're both keen on the hospice idea. After all, that's why you're both here now, isn't it?'

Shamed at hearing such timely wisdom, the pair glanced at each other, before turning their attention back to the wise old lady.

Theo was the first to respond. 'You're right, Cynthia.' He paused to look again at Briony, and was obliged to wait a few seconds before she returned his look. Then, holding out his hand, and in a tone warmer than she expected, said, 'Please accept my most sincere apologies, Miss Beresford. My behaviour has been unforgiveable, and I can offer no excuse.'

What else could she do, but accept his hand, and his apology. 'Of course. It's alright. And I'm sorry too.'

'There now,' Cynthia remarked, clearly relieved. 'Isn't that better? After all, you're both on the same team, you know. Why don't you try and pull together? Just think what you could achieve if you did.'

Theo's frown returned. Noticing it, both women guessed that this last comment had been a bit too much for him to accept. And they were very quickly proved right, for within two minutes of leaving them, they saw him leave the hall. Another ten minutes passed, and still he hadn't returned.

Cynthia felt overcome with a feeling of remorse for allowing herself to speak so harshly, and asked, 'Oh dear! I was a bit rude, wasn't I?'

'No you weren't Cynthia. You were right, and I was glad you intervened,' reassured Briony. 'We were both out of order and needed to calm down.'

'Do you think so? I can't think what got into him. He's always been such a nice and polite sort of person. Why he was like it with you, I can't imagine, especially as he's been making great headway with some of the others.'

Briony's ears pricked-up at the mention of 'the others', and went on to ask, 'What "others?"'

Cynthia shrugged and tried to make light of it as she replied, choosing her words carefully, 'Oh, you know, just one or two of the other ladies.'

'Are you saying that he's alright with some of the other women in your church?'

'Well, yes. He avoided them for ages after his divorce, but he seems to be getting over that now.'

'Hm, I remember Sheila saying something about him treating them like they'd got the plague.'

Cynthia hesitated, debating about the wisdom of revealing more about the poor man's problem. But this pleasant young woman had obviously been deeply offended, and if she had the means to help her to understand and not take it all so personally, then maybe she should try. 'But I've got to say, he seems to be a lot more settled lately. I'm sure it's because John's been helping him to come to terms with things, and maybe try to forgive and move on. He was very badly hurt you know. And then when his wife wouldn't let him see the boy - '

'The boy? You mean, there was a child involved?' Of course! Why hadn't she thought of that? Theo looked to be well into his forties and must have been married for some time; plenty of time to father a child or two.

Cynthia could have bitten off her tongue. What had she been thinking of, revealing such a sensitive thing? Attempting to limit the damage, she added quickly, 'Well, yes. But just the one. But he seems to have come through it alright.'

'How old was he?' Briony found herself asking, and wondering at the same time why she was so keen to know. 'I mean, how old was he when it all happened - the divorce?'

'Er, well, let me see. I think he's at his final year at university now, so he must have been...' She paused, attempting to do some mental arithmetic. '... about sixteen or seventeen at the time. I'm not sure.'

Briony made a quick calculation, 'So, he got divorced about five or six years ago? And he's been like this with... some of the women in your church, ever since?'

'Er, well...'

From Cynthia's pained expression, Briony recognised that she had been pressurising her too much, and that she really ought to stop this intrusive line of questioning. Hadn't she learned enough about Theo Davidson already? Certainly far more than she had expected. 'I'm sorry, Cynthia. Come on, why don't we talk about something else?'

Cynthia smiled, her relief obvious. 'Yes. Let's.'

They began to discuss the day's topic, and were comparing the Allah of the Koran with the God of the Bible when Sheila returned.

'We'll have to stop off at the chemists on the way home. I need more cream.'

'Vaseline,' suggested Briony, trying to be helpful. 'Try applying it to the area when it's calmed down. It's a good lubricant and much cheaper. But you'll have to apply it every day, whether they're bothering you or not,' the thought occurring to her that it was a pity there wasn't some sort of cream she could apply to alleviate her own problem with a certain person.

'I'm sorry, Lord,' she said to Him later that night. Having prayed about the day's events, her thoughts once again returned to her altercation with Theo. Despite the apology they had given each other, she was still feeling some shame in her part in the affair. Laying back against her pillow, and with her daily Bible reading notes open in front of her, she re-read His challenging words:-

**"** **You have heard that it was said, 'Love your neighbour and hate your enemy.' But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect."** **15**

She knew that her old, pre-Christian, unsaved self would have felt justified in indulging in a few good moans about the man. But things were different now; she was living a new kind of life, and one bought for her at such a terrible cost. Her resolve stiffening, she determined that Satan would not win by tempting her to keep on licking her wounds. No! She would not squander her precious, God-given free-will in such a disobedient and, therefore, destructive way. Instead, she would resist her old enemy and steel herself to do what she knew she should: confess her fault - her sin - and ask Him to help her to really forgive the man.

Another twenty-five minutes of ardent prayer was to pass before she felt peaceful enough to switch off her light. Her overriding thought now was that Theo must be a very wounded soul indeed to feel the need to go around treating a good proportion of the human race in such a hostile way. From what little she had learned of the situation, it sounded as though the divorce had been a bad one, and probably even more complicated by having a child involved.

Reuben and Theo, she reflected, two divorcees; two damaged souls, both manifesting their pain in very different ways. If he hadn't already been before, Reuben had become permissive; finding his satisfaction in indulging in a stream of seductions, or 'challenges' as he liked to call his female victims. And as regards Theo, if her experience had been anything to go by, he had chosen to be rude, offensive even, to a certain type of woman, of which, it seemed, she was one.

How strange that, within a relatively short space of time, her world had collided with two individuals who had the ability to really get under her skin. Was there something the Lord was trying to teach her? If so, she had better take notice.

# Chapter 27

#

# The Drama

The weeks running up to Easter were always a busy time for the fellowship. Reverend Donaldson was an evangelist at heart, and used every opportunity to take the good news of God's saving love out of the church building and into the local community. In an attempt to offer something that would capture the children's attention, he had written a thirty-minute drama, loosely adapted to resemble the plot of the 1968 science fiction blockbuster, '2001: A Space Odyssey'. This was to be performed as part of a special Easter-themed assembly in the local schools.

After the penultimate rehearsal, the cast were given a printed schedule of dates and venues where the drama was to be staged. Briony stopped in her tracks when she saw that Branderby Grammar School was amongst them. She knew that Theo Davidson, as Deputy Head, would almost certainly be there. Since their last run-in, she had tried to avoid him as much as possible whenever their paths did cross, which they often did during the monthly hospice meetings and day conferences. She was still praying about the situation. Now, instead of sensing any animosity towards him, her overriding feeling was one of growing curiosity.

Five assemblies were behind them, and with just one more performance to go, the team were buoyant. Waiting in the side corridor, Briony tried to dismiss the fact that they were on Theo's territory and told herself to concentrate on her role. She opened the adjoining door to the assembly hall and looked in. And there he was, looking as smart as ever. Also smart looking in their navy blue uniforms were the pupils, the most senior classes of which were still filing in.

At last, and with the full school complement present, the Headmaster stepped onto the platform and introduced the drama. Briony took her position behind the first of many props, a large picnic table covered with a black cloth. Dressed in a black, double-breasted blazer and a tight, black skirt, both of which had been bought from a local charity shop, with her hair in a French plait, and wearing a pair of men's heavily-rimmed sunglasses, she looked every inch the authoritarian, top secret government agent she was portraying.

Loud knocking emanated from the sound effect area.

'Enter!' she called, busily riffling through some papers on her make-believe desk.

A man, also wearing a black blazer and sporting a similar pair of sunglasses, marched in and came to stand to attention in front of her.

'Ah, Agent Lloyd. You've been summoned to this secret bunker below Salisbury Plain because you are our most experienced astronaut. Our records show that you have several degrees, including Honours in geology and metallurgy. As time is of the essence, I shall come straight to the point. You will immediately report to Mission Control, where, providing you pass all the necessary checks, you will fly the Lunar Explorer Craft No.3. to the Moon. Your mission is to investigate claims of a strange, cross-like structure that is alleged to have appeared inside a crater, situated some 500 yards from Lunar Outpost 4. You are required to ascertain if the structure has any Earth-like characteristics, particularly of a... er, Russian nature.

'Accompanying you will be Ape No.355 from our Evolutionary Research Division. You will assist the on-board computer in a series of experiments on the animal while en route. Have I made myself clear? Do you have any questions?'

Obviously, Harry Lloyd did not, because he said a loud, 'No, ma'am,' before turning and marching smartly out of the pretend office.

The following scene saw him standing in a grey, rocky setting, staring at a six-foot cross made of balsa wood and painted brilliant white. His costume consisted of a white boiler-suit, a white crash helmet, and a large, pretend oxygen tank strapped to his back, from which he took occasional inhalations of pretend air.

Removing a set of test tubes from a tin foil-wrapped suitcase, he began swabbing various parts of the cross's surface, paying special attention to an area covered by some writing. A loud crackling noise could be heard, supposedly coming from his mock walkie-talkie. This was followed by a man's disembodied voice, informing him that he had only one hour left to conduct all the on-site experiments. 'We have just received intelligence that the Russians are on the way. You are ordered to return to Earth and bring the structure with you. Over and out.'

The next scene quickly followed, and the audience learned that the spacecraft had been knocked off-course and rendered useless by a meteor shower on its way back to Earth. Harry and Ape No.335, who the astronaut had renamed Darwin, had both been knocked unconscious. As a result, neither heard PAL, the powerful on-board computer, boast about his amazing knowledge and crazed ambition to become the idol worshipped by every living creature.

After regaining consciousness, Harry and Darwin began to receive a series of visits from members of the cast playing an odd assortment of weird and wonderful aliens, each one claimed to be in possession of a supernatural power that could save them. However, all their efforts failed when they were put to the test, causing Harry to become increasingly confused and disappointed.

A major character was that of Angel Betty, who was played by an attractive young woman dressed in a loose-fitting white costume and with some impressive, white-feathered wings. A halo, made of cotton wool, bobbed about continuously above her head as she glided gracefully around the platform. She appeared on several occasions, but each time Harry foolishly ignored all her wise advice, impatiently boasting that, 'He knew best; he knew what he was doing,' and dismissing her attempts to explain the writing on the cross, as 'absolute nonsense'.

Humour was provided throughout the drama by an energetic young man playing the role of the ape Darwin. His costume was impressively realistic, being the only one that had been hired from a fancy-dress shop. Every experiment conducted on him by Harry and PAL failed miserably; despite all their efforts, they could not improve or modify him to 'evolve' into a human being.

During one scene, Angel Betty appeared to Darwin when Harry was preoccupied with another alien. She took him by the hand and led him to the cross. She read out the message written on its surface, and went on to explain it in very simple terms. Much to PAL's disgust, Darwin appeared to understand and believe what he heard. Overcome with relief and a wonderful sense of freedom, he began to dance for joy, both on and off the platform, much to the delight of the audience. Thereafter, he took great pleasure in squashing a banana onto PAL's monitor whenever his former tormentor tried to persuade him to destroy the cross.

The penultimate scene showed Angel Betty repeating her message once more to Harry. Desperate now, this time he allowed her to finish.

'The Only One who cares enough about you, and has the power to take you safely home is The Creator of All the Universes,' she declared, her voice ringing out loud and clear around the assembly hall. 'He lay down all His power when He came back to Earth as a baby, so that He could make Himself known to you. All you have to do is to believe His message and start trusting Him - and not in your own abilities, or PAL's - or even those of the strange beings you have encountered. To prove this, you must go and kneel at the foot of the Cross and confess your foolish pride in ignoring Him all this time. Then you should ask Him to be your Saviour. And not just for now, but for the rest of your life.'

Harry appeared to come to his senses. He knelt down and followed Angel Betty as she led him in a short prayer.

The final scene showed Harry and Darwin safely back on Earth. Harry held one of Darwin's hands as they stood, gazing up in wonder at the sky, depicted by a large, midnight blue sheet that had been covered with an array of sewn-on shapes of stars and planets.

'You know Darwin, I've decided that the Animal Kingdom's got a lot to teach mankind about humility. To think that The Creator was with me all the time, even here on Earth! Why didn't I stop and listen to His message before? What a fool I was, thinking that I could get through life only by trusting in my own abilities. What do you say, Darwin?'

Darwin responded with an impressive flourish of the banana he had been holding in his other hand.

Harry went on to deliver his last line as they walked off the platform. 'Come on, Darwin, let's take a walk in the park.'

The applause that followed quickly built into a loud crescendo. As it died down, Reverend Donaldson stepped onto the platform, and referring to the relevant parts of the drama, proceeded to give a short Gospel message. He finished by inviting any child, or teacher, to take one of the free booklets that were available on a nearby table. The Headmaster came to stand beside him, and suggested, 'That we all show our appreciation in the time-honoured way for bringing us such an amusing and thought-provoking piece of theatre.'

The second round of applause was as loud and enthusiastic as the first had been.

Briony felt like the others, relieved, and yet sad that it was all over. It had been hard work, but great fun. Only time would tell if any spiritual seeds had been successfully planted into the young minds. She changed out of her pink-themed alien costume and made her way to the Staff Room, where the school had thoughtfully provided some light refreshments. With one more lesson to take before the morning break, only a few teachers were present, amongst them Theo Davidson. Determined not to let anybody, or anything, mar the occasion in any way, she helped herself to a mug of coffee and a slice of what looked like a very appetising Victoria Sandwich, before going to join some of her fellow thespians.

'Did you see my halo slip?' asked Brenda, alias Angel Betty, who had suffered a prolonged and loud sneezing fit towards the end of the second act. 'The thing flopped right over my face and I was in a heck of a fix; I can't bear to touch the stuff.'

Tom, alias the Butch Catastrophic alien, said, 'Yes, tragic! But honestly, Bri, I nearly split my sides when your antennae got caught up in that star. You looked like some whirling dervisher trying to shake yourself free.'

Briony joined-in the good-humoured banter over the incident. Still laughing, she failed to notice Theo approaching the group.

'I missed some of the next bit, I was laughing so much,' he commented, smiling broadly as he looked into her astonished face. 'But she carried it off with such aplomb, don't you think?'

She wondered what on earth was going on. Why was he being so friendly, and actually _smiling_ at her!

'Oh, definitely!' agreed Tom. 'And throwing the hat off the platform like a frisbee was a nice touch, especially when Julian's hairy hand shot out and caught it. Priceless!'

More laughter followed, making Briony feel even more bewildered as Theo appeared to be in no hurry to move away. She was still holding her empty plate when he offered to take it from her, and asked, 'What did you think of the cake, Briony? Our second year Domestic Science lessons come in useful at times like these.'

'Very nice. A good consistency,' she replied, wondering at the fact that he had called her by her Christian name.

'Have you tried the coconut macaroons? They're a speciality. Although I prefer the raspberry buns our first years make. Can I get you one?'

What was happening? Having him so physically close to her, and behaving like a normal person, was unnerving. Her breath and flesh were reacting in ways she recognised, and that she wasn't feeling too happy about. 'That's kind of you, but no thanks. Er, I'm glad you enjoyed the drama.'

'I did. Immensely.'

'I don't think all your colleagues feel the same,' commented Graham, alias Sunny, The Sundance Kid. 'I kept getting sour looks from that skinny looking woman in the grey suit sitting near the table. Don't think I saw her smile once.'

'Ah yes, Miss Strand, one of our Biology teachers,' Theo said. 'And an ardent evolutionist. She's taking a class at the moment. I expect she'll be doing her best to put the record straight - as she sees it.'

The drama's post-mortem continued until a bell sounded, indicating the start of the morning break. The staff room began to fill, and the group decided to leave and allow the teachers to have their own space back.

Briony was giving a lift to several of the others, and the light-hearted chatter continued until she dropped the last one off. Alone at last, she drove the remaining short distance back to her flat, her mind absorbed with the struggle to come to terms with what had just happened back in the staff room. She wondered how Theo would be towards her the next time they met. Would he be as friendly? Or would he revert to his former unfriendly and unpleasant self? But why was she spending so much time thinking about him? And what was she worried about? From what she had witnessed of his behaviour towards her that morning, it looked like her prayers had been answered. Hadn't they?

# Chapter 28

#

# The Book and the Gypsy

The main doors to the hospital had been left open, and a chilly April draught kept blowing in Briony's direction. She wrapped her cape around her and tried not to frown: that might put people off, which was the last thing she needed to do. On the table in front of her lay a book, bound in a navy blue, mock-leather cover. Embossed in silver on the front were the words:-

Branderby Hospice

Buy A Tile Gift Book

This was to be a permanent record of every contributor's name and address, the number and type of tiles they 'purchased', and the amount of money they had donated. This had been her one and only fund-raising idea towards the project, and no-one could have been more surprised than her when it had been approved. Now all she had to do was to organise and carry it out. To-date, she had managed to collect eighty-three signatures, representing 120 roof and 56 floor tiles. Each time she reached the sum of £10, she paid the amount into her own current account, and sent a cheque with a covering note to the fund's administrator.

Her fourth session was going well. So far, eight people had stopped to make donations. She wrapped her cape even more tightly around her after another blast of cold air.

'What's all this about then?' asked one man, who had stopped to read the poster pinned on the noticeboard behind her. Written in large letters, the words 'Hospice Planned for Branderby' had been superimposed over a photograph of the old cottage hospital.

She gave her well-rehearsed short speech, explaining the purpose of a hospice, and how one was needed in the area, before giving details of the tile-buying scheme.

'Bloody hellfire!' the man exclaimed, noisily jangling some loose change in his trouser pocket. 'Bloody good idea. And if I was to go for one of those floor ones - I'm not one for roofs - how much would that set me back?'

'Twenty pence,' she answered, becoming aware of a familiar figure coming into her right periphery vision. 'The cost of a packet of cigarettes or a pint of beer.' To a woman, she would say, 'The cost of two loaves or two pounds of potatoes.'

Narrowing his eyes, he leaned across the table, 'Oh yeah! And who's to say some of it won't find its way into your pockets?'

Overhearing his comment, Theo came to stand beside him. From the man's clothing and swarthy complexion, he correctly came to the conclusion that he was a gypsy. 'Come now. There's no need for that,' he remonstrated.

'It's alright,' said Briony, who was used to dealing with such challenges. 'Here, take this.' She handed the man a small card giving the contact details of the fund administrator. Then, pointing at the 'Name' and 'Donation' columns in the book, went on to explain, 'Everyone has to write their name here, and how much they're donating here. The totals have to tally with the amount I send the administrator. But if you do decide to donate, give it about ten days before you ring; I shan't be contacting him again until next week.'

As though she had said something offensive, the man took a step back. 'Ah, well then. That's it. Reckon I'll be on my way.'

Theo felt sure he knew what the man's problem was, and was quick to intervene, 'If the only thing stopping you is that you have to write your name, then I'm sure the nurse will let you make your mark.'

The man looked questioningly at Briony. 'Is that right?'

'I don't see why not,' she replied, coming to terms with the possibility that the man was illiterate, and wondering why she hadn't thought of the difficulty before.

The man appeared to be thinking hard as he narrowed his eyes and scrutinised Theo, all the while continuing to jangle the coins in his pocket. 'Tell you what. I'll do a deal with you. I'm here to see my boy. Been bloody stupid and fighting again. Got himself knifed bad in the stomach. If he's been fixed-up, I'll come and make my mark. If not, then you can kiss my money goodbye.'

She noticed Theo's look of concern at the mention of the son's knifing. 'When did this happen?' he asked.

'Not a bloody copper, are you? I've already had dealings with them b.......'

'No. Teacher. I did hear something about an incident in Quaker's Coppice the other night.'

'S'right. We'd been there a few days, and got nothing but aggro from a bunch of your local yobbos. They set on my youngest and his big brother got stuck in. And now the poor lad's flat on his back with a sore belly - and God knows what else.'

'I'm sorry to hear that,' Briony commented. 'Is he making any progress?'

The coin-jangling stopped as the man began to nod his head slowly. 'Dunno. It's bad. Doesn't know when I'm there. But I like to come... you know...'

'Is he unconscious?'

'S'right.'

Feeling very much that she wanted to give him some words of encouragement, she went on to say, 'Keep talking to him, you know, about everyday things.'

'His mother said the same thing, but I told her she was talking out of her backside.'

'She wasn't. We know that some people can still hear when they're unconscious, so you never know, he might be aware you're there. And you could try holding his hand.' Remembering how she had prayed that the Lord would allow her mother to hear her as she lay dying, she only just stopped herself from adding that hearing was the last of the senses to fade - which was not what this worried father needed to know just now.

The man seemed to perk up at the thought that maybe there was something useful he could do for his son after all. 'Alright then, I'll give it a whirl. Good on yer.' And with that, they watched him hurry off in the direction of the lift.

Theo still looked concerned. 'I've just been to see one of my sixth-formers. I hate to say it, but I think he was the other half of that fight.'

'Really? From the Grammar School?'

'Don't be so surprised; boys and knives. Some of mine aren't immune to the fascination. More's the pity, especially because the lad in question is one of my brighter students.'

'What are his injuries?'

'They're suspecting a ruptured spleen, and there's a lot of internal bleeding. It couldn't have happened at a worse time with mocks not too far away. He'll probably have to miss his A Levels.' He began shaking his head slowly. 'Stupid, stupid, stupid! Such a waste.'

He seemed genuinely upset, and she remembered how she had challenged him about praying for his pupils, but decided not to mention it. Instead, she went on to ask, 'Won't he be able to take them in the summer if he's well enough?'

'Hopefully.' And then, as though he had read her thoughts, surprised her by saying, 'And yes, I am praying for him.'

Embarrassed, she looked away. 'I'll pray for him too. What's his name?'

'Timothy Sutton. Thank you.'

Another man approached them. He glanced at the poster, then quickly walked away.

Briony commented, 'Quite a few do that. I think they're scared of bringing bad luck on themselves if they make a donation.'

'Hm. How's it going anyway?'

'Very well. Encouraging. But there's a long way to go if I want to fill this,' she tapped the book.

'You'll do it. You seem the... determined type.' He smiled down at her. 'By the way, about the drama. I don't know which was more fetching, your government agent costume or that Miss Pink-tune outfit. A play on the name Neptune, I assume?'

'Yes, that's right.'

'It was a shame you weren't able to turn at least one item pink.'

'We decided against it. You can have too many props. '

'And what was that tune you kept whistling? It sounded familiar, but I just couldn't place it.'

