Here's chapter three. I'm winging this one. I've only just finished chapter three this evening. I know roughly where I'm going but I'm letting the story take me where it will.

Enjoy.

Beverly.

The Ram 3.

Briony Betrayed wife and mother.
Sion Her five-year-old son.
Ellairy Her nine-month-old daughter.
Arfon Brionys’ unfaithful husband.
Dave. Welsh bachelor hill-farmer.
Jenny and Lassie Daves’ sheepdog bitches.
Laddie. Daves’ sheepdog.
Jessica and Pansy Daves’ sows.
Angel Daves’ mare.
Daphne Daves’ ‘girlfriend’

The three of them sat watching the early afternoon television programmes for about an hour until Sion piped up.

“It’s Christmas eve tonight mummy.”

“Yes darling.” Briony replied even as she realised the problem.

“Will Santa know I’m here and not at home in Llanidloes?”

Briony paled. In her anger and haste to leave her unfaithful, violent husband, she had forgotten to pack the Christmas presents. Her expression immediately conveyed to Dave the dilemma she faced. He gave her a concerned look and she wagged her head in despair.

He mouthed his concerns silently over Sions’ head.

“Oh shit! What are we going to do?”

Tears forced their way into Brionys’ eyes. Sion would be devastated if Santa Clause didn’t come. Then she stopped thoughtfully.

‘Dave had said —what are WE going to do?’

Ellairy then demanded to be fed and for the next half hour, Briony was too occupied to think about Santa Clause. While she nursed her baby, Dave took Sion to feed the animals hoping this might distract him. Then he returned to tell Briony that he was going to clear away the snow down to the junction on the road. Clearing the snow was his contractual agreement with the county highways authority. It meant the mountain road got cleared quickly and the local farmers received a modest remuneration during a quiet time with little income.

“D’you think he might want to come with me on the tractor? I’m trying to think of ways to distract him.”

Briony shrugged. She could think of nothing to put at the end of his bed short of some fruit and nuts from Dave’s larder. Tearfully, she nodded assent and Sion dashed into the utility room to dress again for the snow. Five minutes later he was sat grinning in the cab of the tractor as they set out to clear the road while there was still daylight. After they had left, Briony searched hopelessly through the house hoping against hope to find maybe some old toys from Daves’ childhood but there was nothing. She even checked the attic ... nothing, zero, zilch! It was as if Dave had never had a childhood.

Feeling defeated, she returned to the kitchen to see to Ellairy then she wondered about making a meal. Before she started she wondered about asking Dave if she could borrow one of Daphnes’ dresses and then she decided if they were going to be stuck for a few days then she would have to. She could not be expected to wear the same clothes all through Christmas especially as she was feeding Ellairy. She had to wash her top every day because her milk invariably leaked. Her thoughts led her back to the bedroom and that wardrobe full of clothes. As she entered she could not resist picking through them until she found something that would suite and as she held it against her to check the fit she felt a creeping envy for Daphne who seemed to have a hold on Dave. The dress she held was a very stylish designer label and she wondered just how much the girl spent on clothes. It was a black size 12 single shoulder strap number with bling around the front piece and it was obviously used for smart cocktail parties. Then she found the matching bolero jacket and felt a further pang of envy bordering on jealousy.

She could not resist checking out the jewellery that Daphne had left at the house and inevitably she started sifting through the assorted bracelets, rings, ear-rings and necklaces. Her envy grew until she wondered about shoes.

‘Size nines.’ Thought Briony again. ‘Daphne was lumbered with very unfeminine feet.

Briony was secretly glad that Daphne wasn’t perfect. Then, as she opened another drawer, she even found some mail addressed to Daphne ... several opened letters lying in the middle drawer of the dressing table.

‘Good God!’ Thought Briony, ‘She must be living here at times, if the girl had mail delivered here, they must have a pretty close relationship. If so, why was Dave spending Christmas alone. Most men in a relationship this advanced would surely have spent Christmas with their girlfriend or invited their girlfriend to spend it with them’.

She noted the date on the postmark and realised the letter was only a couple of days old. ‘Perhaps he had been expecting her for Christmas but some last minute problem had spoiled the arrangements.’

Curiosity overwhelmed her and she could not resist opening the latest letter...

Dear Daphne,
I’m so pleased you have finally plucked up the courage to meet me and the other girls. I must confess, several of us were envious of your outfit but a new girl is always welcome into the community.

