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Authors: Rhys Bowen

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She pushed her hair back from her face. “Someday maybe, but not until you’ve had a chance to fend for yourself. Mrs. Williams has completely spoiled you.” Then, when she saw the disappointment in his face, she took his hand. “Come on, you can start now. I’ll cook you supper and then you can do the washing up!”

She started to run, dragging him down the mountain like a small child running with a large kite trailing behind it.

Next morning, Evan was back at the site beside the lake. It was a gray, moist day with the promise of rain. Mist hung over the surface of the water so that the diving rig loomed like a large black monster, out in the lake.

“It should be coming up any moment now!” Edward exclaimed. “They’ve secured the collar and now they’re inflating it.”

A tense group of onlookers waited at the lakeshore. Howard had the camera rolling. The two divers appeared at the surface with thumbs-up signs. Bubbles came up, then, like the Kraken waking, a large shape rose. A wing broke the surface, rising like the dorsal fin of a huge whale, then the cockpit bobbed into view. There was a collective gasp, and the group broke into spontaneous applause.

“We’ve done it!” Edward ran around hugging anybody who couldn’t get out of the way. “Bloody good, chaps. Brilliant work.”

They watched one of the divers swim out with the winch cable to tow it in to shore. Then Sandie shouted, “What’s that?”

They peered through the mist.

“What is it?” Howard muttered.

A white arm was rising through the water, brandishing a sword.

“It’s the Lady of the Lake,” one of the camera crew exclaimed. “Bloody hell, it’s the Lady of the Lake!”

A white face followed the gleaming arm to the surface—a
white face with dripping red hair around it. Evan had rushed to the edge of the water.

“Betsy!” Evan yelled. “Get out of there this instant.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Betsy shouted back. “It’s freezing in here. I can hardly move my arms.” She started gasping for breath. “Help! I don’t think I can make it. I’m drowning. Save me!”

Evan peeled off his jacket to dive in after her, but the divers were already on their way to her. Betsy managed to make it as far as the plane and hauled herself onto the inflated collar until the first of the divers reached her. Then she allowed herself to be towed to the shore.

Evan ran to help her out. “Of all the stupid things!” he yelled. “You want a good spanking, Betsy Edwards!”

She looked up at him with a shy smile as someone wrapped a towel around her. “I wouldn’t mind, if you were volunteering.”

A shout came from the lake. “Watch out. It’s going!”

“I can’t hold it. Get away!”

Edward let out an anguished cry as the plane gave a convulsive jerk, the collar came loose, and before anybody could react, the old bomber had slipped silently into the depths again.

“What have you done?” Edward’s despair echoed across the lake. “It’s gone. We’ve lost it. We’ll never get it back now!”

“I don’t think it’s that bad,” the winch operator said, trying to calm the distraught man. “We have the line attached. They only have to get the collar around it again.”

“But that will take days!” Edward lamented.

“Let it lie, Edward,” Howard said softly. “Like that old German guy said, this is a grave. Nothing good comes of trying to wake the dead.”

“Did I do that?” Betsy turned to look back at the lake with eyes as big as saucers. “I didn’t mean any harm, honestly.”

“You probably had nothing to do with it,” Evan said, although
it did occur to him that she might have helped dislodge the collar when she grabbed onto it. “A plane like that’s a tricky thing.”

“I’m really sorry. It was stupid of me. I know that now.” Betsy stumbled beside Evan, shivering in his overcoat. “But I didn’t mean any harm, honestly.”

“I know,” Evan said. “You just wanted to be in a movie. People have taken stupid risks before to make that kind of dream come true.”

She looked up at him adoringly. “You do understand. You were being such an old killjoy, I thought you’d be really angry with me.”

“I’d have been really angry if you’d drowned yourself,” Evan said.

She looked up at him hopefully. “Would you, Evan
bach?
Would you really?”

“Of course I would. Of all the stupid things to do, Betsy—swimming in a lake in the middle of winter. You must want this very badly.”

“Ooh, I do. I didn’t realize before how much I wanted to be famous.”

