Llanfair. The driver read out the battered sign beside the road. I thought this might be a good place to start. He changed down a gear and the Jag slowed with a discontented growl. A village appeared aheada mere cluster of cottages, nestled under the steep, green walls of the mountain pass.
The woman in the passenger seat leaned forward to peer through the windscreen. It was hard to tell her exact agethe long straight hair and lack of makeup, coupled with the jeans and T-shirt, made her look, at first glance, like a teenager, but a closer inspection put her in her thirties. She studied the gray stone cottages, the sheep on the high hillsides, the mountain stream dancing over rocks as it passed under the old stone bridge. Its worth a try, she said. Certainly remote enough. No supermarket, no video store, and no satellite dishes on the roofs. And its got the proverbial pub where jolly locals meet.
The Jag slowed to a crawl as they approached the square black-and-white-timbered building. A swinging pub sign outside announced it to be the Red Dragon. I dont see too many jolly locals around right now, he said. The place looks deserted. Where is everybody?
Perhaps its the Welsh version of Brigadoon. They only come out once every hundred years. She laughed. Oh, wait a second.Heres somebody. A young girl with wild blond curls had come out of the pub. She began hopefully wiping off the outdoor tables, although the sky was heavy with the promise of rain. A loud yell from across the street made her look up. There was a row of shops directly opposite the pub. G. Evans, Cyggyd (with the word Butcher underneath in very small letters), R. Evans, Dairy Products, and then, preventing an Evans monopoly, T. Harris, General Store (and Sub Post Office).
A large, florid man in a blood-spattered apron had come out of the butchers shop, and was now shouting and waving a cleaver. The two occupants of the car looked at each other uncertainly as the cleaver-waving and shouting continued.
Jolly locals? He gave a nervous chuckle.
The young girl appeared to be unfazed by the tirade. She tossed her mane of blond hair and yelled something back and the butcher burst out laughing. He waved the cleaver good-naturedly and went back into his shop. The young girl glanced at the Jag, then gave the last table a half-hearted wipe before going back into the pub.
What the hell was that all about? The woman in the car asked. Was that Welsh they were speaking?
I dont suppose it was Russian, honey. We are in the middle of Wales.
But I didnt realize people actually spoke Welsh! I thought it was one of those ancient languages you study at Berkeley. You might have warned me. I could have taken a crash language course. Its going to make things more difficult.
He put out his hand and patted her knee. It will be fine. They all speak English too, you know. Now why dont you hop out and test the waters, huh?
You want me to get hacked to death by a cleaver? Do you suppose theyre all violent up here in the mountains? Id imagine theres a lot of inbreeding.
Theres only one way to find out. He grinned as he gave her a gentle nudge. And this was your idea, remember.
Our idea. We planned it together.
He looked at her for a long moment. I have missed you, Emmy.
Me too. I didnt think it would take so long. Im damned jealous, you know.
You dont have to be.
An elderly man in a cloth cap and tweed jacket came down the street at a fast pace and disappeared into the pub. A couple of women walked past, deep in conversation, with shopping baskets on their arms. They wore the British uniform for uncertain weatherplastic macks and head scarves over gray permed hair. They paused to give the car an interested glance before settling at the bus stop.
I should get out of here, the man said. I shouldnt be noticed. Theres a big hotel higher up the passyou cant miss it. It looks like a damned great Swiss chaletugly as hell. Ill wait for you up there, okay?
All right. Give me about an hour. She opened the door and was met by a fresh, stiff breeze. Gee, its freezing up here. Ill need to buy thermal underwear if we decide that this place will do.
Start at the pub, he suggested. At least we know somebodys there.
She nodded. Good idea. I could use a drink. Her thin, serious face broke into a smile. Wish me luck.
Good luck, he said. This is a crazy idea, Emmy. It damned well better work.
The big car moved up the street. Emmy pushed her long dark hair out of her face as she opened the heavy oak door and went into the Red Dragon pub.
She stepped into a warm and inviting room. A long, polished oak bar ran almost the whole length of one wall, and the matching beam above it was decorated with horse brasses. A fire was burning in a huge fireplace at the far end. The girl with the wild blond hair was standing behind the bar, talking to the old man and a couple of young men in mud-spattered work overalls. The low murmur of conversation in Welsh ceased the moment the stranger was noticed.
Can I help you, miss? the girl asked in lilting English.
Emmy joined the men at the bar. Sure. What beer do folks drink around here?
That would be Robinsons, the girl answered. Although some like their Guinness or a Brains, even though it comes from South Wales. I dont know why we stock it, personally.
Weak as water, the old man muttered.
Okay. Ill take a half-pint of Robinsons then.
The barmaid glanced at the men. She was looking distinctly uncomfortable. Im sorry, but ladies usually drink in the lounge, if you dont mind. Why dont you go through and Ill take your order.
Okay. Emmy managed a smile. This wasnt an occasion for making waves. Would you mind directing me to the lounge?
Its through that doorway.
Emmy went through the open archway and found herself in a much colder room dotted with several polished wood tables and leather-upholstered chairs. There was a fireplace in this room too, but the fire wasnt alight. Along one wall there was a long oak bar. Emmy was amused to realize it was the back of the same bar where the men were standing. The girl with the hair had turned to face her.
Found it all right, did you then?
Is this some sort of law in Wales? Emmy asked. The women in one bar and the men in the other, I mean.
Oh, no, the barmaid said. Not the law exactly. Its just the way its always been, isnt it? And the men dont feel they can chat properly when there are ladies present. They might use bad language or want to tell a joke.
Emmy smiled at the quaintness. So the ladies sit alone in here and discuss knitting patterns?
To tell you the truth, the ladies dont come to the pub very often on their own. And if theyre with their man, why then they all sit together in the lounge. She turned back to the elderly man leaning on the bar. Isnt that right, Charlie? I was saying that women dont come to the pub much on their own.
They dont come much at all, Charlie replied, seeing as were usually here around the time when they have to be home, cooking our dinners. Besides, most women dont like the taste of beer. My Mair says shed rather drink medicine.
The barmaid had finished drawing the half-pint and put it in front of Emmy. That will be one pound, miss, if you dont mind.