'"The Pink Panther Theme."'

'That was it! And I liked the light-hearted way the 'Creation-versus-Evolution' argument was handled. Very entertaining. But I was particularly impressed that you didn't shy away from the issue of how technology's beginning to be seen as some sort of panacea for all of mankind's problems.'

'I'm glad that came across. We were worried that it might have been a bit too sophisticated for some of the younger ones to grasp. Do you think they got the message?'

'I'd say so. The majority did, anyway. I'm looking forward to hearing what my seniors made of it. It's about time we had a debate on the subject.'

'Debate? You have debates?'

'Certainly! Novel idea I know, but they're proving to be quite popular. You'll have to let me know what issues you'll be tackling in your next production. I assume there will be one?'

'I'm not sure. Reverend Donaldson's not mentioned anything about one yet.'

'And if there is, will you be taking part? I think you should, you're a natural.'

'That all depends on my shifts. I can't always make it to all the rehearsals.' She looked down at the book. 'And now with this...' She shivered as another cold blast of air hit them.

He glanced at the cape wrapped around her, and said, his tone sounding solicitous, 'You look perished. Can I go and fetch you a hot drink?'

'No thanks. I haven't got much longer to go,' she replied, feeling quite touched at his concern.

Still studying her, he went on to ask, 'Have you always been a nurse, Briony?'

Hardly able to believe all this sudden interest in her, she volunteered, 'Er, well yes. It's all I ever really wanted to be.'

'What's next? Sister?'

She noticed an elderly couple look over in their direction. 'No, I've been asked to consider it, but I honestly don't feel I want to. Sisters spend a lot of their time in the office; I prefer to be around the patients.'

The couple began to make their way towards the table.

'Did you know that Cynthia's granddaughter's being baptized on Sunday? I understand there'll be three coming from your church as well?'

She smiled at the approaching couple. 'Yes. Our pool's developed a crack.'

'Will you be coming?'

'I'm planning on it,' she replied, wondering why he wanted to know, and watching the couple come to stand behind him, as though joining a queue.

Theo noticed her shift of focus and looked behind him. 'Good. And bring that with you.' he said, pointing at the book. 'I'd better let you get on. Until Sunday then.'

'Er, okay. Goodbye Mr. Davidson.'

'Theo,' he said, smiling and walking away, leaving Briony in a state of mild shock at how much she now realised her prayers were really being answered.

Visiting hour was over. Hoping to catch any straggler that passed by, she decided to wait another twenty minutes. There were always a few, who, although having shown interest on their way in, were reluctant to have any delays on their way to the wards. Now she was to be rewarded for her diligence when the worried father came marching over to her, beaming from ear to ear.

'He's awake!' he announced, his expression animated. 'And doing alright. That's my boy! Had to go under the knife.'

That's an unfortunate term, she thought, considering the circumstances.

'But they've sorted his stomach and something else in here,' he patted his abdomen. 'Can't eat. Feeding him with one of those dripping things. And he's got a plastic bag stuck to him; temporary like.'

His relief and delight were infectious, and she found herself exclaiming, 'Oh, I am pleased! How is he feeling?'

'Sorry for himself and missing his ferrets.' He winked, 'But I've got deep pockets, and I'll be back tomorrow.'

She laughed, guessing his meaning. 'Well, you'd better not be thinking of bringing any of them in here. The last thing your son needs is to catch an infection.'

The man pressed his lips together, considering the matter. 'S'pect you're right, nurse. Anyway, you and I got some unfinished business. How much did you say you want for those floor tiles?'

'Twenty pence each. Same as a packet of cigarettes or a pint of beer.'

'Well, then, reckon I can stretch to a few. Here...' he dug his hand deep into his trouser pocket, but instead of the coins she expected, drew out a substantial roll of banknotes. Removing a rubber band, he efficiently peeled away ten one-pound notes, before slamming them down hard on the table in front of her.

Amazed and delighted, she had difficulty trying to put her words into any sensible order, as she asked, 'Oh, but... that's too much! I mean, are you sure?'

'Course I am! I don't mess about when it comes to paying my dues. Where do you want me to put my mark?'

Before he had time to change his mind, she turned the book around to face him, and pointed at the relevant column. 'Just there. A cross will do. I'll fill out the rest.'

Concentrating hard, and with his tongue protruding slightly out of his mouth, she watched him carefully draw an elaborate looking cross.

From that time on, her ears pricked-up even more whenever she heard Theo's name being mentioned. Perturbed at the realisation that she was becoming increasingly drawn to him, she decided to take herself firmly in hand. This wouldn't do. It wouldn't do at all. The Scriptures hadn't changed.

One of her mother's favourite sayings had been, 'Never say never,' and, as though challenging her to think again, the phrase would keep popping into her mind whenever she thought about the situation. Aware that it wasn't some ethereal message that was being beamed to her from Heaven, she made a determined effort to ignore it. After all, she truly believed that her mother was far too happy and busy enjoying herself up there, than to worry about what her daughters were doing down here.

# Chapter 29

#

# The Baptism

Cynthia's eighteen-year-old granddaughter, Sonya, was very nervous. The church was full, the baptism pool full of comfortably warm water, and her heart felt full. This was something she had been wanting to do ever since she had accepted the Lord's love, ten months ago. If only she could relax. Looking down at the white, just below knee-length, wrap-over gown the church had provided for her, she hoped that there were enough pennies in the hem to stop the material from floating around her waist when it got wet. The five male candidates were lucky at being able to wear trousers; at least they didn't have to worry about such things. If only she could stop shaking. Thank goodness Granny was here. Although she still wished her mother would have changed her mind. But then, she never did come to church. Still, Granny would be with her all the way through, even at the top of the steps, holding her towel and helping her to stay calm.

Reverend Stuart stepped onto the platform to welcome them all. There was a prayer and a hymn, followed by a brief description of what was about to take place.

She liked his voice. As always, he sounded so calm and friendly as he began quoting Jesus' own words:-

**'** **Then Jesus came to them and said, "All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptising them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.'"** **16**

She felt the fluttering in her stomach grow even stronger as Reverend Donaldson came to join him and they both stepped down into the pool. Granny squeezed her hand, and it was time. Her knees were shaky, but she managed to step onto the platform and take her position at the top of the pool. Everything looked different from up here. Some of her friends were staring at her as though hardly able to believe that she was really going to go through with it. But she was. She had met the Lord, and He had changed her life. Even they had noticed. This was the least she could do to show Him that she really meant business.

She gave the short testimony she had rehearsed so many times in front of her bedroom mirror. She forgot some of it, but that didn't matter; the Lord knew her heart. Anyway, she must have said enough, because everyone clapped when she finished.

Reverend Stuart held out his hand and she stepped down into the water. Then he asked the three important questions they had spent ages thinking and talking about during her Baptismal Preparation Lessons:-

'Sonya, do you confess Jesus Christ as your Lord and Saviour?'

'I do,' she replied, disappointed at hearing her voice come out so shaky.

'Do you turn from sin, renounce evil, and intend to follow Christ?'

Determined to sound more definite about things, she made an effort to make her second 'I do,' steadier.

'With the help of the Holy Spirit, do you offer your life in service to God wherever He may call you to go?'

' _I do!'_ Yes! She felt relieved that at least that response had sounded good and strong.

'Then Sonya, on the profession of your faith in Jesus Christ as your Lord and Saviour, and in obedience to his command, I now baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.'

_'_ _Jesus is Lord!'_ she proclaimed, raising her hands, really glad that she had been able to make her promises to Him at last.

'Hallelujah!' responded the congregation.

This was it! She held her breath and braced herself, waiting for the two ministers to push her back and under the water. One second passed, then another - why weren't they doing it?

'Your arms, cross your arms,' Reverend Stuart reminded her, quietly.

Of course! How could she have forgotten? She did so, and then back she went. Whoosh - water everywhere. She was totally covered, drenched from head to foot. But there was no time to get used to it, as she was raised back onto her feet as quickly as she had been submerged. And it was over.

The guitarist and pianist struck up with the first chord of her chosen song: 'This is The Day' as she was guided towards the steps. On the way, she saw how the skirt part of her dress was floating gracefully on the surface; it had billowed after all. But her petticoat was clinging to her legs, so it really didn't matter. And there was Granny, holding out the big blue towel and with tears running down her cheeks.

Now she was out, dripping everywhere, and they were clapping again. Granny wrapped the towel around her shoulders and led her into the warm room where she could get changed. Shaking, but not with cold, she hurried to dry herself, feeling an almost overwhelming sense of relief and a deep, inner sense that the Lord was smiling at her, and saying, 'Well done, daughter!'

The other candidates were baptised, after which the guitarist sang a solo. Then Reverend Stuart, his hair still looking damp, gave the notices. The collection was taken, and then Mr. Davidson was invited to come and tell them about the hospice fund-raising events.

Theo began, 'We'll be holding a Dutch auction in the church hall towards the end of next month. Look out for the first of our regular coffee mornings, quiz nights, barbeques and treasure hunts, as well as a book stall. Talking of which, if any of you have any books you can bear to part with, bring them along next week, and tell us if you'd like to loan them or would be happy to sell them. I also understand that plans are being discussed to hold a craft show as well as another barn dance. All dates to be announced in due course, and be assured, one hundred percent of all donations will go towards the fund.

'On a personal level, I intend to host a series of evening meals. I don't pretend to be a gourmet cook, but my son tells me that my casseroles are passable.

'Another initiative you might have already come across is the Buy A Tile scheme, run by Briony Beresford from our sister church. Stand up, Briony! Maybe you'd like to tell us a bit about it.'

Trying to overcome her surprise at hearing how involved Theo had obviously become with the fund-raising project, Briony stood where she was and managed to give a brief explanation of the scheme.

'Thank you, Briony. I'd like to recommend this one in particular, especially because it reflects the practical nature of the type of work that will be needed to convert the old property into a suitable building.'

Briony stared at him, wondering how much longer she would need to come to terms with this new and friendlier version.

Reverend Donaldson re-appeared just then, looking fresh-faced and smartly dressed in his usual grey suit. He began by giving a brief explanation of the reasons for Adult Baptism.

'You may have heard it described as an outward sign, or expression, of an inner change, or a public declaration of a private decision. And all these are good descriptions of what has happened to our six candidates. But let's not forget that we're only following our Lord's own example when He was baptised by John in the River Jordan.'

He spoke for another ten minutes, finishing with, 'Our six candidates, like many others, may find that there are times when they need to revisit the promises they have made today. In doing so, I pray that the Lord will give them the determination, the strength, and the grace not only to fulfil them, but to continue to shine for Him as they learn how to become overcomers.'

After another hymn, the final blessing was pronounced, and the service over. Sonya found herself surrounded by her Christian friends who lost no time in congratulating and hugging her, whilst her non-Christian ones looked on, some with relief, others with increased curiosity.

'I hope you didn't mind me putting you on the spot like that. It looks like you're having a good response.'

Briony turned around to find Theo standing behind her. She had been kept busy taking donations in the church hall during the after-service refreshments, and hadn't had time to speak to him.

'It's going really well. It was good of you to mention it. I've filled two pages already.'

'Excellent. And you've had time for a drink?'

'Yes thanks, and some of Cynthia's lovely cake.'

'I've been threatening to kidnap her to help me with the meals. Talking of which, I'm holding, or should I say, hosting, the first one this Saturday.'

'It sounds like a great idea. You must enjoy entertaining.'

'I get by, but I'm pleased to say that I'm not the only one. Four others have signed-up to do the same. I'm hoping the idea will spread. Actually, I was wondering if you'd like to come? There should be seven of us, and it'll be quite informal, nothing fancy. I don't suppose you're free that night, are you?'

Well, for goodness sake, she silently exclaimed to herself, here he was again, giving me _another_ surprise!

'If not,' he continued, 'I'll be doing another one in a few weeks. Maybe you'd prefer to come along then?'

She hesitated, wondering if he was the sort who would persist until he got his way. If so, she might as well go and get it over with. After all, there would be other people there, and it was for a good cause. 'Er, well, no. That is, I'm not on duty.'

'So you'll come?' he asked, sounding hopeful.

Yes, she would, but not to spend time with him. She must make that clear. 'Alright. I'm keen to support the project in any way I can.'

'Excellent. Well then, shall we say around seven o'clock? And you'd better have this.' He took out his wallet and handed her a card. 'My address and telephone number. Don't bring anything, just yourself. Is there anything you can't eat?'

'I'm not too keen on offal or oysters; rich foods like that. Good old British fare for me, I'm afraid.'

He smiled. 'Then you must have enjoyed school dinners?'

'Loved them, except the prunes.'

'That makes two of us. Okay, till next Saturday. I'll look forward to it. By the way, any news on that gypsy lad who was stabbed?'

'He's regained consciousness and expected to make a full recovery. His father came back to see me and was cock-a-hoop. He insisted on donating enough for fifty floor tiles! That's the biggest donation yet. But I understand that Timothy isn't doing so well?'

'Unfortunately, no. His spleen was too badly damaged and had to be removed; part of his stomach and large bowel too. But they say he'll be okay in time. The only good thing about the whole business is that neither set of parents are going to press charges. The police aren't too happy about it, but we're all hoping the boys will have learned their lesson.'

'What a way to learn!'

'Hm, but then some of us only learn the hard way.' He shook his head, as though trying to shake something unpleasant from his mind. Then, noticing a few more prospective donators walking in their direction, he continued, 'Well, I'd better let you get on with it. Until next Saturday then, seven o'clock?'

'Yes. Okay.'

'Excellent. And keep up the good work,' he remarked, sounding like the archetypal teacher.

'You too,' she replied; her mind anywhere but on the job at hand.

# Chapter 30

#

# After the Dinner

Briony thought long and hard about what to wear. 'Quite informal, nothing fancy' was the way he had described the evening. She eventually settled on her tan-coloured, velveteen dress; it was comfortable without being too dressy. She wore her hair down, twisted and swept over one shoulder. Ready at last, she stopped off at the local corner shop and bought a box of After Eight Mint Chocolates, before making her way to the address on the card.

Theo greeted her enthusiastically before showing her into a spacious lounge. He introduced her to the other guests as she sat on one of the two leather sofas, and it soon became apparent that the couple sitting beside her, who were from his church, were unknown to the couple sitting opposite, who were some of his fellow teachers. Standing nearby was a young man in his early twenties, who appeared to know them all. She glanced around, and decided that the place had a homely and welcoming feel to it. Between the sofas was a large oak coffee table partially covered with various magazines, including several back issues of the National Geographic. In front of the unlit fire lay a honey-toned, sheepskin rug, above which hung a large watercolour painting of a woodland scene in bright spring colours. Displayed around three of the walls were photographs of people and places, all in plain, gold-coloured frames; the fourth was covered with bookshelves from floor to ceiling.

'Briony, let me introduce you to my son, Daniel,' continued Theo, the pride in his voice very evident as he placed a proprietary hand on the young man's shoulder. 'He's studying engineering at Threlstone University, and home for Easter. Dan, why don't you get Briony a drink? I need to go and do my culinary duty in the kitchen.'

'Hello there! What's your poison?' the son asked, standing and smiling down at her from his lean, six-foot-two frame.

'A small sherry would be fine,' she replied, having noticed a bottle of an expensive brand on the sideboard.

He went over and poured the drink, then returned and handed her a schooner of the amber liquid.

'Thank you. So, you're home for Easter?'

'Yes. Someone's got to keep an eye on the old man.'

She sipped her drink, and asked, 'What branch of engineering are you studying?'

'Electrical. I was one of those annoying kids who pulled everything to pieces to see how they worked before the Christmas dinner was on the table. Guess I never grew out of it.'

She studied him as she took another sip. He seemed to be an amiable sort of person, relaxed, confident in older company, and about the same height as his father. His pleasant features were framed by a mop of light brown hair, cut in the fashionably youthful Beatle hairstyle. 'And what year are you in?'

'Third; got finals coming up. But I'm hoping to go on and do an MA. Is that okay?' he asked, shifting his focus onto the sherry. 'Heaven knows how long Dad's been hoarding it. Wonder it hasn't grown legs and walked off by now.'

'It's fine. Very smooth,' she reassured him.

'That's a relief. He gets a bottle from his staff every Christmas. Takes him a whole year to get through it.'

'We get inundated with chocolates. Dreadful to resist when you're on nights.'

'That's right, I remember now. Dad tells me you're a nurse?'

The woman beside her, who had been chatting with the teachers opposite, chose this moment to interrupt them. 'I've just been telling these two about that fund-raising scheme you're doing. How on earth did you come up with the idea?'

'Oh, well, it just came to me... after I'd prayed... '

And so the conversation turned to the subject of the hospice.

Theo reappeared ten minutes later and invited them to follow him into the dining room. In the centre of the table was a 'hedgehog', constructed out of a potato, covered with silver foil, into which cocktail sticks, loaded with small cubes of cheese, pineapple and pickles, had been impaled. When they were all seated, he announced, 'Ladies and gentlemen, for starters we have French onion soup, melon boats, or our hedgehog friend here.'

Their choices made, the conversation resumed, and continued to flow amicably throughout the meal. The chicken casserole was more than 'passable', as was the strawberry trifle that followed. A cheeseboard came next, after which coffee and chocolates were served in the lounge. It was to be another hour before the pair from Theo's church made their excuses, explaining that they needed to get home for the baby-sitter. He fetched their coats and escorted them to the door. On their way out, the man paused by the hallstand and put an envelope on a plate, beside which a card with the words _Hospice Fund,_ written in an ornate copperplate hand, had been placed.

Briony also felt that this was an appropriate time to take her leave and began to express her gratitude for the evening. Already in her bag was an envelope containing her donation: a crisp one-pound note and one of the new fifty pence coins; enough for six fish and chip suppers.

'I wonder if you wouldn't mind hanging-back for a bit?' Theo asked, as the remaining couple began to embark upon an urgent, private conversation on the other side of the room. 'There's something I need to talk to you about. I won't keep you long. Can you spare a few more minutes?'

Assuming that it was something to do with the fund, she agreed.

The couple left a few minutes later, after having agreed on the amount of their contribution.

'Back in a minute,' Theo said, going into the kitchen to check on Daniel, who was noisily working his way through a small mountain of washing-up. He returned almost immediately and found Briony standing in front of the bookshelves. Amongst them were some heavy tomes on various faiths, many of which looked well used. Other shelves were filled with books on spiritual life, and were mainly non-fiction. But it was the shelves by the more popular, contemporary Christian authors that held her attention, and she was in the process of replacing a copy of 'The Cross and the Switchblade' when he came to join her.

'Find something that's caught your eye?'

'David Wilkerson's book. Have you seen the film?'

'Yes. I took some of my sixth formers. What about this one?' He removed the book next to it and handed it to her.

'"Run Baby Run,"' she read out, 'Not yet. I keep meaning to.'

'Then take it. That's what they're here for; I hate to see them gathering dust.'

'Alright. Thank you. Actually, I was just about to take a look at this,' she pointed at a book by C S Lewis.

'"Miracles". Interesting choice,' he commented, handing this to her as well. 'Let me know what you think of it.'

It looked older, and for all she knew, rarer. 'Thanks. I promise I'll take good care of it.'

He went on to point out several others, most of which she had already read. Well into his stride now, he asked, 'What about Tozer? I'd recommend 'The Knowledge of the Holy', or Chesterton's 'The Everlasting Man', and 'The Outline of History'?' Removing this last one and flicking through its pages, he commented, 'He makes mincemeat out of H G Wells' evolutionary ideas.'

'Maybe, after these,' she said, referring to the books she was holding.

'Of course. But, look, why don't we sit down? Can I fetch you another drink - tea, coffee?'

'No thanks,' she replied, going to sit on one of the sofas. 'I assume it's the fund you want to talk about?'

'No, Briony. Actually, something a bit more personal. And that's another reason I'm glad you agreed to come tonight.' He went to sit opposite her. 'I've been waiting to have an opportunity to talk to you privately. We always seem to be surrounded by other people, don't we?'

'Yes, I suppose so.' She looked questioningly at him, trying to think what he could have to say that was so private, especially because they hardly knew each other.

With a steady voice, he began, 'If you would allow me, I'd like to explain my previous behaviour towards you.'

Ah! So, that's it, she thought. 'Er, well, I did wonder.'

'Of course, you must have. And I can assure you it's been the cause of much personal soul-searching. But I did have my reasons, which, although I felt were fully justified, logical even, at the time, I now recognise were not only wrong, but unnecessary, and _very_ unchristian.'

'"Reasons"?' she repeated, wondering if she was just about to hear something about his peculiar, post-divorce attitude towards certain type of women.

'Yes. Look, maybe I'd better start at the beginning. I'll do my best to be brief. You probably already know that I'm divorced?'

She nodded slowly.

'That was the start of things. I guess I went a bit off-kilter at the time. It left me floundering. And I just didn't know how to... be... after nineteen years of marriage. Looking back, I can see now that the writing had been on the wall for some time, but I chose to ignore all the warning signs, hoping that things would settle down. But, and to cut a long story short, my wife decided that being married to a Christian wasn't for her.'

He paused for so long that she felt there was nothing for it but to make some sort of comment, and asked, 'You weren't Christians when you got married then?'

'No. As far as I was concerned, God and faith were nothing but academic subjects to be discussed, debated over, and taught like any other lesson in the confines of the classroom.' He smiled and sat back, 'A bad case of head knowledge only, I'm afraid.'

'Er, yes. I'm sorry about that,' she said, remembering her judgmental comment at the last day conference.

'You've got nothing to apologise for, Briony. Like you, I responded to the Gospel after hearing it clearly presented for the first time. And so, there I was now, a Christian. I was... elated; I felt alive. I tried to tell my wife, to explain, but she thought I was having some sort of breakdown. To be fair, after a while she did try to understand, and even went to church with me a few times. But her attitude only hardened, and eventually became quite hostile. I couldn't change, go back, and she couldn't accept my new priorities. Daniel was nearly fifteen when she announced that she wanted a divorce.' He paused to look over at one of the many photographs of his son on the wall behind her.

'Afterwards, I spent a long time trying to come to terms with things; trying to understand exactly where I stood in terms of my faith. The Old Testament teaching on divorce is uncompromising, and the New Testament makes it clear that it's better for a couple to separate rather than divorce. But it was the parts describing those who marry again after a divorce as being "adulterers" that really caused me a lot of sleepless nights.'

