Read Online Candlenight by Phil Rickman - Free Book Online Page A

sometimes, Morelli."
        "The only other guy ever
spared the time to help me along was Giles," said Berry.
    Stop
him. I mean it.
        "Morelli," Miranda
said. "You're overreacting. If Freeman is loopy enough to want to throw up
his career to go and live in wildest Wales it's his decision. None of your
business. And if you think old-what's-his-name is going to come back and haunt
you, you must be even simpler than most of your race. Now come back to bed. I
warn you - last chance."
    We're really not meant to be there, you know,
the English.
        "How much of a
generalisation is it, that stuff about rugby and the Bible?"
        "Wales? Who cares? It's
still an awfully long way from Harrods."
        "You're a big help.
Miranda."
        "Oh, you are a pain,
Morelli. Look. I haven't been very often. It's got lovely mountains and nice
beaches here and there. And in the south there used to be a lot of coal mines,
and Cardiff's fairly civilised these days but terribly bland . . .But, from
what you say, your friend is off to one of the primitive bits, about which I'm
really not qualified to comment. You know me and the primitive. Admittedly, there
are times for being primitive . .
        Miranda put on her most
lascivious smile which, Berry had to admit, was pretty damn lascivious.
    "Yeah, OK," he said.
"Maybe I'll call Giles later."

 

    Chapter X
     
    WALES
     
    It was the third headline on the BBC Radio Wales news at 8 a.m.
        ". . . and Sir Maurice
Burnham-Lloyd, Conservative MP for Glanmeurig for more than thirty years, is
dead."
        Guto Evans felt unexpectedly
nervous. He lay in bed and waited for the full report. By the time it came on,
he'd convinced himself that he definitely wasn't going to get the Plaid
nomination. Dai Death had been right: no chance.
        The whole report lasted just
over one minute. After a summary of the high points of Burnham-Lloyd's career (Guto
wondered how they'd managed to pad it out to twenty seconds) there was a short
clip of the Secretary of State for Wales speaking over the telephone to the
studio.
        ". . . but most of
all." crackled the Secretary of State, "Maurice was a constituency man,
a farmer among farmers. He was always deeply concerned that people in London and in Brussels should be aware of exactly how their policies would affect a sheep farmer in
the heart of Glanmeurig."
        Guto groaned, snapped off the
radio and pushed back the covers. "Mam!" he shouted, hearing the
clatter of a pan from downstairs. "Mam, no breakfast for me. I've got to
go out right away. OK?"
        Bethan. He had to see her
before she left for school or he'd spend the day in a state of advanced
paranoia. Being a widow seemed to have endowed Bethan with a certain aura of
wisdom.
        He found her making her way
across the car park below the castle ruins. She was carrying her briefcase and
a pile of exercise books to the little green Peugeot.
        "What should I do then,
Bethan?" Guto demanded without preamble.
        "Now," said Bethan
thoughtfully, leaning into the car. "Do you think I should put all these
hooks into the boot or will they stay on the back seat without falling
over?"
        "Do I phone anybody or do I
wait for them to contact me?" said Guto in agony. "Don't want them to
think I'm pushing, see."
        "I think what I shall
do," said Bethan. "is put them on the back seat and prop them up behind
the briefcase."
        "I've got to be well
placed for it. I mean. I'm pretty well known locally."
        Bethan straightened up. She was
wearing a black cardigan over a white cotton dress, and big gold earrings. Guto
felt a pang of something not connected with politics.
        "Well Guto." she said.
"There you have identified the problem. You are exceedingly well known locally."
        They stared at each other
across the roof of the little car.
        "What are you getting
at?"
        "Well, who in this town
has not heard you ranting on at