He didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted that neither Guto nor Bethan seemed to consider him a real journalist.
When Guto, reluctantly be-suited, had left for the Drovers', Berry wedged himself into the telephone alcove of Mrs. Evans's china-choked sitting room and called American Newsnet, collect.
"I was beginning to think," Addison Walls said, "that the telephone system had not yet been extended to Wales." He sounded like he had a cold.
"It got here at the weekend," Berry said. "Just nobody could figure out how to connect the wires. So, how much you want me to file?"
"I don't want you to file a thing." Addison Walls said. "I read every damn word printed about that by-election and, as I predicted, it's full shit and of purely domestic interest. So what I'm lookin' for is you back here by tonight, yeah?"
"Ah, I don't think I can do that." Berry said. There was a long pause during which Berry could hear Addison trying to breathe.
"I hear you correctly? I said I needed you back here by tonight, and you said—"
"I said I didn't think I could make it. Like, you know, my car broke down."
"You drive a pile of crap, Morelli, whadda you expect?
So take a train. If there's no trains, take a bus. Fuck it, grab a cab, but get your ass back here by tonight. OK?"
"Addison, listen," Berry said. "How about I take a couple days vacation—"
"Nearly December, Morelli. You took all your vacation."
"OK, I'll take some of next year's."
"Morelli, Goddamn it—" He heard Addison Walls blow his nose. "Listen, we're up to the eyes here. Paul went sick, I can't see the top a my desk for fuckin' influenza remedies that don't fuckin' work. You know what, Morelli, you've become a real weird guy. So, listen, you don't show up tomorrow, I am not gonna be all that worried. Give me an opportunity to test out my new shredder on your contract."
"Addison, hey, come on… Just two days is all I'm asking."
"You getting the general direction of my thinking. Morelli?"
"Yeah," Berry felt some perverse kind of euphoria filling up his head. "Yeah. I think I'm finally piecing things together."
"Good," Addison Walls said, and he hung up.
The sun was out, pale but definitely out, and the street sparkled after an overnight frost. Berry could see the broken denture of the castle walls, a sign pointing to the Welsh Pizza House — lousy name, lousy pizzas. Feeling suddenly very strange, very different, he began to walk up the street. Saw Guto's mom coming back from the shop with a teeming basket over her arm and a headscarf over her perm. Felt a crazy kind of affection for Guto's mom.
Guto too. He'd make the right kind of MP. Always be in trouble, always say the wrong things to the wrong people. Berry liked that.
But how much of a chance did Guto really have? Why didn't Y Groes want him? Heart of the Welsh-speaking heartland.
He could get back to London in four, five hours. He could spend most of today here and still get back to London by tonight. Maybe come back next weekend, see how things were going.
Sure. No problem.
At the top of the street, past Hampton's Bookshop but before you got to the bridge, there was a teashop which also sold Welsh crafts. Mainly lovespoons, which were made of wood and were intricately carved and came in a variety of sizes. Berry wondered what they had to do with love. Maybe he'd ask Bethan, who ought, by now, to be waiting in there. An arrangement they'd made last night.
They'd talked until eleven-thirty, then Berry had said he ought to go because Guto would be home and Mrs. Evans would want to get to bed. He hadn't wanted to go. Christ, no.
As he approached the teashop, he could see her sitting in the window, black hair tumbling into a black cowl-neck woollen sweater.
She'd told him last night how she'd done this dumb thing, gone to the education department and suggested they close down the village school. How she felt the school had been corrupting generations of kids. She'd found it hard to explain why she thought this. Said he'd need to meet the other teacher to understand.
Berry had told her about breaking into the judge's house that day with Giles. He'd told her about the study, the deep, dark atmosphere of hate.
"Yes." she'd said. "Yes."
He hadn't told her about the room whispering, sice …sice… because he wasn't even sure that had happened.
The education department had told Bethan to take two or three weeks off. They figured she had to be nuts, trying to get her own school shut down, maybe heading for a breakdown.
I think a nervous breakdown would be quite a relief.
He walked across the road to the teashop. She had her back to him, talking to someone maybe. He caught a flash of gold earring as she tossed her hair back. No way could this woman be insane, but then, who was he to judge?
Chapter XLIX
Inside the teashop it was very dim, all the furniture stained as dark as the lovespoons on the walls. Which was why, from outside, you could only see the person sitting in the window. Why he hadn't seen the other two people at Bethan's table.
It was the older couple who'd been at Giles's funeral. The guy with white hair, yellow at the front, and deep lines down both cheeks. The woman thin-faced, harsh hair rinsed an uneasy auburn, looking like copper wire.
"Berry, this is Claire's mother and father."
"Oh." Somehow, he'd thought they must have been relations of Giles, rather than Claire. "Hi," he said, pulling out a chair.
Bethan introduced him as a friend and colleague of Giles's, down here for the election. "Mr. and Mrs. Hardy had to spend the night at the Tafarn at Y Groes. They are having problems with their car."
"But we're getting it back this morning," George Hardy said. "That's why we're here. Claire dropped us off."
Berry turned to the woman. He'd heard her muttering "Thank God," when her husband talked about getting the car back.
"You don't like it here?"
"Not really our son of place. I'm afraid," Elinor Hardy said, tight-voiced.
"Not being snobbish or anything," George assured Bethan. "Good God, no. Wonderful place for a quiet summer holiday. Just that at this time of year it seems a little cold and remote and it's not quite what we're used to. Certainly never had to wait two days before to get what seemed quite a simple problem with the cam belt seen to."
"We didn't get much sleep, I'm afraid," Elinor said. The skin under her eyes was blue, Berry saw, and it wasn't cosmetic. She was fingering her coffee cup nervously. He wondered why Claire had put them in a teashop and just left them.
"Bloody bed kept creaking," George said. "Had to get down on my hands and knees and mess about with a loose floorboard underneath to stop it. Good God, I'd forgotten— Elinor, why didn't you remind me?"
From an inside pocket of his overcoat he pulled a slim, red, hard-backed notebook. "Found it under the damned floorboard. Meant to give it to the manager chap this morning."
"Unlikely to have been his anyway," Elinor said.
"Suppose not. Must belong to somebody, though, and he'd be belter placed than us to find out who, obviously."
Bethan said. "You found it under the floorboard in the bedroom? Can I see?"
George passed her the book. "Keep it, if it's of any interest. Odd little hand-drawn maps of the village, that sort of thing. Probably mean more to you than me."
'Thank you." Bethan made no attempt to look at the notebook, slipping it into her bag.
"If you find any treasure, send us a few bob, won't you." Ignoring his wife's withering glance. George laughed and coughed and pulled out his cigarettes. "Don't mind, do you? Only things that seem to stop me coughing these days."