“Then go about it the proper way,” Evan said. “If you really want to be an actress, save up to take classes. That way you’ll know if you’ve got any talent or not.”

“Talent?” Betsy demanded, no longer submissive and shivering. “I’ve noticed you appreciating my talents before now, Evan Evans. Judging by the looks you men give me in the Dragon, I’d say I’d got a lot of what it takes!”

Then she strutted ahead of him along the trail back to the village.

As they drew level with the two chapels, they saw a sign on the door of Capel Beulah: “Children’s Christmas Pageant. Rehearsal today.”

Suddenly a loud shriek echoed from Capel Beulah. The door burst open and Mrs. Powell-Jones came flying out, pursued by a large and angry sheep. Delighted children ran to the playground
fence and cheered as Mrs. Powell-Jones and the sheep disappeared down the road.

I wanted to get rid of that painting, but I wasn’t going down that mine again, ever. So I left it on the wall at home. If they found it, they found it. I was going to fight. I didn’t expect to live anyway.

But I did live. I was sent to the Far East and I found more hell waiting for me there. I was captured by Japs and spent a year in prison camp. Oh, yes, of all the hells I’ve been in, this one came closest to the real thing. I still can’t talk about it, even now. Most of my mates died, but I didn’t. Then I saw that it was God’s little joke. He wanted me to stay alive and relive what I had done again and again.

At the end of the war, I came back home and went back down the mine. You might wonder how I could do that. Well, jobs were hard to find after the war and the place where Ginger was buried was in old workings that we didn’t go near anymore.

A year or so later, I even got married because everyone pushed me into it. It didn’t seem like such a bad idea at the time
—
every healthy chap needs someone to share his bed with, and to take care of him, too. She was a nice enough girl, quiet, not bad-looking. I thought maybe I might feel something for her one day, but I never did. She must have sensed that, because she got pneumonia one winter and she didn’t bother to recover. She left me to bring up our little boy. I tried to be a good father to him, but I never could feel much for him either.

Everyone thought it was because of the war experience and the prison camp that I was such a changed person. But it wasn’t. My heart had died in 1942. And I never painted again.

The painting? Well, it’s still hanging on my wall. When I die, my son will probably throw it out with all the rest of my stuff. H’ell never know the truth, because nobody is ever going to get this tape. Now that I’m done, it’s going in the fire
—
up in smoke with all my dreams, my love, my life.

Glossary of Welsh Words

Bach/fach—
small. Used as a term of endearment much as the English say “love” and “dear.”
Bach
for a male,
fatch
for a female.

Ble ryt ti?
—Where are you? (pronounced
blay root tea)

Cariad—
darling
,
honey (term of endearment) (pronounced
car-ee-ad)

Cigydd
—butcher (from
cig
—meat) (pronounced
kigeth
)

Diolch yn fawr—
Thank you very much (pronounced
diolch in vower)

Escob Annwyl
—literally “Dear Bishop” (similar to “Good Heavens”) (pronounced
escobe an-wheel)

Fron
Heulog
—Sunny Hillside (name of farm) (pronounced
fron high-log)

Gloch las
—blue bell (pronounced like Scottish
loch
);
(las—
pronounced
lass
)

Iechyd da
—Cheers, good health (pronounced
yacky dah)

Mam
—mother (pronounced as it looks)

Nain
—Grandma (pronounced
nine
)

Noswaith dda
—
Good evening (pronounced
nos-why-th thah)

Or gore
—all right, okay (pronounced
or gor-ay)

Pobl y Cwm
—People of the Valley
(a popular Welsh soap opera) (pronounced
Pobble a Cum)

Tad
—father (pronounced as it looks)

Ty Gwyn
—
White House (pronounced
tee gwin)

Yr Wyddfa
—
Welsh name for Snowdon (pronounced
Er Withva)

Also by Rhys Bowen

Evanly Choirs
Evans Above
Evan Help Us
Evan and Elle

EVAN CAN WAIT. Copyright © 2001 by Rhys Bowen. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

Production Editor: David Stanford Burr

eISBN 9781429967990

First eBook Edition : February 2011

BOOK: Evan can Wait: A Constable Evans Mystery

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