“She doesn’t want to see me.” Ffion turns away, the subject closed.
Angharad stands in the center of the clearing as though she knew they were coming. As though she was alerted by the wind, by the animals in the forest, Leo thinks, then chides himself for the sentimentality. In rapid Welsh, Ffion arrests Angharad, who wears the same dark overalls she had on when Leo first met her, laced boots, and a bloodred scarf holding back her hair.
Later, when they’re sitting in an interview room, Angharad having declined the offer of legal representation, Leo repeats the caution in English. He turns his notepad to a fresh page.
“How did you know Rhys Lloyd?”
“The same way everyone in Wales did. Thechild star.” Angharad’s tone is mocking.
“You didn’t like him?”
“I didn’t like what he did to the lake. To the shore. All those trees, ripped up to give the English more holiday homes.”
“Ah, you don’t like the English?”
“You’re putting words in my mouth, Detective. I have no objections to English people—”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“—when they’re in England.” Angharad’s expression is misleadingly neutral. “But when a young family in our community can’t afford a two-bedroom house and across the lake, Londoners think nothing of spending half a million pounds on a holiday home…” She pauses. “Then, yes. I object to English people.”
“You don’t mix with the residents of The Shore, then?” Leo says.
“No one does. They keep to their side of the lake; we keep to ours.” Angharad looks at Ffion. “I didn’t see you in the water on New Year’s Day morning.”
“I was busy.” Ffion gives a tight smile. “But we’re here to talk about your movements, not mine.”
“It’s not like you to miss the swim.”
“I hear there were a lot of people there,” Leo says, realizing Ffion would have been leaving his flat just as the village was congregating on the lakeshore.
“Almost everyone. It’s been that way since I was a girl. Not everyone swims, of course.”
“Did many come across from The Shore?” Leo says.
Angharad narrows her eyes. “No one. As I said: they have their side, we have ours. They wouldn’t have been welcome.”
“Yet there was an open invitation issued to The Shore’s New Year’s Eve party. Dozens of people from the village went.” Leo tries to keep his focus on the interview. Something Angharad just said has triggered a memory—something that feels significant, if he could only grasp hold of it.
“Fools.” Angharad looks at Ffion. “You know the strength of feeling there is. You know how the Welsh feel about the English.”
“SomeWelsh people,” Ffion says.
“England has always viewed Wales as a colony. Theirs to be controlled. They stole our coal, our water, our steel. They try to take our language.”
“The Shore is built on the English side of the lake.” Leo is trying very hard not to take this personally.
“Only because the English took the land.”
“Shall we move on?” Leo has lost patience. “This isn’t about relations between England and Wales.”
“Oh, but it is,” Angharad says darkly. “It always is, under the surface.”
Ffion leans forward. “How well do you know Ceri Jones?”
“I’ve known her all her life. She has great talent as an artist. Such a shame she never pursued it.”
“Did you know she was bullied by Rhys Lloyd?” Ffion says.