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food smells awfully good, doesn’t it. Is that egg and bacon pie still warm, do you think?”
    “If anyone wanted to bribe you, all they’d have to do is know how to cook well.” Bronwen opened the bag and extracted the pie.
    “Well, I have been trying to survive on my own, but it hasn’t been easy after Mrs. Williams’s cooking.”
    “I must say, it does smell heavenly,” Bronwen said. “And she’s even provided plates and a knife. I’ll cut you a slice.”
    “Look, I see Mrs. Powell-Jones has taken over as usual.” Evan pointed at the banner, draped across the front of Capel Beulah, where the Reverend Powell-Jones was minister. “Village meeting tomorrow night. Foot-and-Mouth Contingency Plans. Let’s all pull together and do our bit!”
    The billboard outside the chapel had a new text on it: IT IS REQUIRED OF A STEWARD THAT HE BE FOUND FAITHFUL! Across the street, Capel Bethel’s billboard text was not in sympathy. I KNOW MY
SHEEP AND MY SHEEP KNOW ME. A GOOD SHEPHERD LAYS DOWN HIS LIFE FOR HIS SHEEP.
    “I don’t think Mrs. Powell-Jones’s village meeting is going to run very smoothly, do you?” Evan said. “I’m glad we’re going to be far away.”
    As they drove south and the rugged mountain scenery gave way to gentle green hills and distant seascapes, the sun came up over the horizon and the whole eastern sky flamed pink.
    “Rain before tonight,” Evan said, glancing at it.
    “You’re such a pessimist sometimes.” Bronwen slapped his hand.
    “No, just a realist. Let’s hope we get there before it starts in earnest.”
    Bronwen’s gaze swept across the countryside, taking in the hillsides dotted with fat lambs and wooly sheep. “It looks so beautiful and peaceful, doesn’t it?” she asked. “It’s hard to believe that only a few miles north of here they are already starting to slaughter whole flocks. Do you think this mass slaughtering actually does any good?”
    “I’m not an expert,” Evan said. “But nothing else seems to stop it. They have to try everything, don’t they?”
    “It seems like overkill in the true sense to me. Killing healthy animals—that’s just not right.”
    As if in agreement, Prince William gave a plaintive baa from his crate.
     
    “You wouldn’t think it would take all day just to drive a hundred miles across Wales, would you?” Bronwen commented as the first road signs to Swansea in English and Abertawe in Welsh appeared.
    “It would have gone quicker if we hadn’t stopped so many times to let that bloody sheep stretch his legs.” Evan was feeling irritable. He put it down to the egg and bacon pie, plus several of Mrs. Williams cold beef and pickle sandwiches sitting heavily on his stomach, although the thought of an imminent meeting between Bronwen and his mother could also have had something to do with it.
    “It’s stupid that there is no direct road from North Wales to
South Wales, isn’t it?” Bronwen went on. “You’d have thought they’d have put one in by now.”
    “You know how most people feel—the less contact between North Walesians and South Walesians, the better.”
    Bronwen chuckled. “We’re a funny lot, aren’t we? It might actually have been quicker to have gone back to England and picked up the motorway.”
    “Yes, but not as pretty, eh? We’ve seen some lovely country today.”
    “Before it started raining.” Bronwen peered through the streaked windscreen at the gray mist.
    “Funny, this is how I always think of Swansea,” Evan said. “It always seemed to rain a lot. Especially when we were playing rugby.”
    “Let’s go and visit your old rugby club. That will be fun.” Bronwen rested her hand on his shoulder. “I’m really looking forward to hearing tales of your misspent youth.”
    The outskirts of the city came into view—large, uniform housing estates sprawling over hillsides. Evan was beginning to have serious second thoughts about the upcoming encounter. As they drove past row after row of gray,