Evan and Elle - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,13
over for today. He just wished adult life could be that simple.
The realization that school was out made him quicken his pace up the hill. The village school was the last building before the two chapels. As he approached he noticed that Rev. Powell-Jones was busy putting a new text on the billboard outside Chapel Beulah. It read, “Many are called but few are chosen.” Evan grinned and looked expectantly at the rival billboard across the street. Rev. Parry Davies had chosen for his weekly text, “Go out into the highways and byways and bring the people in, that my house may be filled.”
Obviously Rev. Powell-Jones had found out about the van!
The school house was divided into classroom and teacher’s living quarters. Smoke was coming from Bronwen’s chimney. The last hollyhocks were still in bloom outside its windows and it looked cozy and inviting. But before he was halfway across the playground, the door opened and Bronwen came out. She stopped short when she saw Evan.
“Hello, were you on your way to see me? Is something wrong?”
“Not anymore.” Evan stood there looking at her, enjoying the way the wind blew wisps of sun-streaked hair across her face and how her eyes crinkled when she smiled. “I’ve had a rotten day so far. I needed a sanity break, Bron.”
Her face fell. “Well, actually I was on my way out. I was going to catch the four o’clock bus down to Caernarfon. I’m signing up for the French cooking class and my kitchen is woefully lacking implements.”
“You’re doing the French cooking class, too?” Evan grinned. “So’s Mrs. Williams.”
“And half the village by the sound of it,” Bronwen said. “It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity to take lessons from someone who trained at the Cordon Bleu school in Paris—and so cheap, too.”
“I wonder what made her come here, if she’s as highly qualified as she says?”
Bronwen shrugged. “I suppose you could definitely say that our restaurants need upgrading—there’s no French restaurant that I know of closer than Manchester. In fact there’s only the Gegin Fawr café between here and Llanberis—and their area of expertise doesn’t go much higher than beans on toast. I think Madame Yvette could do well here.”
“Have you seen her yet?” Evan asked.
Bronwen smiled. “No, but according to Terry Jenkins she’s ‘ever so sexy.’ We had a big discussion this morning about the French and their strange habits, like eating snails. Very creative geography lesson!”
“Terry Jenkins? How did he manage to see her?”
“He rode his bike down there on purpose to scout her out.” She shook her head with a despairing smile. “There’s not much that gets past young Terry.”
“How is he apart from that? A bit of a handful?”
“You could say that again. But I like him. He’s got spunk.”
“His mother is about to give up on him. He’s running her ragged since his father left. I caught him trying to help the firemen with their hose at the fire.”
“Sounds typical. But it could be worse. At least he’s acting out his anger.”
“Maybe I should do that,” Evan said. “I’ve had to put up with the most obnoxious people today and just stand there being polite. I’d have felt much better if I’d been allowed to act out my anger a little . . .”
“Better, but probably in jail.” She smiled up at him. “Look, if it’s important I won’t go into Caernarfon. It can wait.”
“Don’t be silly,” Evan said. “I wouldn’t want to hinder your cooking lessons. Besides, I’m feeling better already. Come on, I’ll walk you to the bus stop.”
“Problems with the cottage that burned?” Bronwen asked as they crossed the playground and Evan opened the gate for her.
Evan nodded. “I’ve had the owners here yelling at me because I haven’t found the perpetrator yet, and our new arson specialist is treating me as if I was the village idiot.” He shrugged. “It’s all part of being a public servant, I suppose. Nothing that a pint at the Dragon won’t cure.”
“I might join you there later when I get back from Caernarfon. I might even show you my new egg whisk, if you’re good.” Her eyes held his.
“I can’t wait.” Evan grinned. “Maybe we should try out this new French place for ourselves this weekend?”
“That would be lovely.” Bronwen’s face lit up. “Then you can tell me what dishes you liked, and I’ll learn to cook them.”
“That’s what I like to hear—a woman cooking to please her man.” He dodged, laughing, as she swung her shopping