The Way We Were_ A Novel - Marcia Willett [0]
Also by Marcia Willett
FORGOTTEN LAUGHTER
A WEEK IN WINTER
WINNING THROUGH
HOLDING ON
LOOKING FORWARD
SECOND TIME AROUND
STARTING OVER
HATTIE'S MILL
THE COURTYARD
THEA'S PARROT
THOSE WHO SERVE
THE DIPPER
THE CHILDREN'S HOUR
THE BIRDCAGE
THE GOLDEN CUP
ECHOES OF THE DANCE
MEMORIES OF THE STORM
THE PRODIGAL WIFE
For more information on Marcia Willett and her books,
see her website at www.marciawillett.co.uk
THE WAY WE WERE
MARCIA WILLETT
First published in Canada in 2009 by
McArthur & Company
322 King Street West, Suite 402
Toronto, Ontario
M5V 1J2
www.mcarthur-co.com
Copyright © 2008 Marcia Willett
All rights reserved.
The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted
in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording or otherwise stored in a retrieval
system, without the expressed written consent of the publisher,
is an infringement of the copyright law.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Willett, Marcia
The way we were / Marcia Willett.
ISBN 978-1-55278-830-1
I. Title.
PR6073.I277W39 2010 823'.914 C2009-907003-0
eISBN 978-1-77087-086-4
Cover design by Michael Storrings
Cover illustration by Vitali Komarov
To Yvonne Holland
CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
PROLOGUE
PART ONE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
PART TWO
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
A History of St Breward provided some crucial insights into the village and its surroundings. My thanks to the editor, Pamela Bousfield, and all the other contributors.
PROLOGUE
February 1976
‘TO THE WEST’. The road curls round in a steep bend and forks unexpectedly. The old sign, almost obscured by the bare, out-thrusting branches of an ancient thorn hedge, is barely legible but she drives confidently on; both road and sign are familiar to her. ‘TO THE WEST’: the words always have the power to thrill her. When she was a child the phrase conjured up mysterious, mountainous landscapes, tall pinnacles and towers showered with powdery golden light and lapped by the shining tides of aquamarine seas; a magic place where she might escape the confusion and unhappiness of her own small world. Romantic tales of courtly love in castles and courts across Shropshire and Herefordshire and along the Welsh Marches, and stirring stories of fierce battles and bloody ambushes in the stony mountain fastnesses, were told to her by her grandfather, a descendant of the great Roger de Mortimer, Baron of Wigmore, Earl of March and Lord of Brecon, Radnor and Ludlow. There were other, older, stories reaching further into the west, to Tintagel on the wild north Cornish coast, of King Arthur and his knights, of Guinevere, his queen, and the magician Merlin.
Involuntarily she glances quickly at the small bronze figure on the passenger seat: the boy Merlin with the falcon on his wrist. She has set him up as a talisman; someone to watch over her and the Turk on this long journey to the west.
‘Take the little Merlin,’ her grandmother says earlier, appearing beside her as she swung her tapestry holdall into the camper van and settled the terrier on her rug. ‘Go on. Take him. You've always loved him.’
She takes it unwillingly. The bronze is smooth and heavy in her hand, the delicate detail giving the boy the same intent expression as that of the falcon. His tunic swirls as if he is in perpetual motion, invoking an urgency of purpose that hurries him forward to some unknown destination, his chin lifted and unafraid. Her heartbeat quickens at the prospect of her own journey; the bronze would give her courage – yet still she hesitates.
‘To please me.’ The older woman, breathless from the quick, last-minute dash