Page 85 of The Christmas Retreat
‘Oh, yes, I remember,’ Rhys said.
‘Since she called it her Memory Box, we hope there might be some photos or other information about Arwen’s life with her in Cornwall,’ I said.
When we’d finished lunch, Rhys suggested he drive anyone who fancied an outing over to visit Portmeirion, the beautiful Italianate village with a pottery connected with it.
‘There are extensive wooded grounds, too,’ he said and then added, ‘And on the way back, we could collect Cariad from the castle.’
But it seemed I was the only taker, for the others were working. Toby said he was going down to have tea at the gallery cafe with Pearl later, and Evie, of course, was going into St Melangell to see Gwendoline Sutler’s diary, to her a much more exciting proposition.
*
Portmeirion was fascinating. Although Rhys told me it had been constructed by the owner of the estate, it looked as if it had grown there: an Italian-style village, the houses and little shops painted in ice-cream and sugared-almond colours.
It was in a sheltered valley on a wide estuary, which gave it a mild climate, like St Melangell. There was a sunken area at the heart of the village, with a large pool painted a deep blue, fountains and a cluster of little shops around it, which I longed to explore, but Rhys suggested we walk around the grounds first and, while we headed along the side of the estuary and then struck up through great banks of rhododendrons and azaleas, and towering mature trees, he told me the history of the place.
The site was bought by a Sir Clough Williams-Ellis in 1925 and he spent the next twenty years creating his vision for it. Later his daughter Susan Williams-Ellis and her husband started the pottery.
‘And it was used as a location for a weird old TV series calledThe Prisoner,’ Rhys informed me as we came out into the Ghost Garden. ‘It’s still a bit of a cult series and there’s aPrisonershop in the village.’
By the time we’d hiked all the way round the Ghost Garden, a very touching pets’ graveyard with memorials to the family pets, past lakes overlooked by gazebos, and headed back to the village, I was more than ready to sit in a cafe and eat real Italian gelato followed by good coffee.
The light was fading fast by then too, but I told Rhys that only made the village itself look more magical.
‘I’m glad you like it as much as I do. People either fall for its magic or they can’t see it at all. But I’ll bring you here again in spring, when the azaleas and rhododendrons are out. It’s quite a sight.’
‘Assuming I’m here then,’ I pointed out.
‘I thought we’d persuaded you to at least rent somewhere locally, while you decide where you want to live permanently,’ he said. ‘And you like it here, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ I admitted. ‘I sort of felt at home as soon as I came to North Wales, which perhaps is my Welsh heritage asserting itself. And I can’t really face going back to live in Evie’s flat, even temporarily. But wouldn’t it be difficult to find a short let here? I mean, it’s probably all holiday homes and second homers.’
‘No, I mentioned that the Prynnes own a lot of local property, which they only let to locals. If they’ve got anything suitable, I think I might be able to persuade them to let you have it short term,’ he said. ‘After all, you may be becoming a local. I hope so, and Cariad does, too!’
There was that warm light in his eyes again and I looked away quickly, stirring my coffee.
‘It’s odd that I write children’s books, when I’ve never had much to do with them,’ I said. ‘Cariad’s lovely – a really interesting and individual child.’
‘She’s all that,’ he agreed and, as if on cue, Nerys rang his mobile to say that Cariad was staying another night at the castle after all, because the nanny was taking the girls on a long trip next day to the Blue Planet aquarium, near Chester.
As we walked back through the dusk to the car, I was turning things over in my mind and I said, eventually, ‘I do think, if I can find a short-term rent, I’ll stay on here because it’ll give me time to really think about moving on to somewhere new, and where I want that to be. And … well, it would be nice to be in a place where I know other people on the same wavelength,’ I admitted, surprising myself.
‘Then that’s settled. I’ll sound out Max Prynne later to seeif he can help.’ Rhys smiled warmly at me. ‘But for now, we’d better make tracks for home or Verity will be announcing loudly again that they were about to send out search parties for us, as if we were lost in the wilderness.’
‘Not if she’s still in bed, feeling sorry for herself,’ I pointed out, meanly hoping she was, because I was getting very tired of Verity’s propensity for putting her foot in it!
*
It was late by the time we got back and I just changed and freshened up, before going down again to have a drink with the others.
They all seemed to have had successful days. Toby and Pearl were sitting together on one of the sofas, deep in a quiet conversation.
When I asked after the invalids, Nerys said Opal seemed to be improving, and had now arrived at the depressed and grumpy stage. Bronwen had been taking hot drinks and soup up to both at intervals.
‘And I’ve been up a couple of times too,’ she added. ‘I think Verity only has a bad cold, but if she wants to call it flu and stay in bed, I’d rather she did that than bring it into my studio!’
‘Or give her cold to the rest of us,’ agreed Evie.
Noel had come over for dinner as he so often did, and I caught snatches of Evie telling him about having wrested Gwendoline Sutler’s diary from the museum custodian long enough to scan it in, before returning it.
