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her
    pony-trekkers. Are you going to be staying long?'
    'I'm not sure.' Davina realised with irritation that she was being
    deliberately evasive. Yet what was the point? Sooner or later she
    would have to ask someone if they knew Gethyn, and this woman
    was friendly and approachable. She hesitated. 'As a matter of fact,
    I'm here on business. I—I'm looking for someone—a Gethyn Lloyd.
    He's a writer.'
    'Mr Lloyd—a writer? Well, there's a thing, now.' The other woman
    sounded amazed. 'You won't have to look much further, though.
    He's up at Plas Gwyn. In fact, it belongs to him.'
    'Yes, that's the place,' Davina said, relieved that her search was
    turning out to be relatively simple. 'Can you tell me where it is?'
    'Why, of course I can. That's where I was going to send you for the
    bed and breakfast. It's Mr Lloyd's aunt, Mrs Parry, who does all
    that side of it, and young Rhiannon who takes out the riders.'
    Davina smothered a gasp of disbelief. Gethyn might have his
    reasons for burying himself in the solitude of a remote valley, but
    she found it hard to take that one of them could involve the running
    of a pony-trekking centre. And she was frankly dismayed to learn
    that the only accommodation she could obtain locally seemed to be
    under his roof. That had not entered her plans at all. She had taken
    it for granted that any interview she might have with him could at
    least be conducted on some form of neutral territory.
    It was on the tip of her tongue to ask the landlady if she could not
    make an exception and put her up for the night, but she stifled the
    impulse. Friendly she might be, but this was only a small place and
    gossip would be rife. Davina guessed her arrival and revelation
    about Gethyn's identity would be sufficient of a nine-day wonder
    without giving more grounds for speculation. And if she was only a
    business acquaintance as she had said, she had no real reason for
    rejecting Mrs Parry's accommodation. All she could do was hope
    that Plas Gwyn would be full of pony-trekkers and that there would
    be no room for her. If that was so, she would have to start for home
    again that evening and trust to luck that she could find somewhere
    to stay on the road. It did not give her a lot of time to see Gethyn
    and talk to him, and she drank the remains of her coffee with a
    sense of resolution. She had little time to waste. She paid her bill,
    and listened to the landlady's explicit directions on how to reach
    Plas Gwyn. She was thankful she had asked. Without them, she
    might have wandered round for hours, as it appeared the house
    itself lay at the end of an unmarked track which was unsuitable for
    cars. Pony-trekkers, she thought with a wry inward smile, must be
    an intrepid bunch!
    She was so busy watching the road and looking out for the
    landmarks that would guide her that she quite forgot the
    implications of her visit. It was not until she climbed out of the car
    to open the big white gate which closed off the track that the old
    misgivings assailed her. She paused. It was still not too late to get
    in the car and drive away like the wind. Then with determination,
    she dragged the heavy gate into place behind the car and fastened it
    with the loop of wire provided for the purpose. She had the oddest
    feeling she had burnt her boats, as she set the car going again,
    bumping forward over the rapidly deteriorating track. She found the
    parking place the landlady had mentioned quite easily about
    half-way down. Three cars were drawn up there and a
    battered-looking Landrover. Davina parked her own vehicle and
    locked it after collecting her handbag and briefcase. Her suitcase
    she left where it was in the boot. Then she started to walk. The
    sandals she was wearing with their high wedged heels were not the
    most comfortable form of footwear for these conditions, she soon
    discovered. The track was deeply rutted and there were loose
    stones everywhere as an added pitfall.
    Davina thought ruefully that she