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the furthest corner of the sofa so that Sion was seated between her and Dafydd. He felt almost as though they were a family, visiting friends, that soon they would go home together, he, Llinos and their son.
    â€˜Come with me, Dafydd, darling.’ Jayne took command of the situation in her usual girlish manner. ‘I want you to see the flowers I have chosen for my bridal bouquet.’
    Dafydd could not shake off a vision of Llinos in his arms. The feel of her and the scent of her haunted him.
    â€˜Dafydd!’ Jayne took his hand and drew him to his feet. ‘Come, you’re daydreaming. What am I to do with you?’ She looked back at Llinos. ‘I know you’ll excuse us,’ she said. ‘You and Papa will be free to talk about the past with we young ones out of the way.’
    She smiled at Sion. ‘Would you like to come with us? You can see the gardens and choose some flowers for your mother.’
    Poor silly Jayne – she did not detect the strained atmosphere. Dafydd looked back at Llinos, who was staring doggedly at her hands.
    Tentatively he took his son’s hand and allowed Jayne to lead them outside into the freshness of the garden. His son’s fingers curled around his and Dafydd felt tears behind his eyes. Why could a man not just take what he wanted from life?
    Jayne was fussing among the flower-beds, disturbing the gardeners without a thought for the inconvenience she was causing. Well, this woman was to be his bride, Dafydd thought, and if he was to make an amicable marriage he must stop criticizing her every move.
    â€˜What do you think of these yellow roses for my bouquet, Dafydd? Will they look pretty?’
    He took a deep breath. ‘No, I think the pink. With your fair colouring the pink will look best.’
    â€˜You’re right, of course.’ Jayne dimpled up at him, her hand resting possessively on his arm. ‘But you are always right, my darling. That’s why I love you.’
    Dafydd became aware that his son was looking up at him. ‘I want to go back indoors,’ the boy said, bored with this talk of flowers and weddings. Dafydd sympathized with him.
    â€˜I’ll walk with you to the door of the orangery and you can go through to the sitting room. I’ll not be long, Jayne.’ He was reluctant to let his son go and savoured the moments as he walked past the green lawns towards the house. ‘You’re a fine boy, Sion, and I hope we will see more of each other,’ he said gently.
    The boy looked up at him, his face bright, his eyes intelligent. ‘But you’re going to marry Jayne. I don’t suppose you’ll have time for us then.’ He slipped his hand out of Dafydd’s.
    â€˜Oh, I’ll have time,’ Dafydd said, his throat constricted. ‘I’ll always have time for you.’
    He watched as Sion disappeared into the orangery, and the sun, glimmering on the windows, obscured him. A moment later, Dafydd turned and made his way slowly back through the gardens to where Jayne was waiting.

CHAPTER SIX
    Bull stood in the work hut staring out at the clouds hanging over the diggings. Behind him the brazier burned briskly, the only warmth in the chill of the dismal day. He was angry that the work on the line was facing yet another delay. Outside, the engineer was pacing the ground, staring up as if he wished he could command the rain to cease.
    Bull knew that Cookson, too, felt the frustration of constant delays as much as he did, but while the inclement weather caused them irritation and worry, the navvies were glad of the time off and were doubtless making a nuisance of themselves now at the public bar in the nearest alehouse.
    â€˜Damned weather, Bull. Do you think it’s ever going to clear?’ Cookson called to him.
    â€˜It’s in for the day, sir. Come inside for a bit – you’re getting soaked to the skin.’
    Cookson came into the hut and held out his hands to the