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didn’t hear from Father for almost six months? The letters just didn’t get through, that’s all.’
    â€˜For heaven’s sake, Llinos! That time we didn’t have an official communication from the army.’
    She rose and touched her daughter’s shoulder. ‘Am I to spend the rest of my life struggling on alone, is that what you want?’
    Llinos looked down at her fingers and began to pick at the drying glaze. She could think of nothing to say.
    â€˜We will not delay too long,’ her mother continued, impatient again. ‘It will be a quiet affair, neither of us want a fuss.’
    â€˜Where will he stay?’ Llinos asked.
    â€˜He – Mr Cimla – will stay here of course. Unless we sell up the place, that is.’
    â€˜You can’t sell the pottery.’ Llinos spoke more sharply than she had intended.
    Patches of angry colour appeared on Gwen’s cheeks. ‘Don’t be so insolent. You are little more than a child, how can you decide our future?’
    â€˜You know what the pottery means to me.’ Llinos met her mother’s eyes. ‘In any case, Father willed it to me, didn’t he?’ Gwen looked away.
    â€˜You were just complaining that you can’t manage.’ She stood in the window for a long moment before turning. Suddenly her eyes were pleading.
    â€˜Don’t spoil this for me, Llinos.’ Her voice softened. ‘I’m getting old, this might be my last chance of happiness.’
    Llinos shook her head. ‘Mr Cimla will not make you happy.’
    â€˜Oh, for heaven’s sake! It’s no use even talking to you. Go away, get out of my sight.’
    Llinos climbed the stairs slowly. She was tired, she could not think straight. In her bedroom, she sat near the window and stared out at the stars bright in the night sky. Over to the left, the heat from the kilns seemed to make the bricks shimmer and dance and Llinos smiled; old Ben was on night shift. He had stoked the fires well before settling down to sleep.
    Watt would be with him. He loved old Ben like a father. She took a deep breath, the boy would be missing Binnie. She was missing Binnie. There was no-one to blame but Bert Cimla.
    He was a common little man. Oh, he did his best to look the part of a gentleman. His boots were well polished, his shirts crisp and clean and yet Llinos could not help feeling Mr Cimla was putting on an act for the benefit of her mother.
    He need not have bothered. Gwen was obsessed with him. Mr Cimla had a kind of good looks, Llinos acknowledged, and though he was a little overweight, he held himself well. His hair was dark and curling and if his chin was weak it was well hidden by his neat beard and the large moustache of which he was so proud.
    Mr Cimla bragged constantly about his money but if ever he took Llinos and her mother on an outing it was invariably Gwen Savage who paid for the carriage and pair.
    Llinos had heard the neighbours talking, especially Celia-end-house, who was more vociferous than most.
    â€˜Nothing like an old fool,’ Celia had said. She had been peering from under her bonnet as Gwen and Mr Cimla alighted from the carriage, unaware that Llinos was listening.
    â€˜Bleed her dry as an orange, he will, and then leave her flat. I’ve met his sort before.’
    Gwen Savage had sniffed and held her head high and Llinos, following her into the house, had despaired of her mother ever seeing sense. Well, now she had done what Llinos had feared all along, Gwen Savage had agreed to marry the man.
    With a sigh, Llinos turned away from the window and began to wash in the cold water in the basin on the table. Her back ached and so did her arms. If she thought about it, every bone in her body ached. She climbed into bed, hugging the blankets around her shoulders, growing warm and comfortable as she relaxed.
    She lay awake in the darkness, turning over the problem of Mr Cimla and his pursuit of her mother,