She could hardly believe her ears, especially because it hadn't been so long ago - in fact, just after Reuben - that she had needed to look over her notes again on the same subject. Although she had never been married or gone through the trauma of a divorce, according to Scripture, they would both have been classed as 'adulterers' if they had ended-up together - and purely because of the fact that _he_ was divorced.

Theo continued, 'But I eventually accepted the fact, and was able to resign myself to my new single status, and even began to see it as an opportunity to get involved in other things that I felt the Lord was laying on my heart.'

'Yes. That's how I see it,' she commented. 'I've never been married, but... there was a time. But I've learned to come to terms with my 'singlehood' and see it as a blessing now. I enjoy and appreciate the freedom I have and all the opportunities that come my way - which I probably wouldn't have if I had a husband to consider.'

He studied her, a look of almost wonder on his face. 'You're a contented and confirmed spinster then?'

'Hm, yes. I suppose you could say that,' she replied, thoughtfully.

'And what if the Lord has other ideas?'

She shrugged, 'Well, I suppose He'd let me know.' She gave a small laugh. 'There's something my mother was fond of saying, "Never say never".'

'Precisely.' He leaned back and smiled. '"Never say never",' he repeated, giving her a look that made a faint alarm bell begin to ring somewhere at the back of her mind.

'So what happened then,' she asked, keen to take the focus off herself and back onto his situation.

'The day conference on "Marriage, Divorce, and Remarriage". You weren't at that one, were you?'

'No. I was away. But I have the notes.'

'It was excellent, but troubling. You must have noticed how the notes give several points of view?'

She nodded.

'I'd settled the matter, you see. But after the conference, I found myself doubting my previous attitude. To say that I was confused is an understatement. I spent months studying the Scriptures, and must have read every book going on the subject. I knew the Scriptures said one thing, and my head understood, but this...' he placed one hand flat over his chest, 'this wouldn't agree. I just couldn't shake off the feeling that the Lord didn't want me to be alone for the rest of my life. Have you ever been in that situation? Where you have no peace? No matter how hard you try, you can't resolve an issue? You know what's expected of you, but, somehow, you just can't come to terms with it?'

'Yes. I know what you mean. I've had a few struggles. With relationships, and work.'

'Work? Yes, although they're usually easier to resolve. He patted the heart area of his chest again. 'But this, this was different. And being an habitual problem-solver, I came up with, what I considered to be, the only inevitable, and hopefully, effective, solution I could think of, which was that from that time on, I would make sure to have as little as possible to do with any eligible woman I came across. Of course, married women were easier to handle, and not even to be considered; I had no problem with them. And the system worked, for a while.'

The door to the kitchen opened and Daniel looked in. 'Shall I empty the percolator, or do you guys want to finish it off?'

'Not for me, thanks,' she replied. 'I'm on duty in the morning and need my sleep.'

'Empty it, then,' Theo instructed. 'And thanks Dan. I'll make sure your valiant contribution is mentioned in despatches.'

The young man smiled and disappeared. Rushing water could be heard a few seconds later.

'He's been a rock,' Theo remarked, 'Considering what he's been through, I'll always be grateful to the Lord for giving me such a diamond of a son. I think he handled the whole mess better than either of us.'

'Does he live with you?' she asked.

'Some of the time. He's either at his mother's or here, but mostly here.'

'Is he a Christian?'

'No. Not yet. Although he is sympathetic. There's a good Christian Union at the university, and I know he's been a few times. One can only hope and pray. But, getting back to what we were discussing. I do want to explain... I think we were up to the part where I'd decided to have as little to do with any eligible woman as possible? And that's where you come in.'

'Me?' She said, wondering if things might get a bit trickier from now on.

'I'd been aware of you for some time, and found myself actively looking around for you at the day conferences. To tell you the truth, it was a relief when you weren't there; at least I could concentrate. But, when you were, I felt so much anger towards you. You had - have - the effect of disturbing my carefully guarded equilibrium.'

That alarm bell was ringing louder now, and she decided that, somehow, she would have to put a stop to the conversation. 'Well, this is all very interesting. But I'm very aware of the time,' she said, looking at her watch.

'Please, let me finish. I'm almost there.'

'Um, I'm not sure - '

'Two more minutes? I promise.'

'Well, alright. But then I really will have to be going.'

'Thank you. And you must let me... I need to apologise to you for my behaviour towards you around that time. It was abysmal. I knew what I was doing; what I sounded like. The disrespectful way I spoke to you; my offhand manner. Downright insulting. More than one person pointed it out to me, and they were absolutely right. You were a challenge too far; you rattled my self-imposed cage. And the anger I felt, I realise now, was a case of misdirected aggression. I wanted to punish you for the damage I was inflicting on myself as a result of my own skewed belief.'

The charged atmosphere between them was suddenly interrupted by the invasive ringing of a telephone. 'Damn! I'll have to see who it is. Excuse me.' He hurried out to the hallway.

Alone now, she attempted to get her thoughts back into some sort of order. What on earth was happening here? She had only agreed to come into this man's home to support his fund-raising effort, and yet, here she was, having to listen to him pouring his heart out. And she particularly hadn't liked the sound of that part about "being a challenge too far".

He came back in a few minutes later. 'Sorry about that. It was Jane, she's left her glasses in the hall. I'll be seeing her at school tomorrow.'

By now, Briony had decided to use the interruption to her advantage. Standing, she said, 'I'm sorry, Theo, but I really must be going. It's been a lovely evening, and I really enjoyed the meal. You certainly have a way with casseroles, and that trifle was exceptional. I hope the rest of the evenings are just as successful. And thanks for the books, I'll let you have them back soon.'

He looked and sounded disappointed as he followed her to the door. 'I understand. Well, er, here, let me get your jacket.'

Once in the hallway, she placed her envelope containing her contribution on the plate. 'Please thank Daniel for me and say goodbye. He's a smashing lad.'

He nodded. 'I will.' And then went on to attempt to foil her escape, by saying, 'But there's more I need to say to you. I wonder, would you meet me... maybe for coffee? What about at Branderby Hall? Next Saturday, if you're free?'

'Can't, I'm afraid, on duty,' she replied abruptly, hoping he wouldn't persist by suggesting another day. However, she was to be quickly disappointed when he did just that.

'Sunday afternoon, then? After church? I'd really appreciate it.'

Now she would have to be firmer. However, she found herself having to think again, when he went on to say, 'It's communion tomorrow, and I need to find some sort of resolution about our... situation. I hope you can understand that.'

This was a bit of a shock. The realisation that, like her, he had not been able to take communion because of their 'situation' caused her some alarm. Although she had resolved the matter in her own mind, she knew that, as a responsible Christian, she should not ignore his inability to do the same - especially because she had just learned that she was the unwitting cause of his problem. It was obvious that he was feeling the need to do more explaining and apologising, even though she really didn't need him to.

Hoping to reassure him, she replied, 'It's alright, Theo. Please take communion tomorrow. You really don't have to apologise any more. I understand. And there really is nothing to forgive.' Thankfully, she just managed to stop herself from adding, 'now'.

However, still he persisted, 'Briony, I _must_ see you again. One more time. _Please!_ '

He sounded almost desperate. And somehow, although how she had no idea, she knew she shouldn't just dismiss him. Yes, she would meet with him, but only once more, and for one last time, and _only_ for his sake. 'Alright. I can do that. But I'm on a split shift that day and won't be able to stay long.'

He opened the door and stepped aside, letting her pass, his relief obvious. 'Even an hour will be more than adequate. Three o'clock okay? At the Hall?'

She nodded. 'Okay.'

'Excellent. And I appreciate you coming tonight.'

'Goodnight, Theo,' she said, stepping outside.

'Till Sunday, then,' he called after her.

# Chapter 31

#

# Branderby Hall

Briony drove along the hotel's long gravel driveway at precisely three o'clock. She stood, looking around as she locked the door of her modest little Morris Minor, unable to resist comparing it with the impressive collection of much larger and more expensive cars dominating the car park, and wondering which one was Theo's. She walked up the elegant sweep of steps, ignoring the stone statues that stood, sentry-like, either side of them, and entered the semi-gloom of the vestibule, leaving the brightness of the day behind her.

'Good afternoon. Can I help you?' came a receptionist's voice from behind an impressively ornate looking desk.

Briony would have liked to have spent a few seconds admiring the magnificent display of late spring flowers that seemed to illuminate the whole area, but she was here on business, not pleasure. And she didn't need any help; she knew the way. No doubt, trying to impress her, Mark had brought her here a few times during the early days of their relationship. She had not been back since. Instead, she replied, 'No thanks. I know the way.'

She walked into the lounge and looked around. People were chatting in subdued tones as they relaxed on an assortment of well-worn and comfortable looking armchairs. The atmosphere of the large room reminded her of an old library.

Theo had been watching out for her, and stood as soon as she entered. She went over to join him, trying not to look too disapprovingly at several elegantly dressed and coiffured women, striking sophisticated poses as they held their long, Audrey Hepburn-styled cigarette holders away from their carefully made-up faces. Images of the patients she had nursed in the last stages of mouth, throat and lung cancer flashed across her mind; elegant and sophisticated were not words that could have been used to describe their appalling, end-of-life suffering.

Theo greeted her as a young waiter appeared from nowhere, and deferentially pushed a chair beneath her as she sat. 'Good to see you again, Briony. Thank you for coming. How are you?'

'Fine thanks. And you?'

'Blessed, and in fine fettle.'

He was casually dressed in a beige polo-neck jumper and dark brown trousers, although a little pale, she thought, hoping that her black skirt and cream blouse didn't look too much like the uniform of the hotel staff.

'Would you like something to eat? They do a good selection of sandwiches and cakes.'

The newly trained and enthusiastic waiter flourished a menu before her. She refused it, silently reminding herself to do what she could to keep this meeting brief. 'Just a coffee for me, thanks. I've already eaten. But don't let me stop you.'

'Very well. That's two coffees please,' he ordered. The waiter nodded, and left with a spring in his step. Briony watched him go, saddened to think that, as she had witnessed with so many new pupil and student nurses, life and time would inevitably tame such innocently attractive zeal.

'They've got a balcony; would you prefer to go outside?' he asked, 'It seems a shame to coup ourselves up in here on such a lovely day.'

'That would be nice. I'm not too keen on all this smoke.'

'Nor me. We'll move when our coffee comes.'

He was looking at her squarely. Something seemed to amuse him, and he smiled.

'What is it?' she asked.

'I was just trying to imagine you making an entrance in here in your Miss Pink-tune outfit. That would raise a few eyebrows.'

'April Fool's over. And I don't expect they hold fancy dress do's. But I like your thinking. By the way, were you happy with the contributions you received the other night? I hope all your hard work was worth it?'

'Definitely. We got nearly four pounds. And how about your Buy A Tile scheme? Any more generous contributors?'

'Haven't been able to do another session,' she replied, feeling that it would be ungracious of her to reveal the fact that she was here now, instead of doing exactly that, back at the hospital.

'If I remember correctly, you mentioned that you're working later?'

'Yes, I need to be away by four.'

'And you've already been to work today? Those sound like very antisocial hours to me.'

'It's not my favourite shift, but I finished at eleven. Seven to eleven, then five to nine tonight; the two busiest times. Especially when we've had a long theatre list, like we had this week.'

'Do you get tomorrow off?'

'Unfortunately, no. It all depends on the rota. I'm on an early; another seven o'clock start.'

He shook his head slowly. 'Well, I take my hat off to you. It's not everyone who could put up with hours like that.'

'That's one of the things we soon learn to get used to when we start training. Other things can take a bit longer.'

They were interrupted when the waiter returned. Theo asked him to carry the tray out to the terrace. They followed him to a table, situated in full sunlight. Briony put her sunglasses on, and watched the waiter lifting and lowering the silver jugs with a flourish as he poured the hot milk and coffee into the fine bone china cups.

Attempting to pick up a cube of sugar with a pair of small, silver tongs, Theo asked, 'You mentioned about some other things that can take time to get used to?'

'Y-e-s,' she replied, slowly. 'Quite a lot of things really. Like how to cope with awkward and abusive patients, bearing in mind how scared a lot of them are. And, of course, the whole area of caring for the dying. Then there's the inevitable personality clashes, and how to accept the discipline, on and off the wards; some nurses find that really hard to come to terms with.'

'Well, I suppose that's fair enough; no-one wants to see an off-duty nurse behaving badly. And the hospital must have a responsibility to keep an eye on all those young women living on their premises.'

She looked around at the immaculately manicured gardens stretching out before them; so tranquil, so orderly. Such a difference from the almost chaotic atmosphere on the ward that morning. 'Personally, I think it can go too far. We're expected to handle all sorts of difficult situations in a responsible way, especially when we're on nights, and then get hauled over the coals when we disobey the slightest rule back in the nurses' home. We've just had a situation like that with one of our first-year student nurses; a really lovely girl with a very sensitive nature and a lot of common sense. She's on nights, and had just got into bed after a difficult shift when she was ordered to get up and put her uniform back on and report to the nurses' school. Her only crime was that she'd committed the dreadful sin of leaving a half-drunk bottle of milk on her sink!'

'Milk? What was the problem?'

'Food and drink aren't allowed in the nurses' home. She obviously forgot to hide it in her locker. It's all wrong. I can understand why things like fish and chips and curries aren't allowed. But honestly, why they won't let the girls have hot and cold drinks, and other types of snacks, is beyond me, especially because they have to pay something towards their accommodation. I'm glad I'm living-out now.'

Having stirred his drink, he picked his cup up and sat back, considering. 'Hm, sounds a bit like school. Water only from the fountains since free milk was stopped. And definitely no food, except for those pupils with a medical condition, and then only at certain times. I often feel bad about it when I'm tucking into tea and biscuits in the staff room. But to treat young women, and hard-working ones at that, in such a way, sounds very unreasonable and far too militaristic to me.'

'Well, I agree with you there,' she replied, emphatically.

'Why don't you all live-out?'

'You have to live-in during the first year and can move out for the second - if you can afford it. But you have to move back in for the third. It's just the way it is.' She was beginning to feel disloyal about bringing the subject up, and looked at her watch, hoping that he would take the hint.

'Time's getting on,' he remarked. 'And I do want to finish explaining my previous appalling behaviour towards you. You'll recall that I told you my reasons for doing so?'

Here we go, she thought, mentally bracing herself. 'Yes. And, if I remember rightly, you said how you'd decided to keep away from... certain type of women, after going to that conference on marriage.'

'That's right. I'd already come to terms with my single status. But after the conference, something in me just couldn't settle on the idea that I'd have to spend the rest of my life alone. Once again I spent a considerable amount of time and effort praying and fasting about my... attitude. But the Lord was silent; at least, that's what it felt like. And I'm ashamed to admit that I even found myself shouting at Him on several occasions, asking... begging... _demanding_ that He make His will clear. It was almost as though He'd turned His back on me, and I began to feel very hard done by. After all, wasn't I acting responsibly, and according to Scripture? Wasn't He pleased that I _wasn't_ going to be one of those people who ignored His wishes - and satisfy their own carnal desires by entering into another serious relationship - and one that could eventually lead to marriage, and, therefore, adultery?'

She began to feel some sympathy for him, remembering the times when she had asked the Lord for His guidance, and how He had remained silent. Then, time and patience were needed in greater measure before He gave His answer - as He always did - although not always in ways she expected. Later, she would discover why He had made her wait, and then it would all make sense. But the waiting had been hard.

'And, all the time, there you were. Every time I saw you, I became even more... unsettled. Angry. Although, in my more rational moments, I was able to admit that I was being unreasonable. How could you know how I felt?' He sighed heavily, nodding his head slowly, remembering. 'And then, when I behaved so appallingly towards you when we were introduced at that first hospice meeting, and again at the next day conference - when I came out with all that nonsense about how you being a nurse was in some way inconsistent with your ability to believe in divine healing - I knew I was out of control.'

By now, her relatively relaxed attitude had flown out of the window. She already knew that he was attracted to her; he had made that very clear the other night. And that was part of the reason why she had agreed to come here today: to make it just as clear to him that he must look elsewhere. That, and to try to persuade him to start taking communion again. 'Er, yes. That was a bit strange. I couldn't fathom you out at all,' she remarked.

'You must believe me when I tell you that that was totally out of character. I came away very disappointed, and completely disgusted with myself.'

She relaxed a little, and did some quick thinking, recalling how she had overreacted whenever she was with Reuben. Although, defensively, she decided that she hadn't been quite as hostile with him. Or had she? Could it be that she was on the verge of accusing Theo of something that she might be guilty of herself? She remembered the Lord's words in Luke's Gospel:-

**'** **Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?'** **17**

If so, then maybe she should try to be a bit more understanding. 'You know, Theo. I know exactly what you're talking about. And, in a way, I can even sympathise with you. Why would you want to get involved with someone you may feel some attraction to, especially if you could end-up compromising your faith in some way? People kept telling me what a terrific sense of humour you had, and what a pleasant sort of person you were. And, at first, I just felt, well... bewildered. But then I started to feel really angry with you. You mentioned that you weren't able to take communion because of the situation, and it was the same for me.'

He looked alarmed. 'Are you able to now?'

'Oh yes. I only missed one.'

He seemed to perk up at this. 'So you were able to come to terms with things, and forgive me?'

'Yes, but only after I'd started praying for you. I came to realise that it was your problem, and that I really had done nothing to cause it.'

He smiled, rubbing his chin with the side of his thumb. 'Hm. I found out afterwards that others were praying as well. I'll never be able to thank you all enough. All I can tell you is that God's honoured all your prayers.'

She remembered how Cynthia had mentioned that he was being counselled by his minister, and went on to ask, 'But was it all down to intercessory prayer? Or was there somebody, or something else, that helped you to see your way through it all?'

'John, our minister. He regularly... offered his services. He'd known about the problem right from when it first reared its ugly head. But I thought I knew better; I could cope. Just like that character, Harry, in the drama. But then I began to offend one too many people in the fellowship, and John had to put his foot down in the end and insisted that I discuss the matter with him. I was hostile at first, but then came around to the idea that I needed help, and soon learned how his thirty years of being in the ministry had given him a great deal of understanding and practical wisdom in the whole area. That first session was cathartic, to say the least. It was the first time I'd actually sat down and talked to anybody about how things were. I began to experience God's healing. And the only way I can describe it, is that His light began to shine into my darkness and deal with my self-inflicted Pandora's Box of misconceptions, misunderstandings and misjudgments. There was a lot of forgiving to do, of others, as well as of myself. And a lot of apologising. There was quite a list.'

'And I'm on that list?' she asked, feeling that she was stating the obvious.

He nodded. 'You must have noticed how my attitude towards you has changed recently? I've tried to approach you on several occasions, but you're a hard person to get alone. But, here you are at last. And I'm very grateful to you for giving me the time and opportunity to set the record straight.'

She drank the last few sips of her coffee before slowly replacing the cup on its saucer. 'Thank you, Theo. Of course I accept your apology. You've been through a lot, and it can't have been easy. I hope, and shall continue to pray, that the Lord will help you to go from strength to strength.'

'Thank you, Briony. I have every confidence that He will, especially with you as a... friend.'

She felt that there was something about the way he had hesitated and emphasised the word 'friend' that implied more than friendship. She had no qualms about being a friend with this divorced man, in fact, weren't they almost that already? But, just to be sure, she decided that it would do no harm to make it clear to him that that was all they could ever be.

'"Friend"?' she queried, 'Okay, I have no problem with that. It should make life more pleasant all round.'

His tilted his head slightly to one side, and said, in a cautious sounding tone, 'Well, actually, I was hoping for something a bit more - '

Realising that her suspicions had been well-founded after all, she lost no time in interrupting him, 'Er, no! There you're wrong. You're barking up the wrong tree. We can never be more than friends. I'm flattered, of course, but that's all we could... must... ever be. Friends. _Just_ friends.' Then, before he had the opportunity to ask for her reasons, she went on to say, 'And if you want to know why, well, you've said it yourself: you're divorced. And _you_ might have been able to come to terms with the fact, and I'm glad you have. But I still believe that it would be wrong for me to have any type of relationship with you, other than a friendship. You've already said how the Scriptures are very clear on the matter, and I don't really understand how Reverend Stuart has been able to talk you around to thinking otherwise. All I can think of, is that he must have a different version of the Bible to mine!'

'Briony! Stop! Listen to yourself. You must let me explain.'

'No! You've explained enough. I'm sorry, but you're going to have to accept my decision.'

He closed his eyes, and she wondered if he was praying.

'There can be nothing between us other than friendship... although... even that might be difficult now - '

'Alright. I understand,' he interrupted, quickly opening his eyes again. 'But, there is one more thing I would ask of you. Would you pray about what I've said? Would you allow the Lord to speak to you about the whole issue - and try to hear what He says without closing your mind, and without prejudice? Would you do that?'

Irritated at his persistence, she needed to take a few breathes before answering. How on earth could she _not_ pray about this whole thing? It would be like asking her to stop breathing. She stood to leave, and replied almost begrudgingly, and, she knew, ungraciously, 'Of course I will! And I really must be making tracks. Thank you for the coffee.'

'Just one more thing before you go.'

'Yes, what is it?' she asked, sounding even more impatient.

'Where's grace in all this?'

'Grace?'

'That's right. Grace.'

Unable to answer, she turned and walked away, puzzled as to why he had found it necessary to mention such a hallowed word; her mood not helped by the sight of a man offering a light to a heavily pregnant woman.

# Chapter 32

#

# The Missed Conference Notes

_(Full Notes can be found in Appendix 2.)_

She spent the next evening with Claire and Grant. Returning to the flat later that night, she felt too tired and in no mood to read through the conference notes on divorce and remarriage. She felt irritated, and could hardly believe that she was having to spend time thinking about these things again, but spend time on them she must. Should Theo challenge her again, which she felt almost certain he would, she wanted to make sure that she was thoroughly prepared and able to discuss, or, if needs be, argue, her case from a sound Scriptural basis. On the one hand, she felt flattered that he wanted them to get to know each other better; on the other, she was troubled at how very drawn she felt towards him. But she had felt 'drawn' to Reuben too; although that situation had been relatively easy to deal with.

She was still puzzled about how Reverend Stuart had been able to persuade Theo to consider embarking upon another relationship, whether with her or with any other woman, especially because, at their ages, and unless great care was taken, any relationship had the potential to become serious. Maybe she had missed something when she had looked into this whole issue before? But, no, she didn't think so. Then it could only be that his minister held more liberal views on the subject than she did. Yes, that was probably it. Even so, and for her own peace of mind, she had to make sure.

