Dragons Lair. Sara Craven
creative writing at some New England college. And for another, in the two years they had been apart, he had apparently not produced another manuscript of his own. While he had been in the States, he had written the screenplay for the successful film of his first book, A Power for Good, but no new work had been forthcoming from him, and although he had never discussed it with her, Davina knew this had been a major disappointment for her uncle.
She went into her small room and sat down with a sigh, her eyes fixed absently on the scrap of paper in her hand. She really ought to make a start on returning these calls. One of them at least would probably be urgent. But the names and numbers kept dancing meaninglessly in front of her eyes, and eventually she dropped the piece of paper impatiently into her in-tray to await her attention in the morning.
Her door opened and the smooth fair head of Jan Preston, her uncle’s secretary, appeared.
‘Oh, you are back,’ she exclaimed in surprise. ‘I’ve been trying to get you at home. Mr Greer would like a word with you.’
Davina groaned inwardly. For a moment she toyed with the idea of asking Jan to forget she had seen her while she made her escape, but she soon abandoned it. Jan was a pleasant woman, but she was simply not on those kind of terms with her. So instead she smiled and murmured her thanks, promising she would be along presently.
When Jan vanished, she got up and walked the few paces to the window. There was little to see but a patch of sky framed by other people’s roofs, and the odd pigeon or two, but when she had first come there, she had spent a lot of time staring out at that limited view until she felt she knew every slate and every Victorian chimneypot.
Her fingers drummed restlessly on the white-painted sill. She knew why Uncle Philip wanted to see her, of course. He knew precisely where she had been that afternoon, and could presumably restrain his curiosity no longer.
She supposed she could not blame him under the circumstances. After all, the other party involved was one of his protegés, a writer for whom he had confidently predicted great things. And he had been right. Both Gethyn’s novels had been runaway best-sellers, here and in the States, and he promised to become a major force in the poetic world as well. Since then—two years of silence.
Her uncle’s voice sounded preoccupied as he called out 'Come in’ in reply to her brief tap on the door. He was dictating some letters into a dictaphone as she entered and he signalled to her to take a seat while he went On talking ‘… and shall look forward to seeing you on the 21st. Yours.’ He switched off the machine and smiled at her.
‘Hello, my dear. How did it go? Did this tame lawyer your mother found produce the goods?’
‘Well,’ Davina considered her polished fingernails, ‘at least he’s produced Gethyn. He’s back in Wales. Did you know?’
‘No.’ Was it her imagination, or had there been a slight pause before the monosyllable? Davina glanced up quickly, but Philip Greer was leaning back in his chair, his frowning gaze fixed musingly on a ballpoint pen he was twirling in his fingers. ‘But all the same I’m pleased to hear it.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it might just mean he’s ready to settle down and get some work done—some real work.’
Davina bent her head. ‘I see.’
Philip Greer gazed at her rather ironically. ‘What did you expect me to say? I haven’t any other hopes where Gethyn’s concerned any more. I’m resigned to the fact that you’re determined to put an end to this marriage of yours.’
She looked up indignantly. ‘Well, what do you expect?’ she demanded in turn. ‘This marriage of mine, as you put it, hasn’t existed for two years. It barely existed before then.’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘If I’d ignored my upbringing and simply gone to bed with Gethyn, it need never have taken place at all. Now there’s an irony for you!’
Philip Greer made an abrupt movement. ‘If you’re saying that the basis for your marriage was no more than physical attraction, then I should point out that a great many successful unions have started out on little else.’
‘I see,’ she said again. ‘Perhaps I pitched my own expectations too high.’
He sighed. ‘Now I’ve made you angry, my dear, and I didn’t intend that. I’ve always felt—responsible in some ways for what happened between you and Gethyn, and I know your mother shares my viewpoint,’ he added wryly.
She flushed. ‘I know. I’ve tried to tell her …’
‘My dear, no one will ever convince Vanessa about anything she doesn’t wish to hear. And I’m afraid she “took agin” Gethyn the first time she saw him. And he didn’t help, of course. He needn’t have made it quite so clear that he was indifferent to her and her opinion of him. If he’d just pretended …’
She gave a strained smile. ‘Pretence was beyond him, I’m afraid. He—he couldn’t even pretend with me—pretend that I mattered, or that he cared, even a little.’
‘Are you so sure he didn’t?’
‘Uncle Philip,’ Davina stared at him, ‘how can you ask that? You know what happened. He was in the States and I was here—in hospital, losing his baby. I sent for him—I begged him to come back and be with me. But he was far too busy with some television chat show. He just didn’t want to know. Every time the door opened in that hospital room, I thought it was going to be him. Only it never was. And even then, I swallowed my pride when it was all over and telephoned him. Do you know the answer I got? He was resting and couldn’t be disturbed. Later that night I wrote to him and told him I was leaving him. He never replied to my letter either, and I’ve never heard from him from that day to this.’ She forced a smile. ‘I’m sorry about the downbeat ending, but …’
‘Don’t be flip, my dear. It’s unsuitable in this context.’ Her uncle was silent for a while. ‘I can only say that I find his—lack of response totally incredible. I can’t help wondering if it would have made any difference if you had gone to see him, instead of writing. Letters can go astray, you know. Phone messages may not always be passed on, and sometimes are distorted in the re-telling. Did it ever occur to you that there might have been some—misunderstanding?’
‘One, perhaps. Not three,’ she said quietly. ‘And I feel sure his silence was—is—deliberate. He won’t answer my solicitor’s letters either.’
Philip Greer raised his eyebrows. ‘Indeed? So what’s the next move?’
‘I’m not altogether sure.’ She hesitated. ‘Mr Bristow has suggested that I should do—what you’ve just said—go and see Gethyn and try and talk him into agreeing to a divorce.’
‘And you said?’
‘I didn’t know what to say. Frankly, I was stunned.’
‘But you didn’t reject the idea out of hand?’
‘No.’ Davina paused bleakly. ‘I wouldn’t reject any idea that might help me to be free of him.’
‘Hm.’ Her uncle gave her a narrow look. ‘Well, if you do decide to seek him out, I wouldn’t be quite so frank. In fact, it’s a pity that the divorce has to be your sole motive for going to Wales. Now I wonder …’ he relapsed into frowning silence. Then he glanced at her. ‘How would it be if this was ostensibly a business trip? After all, Gethyn is still under contract to us, and we need another book from him. Go and see him—but as my representative, not as his estranged wife. Don’t even mention Bristow’s letters or the divorce, unless he does.’
Davina shook her head. ‘He wouldn’t be taken in by that.’
‘I’m not saying he would be, but at least he wouldn’t be expecting it. I also know Gethyn, my dear, and I’m sure an oblique approach would work best. It’s a pity we didn’t think of it before your mother involved Bristow, but it’s too late to do anything about that now. What I’m trying to say is that you won’t get