Our long chat was very rewarding for me and I’ll warrant you gained a lot from it as well. The girls were stunned when you mentioned your home. It seems that it would be an ideal location for a party and I will be contacting you again by email as soon as you advise me that you are willing to advance the ideas we discussed. In the joy and excitement of your first visit I forgot to mention that we like to sometimes communicate by ‘snail-mail’. It’s always best to get it down on paper at first, especially if we are arranging a weekend that requires a lot of organisation. I’m sorry if this may sound officious and legalistic but it can cost the girls a lot of money if events are planned and then cancelled without warning. Weekends such as ours take a lot of planning and organisation.

Your description of your home and your circumstances sounded just about ideal and I’m sure, after a couple of events, you’ll be turning girls away for want of bedroom space, though if, as you say, there’s lots of parking space, many of the girls can use camper-vans or even tents provided there are good changing facilities.

I would dearly love to come and visit you in the New Year to check your house over. I’m sure, after you heard some of the nightmare stories the girls have to tell about parties in their own homes being ruined by neighbours, you’ll understand our enthusiasm for a place as large and remote as your home. You'll also understand why we have to be so careful.

Please email me ASAP about a suitable weekend. The second Friday in January would be ideal for me. I am attending a Tee conference in Birmingham during the first week of January for I’m combining that and a New Year Party with friends in Birmingham. It would not be a big diversion to visit you in Mid-Wales before I return to Manchester.

Please contact me ASAP.

Rachel. XXX

P.S. Loved your profile on ‘chix’. After Charlotte showed you the site, it’s obvious you’ve been a very busy girl. Just how many outfits do you have girl!!?

XXX
Rachel.

Briony studied the letter and frowned with puzzlement. There were so many unanswered questions flying around in her head, she just couldn’t make head or tail. The one ‘shorthand’ that puzzled her was ‘Tee’.

‘What did that stand for?’ She wondered.
Briony had led a fairly sheltered life deep in Rural Wales and while she had heard of some stuff, the shorthand in the letter left her bemused. Even her years at university didn't help her much with the hyperbole of the achronyms. She looked up to see the returning tractors’ headlamps piercing the winter night as it turned off the road onto the farm lane. Hurriedly, she replaced the letter in the drawer and trotted down to the kitchen. When Dave arrived with a grinning Sion, she was busily starting the veg for the evening meal. She smiled at her son who was covered in a soft mantle of snow.

“It’s started again, the snow that is.” Dave explained.

“Well. At least we’re warm and snug. So, did you enjoy darling?”

Sion looked up with eyes beaming as he flicked some snow off his shoulder.

“I operated the bucket Mummy! I lowered it while Dave drove the tractor along the road. We cleared the road all the way to the next farm.”

“What have I said about calling him Dave? It’s Mr Cadwalloder to you!”

“Sorry Mummy.”

Dave shrugged and bent to look in the oven. His eyes widened appreciatively when he saw the Pork joint roasting.

“Mmm! That smells nice, roasties as well.”

“Can you help with the veg?” Briony asked as Dave removed his outer clothes and boots.

He nodded, helped Sion out of his ‘all-in-one’ winter ski-suite then picked some carrots and parsnips out of the vegetable rack.

As he sat peeling them at the table, Briony sat opposite him while Sion chatted incessantly about driving the tractor.

“And just as we were coming down the lane, the snow started again. Is it going to be a white Christmas?” He finished.

Briony smiled.

“I’m pretty much sure that it is. What do you think Mr Cadwalloder?”

Dave looked up from peeling the vedge'.

“Call me Dave. You’ve been doing it all day. Why change now?”

“I think Sion’s picking up on it. He should be showing you more respect.”

“Aaahhh. Don’t worry yourself about that. The kid’s okay. He’s courteous and he says please and thank you.”

“Well how do you think he should address you?” Briony persisted.

“Dave will do, honestly I don’t mind. When the snow clears you’ll be gone from here and we’ll probably never meet again.”

Brionys’ brow wrinkled with her frown. His remark left her a little saddened and she realised Dave was beginning to grow on her. It was obvious that Sion was besotted with him. Sion had also picked up on Dave’s last remark.

“Can’t we ever come back Mr Cadwalloder? I like Lassie and Jenny and Laddie, as well as Jessica and Pansy.”

Dave paused with a carrot in his hand and the peeler stopped half way along it. Briony noticed the flicker of uncertainty cross his eyes as he sucked his cheeks then glanced uncertainly at Briony.

“You’d have to give me warning and arrange dates. You couldn’t just turn up un-announced. I’m out a lot; you know markets and things.”

‘What was all that about?’ Briony wondered. ‘Could this be something to do with Daphne?’