She awoke early the next morning and prepared herself for the day ahead before settling down at the kitchen table. Beside her was her collection of Bible study aids, including her old school Bible and a more modern version. Immediately in front of her lay a bulging folder, labelled 'Day Conferences'; its contents neatly arranged in alphabetical order. After saying a quick prayer for guidance, she opened the cover and scanned the contents list, above which she had written the Scripture stating her original reason for accumulating the studies:-

**But in your hearts set apart Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect ...** **18**

Then, reminding herself to keep Theo's question in mind, 'Where's grace in all this?' she found the relevant section, and began:-

_MARRIAGE, DIVORCE AND REMARRIAGE_

_Although the three are frequently mentioned in close proximity to each other in the Bible, for the purposes of this study, we shall begin by giving only a brief overview of the first of these._

_Marriage_

_Marriage should be understood as a covenant that is ordained and witnessed by God; it is binding in every way._

_There are four purposes/conditions for marriage..._

The section was clear and concise, and she had no problem agreeing with it.

The next section dealt with divorce, and needed some concentration...

_Divorce_

_The most well-known Scriptural reference to this unhappy circumstance can be found in Malachi:-_

**"...** **Has not the LORD made them one? In flesh and spirit they are his. And why one? Because he was seeking godly offspring. So guard yourselves in your spirit, and do not break faith with the wife of your youth.**

**"** **I hate divorce," says the LORD God of Israel, "and I hate a man's covering himself with violence as well as with his garment," says the LORD Almighty.**

**So guard yourself in your spirit, and do not break faith.'** **21**

Well, she thought, there's no getting around that, no matter how uncomfortable and inconvenient it may be. There were several more pages. She studied them carefully, before eventually reaching the section dealing with adultery. Here, one part in particular stood out:-

**But I tell you that anyone who divorces his wife, except for marital unfaithfulness, causes her to become an adulteress, and anyone who marries the divorced woman commits adultery.'** **25**

Yes, there it was; one of the Scriptures she might have to make her stand on if Theo became too much of a problem. She made a note in the margin:-

Ergo: Anyone who marries a divorced

man commits adultery.

She carried on:-

_Later, some Pharisees came to test Him:-_

**...** **They asked, "Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife for any and every reason?**

**"** **Haven't you read," He replied, "that at the beginning the Creator 'made them male and female', and said, 'For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh'? So they are no longer two, but one. Therefore what God has joined together, let man not separate."**

**"** **Why then," they asked, "did Moses command that a man give his wife a certificate of divorce and send her away?"**

**Jesus replied, "Moses permitted you to divorce your wives because your hearts were hard. But it was not this way from the beginning. I tell you that anyone who divorces his wife, except for marital unfaithfulness, and marries another woman commits adultery."**

**The disciples said to him, "If this is the situation between a husband and wife, it is better not to marry."**

**Jesus replied. "Not everyone can accept this word, but only those to whom it has been given..."** **26**

She sat back, and, as she had done so on her previous reading of the notes, assumed that she was one of those, "to whom it has been given". However, now she forced herself to be totally honest, and it was with some humility that she came to accept that, no, maybe she wasn't, especially if she met the right man. And, as far as adultery went, she had heard no mention of it in Theo's case, knowing that this was something she would definitely have remembered if she had.

The next section was the one she was particularly interested in:-

_Remarriage_

_Now let us consider some of Paul's teaching in I Corinthians. Corinth was a major cosmopolitan city where idolatry and immorality were rife. Converted Gentiles made up the majority of the church, many of whom were immature and still worldly. Some felt that because they were 'new creatures in Christ', they were free to abandon their old relationships - including their unbelieving wives - in order to marry Christian women. Disturbed at hearing of such practices, Paul wrote:-_

**To the married I give this command (not I, but the Lord): A wife must not separate from her husband. But if she does, she must remain unmarried or else be reconciled to her husband. And a husband must not divorce his wife.**

**To the rest I say this (I, not the Lord): If any brother has a wife who is not a believer and she is willing to live with him, he must not divorce her. And if a woman has a husband who is not a believer and he is willing to live with her, she must not divorce him. For the unbelieving husband has been sanctified through his wife, and the unbelieving wife has been sanctified through her believing husband. Otherwise your children would be unclean, but as it is, they are holy.**

**But if the unbeliever leaves, let him do so. A believing man or woman is not bound in such circumstances. God has called us to live in peace.'** **27**

This was interesting, and very relevant for her current purposes. Theo hadn't given too many details away on the night of the dinner, only that his wife had felt that the Christian Faith wasn't for her. By becoming a Christian, he had almost certainly changed the dynamics of the relationship, and it did sound as though his wife hadn't been prepared, or able, to accept and live with such changes. She could only conclude that his wife, who had been the instigator of the divorce, must have been able to convince the lawyers that she was suffering in some way because of Theo's new-found faith, and that she was finding him unbearable to live with. She wondered if she could find a way of sensitively finding out if this really had been the main cause of the divorce. If it turned out that Theo hadn't deliberately caused his wife any such suffering, would that mean that he wasn't _bound_ anymore, and was, therefore, free to marry again? In such circumstances, and according to the one of the commentaries, yes, he was... However, another commentator said exactly the opposite...

There were several more pages that covered other scenarios, none of which were particularly relevant for her current purposes. Nearing the end of the notes, she read:-

_Summary_

_According to Scripture, and with regard to the various commentaries used for the purposes of this study, we can summarise the differing opinions, as follows:-_

_Marriage_ _: All appear to agree that this has been instituted by God and is intended to be for life._

_Separation_ _:-_

_i) A couple should do all they can to resolve their_

_problems and stay together, or -_

_ii) A couple may separate when a marriage_

_irretrievably breaks down._

_Divorce_ _:-_

_i) There are no grounds for divorce, or -_

_ii ) The only exceptions are when adultery_

_or desertion have occurred._

_Remarriage_ _:-_

_i) Only death can end the marriage bond, in which_

_case the surviving partner may marry again, or -_

_ii) Only allowed if there has been adultery, or if_

_the non-believer deserts, thereby breaking the_

_marriage bond, or -_

_iii) Allowed for any reason._

Here, her notes ended.

All this was very interesting, and remembering his challenge to her again: 'Where's grace in all this?' she took a fresh sheet of paper and wrote the heading:-

_GRACE_

_(Full Notes can be found in Appendix 3.)_

Immediately underneath, she wrote the acronym she had first heard when she became a Christian:-

God's Riches At Christ's Expense

Consulting her Bible dictionary first, she read through the list of definitions of the word. She selected just one, and noted it down:-

_'_ _The use of the word in the Old Testament expresses deliverance from enemies, affliction, or adversity. It also represents daily guidance, forgiveness, enablement and preservation.'_

Remembering her own parent's marriage, she reflected how beneficial all these things might have been in their own case. Then, out of interest, she looked in her secular dictionary. Amongst the various explanations, she found one that seemed particularly apt:-

_'..._ _the free and unearned favour of God.'_

Finally, she consulted the Bible concordance and saw that there were 124 references to the word _Grace_ , as well as 49 variations on the theme. Scanning quickly through the list, she selected several, and noting these down as well, added her own comments after each one...

All she needed to do now was to record her own conclusions. But first, coffee was needed. She put the kettle on and watered her colourful collection of African Violets as she waited for it to come to the boil. She felt quite relaxed about the whole thing, seeing it only as an interesting bit of research. Of course, if she was thinking about actually getting to know Theo better, then that would be a different matter.

The coffee made, she settled herself back at the table. At the end of her own notes on the subject of _Grace_ , she wrote:-

_Personal Conclusions_

Remembering Theo's question, 'Where's grace in all this?' I can't help feeling that the disciples had it right when they said:-

**...** **it is better not to marry.** **26**

It is interesting to note that Jesus said:-

**At the resurrection people will neither marry nor be given in marriage; they will be like the angels in heaven!** **36**

Grace is certainly needed to live the single life, (which is something I know only too well.) But maybe even more is needed to help sin-infected people stay married!

From my own experience, I can definitely testify that the grace of God is strong and true - like an ever-flowing river. Although, there are times when I feel that extra is needed, and it is always there, e.g. all through Mum and Dad's illnesses, and then very much so when they died. His grace seemed to flow so powerfully then - like the storm water over the crest of those dams at Elan Valley.

Feeling that she had gone as far as she could, and remembering Mark, and wondering how long they would have stayed married if things had worked out between them, she added one final note:-

**There, but for the Grace of God, go I.**

Replacing the folder in her bookcase, she had one final and quite disturbing thought: she was good at accepting the Lord's grace for her own life - and now she knew that Theo was just as much a child of God as she was - why was she finding it so difficult to come to terms with the fact that He had every right to experience this wonderful grace as well?

# Chapter 33

#

# The Buy A Tile Session

The day of the auction was approaching. Briony drove to the collection point at Park Lane Baptist church to deliver her donations, all of which had come into her possession after her parents' death. Her arms full of jigsaws, she heard a familiar laugh as she pushed open the door to the church hall.

'Well, hello there!' called Theo, who had been standing nearby and examining the contents of a much-battered suitcase.

'Oh, hello!' she exclaimed, momentarily taken aback at coming across the one person she had not expected to see again quite so soon. Quickly depositing her bundle on the nearest table, she turned back to the door, saying, 'There's more outside. I'll just go and fetch them.'

Losing his interest in the book he was holding, Theo decided to follow her. 'I'll give you a hand. It's good to see you again. How are you?'

'Okay thank you. And you?'

'Bearing up. Still blessed. Actually - '

'Can you take these?' she interrupted, opening the boot of her car and taking hold of the remaining few jigsaws.

He took them from her. 'You know, this can't be a coincidence; I was planning on giving you a ring later.'

She stood erect, her back still to him as she decided what to carry next, and wondering how he had obtained her number.

He must have read her thoughts, and went on to explain, 'I hope you don't mind; Cynthia was kind enough to give me your number.'

What could she say? Actually, yes, I do. She shouldn't be giving my number out to anybody, willy-nilly. And I don't want you thinking you can ring me at any time of the day or night and disturbing my peace of mind - any more than you have already. Knowing how ungracious that would sound, she managed to contain her vexation and picked up the box containing the antique frosted lampshade that had been found in the attic of her parent's house many years before. Turning to face him, she asked, 'What do you want to speak to me about?' hoping that he would tell her here and now, and avoid the need for any future telephone discussion.

'Well, I was thinking that it's time we met-up again.'

'Oh yes, why's that, then?' she replied, knowing that she was being deliberately obtuse, but, for the life of her, not able to help herself. Her re-reading of the conference notes had left her feeling vulnerable, and she really didn't know how to handle this unexpected meeting.

'Maybe I should start again,' he said, indicating the box in her hands. 'And put that on top of these. I feel there's more we need to talk about. You don't happen to be free now do you, or later on today?'

'Er, well, I'm not sure. And are you sure you can manage? There's glass in there. And I think I can manage the rest, thanks.' The truth was that, having decided that her wardrobe was in desperate need of updating, she had promised herself an afternoon of clothes shopping. In fact, she had been looking forward to it.

'Then how about tomorrow?' he asked, undeterred. 'I was thinking about the café at the marina, and maybe a bit of a stroll along the canal afterwards, if the weather's up to it?'

She stooped to retrieve the box containing a large yellow chicken egg container from the car boot. 'Can't do that either, I'm afraid. I'm planning on doing another Buy A Tile session.'

The box was open and he saw the contents. 'Er, very tasteful. Yours?'

'No, my mothers. I don't think she was fond of it either; I found it hidden at the back of a cupboard. Do you think they'll put it in the auction?'

'Don't see why not. You never know, someone might feel it could add a touch of grace to their kitchen.'

_Grace!_ Now why did he have to go and mention _that_ word? - the very word that had been challenging her so much over the past few days.

'Is that it? Nothing else?' he asked.

She inclined her head towards a faded kitbag. 'Just that. My father's old tools. Some of them were my grandfather's and are really ancient.'

They retraced their steps into the hall, and he commented, 'Interesting. And no-one in the family wanted them?'

'No. My brother-in-law's not much of a handyman. It's a shame really.'

'One of our members works in the museum; I'll tell him to look out for them. If he's not interested, he might know someone who is. By the way, how is your Buy A Tile scheme coming along?'

'Steady. I need to keep at it if I want to fill the book. What about your dinners? Have you and Daniel done any more?'

He grimaced, 'Just one. Daniel's already gone back to university and I struggled a bit with the last one; I'm afraid the kitchen's not my natural habitat.' He deposited the jigsaws and the box containing the lampshade on a table. 'I'll fetch the kitbag.' Returning, he commented, 'This feels like quite a haul.'

'Yes, and it would be good to know that they can see the light of day again, like your books.' Then, overcome with curiosity, she went on to ask, 'Did you do the same menu as the night I came?'

'Afraid so. I'm doing another one next week. By the way, will you be coming to the auction?'

'No, I'm on a late that day. Well, I think that's everything. I'd better be going. Thanks for your help.'

'My pleasure.' Once again, he followed her as she headed for the door. 'And that's a shame; did you know it's going to be a Dutch one?'

Will he never leave me alone? she thought. 'I had heard. Isn't that where they start with the highest price, and keep dropping it until someone makes a bid?'

'That's right; should be interesting. And I've been thinking, this is just a suggestion, but how would you feel if I come and give you a hand tomorrow?'

She sat in the driver's seat and tried to think of a good enough reason why she should refuse. 'Er, well - '

He walked around to her side of the car. 'Look, I know I'm coming across as being a bit of a pest, and I'm sorry about that. It's just that I'd like a bit more time to explain a few things to you. Let me come and help you tomorrow, and afterwards, if it's what you want, I'll never bother you again.'

She averted her eyes from his earnest expression to study the windscreen. The thought occurred to her that it could be an opportunity to finally put him straight, but she would have to be firmer than ever. She turned on the ignition. 'Alright. If you want to help, I'll be in the hospital's main entrance hall between one thirty and three.'

'Thank you, Briony.' He stepped away and tapped the car roof lightly with his flattened hand, 'Till tomorrow.'

Full of misgivings, and wondering if she would regret giving in to him, she drove away.

Sunday afternoon was always her most productive time for her Buy A Tile purposes, mainly because there were more visitors that day than on any other. The hospice fund organisers had produced a colourful poster, and she was in the process of tacking this onto the screen beside the desk when Theo arrived.

'A bit more to the left.'

'Hello Theo.'

'It needs to be about an inch to the left if you're aiming for symmetry.'

She moved the poster. 'How's that?'

'Perfect, and I don't know about you, but I'm ready for a coffee. Is the café open?'

'Should be. And yes please. White with one sugar.'

She was occupied talking to an elderly man when he returned ten minutes later. The man seemed to be more interested in telling her every detail about his wife's stroke than going to visit her. Theo came to sit beside her and pushed the plastic cup in her direction, then sat silently and watched as a steady stream of visitors walked past; some looked in their direction, others made the effort to make a small detour and avoid the table.

Briony nodded sympathetically at the old man's tale as she sipped the drink, and it was to be a further five minutes before he moved away, having made no donation.

'Is it always this slow?' Theo asked, draining his cup.

'It can be. Everyone's keen to get to the wards. Sometimes there's more interest when visiting hour's over.'

He began leafing through the donation book. 'You've not done too badly, but it must be time consuming. Is this the only place you try?'

'Yes, and it suits me. I can often do a session before or after a shift.'

'Well, I take my hat off to you.'

'Your dinner scheme's time-consuming too, isn't it? And costly? At least I don't have any expense with this.'

He shrugged. 'Anything worthwhile usually comes at a cost.'

She had to agree with him.

'By the way, how are you getting on with the books?'

'Thanks for reminding me. I've finished them both. They... inspired me.' She retrieved the items from her bag and handed them to him.

'Excellent! You'll have to come and choose more. They're a bit like those old tools of your grandfather's; only useful when being handled.'

Recognising that he had just made an oblique suggestion to visit his home again, she quickly changed the subject, 'Will you be helping at the auction?'

'No, although I'll probably make a few bids.'

'What will happen to the things that aren't sold?'

'I expect John's... Reverend Stuart's... got something up his sleeve.'

A woman came and stood nearby. She glanced at the poster, then walked away.

'No taker there either, then,' he commented.

She sighed. 'No. Oh well, best to keep on praying.'

'You pray before you begin?'

'Of course! Every time.'

She felt his eyes study her and wondered what he was thinking. She soon found out, when he asked, 'I must confess, I'm very curious about you, Briony. You said you'd only been a Christian for about six years. Am I right?'

'Yes,' she replied, relieved that he was keeping to safe topics.

'And what about your family? Did you have a Christian upbringing?'

'Not especially.'

'Not church-goers, then?'

'My father never darkened the door of any church that I know of, although my mother went occasionally. You know, Easter and Christmas. And she did go to Sunday school as a child.'

'Hm, like a lot of people; she had some sort of foundation that could be built on at a later date.'

'I suppose you could put it like that. And she was more open to hearing about the Lord, especially towards the end.'

He looked closely into her face. 'I understand you lost them both very close together last year?'

'Yes, but God is good,' she replied, sounding very matter-of-fact. 'And I truly believe that my mother responded to the Lord just before she died...' She trailed off, wondering why she should be telling him such a personal thing. She had been watching him closely as well, trying to sense if he was just making conversation to help pass the time, or if he was genuinely interested. His intense expression led her to believe that the latter was the case, in fact, he appeared to be hanging on her every word.

'And you have peace about her? You really believe that she opened her heart to the Lord?'

She nodded. 'Yes, and yes.'

'What about your father?'

'Not sure. But if prayer counts for anything, then I can only trust. And only the Lord really knows the heart.'

He nodded, agreeing. 'He certainly does.'

A couple with a baby in a pushchair approached the table. Briony quickly refocused her attention to the job at hand. Minutes later, the father's signature became the first of the day when the pair decided to buy four roof tiles.

Left alone again, Theo lost no time in picking up the thread of the conversation. 'And what about you, Briony? How did you meet the Lord?'

She paused, then deciding that there was no harm in telling him, went on to describe the events of the weekend away at the Bible College. Afterwards, and feeling that it was the polite thing to do, she asked him the same question.

'It sounds like my family background was very much like yours,' he began. 'Church was useful only for the big life events. But life moves on, circumstances change, and one day I found myself sitting at the back of one, and being challenged to think about spiritual matters. I gave my life to the Lord soon after.'

A burst of laughter came from the direction of the main doors as a trio of leather-jacketed youths burst in and began swaggering noisily through the foyer. One recognised Theo, and called out, 'Whoa! If it isn't Old man Davy!'

'Saunders!' responded Theo, 'You've just made my day, and exactly who I've been waiting for.'

Surprised at hearing that his old teacher had been waiting for someone just like him, the youth slowed his pace. 'Oh yeah. Why's that then?'

'Why don't you come over here and find out?'

'Yeah! Go on, Georgy-Boy,' jeered one of the other two youths, obviously finding some amusement in the situation.

Saunders grunted, shrugged, then swaggered towards the table.

'Good man!' exclaimed Theo. 'And why don't you two come as well?'

Saunders shook a greasy lock of hair away from his eyes and glanced at the poster. 'Alright, So what's the gen here, then?'

There followed a brief discussion between the former teacher and his ex-pupil, and it was to be another ten minutes, and three signatures later, before the trio left, having donated six roof and three floor tiles between them.

Watching them swagger away, Theo explained, 'One of our more talented boys. Very artistic, with a penchant for decorating blank walls. He should have gone to Art college, but his parents wanted him to start earning.'

Briony had been impressed by Theo's ability to remember so much about his former pupil and how respectfully he had spoken to him, which had been anything but condescending. She turned the book towards her and looked at Saunder's bold signature, which certainly had flair, and wondered what a graphologist would make of it.

From then on, they were kept busy dealing with a steady stream of visitors: some curious and asking for details before making a donation, others walking away after professing to have no extra cash on them. Time passed quickly until, at last, the entrance hall became quiet.

'I think we can call it a day now,' she announced, closing the book. 'That was one of the best sessions so far. You've definitely got a knack for this sort of thing; you had some of them literally eating out of your hand.'

'It made a nice change. And it's been good to spend some time with you again, despite all the interruptions. But we haven't had much opportunity to talk, have we?'

'Oh, but you promised - you know - '

'And I meant it. But I still haven't been able to say what I want to. I want to explain - '

'But there's no need, honestly,' she interrupted, hoping he would let the whole thing drop.

'Yes. There is, Briony. I need to tell you the rest.'

'The rest?' Even as she persisted with her objections, the truth was that she knew she really did want to hear 'the rest'. But that would mean being drawn deeper into his world - into his life - which was the very thing she had already decided she must not do.

'And before you keep on judging me, I think it only fair that you have the full picture,' he added.

' _Judging you?'_ she exclaimed, feeling some embarrassment that he had been able to sense the uncomfortable truth.

'Well, that's what you've been doing, isn't it? I'm divorced. Untouchable. Unclean?'

She averted her eyes, unable to protest. 'Well, alright. If you feel you really want to. Maybe just a few more minutes.'

'Thank you, and I do. But not here. Maybe somewhere a little less public.'

# Chapter 34

#

# Theo's Story

Theo's lounge was not where she had planned to spend the rest of her Sunday afternoon. She watched him sit back on the opposite sofa, and thought how much at ease he looked as he began to tell her what he had been so keen for her to hear.

'I feel I should explain a few things about my marriage, particularly the reasons why, I believe, it failed.'

She shifted in her seat, silently telling herself to try to stay impartial; after all, this would be just one side of the story - his side. 'Do you really have to? Isn't it enough for me to know that it did fail? I don't need to know all the ins and outs of it, and there's no law stating that we have to know everything about each other.'

He was silent for a few seconds, obviously considering how to reply, then said, 'I believe it could prove useful.'

'But... can't we just stay as we are, and agree to be civilised?'

'Of course. If that's what you eventually decide. However, I have been hoping that we could... explore our friendship, tentative and young as it might be. But, after you've heard, if you decide that you want to keep things as casual as you feel they are now, then, naturally, I shall respect your decision.'

'And there'll be no hard feelings - if that's what I do decide?'

He nodded. 'You have my word.'

She pursed her lips and looked away.

Her reticence was not lost on him. 'You obviously have some reservations?'

'Er, well, yes. I'm not quite sure - '

'And what about the Lord's gift of grace? Remember, I asked you to take that into consideration - '

'Yes, yes. And I have been looking at... things... with that in mind.'

'And?'

