The Old Devils

       A capful of rain blew refreshingly into Charlie's face and a seagull passed close enough overhead to make him flinch. 'Sounds a first-rate idea.'

       'Ub-hub. In pursuance of which my purpose today is to solicit Mr Weaver to guest-visit with my home chapter of the Companionship at Bethgelert, Pennsylvania for a designated period. Consequentially my desire to make his acquaintance. '

       Charlie appreciated this attempt at courteous explanation. He felt he understood the sense of it too; things were coming a little easier now. While he looked round for Alun he found he could imagine with ridiculous ease - he had perhaps even heard - him saying that all he needed was a free invitation over there, never mind to how Godforsaken a part, anything to give him a base, and he would be off and away. Well, the bloody old Welsh chancer's chance had come at last. But hey, those Stateside Taffs must hold an alarmingly high opinion of the said Welsh chancer. How could they have acquired it?

       Alun, closely attended by three or four functionaries, had just begun to move in the direction of a line of official looking cars, and in no time there was Charlie with Pugh at his side barring the way and doing the introducing.

       'Mr Pugh has something to do with the... '

       'Cymric Companionship of the USA. I'm honoured to meet you, sir. I wrote you care of your - '

       'How nice to meet you, Mr Pugh. Where exactly are you from?'

       'Bethgelen, Pennsylvania, which is situated - '

       'Dear, dear, there are Welshmen all over the world, aren't there? Saxons, give up hope of finding a pie under the sun that we harmless folk don't contrive to slide our sly fingers into. Carry my warmest cousinly greetings to the Celts of Bethgelert, Mr Pugh. Now... '

       'Mr Pugh wants to invite you there,' called Charlie hurriedly.

       The fluid, seamless way Alun converted his unthinking glance towards the waiting car into an urgent request for assistance, for somebody to accommodate his Mr Pugh, was something Charlie was quite sure he would never forget. Good too was Alun's look of measured eagerness to hear anything the fellow might say. Just ahead of them, somebody dissatisfied with some of the arrangements barred their way of departure for the moment.

       'Bethgelert is situated in that part of the state containing a large Welsh element. In fact William Penn desired that the Commonwealth as a whole be designated New Wales, but the English government interdicted the proposition.'

       Pugh laid special stress on the last few words, but if he had succeeded in whipping up separatist feeling in his hearers they gave no sign, though Alun's air of expectation perhaps waned slightly. But he seemed to cheer up again when Pugh started on his next offering.

       'We in Bethgelert have been privileged to welcome many distinguished Welsh persons. We were honoured with a visit from Brydan in 1954. The occasion is memorialized by a plaque inscribed in Welsh and English in Neuadd Taliesin, our meeting-house. There also hangs there a portrait of Brydan in oil paints executed by Mrs Bronwen Richards Weintraub, a member of our council.'

       'When were you thinking of - ' began Alun, but Pugh raised a hand, just an inch or two from the wrist, and continued as before.

       'Mrs Weintraub relied chiefly on photographs, but visitors who knew Brydan in life pronounced it an excellent likeness.'

       There was something final and definitive in the delivery and reception of that remark. Up front, the missing man or car had been found or despaired of and movement was resumed. Alun said thoughtfully, 'Tell me, Mr Pugh, where would I stay in Bethgelert?'

       'Why, with me, Mr Weaver. A bachelor establishment, but comfortable enough I assure you. I'll enjoy showing you our neighbourhood.'

       'I look forward to it.' Alun stood now by the rear door of his destined car. 'I think the spring of 1995 would be about right for my visit.'

       'You must be - '

       'No, better say the autumn. The fall. I am very busy just at the moment. Nice to have met you. Good day to you. Charlie, in round the other side.'

       At the moment before he ducked his head under the car roof Charlie caught a last glimpse of Pugh, looking not totally unlike an inflated rubber figure out of whose base the stopper had been drawn an instant earlier. Charlie might have felt some pity if he had not been lost in admiration for Alun.

       'Bloody marvellous bit of timing,' he told him when they were settled in the back seats.

       'Yeah, nice bonus, but on a note like that I could have outfaced the bugger indefinitely. And by the way I reckon bugger is right, don't you? I'd whiffed it even before we got to the bachelor establishment, just in that second.'

       'Probably, but I was a bit too overwhelmed with the rest of him to notice much.'

       The car had still not moved. Alun squinted forward through his window.

       'There he goes, poor dab. I should have recommended him to that Gents by the fire station. Most likely not in business any more, though, like everything else.'

       Out of pure devilment Charlie said, 'I suppose he did get the message all right, do you think?'

       'What? How do you mean?'

       'Well you were frightfully polite to him, you know. Took him very seriously.'

       'Perhaps there was a touch of that.'

       'I mean you don't want him coming through on the phone asking if he can discuss it with you. Find a way round your objections.'

       'No, I don't, do I? My God.'

       By now the car had started to crawl along beside the pavement. Again Alun peered through his window, then took a quick glance at the traffic ahead. He started to roll down the window with his left hand and arranged his right with the thumb and first two fingers extended and the other two clenched.

       'That's English, what you've got there,' said Charlie quickly. 'Middle finger only for Americans.'

       'Christ, you're right, thanks. Well... here we go.' Alun stuck his head and hand out of the opening and Charlie heard him bawl, 'Make it two thousand. The year two thousand. And fuck off.'

       The car accelerated nimbly. By a blessed chance Charlie got another last sight of Pugh out of the back window, much reduced now from the comparative equanimity he had shown a minute before. What tale of this would he tell in Bethgelert?

       'They do say fuck off in America, don't they?' asked Alun anxiously.

       'I'm sure they understand it.'

       'And it doesn't mean how's your father or anything?'

       'Not that I know of, no.'

       'I thought I'd better clinch it, you see. Sort of make assurance double sure.'

       'Yes, I can't see him bothering you again.'

       Alun laughed quietly for a short time, shaking his head in indulgent self-reproach. The driver, who had the collar of a tartan sports shirt turned down over that of his blue serge suit, spoke up.

       'Trying to cadge a lift, was he, that bloke back there?'

       'Roughly.'

       'Funny-looking son of bloke. He reminded me - '

       'Yes, well we can forget about him now and concentrate on getting to the Prince of Wales as fast as reasonable can.' Evidently Alun had no wish just then to pursue the special Welsh relationship with drivers of taxis as mentioned to Rhiannon. He lowered his voice and went on, 'Hey - timing really was important for that. A clear getaway afterwards. I got badly caught in Kilburn once telling a Bulgarian short-story writer, actually he _was__ trying to cadge a lift, anyway telling him to fuck off for two or three minutes while the chap driving the open car I was sitting in turned round in the cul-de-sac I hadn't noticed we were at the end of. Amazing how quickly the bloom fades on fuck off, you know. Say it a couple of times running and you've got out of it nearly all of what you're going to get.'