Read Online Constable Evans 03: Evanly Choirs by Rhys Bowen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rhys Bowen
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you going down to Cardiff with him.”
“He’s only taking me to an opera,” Betsy said. “I think it’s very nice of him.”
“Betsy, wake up. Ifor’s not the sort of man who takes young girls to operas with no strings attached. You should know that.”
“And what if there are strings attached?” Betsy glared at him defiantly. “I’m a big girl, you know and I happen to find him very attractive and I’m flattered that he seems to fancy me, too.”
“And he also happens to be married and he gets through women at the speed most people get through their library books,” Evan exploded.
Suddenly Betsy’s face broke into a broad grin. “I’ve got it!” she exclaimed. “You’re jealous, Evan Evans. Finally it’s come out. You were just too shy to ask me before, weren’t you? Pretending that you’d rather spend your time with that dreary Bronwen. Oh, you men are so funny.” She ran her hands through her blond curls. “Tell you what then. If you’re really starting to show the proper amount of interest in me, then I won’t go down to Cardiff with Ifor. How’s that then?”
Evan’s brain was racing. Bronwen would understand that he was only doing it to save Betsy’s honor, wouldn’t she? Bronwen was a sensible, kind, caring person. She wouldn’t want Betsy to go to Cardiff with Ifor Llewellyn, so she’d understand that he was only doing his duty.
“Well, Evan Evans,” Betsy said. “Do you want to ask me out yourself or not? Are you going to take me out on Saturday night or shall I see if Mr. Llewellyn is free to drive me to Cardiff?”
Evan took a deep breath. “Okay, Betsy,” he said. “We’ll go out on Saturday night.”
Chapter 7
“So you see I had no choice, Bron,” Evan said.
She was standing with her hand on the gate to the schoolhouse, looking at him steadily. He imagined she’d practiced that look for times when her students came to school with excuses about not doing their homework. “I see,” she said. She probably said the same thing to her students, too.
“Well, what would you have done?” he demanded.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ve made a very gallant sacrifice,” she said. “Not every man would give up a thrilling evening at the pub for a hot nightclub with a half-clad Betsy. Maybe they’ll give you a medal.”
“At least I’m telling you about it,” Evan said. “At least I’m asking your opinion.”
“What I think doesn’t matter, does it?” Bronwen’s voice was still infuriatingly calm. “You and I are just friends, aren’t we? That’s what you tell everyone.”
Evan fought to control himself. He had expected Bronwen to be reasonable. He had tried to be reasonable. Reason wasn’t working. “Bronwen, you must know that I have no desire to go dancing with Betsy, but I couldn’t let her go down to Cardiff with the Welsh Don Juan, could I? It seemed to be the easiest way to solve things, and I told myself that being a sensible, caring person, you’d understand.”
Bronwen swung the gate to and fro then finally looked up with a half smile. “I suppose I do understand. And I don’t really think you’ll be seduced by one evening with Betsy, but you know how tongues wag in this village. You’ll probably have her father showing up on your doorstep, demanding that you make an honest woman of her.”
“Maybe that would have been the best way to solve this.”
“Being pressured into a shotgun wedding with Betsy?”
“No,” Evan had to smile now. “I mean the Ifor business. If I’d managed to catch old Sam Edwards when he was sober enough to listen to me, he could have gone after Ifor with that old shotgun of his and put the fear of God into him.”
“I didn’t think that policemen were supposed to recommend shooting people as a way of solving problems.” Bronwen had relaxed. Her hands no longer gripped the gate.
“Sam Edwards has never hit anything yet with that old gun, or I wouldn’t have suggested it.”
“Ah well. Too late
“He’s only taking me to an opera,” Betsy said. “I think it’s very nice of him.”
“Betsy, wake up. Ifor’s not the sort of man who takes young girls to operas with no strings attached. You should know that.”
“And what if there are strings attached?” Betsy glared at him defiantly. “I’m a big girl, you know and I happen to find him very attractive and I’m flattered that he seems to fancy me, too.”
“And he also happens to be married and he gets through women at the speed most people get through their library books,” Evan exploded.
Suddenly Betsy’s face broke into a broad grin. “I’ve got it!” she exclaimed. “You’re jealous, Evan Evans. Finally it’s come out. You were just too shy to ask me before, weren’t you? Pretending that you’d rather spend your time with that dreary Bronwen. Oh, you men are so funny.” She ran her hands through her blond curls. “Tell you what then. If you’re really starting to show the proper amount of interest in me, then I won’t go down to Cardiff with Ifor. How’s that then?”
Evan’s brain was racing. Bronwen would understand that he was only doing it to save Betsy’s honor, wouldn’t she? Bronwen was a sensible, kind, caring person. She wouldn’t want Betsy to go to Cardiff with Ifor Llewellyn, so she’d understand that he was only doing his duty.
“Well, Evan Evans,” Betsy said. “Do you want to ask me out yourself or not? Are you going to take me out on Saturday night or shall I see if Mr. Llewellyn is free to drive me to Cardiff?”
Evan took a deep breath. “Okay, Betsy,” he said. “We’ll go out on Saturday night.”
Chapter 7
“So you see I had no choice, Bron,” Evan said.
She was standing with her hand on the gate to the schoolhouse, looking at him steadily. He imagined she’d practiced that look for times when her students came to school with excuses about not doing their homework. “I see,” she said. She probably said the same thing to her students, too.
“Well, what would you have done?” he demanded.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ve made a very gallant sacrifice,” she said. “Not every man would give up a thrilling evening at the pub for a hot nightclub with a half-clad Betsy. Maybe they’ll give you a medal.”
“At least I’m telling you about it,” Evan said. “At least I’m asking your opinion.”
“What I think doesn’t matter, does it?” Bronwen’s voice was still infuriatingly calm. “You and I are just friends, aren’t we? That’s what you tell everyone.”
Evan fought to control himself. He had expected Bronwen to be reasonable. He had tried to be reasonable. Reason wasn’t working. “Bronwen, you must know that I have no desire to go dancing with Betsy, but I couldn’t let her go down to Cardiff with the Welsh Don Juan, could I? It seemed to be the easiest way to solve things, and I told myself that being a sensible, caring person, you’d understand.”
Bronwen swung the gate to and fro then finally looked up with a half smile. “I suppose I do understand. And I don’t really think you’ll be seduced by one evening with Betsy, but you know how tongues wag in this village. You’ll probably have her father showing up on your doorstep, demanding that you make an honest woman of her.”
“Maybe that would have been the best way to solve this.”
“Being pressured into a shotgun wedding with Betsy?”
“No,” Evan had to smile now. “I mean the Ifor business. If I’d managed to catch old Sam Edwards when he was sober enough to listen to me, he could have gone after Ifor with that old shotgun of his and put the fear of God into him.”
“I didn’t think that policemen were supposed to recommend shooting people as a way of solving problems.” Bronwen had relaxed. Her hands no longer gripped the gate.
“Sam Edwards has never hit anything yet with that old gun, or I wouldn’t have suggested it.”
“Ah well. Too late
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