'Well, let's just say, I may be a little less rigid about certain matters. Although, that's not to say that I would want to water down what the Bible teaches.'

'That's fair enough. And you just have to say the word and I'll stop the minute you begin to feel uncomfortable.'

She recognised he was making every effort to be fair. But still she hesitated, silently acknowledging the undeniable fact that he hadn't coerced her in any way, nor forced her, to be sitting here right now. She had agreed to come knowing his purpose. 'Alright,' she finally consented, 'But I'm not promising anything.'

'Thank you, Briony. I appreciate that.' He leaned forward and rested his arms on his legs. Clasping his hands together, he gave her, what he hoped, was a reassuring smile. 'Well, where to start? I think, maybe with the early days of my marriage, which I'll try and describe, allowing that my conscience won't let me accuse, or excuse, how we were. Right from the start, we couldn't have been described as being the perfect couple; compatibility wasn't there in spades. But a lot of our friends were getting engaged or married, and I suppose we just got swept along; it seemed the thing to do at the time. At best, we were good friends; at worst, we could barely tolerate each other. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, don't you think? It wasn't long before we both came to realise that we'd made a big mistake. But you know how it is; you dig in and hope that things will improve; that the other person will change.'

She nodded, remembering how she had hoped the same about Mark, even from the first days of their relationship. 'But there must have been something between you to begin with? Some mutual attraction?'

'Physically? Yes. But, in our case, opposites only attracted for a very limited amount of time before the repelling started, and the bedroom descended purely into a matter of negotiation. I shan't go into details. We taught in the same school; she was - is - a music teacher, of the more progressive kind.

'Anyway, we limped along those first years, concentrating mainly on our careers and not much else. Then Daniel came along, and the limp became a stagger. It was a bad birth. Afterwards, she announced that there'd be no more children, which suited me fine. I couldn't blame her. But I think that's when the cracks began to have some noticeably detrimental effects on us both; friends and family started to make concerned comments. Until then we'd become experts at hiding our differences.

'From then on, my main concern was Daniel. My ex-wife and I are two very different people. Our outlook on life and priorities, expressly in the way we brought him up, caused constant friction. She was all for letting him develop without the use of any form of discipline, which was completely at odds with my philosophy on child rearing. I believe that children can only thrive when they feel safe within some clearly defined and reasonable boundaries. Now the arguing became almost non-stop, although never when he was around.' He sighed and leant back, crossing his arms, he stretched his long legs out in front of him.

'Somehow we kept going. The years came and went, until it all came to a head one Christmas. Daniel was fourteen then. Strange really, she always enjoyed the season: the presents, decorations, the tree, even the carol singers; but never church. We'd had people around for the usual Christmas Eve party, and I'd mentioned something about her spending too much on Daniel; she always went over the top. That was when she snapped - became hysterical, told me to leave - go! She couldn't stand it any longer; I was suffocating her; she couldn't breathe. And our secret was out.'

Briony had been listening attentively, wondering why he was giving her far more personal details than she had expected.

'But it was Christmas Eve, how could I leave? Instead, I went for a long walk. It was bitterly cold that year, wet too. It was almost midnight when I decided to take shelter in the cathedral. We lived in Thorpeborough then, a couple of miles from the centre. I sat near the back, trying to get warm and dry off. The service began and the procession came from behind me, the choir singing. The dean was carrying a cushion, and I was rather surprised to notice what appeared to be a small doll on it; a sort of pink, plastic baby-looking affair.

'They reached a large manger construction at the front. I was too far back to see what was going on, but I went and had a look afterwards, and saw that the doll had been placed in the crib. The service had been very calm, orderly; the choir and congregation had prayed and sang with the sort of reverence one would expect in a place like that. It had a calming effect on me, like a soothing balm; the mood in there very different from all the alcohol-fuelled, inane gossiping and so-called "harmless" flirting that I'd left behind in my own house, where the last thing on anyone's mind was what the season was all about. It challenged me - made me think. It wasn't long before they wanted to shut the place, so I made my way home, and was relieved to find the house quiet.

'The next day, Christmas Day, came and went in a blur. We both managed to keep a lid on things for Daniel's sake. But the situation quickly deteriorated, and by the New Year it became obvious that one of us would have to leave. And, of course, that would have to be me. Initially, we agreed that it would only be for a trial period. I found a flat, moved out, and started having Daniel for weekends. I could see he was finding the whole thing confusing. He'd always been a bright student, but his general behaviour, both in and out of school, had begun to deteriorate. After about three months I decided to do something about it, and insisted on moving back home.'

Briony looked closely at his face, and could detect no apparent signs of tension or pain etched across his features. She could only assume that whatever emotional distress he had gone through back then must have been effectively dealt with by now.

Theo continued, 'It was about that time that I started looking around for a church. Sometimes Daniel went with me, and seemed quite happy about it, seeing it as some sort of spiritual treasure hunt. It was also about that time that I made a concerted effort to reason with my ex-wife, hoping to find a way of resolving our differences. But I came to realise that she'd been harbouring a great deal of resentment and anger towards me for a very long time, and I knew that things would have to be very different if there was to be any chance of a reconciliation. But she wasn't having any of it. By then, I'd started to attend Park Lane regularly. The surprising thing was that she agreed to go to church with us a few times. although I suspect Daniel had something to do with that.'

'How did you end up going there? It's quite a way from Thorpeborough, isn't it?' Briony asked.

'The local C of E was just around the corner, and would have been the obvious choice. And I did try it, but it was impersonal; everything strictly pre-planned, pre-written. I remember sitting there, listening, trying to find anything relevant to my situation. And there were parts of the service that came close, but I came away dissatisfied, still searching for the answers; guidance, I suppose. Looking back, I can see now that my spiritual ears and eyes were beginning to open. The image of that plastic Baby wouldn't leave me. The thought that He'd grown up to become the Man on the Cross disturbed me; it was... upsetting. It's strange, isn't it, how people are very rarely able to make the connection?'

'Yes, very,' she agreed. 'Maybe someone should design a series of Christmas cards along those lines.'

'That's an idea.'

'And was it around that time that you became a Christian?'

'No. More's the pity. If only I had. I kept going to Park Lane; I found the routine comforting. Then, about six years ago, a visiting student from Spurgeon's came to preach. John... Reverend Stuart, is a fine man, but he's not much of an evangelist; his gifts are more in the pastoral line. The student upset a lot of folk; he was one of those Bible-thumping, red-hot, hellfire and brimstone preachers. I found him stimulating! But when he gave his testimony, and followed it with the most clear-cut Gospel message I'd ever heard, I knew I had to come off the fence and make a decision. But, you know, even then I held back. I still had questions. I was full of them, firing off a few every time I had the opportunity. John was patient and always found time for me. He'd constantly tell me that I'd gain a far better understanding of things, and that my answers would come, if I would only give in and begin to walk with the Lord. The trouble was that I wanted all the answers before I set off. But, that night, after hearing the student, I did some serious praying. I knew that I'd been using my questions as a type of excuse to keep Him at arm's length, and I knew that the time had come to make that decision. And so I did. Somehow, I came to my senses, and surrendered. A sort of peace came over me, and then the words - the answers - began to come.'

He stood and walked over to the bookshelves. Removing a Bible, he said, 'You'll have to indulge me now. This is rather personal, but I'd like you to hear it.' He remained standing as he opened the front cover of a Bible, and began to read:-

_'_ _I'm confused. Which way should I go now?_

_'_ _Come, I am the Way. Follow me.'_

_I have so many questions._

_'_ _You will find your answers in me.'_

_What about Daniel?_

_'_ _I died for him too. I love him more than you_

_ever can.'_

_I've developed trust issues._

_'_ _Believe in me; I am the Truth.'_

_I'm totally disillusioned with this life._

_'_ _I offer life in all its fullness.'_

_What about my guilt._

_'_ _The debt is paid for those who choose me.'_

_I feel full of doubt and in the dark._

_'_ _Trust in me; I am the Light.'_

_I've been falsely accused._

_'_ _Let me proclaim you innocent.'_

_I'm exhausted._

_'_ _You can find your rest in me.'_

_What can I do with a broken life and heart?_

_'_ _Come to me; I can heal your heart,_

_\- but only if you give me all the pieces.'_

He closed the Bible and replaced it on the shelf, then walked over to the window. For several seconds he stood looking out at the street, quiet on a Sunday afternoon, then turned to her, smiling, 'It seems we're about the same spiritual age.'

'So it seems.'

He sat again. 'And He's been true to His word. It's not been a bed of roses, but here I am. The storms come, but I've learned that He's in the boat with me: guiding, calming, and taking me safely to shore.'

Remembering her parents, and how the Lord had comforted and supported her all through that specific 'storm', she nodded.

'But things didn't get any better as far as my marriage went. Remember, I was still living at home then. She'd never been keen on me going to church or being involved in any sort of Christian activity. Now I was hungry... desperate to explore everything about being a child of God. But then it seemed like all hell broke loose. I should have expected it, and John did warn me that it often happens when someone commits their life to the Lord. But it was still a blow when she told me that she thought I was going mad and that I had a choice: stop going to church - or move out. But how could I turn my back on the Lord, now that I was learning how much He loved me? To deny Him, to avoid Him, and have nothing more to do with His people, to go back to my old ways - which is what she claimed she wanted - would have been spiritual suicide. I suggested various compromises: I wouldn't talk about Him, and cut back on going to church, but still she wasn't satisfied, and kept on about divorce. But I didn't want Daniel to become just another statistic; another damaged child from another broken home; caught in the middle of two warring parents. In the end, and after months of arguing and getting no-where, I suggested that the house, which was a fair size, could be reorganised in such a way that we could have our own areas. She could have her own front door and independence, I'd move into the back, and Daniel would have us both living under the same roof.'

He paused, standing again, he walked over and picked up a large, framed photograph of Daniel as a schoolboy, smiling, and looking smart in his uniform. He rubbed the glass with his sleeve. 'That didn't work either. She'd made up her mind; she wanted me out of her life completely, and nothing but a divorce would do.' He sighed, 'But I was stubborn and stayed.' He replaced the photograph, then returned to his seat. 'Are you still okay with this? Do you want me to stop? Remember, you just have to say the word.'

'Go on, I'm fine,' she said, keen to hear the outcome. 'Did you stop going to church?'

He gave a small laugh. 'No. Poor John! He needed the patience of Job to deal with me. I still had a lot of questions. But he was there for me, and began counselling me through a period of confession and repentance. I was full of guilt; mostly false as it turned out. I'm not saying I was totally free of blame for the failure of my marriage, but I was carrying more than my fair share of it, mainly over Daniel. John helped me to recognise how much compassion the Lord had for us all \- all the way through it. He was ready to forgive and help. But the more I tried to understand and... accommodate my wife, the more she resisted. I found out later that she'd been consulting a solicitor for some time. I was oblivious of her... machinations. But it became clear what her motives were when the divorce papers arrived. Unable to cite me for any of the usual reasons, she chose to use my faith as her way out, by accusing me of behaving in such an unreasonable way that I was impossible to live with. And, I had to admit, it did look bad on paper; I came across as being some sort of hard-line, religious fanatic.'

'And were you' Briony asked. 'I know I went over the top a bit when I first met the Lord. All I wanted to do was share this new and wonderful thing that had happened to me. It was like I'd just been given an endless supply of some miraculous medicine, and I could see how everybody around me needed it. But I was totally misunderstood, and got accused of getting sucked into some dangerous sort of strange cult.'

He nodded, understanding. 'Possibly, certainly in the early days. But I quickly settled down.'

Briony was completely caught up in his story now, and went on to ask, 'So what changed? How did you end up getting divorced? You obviously agreed to sign the papers.'

He smiled, nodding his head. 'Daniel. She used Daniel as a bargaining tool. Her solicitor managed to convince her that the court wouldn't look favourably on allowing him to continue spending time - and being influenced by - such a religious fanatic. He was pretty unethical, and hinted to her to promise me that, if I played ball and signed, she would promise that even if the court ruled I couldn't have access, she would let me have him for weekends and school holidays. Off the record, of course.'

'And is that what happened?' Briony asked, wondering how any mother worth her salt could use her own child in such an underhand way.

He shrugged. 'She had me over a barrel. She knew how I felt about the lad, and my own solicitor had nothing to offer. It was a gamble, but one I ultimately decided was worth taking. I signed, and to be fair to her, she kept to her end of the bargain. But, as things turned out, she took up with someone else soon after the decree nisi came through, and it wasn't long before I ended-up having him full-time anyway. Unofficially, of course. Apparently her new 'friend' wasn't too happy having some other man's son around.'

Briony couldn't hide her disgust. 'For goodness sake! How could she? You mean, she actually chose _another_ man over her own _son?_ '

'That was the way of it. Although, actually, it was the best thing that could have happened. Daniel came to me, and has been with me ever since. She eventually married the man, and, according to Daniel, they appear to be happy enough.'

'Did she... they... go on to have any children of their own?'

'No. Which is a blessing. It would have complicated things for Daniel, to know that there was a brother or sister around who he couldn't spend any serious time with. And so, now you know. But I need to add what a good friend John has been all through this, especially when I began to develop my warped and misogynistic attitude towards any eligible woman who was unfortunate enough to come my way.'

Here we go, she thought. If this is where he mentions me again, I'm really going to have to steer him away.

Unaware of her unspoken thoughts, he went on to say, 'And then there was you.'

'Theo, I feel... look... it's just that I'm not sure - '

'It's the divorce thing again, isn't it?'

'Well, yes.'

'And if I wasn't? If I'd never married?'

'Well, maybe.'

'Then I'm going to ask you the same question. Where's the Lord's grace in all this?'

'Everywhere, surely!' she replied, emphatically. 'And is that how Reverend Stuart counselled you? To deal with all your marriage and divorce problems - by accepting the Lord's forgiveness about the whole thing?'

'Forgiveness. His mercy. His grace. Exactly. It's taken me a long time; stubbornness is one of my many weaknesses.'

'Yes, I have noticed,' she commented. 'And that's it? That's your... story?'

'Yes. Now you know.'

'Yes. Now I know,' she agreed, thoughtfully.

'And how does it make you feel? Are you still as reluctant for us to get to know each other?'

The seconds passed as she attempted to allow her brain to rule her heart, feeling that some emotions could be such a nuisance at times, especially when it came to sympathy. She knew it wouldn't take much to tip her over the edge, and agree to 'explore' their friendship, as he had so diplomatically put it. The trouble with that was that it could soon turn into something more serious: a relationship, which might, or might not, fizzle out - and have the danger of leaving one, or both of them, with a very bruised heart - because that was what would probably happen. It had happened before. Then, would there be grace enough for them both? Some words from Scripture came to her:-

**"** **My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."** **32**

At last, she replied, 'Well, I don't know, Theo. I think I need more time to think about things.'

'Of course. That's understandable.'

She knew that if any other person had been as frank and confessed as much to her, she wouldn't have hesitated to rush over and give them a long, reassuring hug. However, this was Theo. Even so, part of her felt privileged that he had shared such personal information with her. She studied his face; he was looking at her, his eyes searching hers for any clue of acceptance - for any chink in her armour. But still, she didn't feel able to give him so much as a crumb of encouragement. She wanted to get away, to think, and most of all, to pray.

Knowing she needed to be careful as well as sensitive, she began, 'Thank you for sharing it all with me. But you must realise that I can't give you an answer just like that. I like you, I'll not deny that, and we seem to get on well. But I can't risk getting involved with you, and then discover that it's not right, that it's not what the Lord really wants. We're not teenagers, and at our age any friendship could soon turn into... something else. And I need to be sure. Please try to see things from my point of view. But I will promise you one thing; I will think and pray about everything you've said. I really can't say any fairer than that.'

He nodded and smiled, and to her immense relief, appeared to be satisfied with her reply. 'Then that's all I ask. And I'll wait to hear from you, and shall respect whatever decision you make. You've been more than fair.'

The desire to give him a hug returned, but she managed to control herself.

She left a few minutes later, a small pile of books tucked under her arm. And aware that the ball was still very much in her court.

# Chapter 35

#

# A Life Saved

Briony arrived home after a difficult day on the ward. There were more elderly patients in than usual and the shift had been heavy in every way. She rubbed the small of her aching back and thought how stiff many of them became after just a day in bed; she had lost count of the times she had needed to say, 'Bend in the middle, Mrs...'

It had been disappointing to find that Mrs Harding had been re-admitted. A suspected blood clot and infection in the lower half of her amputation stump was causing some concern. Although Briony remembered a lot of the patients she had nursed over the years, there were only a few who she had grown really fond of, and Mavis Harding was one of them; the old lady was a real trier.

However, it was the staff that had caused her extra work that particular day. One of the two new Student Nurses, a young woman of just 21 years of age, was showing the early signs of arthritis and had just been put on light duties; the other was proving to be an inveterate gossiper and had needed constant and close supervision.

At least they didn't have to contend with Sister McCartney any more. Having decided that running a ward was no longer as satisfying as it used to be, she had successfully applied for the position of Senior Nursing Tutor at the nursing school, and was now, apparently, in her element running the place along the lines of a military academy.

Unable to face the prospect of a cooked meal, Briony opened her fridge and peered in. Scrambled eggs on toast would do. Only later did she notice that a message had been left on her answer phone. Pressing 'Play', she immediately recognised Theo's voice.

'Hello Briony. Theo here. Hope all's well with you. Thought you'd like to know that all your donations were snapped up at the auction.'

The auction! How had she managed to forget about that?

'Even the big yellow chicken. But I'm really phoning about your Buy A Tile scheme; I've had some ideas that I'd like to run past you. Anyway, give me a call when you can, I'm just leaving for a meeting but should be back by nine. The number's Branderby 3524, that's 0306-3524. I'll wait to hear from you.'

She noted the number down. A week had passed since they had last seen each other, and what a week it had been. Since learning about the circumstances of his marriage breakdown and subsequent divorce, she had felt the need to look at her 'Marriage, Divorce and Remarriage' notes once more. These, along with what she had seen at the Wednesday evening house group, had caused her to do some serious rethinking. Whenever she could, she had spent time on concentrated prayer about their friendship, for that is what she felt her association with Theo had become. And now, somehow, it seemed to "sit well" with her.

By nine o'clock she had bathed and washed her hair. She waited a further fifteen minutes before dialling the number, and left a message when there was no reply.

He returned her call ten minutes later. 'Hello Briony. It's Theo. Sorry to get back to you so late. The meeting went on longer than expected.'

She could hear the tiredness in his voice. 'That's alright. So, go on then, tell me all about it. Who bought the chicken - and the tools? And how much did they go for?'

They chatted about the auction for a while before he changed the subject. 'I told you I've been having some ideas about your scheme. If you're not doing another session at the hospital this Sunday, would you allow me to have the book? I'd like to take it to church. It's time they were reminded, and I'm sure I can talk John into giving me a few minutes in the evening service as well.'

'That would be great! But are you sure?'

'Positive. And how about letting me take it into school the next day? Some of the staff have been asking about it.'

'Would you? You'd do that?'

'Why not? It's for a good cause. And if I can get a few more pages filled for you, that should help you achieve your goal that much quicker.'

'Well, yes. But how can we arrange this? I'll need to get the book to you.'

'No problem there. Give me your address and I'll come and fetch it. This Saturday maybe, or somewhere else if you'd prefer?'

She hesitated, the thought crossing her mind that his offer to help with the scheme might just be a ploy to see her again, then told herself not to be so paranoid. And, anyway, even if that was the case, what did it matter? She didn't mind. Not now. 'Alright, how about Saturday morning? And didn't you mention something about the café at the marina the other day? We could meet up there, about ten o'clock. Would that suit you?'

Silence followed, and she wondered if he had heard her. 'Theo? Are you there? Did you hear me?'

'Mm. I was just thinking,' he replied, reluctant to confess that he had been sending up a prayer of thanks. 'Good idea. Ten o'clock at the marina it is then.'

'Actually, thinking about it, the café doesn't open till ten. Let's make it half past; that'll give them time to get things warmed-up.'

He laughed. 'You like your coffee breaks, don't you?'

'Of course! Doesn't everyone need a hobby?'

'And why not. Okay, ten thirty it is. Well, I'd better let you go and get your beauty sleep. Bye for now.'

'Good night Theo.' She replaced the receiver and stood staring at the implement. Well, she had done it now. As far as real romance went, for the past seven years her life had been orderly and peaceful. It had taken her a long time to get over Mark; she had loved him so much. The other men she had gone out with since their breakup hardly counted; none of them had tugged at her heart strings. But she had a feeling that Theo was going to be an entirely different matter.

At last, Saturday dawned. It had rained overnight and Briony knew that the towpath could be muddy. Her dark green slacks and light summer jacket would do for this outing.

Theo was sitting outside at one of the café tables when she arrived, a half-full cup of coffee in front of him. 'Morning, Briony. Coffee's good and hot. Or do you want to go for a walk first?'

'Coffee, every time,' she replied, sitting opposite him.

'Something with it? I understand the scones are fresh.'

'Just coffee thanks.' Now that she was able to see him in the full light of day, was it her imagination, or was he looking rather pale?

They set off fifteen minutes later and passed a line of moored narrow boats, some brightly painted, their windows covered with intricately patterned lace, and with colourfully decorated flower tubs and other essential paraphernalia spread along their roofs. A few others, one of which appeared to be sitting too low in the water, looked weather-worn and sadly neglected.

'Remind me to give you the Tile book before we go, it's in the car,' she said, skirting around another puddle.

'Will do. Bye the way, before I forget, what's all this I've heard about encounter groups at your church?'

'News travels fast. They're another one of Reverend Donaldson's ideas. We've been asked to - that is, those of us who'd like to - invite some of our non-Christian friends around to our homes one evening for a Gospel presentation. He said he wants it done in a relaxed, sociable kind of way. There's to be a short video, followed by a discussion, then any questions. I'm thinking of putting my name down for one.'

'Sounds interesting. He really does have a heart for the lost, doesn't he? Do you have to provide food as well?'

'No, thank goodness. Just tea and biscuits. That reminds me, aren't you doing another one of your meals tonight?'

'I am. Actually, someone cancelled yesterday. I don't suppose you'd like to make up the numbers? Same time, same place... same menu.'

'Can't, I'm afraid. I'm going to my sister's. It's her wedding anniversary.'

'How many years?'

'Seven.' Thinking of Claire's fondness for anything hot and spicy, she patted her stomach. 'I've got a feeling your menu would suit me better. She's going through an experimental stage, and it's going to be some sort of curry tonight. She's what I call a courageous cook and not scared of trying something different. Which is more than can be said about me.'

'Then that's another thing we have in common. And talking of not being scared and having courage, will you be going to the next day conference?'

Recalling the title: 'How to Have the Courage to Confront your Unhappiness', she replied, 'I'll be on duty. Good old hospital canteen food for me on that day.'

'I'm still trying to decide whether or not to go. Some would say it could prove particularly relevant in my case, and that I should make a point of going.'

'That wouldn't be very kind of them. And you certainly don't strike me as being unhappy. Not now, anyway.'

'That's because I'm not.'

'It couldn't have been easy, making a new start, but even harder when, well... you know...' She paused, feeling that the last person he probably wanted to be reminded about right now was his ex-wife, and especially how she had used Daniel as a pawn in the divorce.

'It wasn't.' He turned to smile at her. 'But it's over now. A new life - and all that.'

She smiled back, wondering if he was hinting that she was part of that new life. She was proved right, when he went on to say, 'I'm really glad that you agreed to come today. Now, I may be way off the mark here, but I'm hoping that it's because you've decided that it's alright for us to spend more time together?'

Wanting to give him an honest, but not too encouraging answer, she took a few more steps, before replying, 'Er, well, I have been thinking and praying seriously about what you told me last week.'

'And?'

'I'm here, aren't I? Although, I can't promise anything. Let's just see how it goes. You know, take things slowly?'

'And if things go well?'

She took a deep breath. 'Let's just wait and see.'

'You know Briony, I'm a bit further along the path than you, and I don't mean this one. I'm usually a very patient sort of individual, but... when it comes to you I... look, do me a favour, can't you tell me exactly what's making you so cautious? Is it _just_ because I'm divorced, or is there another reason?'

Why is it, she thought, that, sooner or later, I'm put in the position of having to reveal some deeply personal things. And here I am again, on the verge of having to confess something that I've been really struggling to come to terms with myself over the past few months. Well, I might as well get it over with. Attempting to sound matter of fact, she said, 'Okay then, since you ask. I suppose I wasn't too keen on the idea because if things did develop between us, and, you know, we ended up getting...' she faltered, unable to speak the fateful word.

'Married?' he said, quickly taking the initiative.

'Well, yes. I mean, you said it yourself, according to Scripture, if a divorced person marries again, they, and the person they marry, are both considered to be adulterers. Although, in your case, because you were forced to make a choice - your marriage or your faith - some would say that you wouldn't be thought of... like that, nor the person you married. But there are others who don't see it that way.'

'And which way do you see it? And before you answer, you're quite right. That was one of the problems I struggled with after the divorce - and I apologise for saying it again - and part of the reason I behaved the way I did. I might as well have stuck a label on my forehead: 'Keep away if you don't want to be branded an adulterer.'

Not knowing exactly how to reply, she commented, 'The Lord's been really gracious to you.'

'He certainly has. Very. And I don't think I'll ever be able to stop thanking Him. But you haven't answered my question about being here with me now. Have you been able to reach some sort of conclusion?'

'Well, I think I have. It's like I said, I've spent time thinking and praying about the issues involved, particularly in relation to grace. And then I began to notice some of the people at church; we've got at least three couples who are divorced and remarried that I know of. If they're considered to be adulterers, then, all I can say is that the Lord is still able to shine very clearly through them - whether they were the innocent party or not. And then I thought, why should they be stigmatised as being sort of... unclean? And why should they be judged more harshly than the rest of us? That would be like a form of persecution. None of us are spotless; we're all sinners, every one of us - but sinners saved by grace.'

'And that's the side of the fence you've come down on? That divorce is just another thing that needs to be forgiven, and that divorcees can remarry?'

'Yes to the first part, but I'm not sure about the remarrying bit. I wish I was. The trouble is, I've not been able to come across any Scripture that clearly states that such a couple _wouldn't_ be classed as adulterers. Even Bible commentaries seem to differ, especially when it comes to cases of desertion by the unbeliever. Some say that the believer can go on to remarry because it was the unbeliever who broke the bond. But others say they shouldn't. It's really confusing.'

'Hm, a positive minefield. But we know that when it comes to Scripture's grey areas, we have to use the general tone to help explain the parts that aren't abundantly clear. And, bearing in mind how the Lord is always merciful and loving towards those who sincerely repent and want to walk with Him, we can only trust that He's the same with those of His children who are divorced.'

'Well, all I can say is that if the couples in our church are anything to go by, then it doesn't look as though He's removed His blessing from them. And, like I've already said, as far as I'm concerned, He can, and does, continue to shine just as brightly through them as He does through those who've never been... in that situation. Sometimes even more so.'

'Praise God!' he exclaimed. 'You know, I went through hell and high water to come to terms with all that.'

'But it's been easier for me. I've not been through it. And on top of everything else, you had Daniel to worry about.'

'That's true. But even so, Briony, I think you're remarkable. You have a spirit the Lord can speak to, and a heart He can reach.' He took hold of her hand, 'And a hand I can hold?'

She looked up at him. There, there was that smile of his. The smile that had been one of the first things she had noticed and liked about him. She squeezed his hand. 'I'll let you do that. But, remember, Theo. "Steady as she goes."'

They walked on, relaxed and enjoying each other's company. Eventually, the conversation turned to their respective childhoods and first teenage 'crushes', before moving on to some candid descriptions of their first serious romances. Much to her surprise, Briony found it relatively easy to tell him about Mark. She had just finished when they heard some commotion coming from behind them. Turning, they saw what appeared to be a family group, all focusing hard on something in the water. The woman was kneeling near the edge of the canal, one arm holding a small girl tightly around the waist. The child was sobbing loudly in-between calling out ''ossom, 'ossom!' The man stood a few feet away, shouting loudly at a small boy who was squirming and crying, the hood of his anorak being firmly held by an older woman, who was attempting to stand her ground with the use of a tall umbrella.

Instinctively, Briony and Theo began running towards the scene. The commotion continued as they looked down, and saw what appeared to be the face of a small animal, several feet away from the side of canal and thrashing about frantically as it struggled to keep its face above the brown water.

'Blossom! Blossom! Come to mummy!' the woman called repeatedly. 'Come this way baby, this way... Oh baby... this way...'

But Blossom, the puppy, appeared to be losing the fight, and everyone knew that it was just a matter of seconds before she would disappear for good.

The cries of dismay increased in volume as the man's furious reprimands continued unabated. 'Didn't I tell you not to throw any sticks? Why the hell didn't you listen? And now she's drowning. Look what you've done, you stupid, _stupid_ boy!'

Briony was shocked and dismayed at the sight of the struggling little body fighting so desperately for life in front of them. Then, feeling that she couldn't stand it anymore, resigned herself to getting wet, and threw her shoes off as she stepped towards the edge.

'Wait! I've got an idea,' said Theo, grabbing her arm. He took the umbrella from the older woman, opened it, then lay down and stretched precariously over the edge of the canal. Reaching out, he placed the umbrella as near as he could to the puppy, and with one swift, smooth movement, succeeded in scooping it into the canopy. Then, carefully, he began pulling the makeshift lifesaver and its immobile occupant to the side. All eyes strained hard to detect any sign of life in the puppy as he stood and placed the precious load onto the bank.

Briony went to kneel beside him. She took hold of the sodden little body and rolled it onto its side. Silently praying, she began tapping its back with swift, firm movements. They didn't have long to wait, for just a few seconds later, the puppy gave a cough, and some water spilled out of its mouth. Opening its eyes, it began to tremble violently.

The still sobbing woman let go of the child and tenderly lifted the animal to her chest, then covered its shivering body with her own coat. Gently rubbing its back, she exclaimed, 'Oh, thank God! Thank God! My baby...'

At last, the emergency was over. Each member of the family began to thank Theo profusely, even the man, who had managed to calm down and had stopped berating the still- weeping boy. The puppy lay at her human mother's breast, whimpering, and looking out at the world with round, frightened eyes.

Satisfied that nothing more could be said or done, Theo and Briony said their goodbyes and resumed their walk, leaving the family to come to terms with what had just happened.

Briony began to express her thanks to Theo, then to the Lord. 'Chaos invades our world so suddenly, but You're always there, dear Lord. You're never surprised. And thank You for giving Theo the idea to use the umbrella. Bless You, Lord! May the man - the father - realise that shouting doesn't help, and that it's far better to remain quiet when things go wrong. May little Blossom recover and get over the shock and horror she's been through without any lasting effects. May the boy learn from his mistake, and never put another animal in a dangerous situation again. Thank You, Lord. Thank You.'

'Yes, and thank you for providing such a long and strong umbrella, Lord. Amen,' added Theo.

They had gone about twenty yards when she noticed him begin to rub his upper left arm, a pained expression on his face. 'Have you hurt yourself? You had to stretch out quite a way to reach the poor little thing.'

He immediately stopped rubbing. 'No, I don't think so.'

They walked on. She stole a quick glance at him a few seconds later and noticed how pale he still looked. Something in her couldn't quite settle. 'You are alright, aren't you Theo? You're not feeling ill? You're looking a bit pale.'

'It's been a busy week. I've had meetings nearly every night, and the exams have just started. This is the first chance I've had to get out in the fresh air.'

'Well, in that case, I'm in two minds about giving you the book. It sounds as though you've got more than enough on your plate.'

'I'm fine. And I want to do it. You haven't got that many pages left. I'm sure I can get most of them filled in.'

She felt torn. The thought that he could help her to reach her goal much quicker was tempting, but she didn't want it to be at the expense of his health. 'Well, if you're sure - '

'I am. Very sure.'

The remainder of the walk passed uneventfully. They returned to the carpark some time later, but she still felt some reluctance as she handed him the book. 'Take some change with you, just in case,' she advised, giving him the empty cashbox.

He placed the items on the front passenger seat of his car. 'You'll have to let me know where and when I can get them back to you.'

This was something she had already thought about, and had decided that the time seemed right to give him her address. 'It's 77A All Saints Street, but give me a ring first. My shifts are all over the place next week.'

They parted after saying their farewells. She was thankful that he hadn't asked to spend any more of the day with her; she needed time to assimilate everything that she had just observed and learned about him. Thank goodness she had planned to stay home that afternoon. Although now, instead of catching up with the letter writing and washing that needed to be done, it looked as though she would be spending some of the time praying about her rapidly deepening feelings towards the man, who, she now had to admit, it did look as though the Lord really had brought into her life.

# Chapter 36

#

# A Sister's Intuition

'How's work?' asked Claire, liberally dusting the table with flour before rolling out another chapatti.

'Oh, you know. Same as usual. But it won't last.' Briony stepped away from the hob and wiped her eyes, the pungent smell of mixed spices coming from the pan making them smart. 'Phew! This is well and truly hot.'

Claire tasted the curry and grimaced. She handed her the sugar bowl and fetched a bottle of milk from the fridge. 'Here, add a teaspoon and a good splash of this, but keep stirring, or it'll stick.'

Briony obeyed as Claire placed the flattened dough into the frying pan's hot fat. 'What's it like now?'

'Okay-ish. Hopefully it won't blow everyone's socks off.'

Claire returned to stand beside her and asked one of her regular questions. 'No new handsome doctors on the scene then?' To which Briony gave her regular reply, 'Not that I've noticed.'

The usual dialogue continued, only this time the number of years had changed.

'Shame on you, Briony Beresford! Still on the shelf, when I've been hitched these past seven years. You're too darned fussy. You need to get off that high horse of yours and come back down to earth and realise that men are mere mortals and not a different species. Although, sometimes I wonder about Grant; he's so _windy!_ '

And he'll be windier tonight if he eats too much of this, thought Briony, before attempting to defend herself, 'Can I help it if all the good ones are already taken, or div...' She paused, feeling that this well-rehearsed reply to her sister's routine criticism of her single state needed some modification. '... or battle-scarred and a bit wary.'

'And you're not? Isn't it time you stopped using Mark as an excuse? You keep saying you got over him years ago. Anyway, look at Sharon and Colin; if anyone had an excuse to feel wary, it was them. But they're as happy as pigs in clover.'

Briony couldn't disagree. Sharon was the daughter of their old neighbour, and had suffered years of abuse at the hands of a violent husband. It was only after meeting the also unhappily married Colin that she had had the courage to leave, taking her three children with her. The couple had gone on to instigate, fight for, and eventually, win, their respective divorces, after which they had married each other, before adding two more children to their crowded, frenetic, and according to general opinion, extremely happy household.

'Well, I suppose it can work for some. But - '

'There's no "but's" about it. It's that church of yours. If they had their way, people like them would be banned from trying again.'

Keen to defend her church, which was also something she habitually found herself having to do when she was with her agnostic sister, Briony replied, 'Actually, we've already got several couples who are on their second marriage. And I've told you before, our doors are open to everyone.'

'Humph! That may be. But look how you acted up about that Rupert... Rudy... whatever his name was. Sounds like you treated him like he'd got the plague, poor man.'

Briony breathed out in exasperation. Not for the first time did she regret telling her sister about her difficulties with Reuben. She should have known how she would drag him up and use him as some sort of ammunition whenever the subject of relationships came up, as it frequently did. 'Reuben,' she corrected. 'And I keep telling you, he was a real flirt. It would never have worked.'

'You don't know that. Who knows \- '

'No, Claire! _I do_ know. And I think this is sticking.'

Claire took the spoon off her and felt the mixture for herself. 'I think we've caught it in time. The bowl's over there. You can make a start on the table. I'm using the orange cloth and those glasses you gave us last year.' She returned to the pan and lifted the chapatti out, adding it to the already cooked pile. Rolling out another, she commented, 'I despair of you. Grant's always said you'll end up like a dried-up old spinster. And I hate to admit it, but it looks like he's going to be proved right.'

'Oh Claire, stop it! I can't see me ever... ' She paused, her innate honesty preventing her from going any further along that line. '... Er, _when_ I marry, then it'll be to the person that God wants me to, and no amount of nagging from you, or anyone else, will change that.'

'Aha! Am I detecting a slight chink in your armour?'

'What do you mean?'

'You said _when_. That's the first time I've heard you sound even half-way positive about it.'

'You're exaggerating. I've never been against it.'

Claire looked at her quizzically, then, as though a light had been switched on in her brain, exclaimed, 'Hey! Don't tell me - you have! Blimey! You have, haven't you? You've only gone and met someone.'

Briony sighed, knowing that Claire wouldn't let this go. Like a determined barrister in a court of law, she would cajole and persist until every single detail of what she suspected had been reluctantly admitted. Her only hope now was that some of the guests would arrive early. Busying herself with laying the table, she replied, non-committedly, 'There may be someone. But I'll tell you about it later.'

'Oh no you don't! You'll jolly well tell me now. Who is he? Someone at work? A doctor, or a consultant? A consultant! Now that would be - '

Keen to stop her mistaken speculations, Briony interrupted, 'No! It's someone I met ages ago, at church,' then thought that, in a way, that was true; Theo had been attending the day conferences as long as she had, maybe even longer. She pointed at the lump of dough still in the bowl. 'And you'd better get on with it, time's getting on.'

'At church? Oh well, beggars can't be choosers. Come on then, so what's he like?' Claire asked, inexpertly rolling out another chapatti before almost throwing it into the pan.

'Look, Claire. It's very early days, and we've only seen each other a few times.'

'Okay, okay! So you've been out with him already? But at least tell me what he does for a living?'

'A teacher. He's a teacher.'

'Teacher! Ok-a-a-y. That's good. What's he teach?'

Briony sighed again. 'R.I. and geography.'

'Religious Instruction? Typical! Another fanatic. And what name does this mystery man go by?'

'Theo, it's Theo. Satisfied now? And watch that doesn't burn.'

Claire lifted the chapatti and inspected the underside. 'What kind of name is that? Sounds a bit old-fashioned. How old is he?'

'Early forties. Now can we drop the subject? I told you, there's not much to tell. We're still getting to know each other.'

'Oh, come on! You can't stop now. You've got to give me more. At least tell me where he lives.'

'Branderby. And that really is all you need to know.'

'Hm. Theo. A teacher. Branderby. Now, how do I... hang on a minute!' She looked, wide-eyed at Briony, 'Oh my God! Yes! I know. It's that Deputy Head at the grammar. It is, isn't it?'

Briony's heart sank. Knowing she couldn't deny the fact, yet unwilling to confirm it, she stared back. 'Look Claire, I don't want you to get carried away with this. It'll probably come to nothing after all. And how do you know about him anyway?'

But Claire was not to be fobbed off quite so easily, and went on to explain, 'Sharon's eldest's doing A Level geography, and I've heard him talk about him. Well now, fancy that!'

'That smells like it's burning.'

'But, hang on a minute! If I'm not mistaken, didn't I hear something about him being divorced?'

'Burning!' warned Briony, 'and that was ages ago.'

Claire grabbed the pan and shook the item out into the rubbish bin. Sounding almost impressed, she said, 'So, you're actually going out with a divorced man! My, how the worm has turned.'

'Shut up, Claire! It's none of your business.'

'None of my business? After all your pontificating about that Rup... Reuben chap. And now, come to think of it, wasn't there a kid involved?'

'No. I mean, yes. But he's in his twenties now.'

'Well, thank God for that! So what's happened to the wife? Is she still around?'

' _Ex_ -wife. She got married again and moved away.'

'That's something. You don't want her hanging around and sticking her nose in.'

'Like you, you mean?'

Claire grinned. 'You like this one, don't you? I haven't known you to be so defensive about someone before - well, not since Mark.'

Briony sat down and began counting out the cutlery. Although she recognised the wisdom to stop talking about Theo, part of her felt a strong urge to do the opposite. 'I don't know, Claire. I'm still trying to figure out how I feel. He's really nice. But... but if it all goes pear-shaped - '

Claire thought she could detect the echo of some of the past hurt in her sister's voice, and was moved to give her a quick hug. 'Maybe you'll have better luck this time. Mark was a swine, leading you on like that.'

'He didn't lead me on. It's just that I wasn't willing to see his point of view.'

'Rubbish! He was stringing you along all the time. He knew damn well you wanted to get married and have kids. You didn't exactly make a secret of it. He told Grant he was hoping you'd drop it that time the van nearly got blown away at Lowestoft. I did try to warn you.'

Briony hugged her back. 'Yes. I remember.'

'You were best shot of him. But what are we going to do about this new one, this Theo? You'll have to bring him round so we can give him the once-over. And if I think he's another Mark - '

'Don't worry. He's not. Don't you think I've learned my lesson?

'Let's hope so. Or else!' Claire warned, resuming her chapatti rolling.

Alone again that night, Briony admitted to herself that she was glad that she had been able to talk about Theo with someone else at last. Although she felt it was wise to be discreet about their budding friendship/relationship, she was aware that, bubbling up inside her, and becoming increasingly difficult to control, was the need to talk about him to anyone and everyone who might show an interest. After all, it wasn't exactly a secret; she had attended his dinner, and they had been seen together sitting in the main entrance of the hospital; they might even have been spotted at the hotel and the marina.

The subject of holidays had come up during the evening. She had already committed herself to spending them with Claire and Grant. Having no children, they routinely chose the off-peak period before and after the school summer holidays. They preferred caravan sites near the more popular tourist towns, where there was usually still plenty to see and do during the less popular weeks. The choices this year were Weston-super-Mare and Keswick.

Pencilling in the two separate weeks she would be away on her calendar, her thoughts turned once again to Theo. He had told her how much he was looking forward to spending a few weeks exploring the coastline around Swanage with Daniel. So why was she feeling so uneasy about the fact that they would be holidaying separately? And did he feel the same? And had she _really_ learned her lesson, as she had so confidently claimed to Claire? Opening her medicine drawer, she selected the bottle of 'Milk of Magnesia' and took a good dose. Just like she knew she would suffer from indigestion tonight, she knew the answer to that particular question. It was true that her failed relationship with Mark had left her emotionally scarred, but now, thanks to the Lord, and time - which was another one of His creations - there was no more pain, only the odd twinge of regret. So yes, she could truthfully answer that she had. That lesson had been well and truly learned. Mark was not Theo; and Theo definitely was not Mark.

# Chapter 37

#

# Briony's Concerns

'You've got that pain back again, haven't you,' she asked, watching Theo rub his upper left arm for the second time that evening. They were in the process of tidying-up after her friendship encounter group when she had come across him leaning against the kitchen unit.

It had been a bit of a crush, but the evening had gone better than she could have hoped for. Six of her friends, including three work colleagues, had attended, and at least four of them had appeared to be genuinely interested; two had even promised to go to church with her when their shifts allowed. She had asked Theo to come and give the relevant part of his 'Pink Plastic Baby' testimony. Afterwards, they were shown a short video presentation of the Gospel, then Reverend Donaldson had given some candid and detailed answers to the questions that followed. Briony couldn't help noticing how uncharacteristically quiet some of her friends were as the evening came to a close.

'It's nothing,' replied Theo, turning back to the sink where he had been rinsing mugs.

'Do you get it anywhere else?'

'Oh, you know. Anyway, went well, don't you think? It sounds like that blonde friend of yours - Jenny, wasn't it? - isn't far away from making a decision.'

'Yes, she's been asking me a lot about church lately. And do you?' she asked, aware that he was using diversionary tactics.

'Do I what?'

'Theo! Come on, answer me. Where else do you get the pain?'

'Er, well, here and there.'

'What do you mean? Where, and how often?'

By now he had learned that she could be as stubborn as he was, and knew that there would be no peace until he at least made some effort to pacify her. 'My neck and around the shoulders, but not often. Remember, I've been putting a lot of extra hours in lately. It's probably just a bit of muscle strain.'

'And what about around your jaw?'

He nodded, his back still to her.

'So you do! Have you been getting any dizzy spells?'

'Occasionally, but they soon pass,' he conceded, deter-mined to make light of the matter.

'Any breathlessness?'

'Now and again. But I defy anyone not to on the school stairs. The architect who designed the place must have been a fanatical mountaineer!'

'How many pillows do you use?'

'Pillows!'

'Yes. Pillows. Are you needing an extra one now?'

'Well, yes. But only because...' he paused, feeling sure that if she knew this next piece of information, she would probably make a bigger issue out of the situation than he could cope with right now. He had suspected that there was something wrong for some time, and had already made up his mind to see his doctor when the summer holidays started. Then there was the fact that he had known about the heart murmur for the past eighteen months.

'Because?' she prompted.

'Well, alright. But don't start panicking. It helps. I get a dull sort of ache in my left side when I lie down. I don't notice it much in the day.'

'What, every night? And I'm not panicking. Is there anything else? You did mention you've started to turn in a bit earlier now.'

'Everyone gets tired towards the end of term; it goes with the job.'

By now she was convinced that he had a real problem, and was either genuinely unaware of the significance of his symptoms, which she doubted, or was in denial, which was more than likely. The trouble was, being a nurse and dealing with people who were at the hospital end of their medical journeys, she had a tendency to think the worst whenever presented with something as innocuous as a simple headache. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred it turned out to be just that - a headache. But there was always that one time. One simple observation could help dispel her growing suspicions. Knowing he would probably refuse, she asked, 'Would you let me feel your pulse?'

He laughed and shook his head. 'I'm fine. I've still got one.'

'Look at me, Theo!' she said, in a tone he felt he shouldn't ignore.

Reluctantly, he turned to face her.

Wishing the artificial glow from the overhead strip lighting was more like daylight, she scrutinised his lips and fingers for any sign of cyanosis, the blue-tinged, tell-tale sign of heart trouble. Apart from some dark shadows under his eyes, there appeared to be nothing obvious.

'What are you looking for?' he asked.

'Just want to make sure you're still alive.'

'Well, as you can see, I am.' He turned back to the sink and turned on the hot top. 'Now, be a good girl, and go and see if there's any more dishes around.'

'I've already checked, and what about your appetite? You look as though you've lost a bit of weight recently.'

He hooked his finger into his shirt collar. 'Hey! What do you expect at my age? My youthful bloom can't last forever. And those stairs - '

'Nonsense! You're more likely to get middle-aged spread. Anyway, you're only 44.'

'45!'

'Okay, 45. And what about your ankles and legs, any swelling?'

'Er, not that I've noticed, Dr. Beresford!'

Fighting the urge to pull down his socks to check for any signs of oedema, the build-up of fluid that was another sign of heart and circulation problems, she ignored his remark, and went on to ask, 'You told me about your father, how he died suddenly, and that they discovered that he'd had some sort of heart problem that no-one knew about. But what about your mother?'

'Er, well... she's alright.'

'No heart trouble then?'

'Alright. Since you ask, she's got a touch of angina.'

She took a sharp intake of breath. 'What medication is she on?'

'Oh, I don't know. Dig-something.'

'Digoxin?'

'Sounds like the one.'

She had heard enough. 'You know Theo, I think you'd better go and see your doctor. If you do have a heart problem, and I'm not saying that you have, the sooner it's picked-up, the better. And here,' she took hold of his arm, 'Leave these. I'll do them later. Let's go and sit down.'

He sighed, conceding defeat, before following her into the lounge. Settled back in one of her two armchairs, he looked across at her with a kindly expression. 'You know, you really don't have to worry. I'm just a bit tired.'

'That might be, but you must know that the pain you're getting could be... significant.'

'Oh, I don't think so. But, look, if you promise to stop worrying, I promise to go and have a chat with my doctor at the end of term. We're into exams. And I can't take any time off yet.'

'Are you telling me that you can't spare even an hour to see him? At least won't you go and get your blood pressure checked?'

He moved across to sit beside her on the sofa. Putting an arm around her, he pulled her close to him. 'You're the only thing that affects that. Come on, only two more weeks. Deal?'

Disappointed, but knowing that her powers of persuasion were limited when it came to this stubborn, devoted teacher, she yielded her own will to his stronger one. 'Okay. But I'm not happy about it.'

A virulent strain of summer flu swept through the hospital the following week, and this, on top of the busy exam week at the school, made it impossible for the couple to meet for the next nine days. Nurse Barton, the pupil nurse Briony had suspected of having early onset osteoarthritis, had already left, and three other members of the ward team had succumbed to the viral infection. Briony had worked her off-days, and was seriously thinking about cancelling the following week's caravanning holiday with Claire and Grant. However, Sister DuPont, who had taken over from Sister McCartney, had other ideas.

'Don't be silly Briony. Most of the lists have been cancelled anyway. We'll manage quite well. No, you go. And let's hope you don't come down with it yourself.'

She hoped so too. The close confines of the caravan would not be the best place to be ill. And goodness knows how difficult Claire, who was not the most understanding and patient of people when it came to illness, would be if such a thing were to happen.

It was the evening before her holiday and she was busy packing, trying to decide what clothes to take, when Theo telephoned.

'I'm glad you've phoned, Theo. Did you get my message?' she removed another jumper from her case. Although the four-berth caravan was comfortable, there wasn't much drawer space, and no hanging space at all in the small room she would be sleeping in.

'Yes, thank you. I'm sorry I've not been able to get back to you before now. We're holding some exams after school hours.'

'You sound tired. How are you feeling? Are you still getting those pains?'

'I'm fine. Don't worry, I'm not ready to fall off my perch just yet.'

'I should jolly well hope not! Have you made an appointment to see your doctor yet?'

'Er, no. But I will.'

'Remember? You promised.'

'Yes, okay. I'll do it tomorrow.'

'You'd better! I'll check again when I get back. And when are you expecting Daniel?'

'Not for another couple of weeks. He's been invited to participate in a project down south, somewhere near Southampton.'

'That's a shame. Someone has to keep tabs on you.'

'Are you applying for the job?'

'Steady!'

# Chapter 38

#

# Umbrellas

Briony closed her eyes and tried to block out Claire's moans. She wanted to concentrate on the sense of wonder she was feeling. The sudden shower was heavy, and they had dashed under a nearby tree to take shelter.

'... And they never forecast this. Can't even go for a stroll without getting soaked. It's like a ruddy monsoon.'

'It'll pass,' said Grant, 'The gardeners'll be - '

'Oh, poof to the gardeners! They're always whingeing on: "It's too wet. It's too dry - too hot \- too cold." I get fed up listening to them.'

'They're like umbrellas, don't you think? Nature's umbrellas,' remarked Briony, peering up and into the dense canopy of leaves. 'It's marvellous when you think about it. The leaves come back every spring, then there's more leaf cover when the birds start building their nests, and the showers provide plenty of water - '

'Okay, Pollyanna!' interrupted Claire, dramatically rolling her eyes, and keen to stop her nun of a sister from launching into one of her frequent 'Isn't God marvellous' speeches. 'Anyway, what's so important that you've got to find a telephone?'

'Just someone I'm a bit concerned about.'

'It's that Theo chap, isn't it?'

'Well, yes. He's not been too well lately.' This was day four of their break, and, try as she might, she hadn't been able to shake off a persistent and growing sense of unease about him. The more she thought about his symptoms, the more convinced she had become that he really did have a heart condition. Her concern had reached such a pitch that she had decided to give him a call and try to make him see sense in going to the doctor sooner, rather than later.

'There, told you,' declared Grant. 'It's stopping. Come on. I want to get a good seat before the band starts.'

They resumed their walk. A few minutes later they arrived at the pub, to find that the live entertainment had already begun.

'Mine's a light shandy. I'll try not to be too long,' said Briony, leaving them to go and join the queue by the telephone box outside.

She had to wait almost twenty frustrating minutes before her turn came. The inside of the box felt damp, and she grimaced as an unpleasant miasma of tobacco and damp clothing surrounded her. Thankfully, no-one else was waiting, so she propped the door open with her foot. Expecting that he would still be at school, invigilating, or attending one of his endless meetings, she had come to terms with the fact that she would probably have to leave a message, and was surprised when an unfamiliar man's voice answered after just two rings.

'Hello, Allensborough 3524.'

Assuming that Theo was there after all and must have a friend around, she asked, 'Hello. Can I speak to Theo please?'

'I'm afraid he's not here.'

'Not there? Is he still at school?'

'Er, who's calling?'

'It's Briony, Briony Beresford. I'm a... a friend.'

Her sense of unease increased during the few seconds of silence that followed. Who was this person? And what was he doing in Theo's house if he wasn't there?

'Ah, Briony. Hello. It's Daniel. Remember, we met at the dinner Dad did for the hospice?'

'Oh, of course! Hello Daniel. How are you? I didn't think you were expected back just yet? Your dad told me... Daniel, is there something wrong? Is Theo alright?'

'Well, no. Not really. He's in hospital. He was at school when he started with a bad pain in his chest, and, apparently, he took himself off to the doctor.'

' _He took himself!_ With a bad... Oh, the... Was it his heart? Where is he? Which hospital?' She gripped the phone hard. Why hadn't she called earlier? If she had, then she could be there now instead of still here, and over a hundred miles away.

'He was in the General, but they weren't happy with him and transferred him to Sethborough this afternoon. They don't think he's had a heart attack. It was them who gave me a call, and I came straight back.'

'Is he in the St. Michael's Unit?'

'Yes.'

'Good. They're excellent. Are they keeping him in for observation?'

'Yes. They want to do more tests and say they might have to operate in a day or two.'

The dampness seemed to penetrate her clothes, and she felt herself growing cold. 'Oh no! How is he now? Have they managed to control the pain?'

'He said it's not so bad; bearable. He's sitting up anyway.'

'Did they tell you what's wrong, and what they think they might have to do?'

'They said something about his aortic valve, and that it might need replacing.'

She bit her lip. She knew this was serious and could only be done by open-heart surgery. Trying not to sound alarmist, she went on to ask, 'I see. I know they can replace them with a tissue or mechanical one. Do you know what type they're thinking of giving him - if they do?'

'They mentioned something about a mechanical one. Sounds kind of spooky to me, but, well, if it keeps him ticking over... you know...' he replied, laughing quietly at the irony of it.

'They can last for years, much longer than the tissue ones. I don't suppose he'll be allowed visitors for a while afterwards, if they do operate. Have they given you any idea how long?'

'They told me I'd have to stay away for at least 48 hours.'

'I expect that's normal.'

'Yes, but there are risks. They've told him. I mean, they'd have to cool him right down and cut his chest open to get to his heart. And one of those heart-lung machines would have to breathe for him. It sounds really dangerous. I'm worried. He might not come through - '

He was right, and she felt she shouldn't try and dismiss his understandable fears with the usual unconvincing platitudes. Theo might die. People did. And if he came through the operation and the critical post-op period without any complications, what quality of life could he expect to have afterwards?

Attempting to sound reassuring, she said, 'Try not to worry, Daniel. It sounds like they've caught him in time. Not so long ago there was nothing they could have done, but now they can repair and replace heart valves. And St. Michael's is at the forefront of cardiac surgery. He really is in the best place and will get the very best of treatment.'

'I know. I know. But it's been such a shock. I had no idea.'

'No. I don't think anyone did. He hid it well. He's been working far too hard lately and was looking really tired when I last saw him. I made him promise to go to the doctor, but he insisted he was okay, and said he'd wait until the exams were over. I feel awful now.'

'Just like him!' exclaimed Daniel, the exasperation evident in his voice. 'Stubborn as a mule. He's always been the same. Only this time it's nearly killed him.'

'Be brave, Daniel. He's not done for yet. And can you give me St. Michael's number? I'd like to give them a ring.'

'I doubt if they'll speak to you; you're not a relative.'

She knew this already, even so, she was determined to try. 'I know, but I'd like to leave a message.' She gave an exasperated sigh, 'Of all the times to be away!'

'You're fond of my father, aren't you?'

'Well, yes. I am.'

'You know, he's always talking about you; has been for a while now.'

'Really?'

'You and him. It's serious, isn't it?'

She recognised that wisdom was needed here, and went on to ask, tentatively, 'And if it was? How would you feel about that?'

'Hey, that's great! And about flippin' time too. And if he's going to be, you know, not so good... after, and you being a nurse, that'd be perfect. Get on with it, I'd say!'

She laughed with relief. Whatever problems she and Theo might encounter from now on, it seemed that his son was not going to be one of them. 'I'm really pleased to hear you say that. But you know, it's still early days. We've only recently started to get to really know each-other. But there's one thing I will promise you Daniel, I'll do all I can to help him come through this. I think the world of him.'

'That's good to know. Thank you Briony. And I'll stick around too, as long as he needs me.'

'And try not to worry. We'll get him through this. After all, he's got the three of us now.'

'Three?'

'Yes. You, me, and the Lord.'

'You're as bad as him. But... what if... you know - '

'Then he'll still be alright. I hear that Heaven's not such a bad place. But we aren't going to think like that, are we? Your Dad's got a lot more living to do. Now, if you can give me the number...'

Their call over, she telephoned the unit at Sethborough. Even knowing that there would be no ward clerk on duty at this time of night, and that the staff were probably too busy to deal with all the calls coming in from anxious relatives, it took so long for someone to answer that she began to feel concerned. Maybe they were dealing with an emergency. Maybe Theo...

'Hello. Critical Cardiac Care Unit.'

The voice had sounded sharp, and Briony knew she had better be brief. 'Hello. I'd like to leave a message for Theo Davidson. Would that be possible?'

'I expect so. What is it?'

'Thank you. Can you tell him that Briony phoned and is thinking... praying for him, and... and give him my love?'

'Is that it?'

'Yes. That's all, thank you. Except, I don't suppose you can tell me how he is?'

'Are you a relative?'

'No. But a very good friend.' Oh, if only she wasn't a Christian! How useful a little white lie would have been just now.

'Then I'm sorry. But I will pass the message on. Good night.'

She walked slowly back to the pub. The last thing she felt like doing was socialising. Whether Claire liked it or not, she would make her excuses and return to the van. Tomorrow, she would take the first train back to Allensborough.

Throughout the next few days Daniel kept her informed about Theo's progress. They had operated, and it had gone well. He was recovering slowly, and, so far, there were no signs of any post-operative complications.

At last, four days after the operation, she was allowed to see him. She was used to the business-like atmosphere of an intensive care unit, nevertheless, she found herself impressed by the highly professional and advanced technical environment of the Cardiac Critical Care Unit of St. Michael's.

She knocked lightly on his door and approached his bed. She tried to focus on his face, instead of the many machines and tubes that had been attached to various parts of his body. The constant beeping coming from one of the monitors and the hiss of the oxygen feeding his mask was a reminder, if any was needed, of the fragility of his condition. His eyes were closed and he was breathing steadily. His face revealed no sign of pain, and what she could see of his cheeks had a bit of colour about them.

They had told her at the desk that he was doing well but that she would only be allowed to stay a few minutes. Not wanting to disturb him, she sat down quietly on the chair beside him and began to pray. She had been doing a lot of that lately, especially on the day of his operation, when she had also fasted.

'Briony.' His voice seemed to come from far away.

She looked at him. His eyes were open.

She leant forward and held his hand, making sure not to disturb the IV tube administering the divinely inspired, life-protecting drugs. Without even being aware that she was doing so, she began to feel his pulse, and felt relieved at how strong and steady it was.

'Hello. How are you feeling now?'

His voice was weak, as he replied, 'Blessed. Always blessed. Although a bit washed-out; I've been better,' he paused for breath. 'This thing they've put inside me's going to take some getting used to. But I'm not complaining.'

'Can you feel it?'

'No. Hear it. I feel like a robot, ticking away. Can you hear it?'

'No. But there's a lot of other noises going on in here. Oh Theo! I'm just so grateful that they got to you in time. You really were very ill.'

'I didn't realise... you tried to tell me. I should have listened.'

'Yes, you should have. Just you wait till you get better. I'll be having a few choice words with you.'

'Promise?'

'You can rely on it.'

'Good. I will. You know, when the pain... took over, I thought my number was up. But I wasn't afraid.'

'Well, you're not going anywhere just yet; not for a long time.' She looked at his hand, so pale and fragile now. And yet, just weeks before, he had used that same hand to save a drowning puppy's life. 'You've been rescued; you've been scooped up.'

He looked at her, quizzically.

'Like that puppy. Remember? The canal? The umbrella?'

He took several breaths, then squeezed her hand. 'You're my umbrella.'

'Am I?'

'Yes. The Lord's used you to pull me ashore.'

'Then you've got no choice. You've got to get better. There's something you've got to do.'

'Oh yes, and what's that?'

She picked up the water jug from his locker and poured some into a glass. Dipping a clean tissue into it, she removed his mask, and lightly wetted his dry lips. Then she stooped and kissed him. It was their first kiss.

Replacing the mask, she tenderly stroked his hair away from his forehead. 'Because I've had enough of going slow and steady. I'm ready to move onto the next level.'

'Are you indeed? And if we do, you don't think you'll want to... climb back up that wall you've been... perching on all this time?'

'No. I've found out that the Lord's grace is on _this_ side.'

She was barely able to hear him as he said, quietly, 'His grace. Yes, His grace.'

Still stroking his forehead, she continued, 'And I've got a feeling we'll be walking in it for, well, however long we live. And that could be a good, long time.'

He watched her carefully, before asking, 'You sound very sure. But are you?'

'Yes. I know that as long as we keep trusting and walking with Jesus, He'll see us through.'

'Well then, in that case, we've got nothing to worry about.'

'But first, let's get you better. And then we'll see what He's got planned for us.'

He closed his eyes. His cheeks spread, and she knew that, behind the mask, he was smiling.

Theo made a slow and steady recovery, aided in no small part by his new-found happiness at being able to court Briony. Just a week after being allowed home, he declared that he felt well enough to face the outside world again, and she lost no time in taking him out for the first of many carefully supervised outings.

Daniel returned to Threlstone as soon as he was confident that his father was able to cope around the house. He came back for a few days during the last week of September, and was reassured to find him looking so well. The day before he left again, he joined Theo and Briony for one of their 'special' coffee breaks at the marina.

The day was fine, and they decided to sit outside. Other people occupied the other two tables near them, and it was only after they had left that he decided to drop his bombshell.

'Now, listen here you two lovebirds. I'm not getting any younger, and I feel the need to be made an honest son out of. When the heck are you two going to get on with it, and get yourselves hitched?'

Briony gasped and stared wide-eyed at Theo, who was giving his impulsive son a knowing smile.

'And another thing,' he continued, as a leaf from an overhanging branch drifted onto their table. 'It's a bit early, but I've already decided what I want for Christmas: a stepmother. And I'd like her to be called Briony. What do you think? Got any better ideas?'

Smiling broadly, Theo replied, 'Okay son, I'll see what I can do for you.' He stood, and slowly lowered himself down on one knee beside Briony.

Taking one of her hands in his, he asked, 'I think it's a splendid idea, don't you, sweetheart?'

Briony had recovered, and finding that she didn't have to think twice, nodded. 'I most certainly do! I think it's a splendid idea.'

'You will then? You will marry me?' he asked, trying to keep his balance.

'Of course I will,' she replied, firmly, 'And do sit down! You're making me nervous.'

'Hurrah! Good on yer,' shouted Daniel, who began to clap so loudly that the two café assistants rushed to look out of the windows to see what all the noise was about.

As instructed, Theo stood. He pulled Briony to her feet and wrapped his arms around her. Then he kissed her, thoroughly.

# Epilogue

Briony gave up her flat and went to stay with Claire and Grant three days before the wedding. Thankfully, Claire had declared herself to be 'entirely satisfied' that her sister had 'found a decent bloke at last', and even promised not to cook any spicy food whenever he joined them for a meal.

And so it was, that, on the 15th of December, Daniel's Christmas wish came true when he was given the step-mother of his choice.

The Registry Office was full as friends from both churches, the school and the hospital, came to witness the couple make their vows to each other.

Reverend Stuart had offered to marry them, or, if they preferred, perform a short time of blessing afterwards, should they choose to have the service elsewhere. However, the couple had declined both offers.

Theo tried to explain their reasons. 'You know why we don't feel the Lord wants us to get married in a church, so why should we expect Him to give us His blessing in one afterwards?'

To them, it made sense. Not so the Reverend, who did his best to persuade them to think again, arguing that he couldn't understand why they were going through with a wedding if they felt that the Lord wasn't prepared to bless their future lives together.

'Don't you think we've thought long and hard about it?' Theo had replied. 'Of course we'd like to get married in church, but we both feel it would be un-Scriptural. If you can show us one verse, just _one_ verse, where it says that a divorced person can, then we'll be only too happy to change our minds.'

Reverend Stuart promised to look. And although he found several verses in his Bible that could have been interpreted to fit the bill, the couple quickly rejected them all as being 'too ambiguous'.

It had been a sad day when Theo had told his kind and supportive minister that he would be transferring his membership to Briony's church. 'It's something she wants, John, and I can't deny her. She's taking me on; Daniel too. I hope you can understand.'

Regretfully, John did.

Briony's Buy A Tile Book was completed in October. The last entry was made by Theo, who donated enough for 50 roof and 50 floor tiles. It was with immense satisfaction that she posted the final cheque to the fund administrator. According to her records, which tallied with the totals in the book, she had collected £531.00p. This represented 390 individual donators, buying 2,655 tiles between them, consisting of 1,958 roof, and 697 floor tiles.

The fund-raising efforts continued throughout the rest of the year and well into the next. As soon as the targeted amount had been reached, the builders were instructed to move in, and the reconstruction work was finally able to get under way.

By the end of the following summer, the transformation of the old cottage hospital into St. Andrew's Hospice, Branderby, was complete. The first eleven patients were admitted as soon as the paint had dried. As Briony had hoped, five of their number were from the Allensborough area.

They had been married for almost seven years when Theo began to show more signs of heart failure. He had become Headmaster three years before, and despite being diagnosed with moderate angina and a faulty mitral valve - as well as Briony's regular futile attempts to persuade him to retire \- he stubbornly continued to carry the heavy load. It was only when he began to find it almost impossible to tackle the many stairs in the school that he finally capitulated, and admitted after the end of another summer term, that 'It might be better if someone else took over the helm.' And so, at the age of 53, he conducted his last assembly. However, always the dedicated teacher, and working from home, and at no cost to the parents, he began to provide extra tuition for any child who needed it.

Briony had been prepared. As soon as she noticed the increased swelling around his ankles and shortness of breath, she took the decision to start working part-time. Even if he lived another ten or twenty years, as people often did, she would do everything in her power to make those years as happy and stress-free as possible.

As before, their home, respective work and church lives continued to give them fulfilment and pleasure. They felt, and knew themselves, to be wanted, loved, and deeply, deeply blessed.

At the age of 57 Theo's heart gave one, final beat as his earthly life came to an end. It had been unexpected. He had been doing well, and they had enjoyed a short summer break in the Lake District, when, on the day after their return, Briony found him slumped over his desk. His favourite worship tape was playing quietly in the background, and lying open before him was the lesson he had been preparing for one of his students.

Her heart broke. But there was no sting, for she knew where her beloved Theo had gone. And she knew that, one glorious day, she would be with him again - forever. She knew, because she felt - secure, and deep within her being - the constant and undiminished Power they had spent their married lives enabled and blessed by: the more-than-sufficient, abundant, and miraculous grace of their Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ.

The End.

# Appendix 1

#

# Briony's Letter to her Mother

Dear Mum,

You may be wondering why I am writing this letter. The truth is, I felt compelled to do so. Please read it, no matter how strange it may sound to you.

You are so very ill now, and, unless there's a miracle, both you and I know that you are very near to the end of your life. I'm writing because I love you very much, but also, (and, I believe, more importantly), because I know that God does too - and far, far more than I do. He always has.

Everything I am about to write is actually established, Christian teaching. It can be checked with any Church of England minister who has a genuine relationship with Jesus.

As I have tried to tell you so many times, it's all to do with The Gospel, which tells us that Jesus came to restore us into a loving relationship with God, His Father. He accomplished this by dying on the Cross for each one of us; He took our punishment upon Himself and died in our place. Those nails in His hands and feet, those whip marks and cruel wounds He suffered, they were all done to Him because of our sins - all the wrong things we have thought, said and done throughout our lives; (even for the things we haven't done that we should have). Using figurative speech, at some point in our lives, we all need to come to the foot of His Cross and acknowledge that He is hanging there in our place - for our sins.

One of the biggest mistakes we can make is to tell ourselves that we are not 'sinners'. After all, we say, 'We haven't murdered anyone, or done anything really bad.' But we can read in the Bible how every single one of us is a sinner. We become one, even if we have only ever committed just one little sin - told just one 'little white lie'.

Some of the other big misconceptions many people choose to believe are that we will automatically go to Heaven when we die, no-matter how we have conducted ourselves in this life. Or that we just get blotted-out and go into a sort of oblivion. But then, why did God send His only Son to sacrifice Himself by dying such a horrific death if there was nothing to save us from? Why did He bother?

Others think they can put off this most important of decisions, (actually, it's the most important decision of their lives). They go along thinking they'll have the time to 'make their peace with God' just before they die. This is a BIG mistake. No doubt, God would never turn such a person away, but there is no guarantee that they will have any such a time or opportunity. It's far better done beforehand, when things are calm and they can think rationally.

Other people say, 'All roads lead to Rome', and think there's nothing special about the 'Christian God'. However, Jesus is the only One who actually came and died for us. And He's the only One who came back to life. Did you know that there are reports that He appeared to hundreds of people over a period of many weeks after He was resurrected?

I know you have been christened and that you may be thinking that you are already 'safe'. However, Jesus taught otherwise. No religious ceremony - or vows spoken over us when we were babies or a young child - can take the place of personally coming to the foot of His Cross, (again, in our mind's eye), and taking responsibility for our own wrong thinking, speaking and actions. We should all be allowed to make our own choice and exercise our own God-given freewill. To put it into context, it would be like someone marrying us off when we were babies. A true marriage only occurs when we make our own choice of partner and say our own heartfelt vows.

When we recognise our need to be right with God, we can ask Jesus to forgive us, then we can invite Him to come into our hearts. It's as simple as that! It's a free gift for everyone. We don't have to wait until we get a few things sorted out, or try to clean ourselves up in any way, or feel 'good enough'. He wants us to come to Him just as we are. He turns no one away who is sincere. There is absolutely nothing we can do to make ourselves more acceptable to Him. The only qualifications are that we are sincerely repentant and believe in Him. Then we can experience a far more worthwhile life on Earth and look forward to going to Heaven when we die.

If we don't accept what Jesus did for us, then the Bible states very clearly that we will end up in the other place. Jesus often spoke about Hell - and He never lies! (I'm really sorry to be so blunt, and I don't want to frighten you, but I do want you to know the truth.)

As you know, I have been around quite a few dead people and have often witnessed something leaving them at the point of death. I believe this is their spirit. (Even my non-religious colleagues often comment about this.) We are each responsible for where this non-material part of us goes when our flesh has run its course.

Mum, I really hope and pray that you have understood what I have written here and that you will want to secure your own 'Ticket to Heaven'. By accepting Jesus' free gifts of forgiveness and His love for you, you can have a wonderful, eternal future to look forward to. There are no strings attached, it doesn't cost anything, and there doesn't need to be any type of embarrassing scene. Many of us have experienced an immediate sense of peace as soon as we make that decision and said the prayer (below). Others have a real sense of reassurance about Heaven. Others don't feel any different. It doesn't really matter. We shouldn't depend upon our feelings, but on God's faithfulness.

Naturally, everything I have said here can be checked with Jesus' own words in His Book, The Bible. They are not the result of my own wishful thinking or imaginings.

If you are able, then please look through that little New Testament I gave you at Christmas. You can read it for yourself, starting with the four Gospels; I recommend Luke first, then Mark.

Mum, I know we have already spent some time talking about God and the reasons why I started to go to church. Do you remember when I tried to explain to you that I don't have a 'religion', with its strict set of rules, but a relationship - with a living Person, Jesus Himself? I hope and pray that you will want to know Him as your own Saviour too, by making that decision. If you do, here is a short prayer you can pray. It's called 'The Sinner's Prayer of Salvation':-

' _Dear Lord Jesus,_

I confess that I have thought, said and done wrong things in my life.

I believe that You came to pay the full price for all of these wrong things - my sins - by taking my punishment upon Yourself and dying in my place on the Cross.

I am sincerely sorry and ask You to forgive me.

Please come and live in my heart now.

(Mum, here's a bit I added just for you) - Please may I especially experience Your grace and peace when I feel alone, helpless, or in pain. And, at those times, please speak quietly to my heart and reassure me about my place and future with You in Heaven.

Thank you, Lord Jesus.

Amen.'

Mum, I hope I have managed to convey something of what has been in my heart for you for so long. It would be wonderful to know that you had said this prayer. Will you let me know if you do? It would mean so very much to me.

All my love is with you, now and forever.

Briony. Xxx.

# Appendix 2

#

# The Missed Conference Notes

_MARRIAGE, DIVORCE AND REMARRIAGE_

_Although the three are frequently mentioned in close proximity to each other in the Bible, for the purposes of this study, we shall begin by giving only a brief overview of the first of these._

_Marriage_

_Marriage should be understood as a covenant that is ordained and witnessed by God; it is binding in every way._

_There are four purposes/conditions for marriage:-_

_1. The man should leave his family (especially mother_

_and father)._

_2. The man and woman are joined permanently_

_through the act of marriage._

_3. The man and woman join to become 'one flesh'._

_4. No-one should separate a man and wife._

_Unfortunately, sin entered humanity when Adam and Eve chose to rebel against God by disobeying his instruction in Eden. Since then we find it hard to keep to God's standards and constantly find ways of breaking His rules._

_Throughout the Old Testament we read how God describes His relationship with Israel, His chosen people, as a marriage, with Him as the Husband and Israel as His Wife. An example of the people's constant rebellion, in this case the breaking of the marriage bond, can be found in the Book of Jeremiah:-_

**During the reign of King Josiah, the LORD said to me, "Have you seen what faithless Israel has done? She has gone up on every high hill and under every spreading tree and has committed adultery there.**

**I thought that after she had done all this she would return to me but she did not, and her unfaithful sister Judah saw it. I gave faithless Israel her certificate of divorce and sent her away because of all her adulteries... "** **19**

_It should be noted that this 'divorce' was for a temporary period of 70 years. Throughout this time, God was waiting for His people 'to come to their senses', and return to Him._

_The marriage analogy recurs in the New Testament, where Jesus is called the Bridegroom, and the Church, i.e. all those who believe in Him, His Bride._

**Jesus answered, "How can the guests of the bridegroom fast while he is with them? They cannot, so long as they have him with them. But the time will come when the bridegroom will be taken from them, and on that day they will fast."** **20**

_Another example can be found in the Parable of the Ten Virgins (see Matthew's Gospel)._

_Divorce_

_The most well-known Scriptural reference to this unhappy circumstance can be found in Malachi:-_

**"...** **You flood the LORD'S altar with tears. You weep and wail because He no longer pays attention to your offerings or accepts them with pleasure from your hands. You ask, "Why?" It is because the LORD is acting as the witness between you and the wife of your youth, because you have broken faith with her, though she is your partner, the wife of your marriage covenant.**

**Has not the LORD made them one? In flesh and spirit they are his. And why one? Because he was seeking godly offspring. So guard yourselves in your spirit, and do not break faith with the wife of your youth.**

**"** **I hate divorce," says the LORD God of Israel, "and I hate a man's covering himself with violence as well as with his garment," says the LORD Almighty.**

**So guard yourself in your spirit, and do not break faith.'** **21**

_Although the word 'divorce' occurs several times in the Bible, the first mention of an actual legally binding Certificate of Divorce is found in Deuteronomy:-_

**If a man marries a woman who becomes displeasing to him because he finds something indecent about her, and he writes her a certificate of divorce, gives it to her and sends her from his house,...** **22**

_Moses introduced the Certificate of Divorce because of the sinful nature and hard-heartedness of the people. Men were casting out their wives for trivial reasons, such as over-salting or over-cooking their food - or were simply tired of them. Thus, many women were left unsupported and vulnerable. However, 'Moses' Law', as it came to be known, caused men to think twice before discarding their wives, especially as they were now expected to provide them with a legally binding document, thus giving them a measure of protection. In effect, Moses' 'solution' was trying to make the most of a bad job!_

_Jesus' own situation is relevant, especially with regard to Mary and Joseph._

**This is how the birth of Jesus the Christ came about: His mother Mary was pledged to be married to Joseph, but before they came together, she was found to be with child through the Holy Spirit. Because Joseph her husband was a righteous man and yet did not want to expose her to public disgrace, he had in mind to divorce her quietly.** **23**

_A betrothal in Jesus' day was a far more serious commitment than that of a present-day engagement. As already stated above, marriage should be understood as a covenant that is witnessed and ordained by God; it is binding in every way. In the same way, betrothal was understood as being equally binding._

_The betrothal probably began with a formal ceremony which took place between the families of the bride and groom. A dowry would have been paid, indicating the prospective groom's willingness and ability to provide for his future wife. He would then have been expected to start preparing the future marital home. Sometimes the betrothed man was called a 'husband' and the woman a 'wife'. However, it was only after the marriage ceremony that the two were able to live together._

_If, during the betrothal period, it was discovered that the 'wife' had been unfaithful, the man would be within his rights to divorce her. It was not uncommon for people to be stoned to death if found guilty of adultery. This was thought to be the situation with Mary, who had become pregnant between the betrothal period and the wedding ceremony. As a result, Joseph, as a good, Law abiding Jew, felt that his only recourse was to divorce her, although 'quietly'. However, the next verse tells us how he came to change his mind:-_

**But after he had considered this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, 'Joseph son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit.** **24**

_Later, again in the New Testament, we read some of Jesus' own words during The Sermon on the Mount:-_

**But I tell you that anyone who divorces his wife, except for marital unfaithfulness, causes her to become an adulteress, and anyone who marries the divorced woman commits adultery.'** **25**

_Later, some Pharisees came to test Him:-_

**...** **They asked, "Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife for any and every reason?**

**"** **Haven't you read," He replied, "that at the beginning the Creator 'made them male and female', and said, 'For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh'? So they are no longer two, but one. Therefore what God has joined together, let man not separate."**

**"** **Why then," they asked, "did Moses command that a man give his wife a certificate of divorce and send her away?"**

**Jesus replied, "Moses permitted you to divorce your wives because your hearts were hard. But it was not this way from the beginning. I tell you that anyone who divorces his wife, except for marital unfaithfulness, and marries another woman commits adultery."**

**The disciples said to him, "If this is the situation between a husband and wife, it is better not to marry."**

**Jesus replied. "Not everyone can accept this word, but only those to whom it has been given..."** **26**

_Remarriage_

_Now let us consider some of Paul's teaching in I Corinthians. Corinth was a major cosmopolitan city where idolatry and immorality were rife. Converted Gentiles made up the majority of the church, many of whom were immature and still worldly. Some felt that because they were 'new creatures in Christ', they were free to abandon their old relationships - including their unbelieving wives - in order to marry Christian women. Disturbed at hearing of such practices, Paul wrote:-_

**To the married I give this command (not I, but the Lord): A wife must not separate from her husband. But if she does, she must remain unmarried or else be reconciled to her husband. And a husband must not divorce his wife.**

**To the rest I say this (I, not the Lord): If any brother has a wife who is not a believer and she is willing to live with him, he must not divorce her. And if a woman has a husband who is not a believer and he is willing to live with her, she must not divorce him. For the unbelieving husband has been sanctified through his wife, and the unbelieving wife has been sanctified through her believing husband. Otherwise your children would be unclean, but as it is, they are holy.**

**But if the unbeliever leaves, let him do so. A believing man or woman is not bound in such circumstances. God has called us to live in peace.'** **27**

_Regarding the phrase 'is not bound', Paul uses the Greek word transliterated "chorizo": to separate, divide, part, put asunder, to separate one's self from, to depart._

_Another commentary explains the word, 'bound' in this way:-_

_'_ _The word 'bound' should more properly be translated as 'enslaved'. When a couple marry, they do not become enslaved to each other - hence the concept should not be carried forward when referring to their separation. The couple were never enslaved to each other to begin with, therefore, there is no enslavement to break.'_

_Commentaries differ in their interpretation of this passage as a whole. Some state that:-_

_'_ _In matters of conscience and in things concerning the worship of God, particularly in cases where the believer is being pressurised to deny their faith, and after every effort has been made to achieve a reconciliation, the believer may allow the unbelieving partner go. This is classed as 'desertion', and is a breach of the marriage contract and dissolution of the bond. In such a case, this tells the believing partner (and the church) that:-_

_i) The marriage has ended._

_ii) The unbeliever has chosen to leave, thus destroying_

_the agreement._

_iii) The believer is no longer bound to the unbeliever._

_iv) The believer may lawfully marry another person._

_'_ _When there has been abusive behaviour present within the marriage relationship, we should not be asking, "Who walked out?" rather, "Who caused the separation?" The perpetrators of abuse do not usually walk out of such a marriage, mainly because they prefer to stay in a relationship where they have gained unreasonable power, privilege and control. Their victim may consider that the "is not bound" phrase does not apply to them. However, when correctly understood, it is exactly that part of the verse which can provide their freedom and permit them to obtain a legal divorce. The abuser may protest that they want the marriage to continue, even though their sinful behaviour conveys the exact opposite. They are unwilling to accept the fact, and take the responsibility for, the fact that their abusive behaviour has resulted in pushing their victim away.'_

_However - and here is the dilemma - the opposite view is held by other commentators:-_

_'_ _Husbands and wives should be quickly reconciled after they have argued. They are bound to each other for life. The divine law allows for no separation. They cannot simply discard the burden, but should determine to continue to carry it. Nothing but death itself can dissolve the marriage contract._

_'_ _However, when there has been a separation, and in keeping with Paul's whole tone of argument throughout the chapter, the term, 'is not bound' refers purely to the one who is remaining. In this instance, they are no longer bound by the marriage to make provision for the one who has departed. Paul's expression, 'God has called us to peace' refers to the unbelieving one who has left; they should be allowed to depart in peace. Such a departure should be seen as a separation only and should not lead to divorce.'_

_Now let us consider the situation of a once-divorced couple wishing to marry each other again._

**...** **then her first husband, who divorced her, is not allowed to marry her again after she has been defiled. That would be detestable in the eyes of the LORD. Do not bring sin upon the land the LORD your God is giving you as an inheritance.** **28**

_Here the commentaries appear to agree._

_'_ _If a divorced woman marries another man, who also divorces her - or dies - she must not return to her first husband and marry him again. The fact that she had slept with another man in the meantime means that she had been defiled.'_

_Summary_

_According to Scripture, and with regard to the various commentaries used for the purposes of this study, we can summarise their differing opinions, as follows:-_

_Marriage_ _: All appear to agree that this has been instituted by God and is intended to be for life._

_Separation_ _:-_

_i) A couple should do all they can to resolve their_

_problems and stay together, or -_

_ii) A couple may separate when a marriage_

_irretrievably breaks down._

_Divorce_ _:-_

_i) There are no grounds for divorce, or -_

_ii ) The only exceptions are when adultery_

_or desertion have occurred._

_Remarriage_ _:-_

_i) Only death can end the marriage bond, in which_

_case the surviving partner may marry again, or -_

_ii) Only allowed if there has been adultery, or if_

_the non-believer deserts, thereby breaking the_

_marriage bond, or -_

_iii) Allowed for any reason._

# Appendix 3

# Briony's 'Grace' Notes

_GRACE: God's Riches At Christ's Expense_

_'..._ _the free and unearned favour of God.'_

_'_ _The use of the word in the Old Testament expresses deliverance from enemies, affliction, or adversity. It also represents daily guidance, forgiveness, enablement and preservation.'_

**The law was added so that the trespass might increase. But where sin increased, grace increased all the more, so that, just as sin reigned in death, so also grace might reign through righteousness to bring eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.** **29**

No law = no recognition of law-breaking. Since Jesus died for us, we have been freed from having to follow all the many hundreds of rules, (many of which were instigated thousands of years ago by the Jewish priests and religious leaders, and for people living in harsh conditions). However, we should still obey the Ten Commandments, a comprehensive understanding of which reveals our faults - and helps us to recognise how much we need God's mercy, i.e. His grace.

**The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth... From the fullness of his grace we have all received one blessing after another. For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.** **30**

Moses was the law giver; Jesus the grace and truth-giver. When we believe that Jesus taught only the truth, we are able to receive His grace.

**For sin shall no longer be your master, because you are not under the law, but under grace.** **31**

Once we have put our trust in Jesus, we can be free from the tyranny of sin's control, and live under grace.

**But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.** **32**

I have felt weak many times, especially all through Mum and Dad's illnesses, and then when they died. It was only His grace that got me through - and it is only about this 'sufficient' grace that I can 'boast'.

**In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God's grace...** **33**

Jesus redeemed us and secured our forgiveness by the shedding of His blood at Calvary - the final sacrifice. God doesn't stint with His grace. It's abundant for those who believe.

**...** **in order that in the coming ages he might show the incomparable riches of his grace, expressed in his kindness to us in Christ Jesus. For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith – and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God – not by works, so that no one can boast.** **34**

The longer I'm a Christian, the more amazed I am at how incomparably kind God is. I did nothing to earn my salvation, only believe and have faith that Jesus died for me too. And He even gave me the gift of faith!

**Let us then approach the throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.** **35**

Now that I'm His child, I don't have any hesitation in asking for God's help.

_Personal Conclusions_

Remembering Theo's question, 'Where's grace in all this?' I can't help feeling that the disciples had it right when they said:-

**...** **it is better not to marry.** **26**

It is interesting to note that Jesus said:-

**At the resurrection people will neither marry nor be given in marriage; they will be like the angels in heaven!** **36**

Grace is certainly needed to live the single life, which is something I know only too well. But maybe even more is needed to help sin-infected people stay married!

From my own experience, I can definitely testify that the grace of God is strong and true - like an ever-flowing river. Although, there are times when I feel that extra is needed, and it is always there, e.g. all through Mum and Dad's illnesses, and then very much so when they died. His grace seemed to flow so powerfully then - like the storm water over the crest of those dams at Elan Valley.

Feeling that she had gone as far as she could, and remembering Mark, and wondering how long they would have stayed married if things had worked out between them, she added one final note:-

**There, but for the Grace of God, go I.**

# Bible References

All Scriptures are taken from The Holy Bible

New International Version

1983 Edition

1. Isaiah 40:31.

2. Matthew 5:9.

3. Luke 9:62.

4. 1 Corinthians 15:55-57.

5. Colossians 4:6.

6. 2 Corinthians 6:14,15.

7. Malachi 2:16.

8. John: 11:25,26.

9. Psalm 139:16.

10. Exodus 20:13.

11. Acts 5:29.

12. Job 14:5.

13. Psalm 139:14.

14. Mark 11:25.

15. Matthew 5:43-48.

16. Matthew 28:18-20.

17. Matthew 7:3.

18. 1 Peter 3:15.

19. Jeremiah 3:6-8.

20. Mark 2:19,20.

21. Malachi 2:13-16.

22. Deuteronomy 24:1.

23. Matthew 1:18,19.

24. Matthew 1:20.

25. Matthew 5:32.

26. Matthew 19: 3–11.

27. 1 Corinthians 7:10-15.

28. Deuteronomy 24:4.

29. Romans 5:20,21.

30. John 1:14,16,17.

31. Romans 6:14.

32. 2 Corinthians 12:9.

33. Ephesians 1:7.

34. Ephesians 2:7-9.

35. Hebrews 4:16.

36. Matthew 22:30.

# By the Same Author

#

# The Hidden Path

It is the spring of 1970. Yvonne Williams is walking along a quiet Highland road when she encounters a man sitting alone in the heather. He is Alexander Grant, a Christian, who has stopped to rest and pray. Unnerved, she rushes back to the safety of the Inn.

Yvonne is a troubled young woman who is haunted by a painful past. For ten years she has moved from one seasonal job to another. Now, at the age of 27, she has made a decision which she hopes will give her some peace. Could the remote Tananeach Inn be the place where she can find it? To discover the answer, she must first overcome some unexpected challenges, the greatest of which is the unsettling presence of the enigmatic Man in the Heather.

Time and curiosity lead her to begin reading the super-natural book she has been given. The thaw sets in and a tragedy is discovered. Many tears are shed - and then she starts to think the unthinkable...

Two people; both burdened with secrets.

One knows the way ahead.

Can the other trust their footsteps to be guided along -

The Hidden Path?

# My High Tower

Meredith did not hear the footsteps walking past her chalet. The three figures were silent, hardly daring to breath, never-mind talk; stifled shuddering was all they could manage. They felt as cold as the dawn wind blowing off the North Sea. And they were frightened. A gust caught them unawares, one of them screamed - just a small scream, but loud enough to penetrate her sleep.

Occult practices are suspected, and, for some, life on the holiday camp begins to take on darker tones. When Meredith starts to receive unwelcome advances from a female colleague, and then discovers something alarming closer to home, she turns to Kingsley, a recently arrived local Baptist minister.

Her life continues to fall apart as the frenetic routine of the camp goes on all around her. Soon, she comes to realise just how much she needs not only human, but divine intervention as well. Increasingly attracted to the charismatic Kingsley, she battles on, only able to find any real measure of peace when she can steal away - to hide in her own _High Tower._