They finished the veg’ and left them ready to boil then went into the drawing room where Dave had lit a huge log fire. The room was delightfully warm despite its size and Briony noticed that the warm air ducts were also working. She turned to Dave.

“This place must cost the earth to heat. You don’t have to do it on my account.”

“It gives us a chance to chat about what we’re going to do about Sion and Santa Clause. He’s happy watching the tele in the kitchen. Do you need to feed Ellairy now? I notice it’s five-ish.”

Briony nodded so he fetched the same large blanket she had used the previous evening. Soon Briony was ensconced on a comfortable sofa beside the roaring log fire with Ellairy contentedly suckling at her breast while the blanket gave her all the modesty and privacy she needed. While the baby fed, they tried to think of ideas to please Sion.

“What was he hoping for?” Dave asked.

“Oh some computer games and a bike. All the usual robotic toys and stuff. The stuff is still in the house in Llanidloes. Fat lot of good it’s doing there. He also mentioned a horse but that’s out of the question.”

Briony giggled softly. I sometimes wonder where kids get such crazy notions. I mean ... a horse. Where would we stable it to begin with? In my sisters’ garden shed!

Her laughter dislodged Ellairy from her breast and the next second milk spurted over her blouse.

“Oh damn. She disconnected from my boob. Now I’m soaking!”

Briony struggled to sort herself and Ellairy out under the blanket but Dave had already responded and stepped towards the door.

“I’ll wait out here until you’ve got yourself sorted. Will you need to wash your top?”

“I’m afraid so; and my bra. This is so embarrassing.”

“Hang on a minute.” He said as he disappeared out of the room.

Briony was able to remove the blanket and partially repair the mess but her blouse was soaking. A bundle of tissues might sort out the nursing bra but she would feel uncomfortable until she had an opportunity to wash. She cursed her situation as she removed both blouse and bra then settled down topless under the blanket to finish feeding her daughter. Eventually there was a soft knock and Dave announced his return.

I’ve borrowed one of Daphnes’ tops. She won’t mind.”

“Oh, thank god for that. You’re just so thoughtful. Will she really not mind?”

Dave hesitated before explaining.

“She won’t be allowed to mind. This is an emergency; you’re stranded without a change of clothes. I should have thought about it earlier. I’ve been very remiss.”

He draped the top over the back of the sofa and offered to leave again while she changed.

Briony smiled. ‘He was just so-oo sweet. What other man would have ever thought about it.’ She asked herself.

“I’ll finish feeding her first.” She replied. “We may as well chat about Santa’s visit. How can we persuade him to come?”

Dave settled into what was obviously his favourite armchair and stared pensively into the flames as he steepled his finger under his chin. Briony studied his features profiled in the firelight.

‘He’s got quite delicate features,’ she noted; ‘not the usual heavy brow and gorilla-like jaw.’

She discreetly studies his slender fingers and well-kept nails and found the whole image quite perplexing. ‘For a man who worked physically out of doors, he was unusually well ‘cared for’.'

He continued staring thoughtfully into the fire until Briony announced that Ellairy was fed. The baby stirred and whimpered softly as Briony sat up, adjusted the blanket and smiled pointedly at Dave.

“She’s finished. I need to get dressed now. I hope this top isn’t an important favourite of Daphnes’”

“Why?” Dave turned curiously.

“Well, my nursing bra got soaked as well. The milk could stain the top.”

“Ah! I see. I hadn’t thought of that. Do you want another bra?”

“Oh my gosh. Would I! That would be wonderful. “What size is Daphne?”

Dave hesitated for a moment then uncertainly replied.

“Uuuhhm, more to the point, and I hope you won’t be offended. What size are you?”

It was Brionys’ turn to be stumped.

“Ah. I’m not sure, this is a nursing bra and the cups are adjustable. I’m not sure. Normally I’m a thirty six B or C but right now I’m like a dairy cow with udders.”

“Could you pass it to me and I’ll go and find something similar. Daphne’s a bit bigger than a B.”

“I think it’s better if I come with you. Let’s just get Ellairy settled first.”

Dave hesitated uncertainly but eventually agreed. Briony thought he seemed unduly reluctant to let her see what Daphne had to offer. They settled Ellairy in the make-shift crá¨che on the kitchen settee and Briony followed Dave up to the corner bedroom. She was still topless under the blanket whilst she held the top Dave had brought in her hands. Once in the bedroom Dave sighed somewhat defeatedly and opened a draw filled with bras; all clean some new, some used but what intrigued Briony was the range of sizes. After sifting through several different cup sizes and designs she turned to Dave in puzzlement.

“What size is Daphne? There’re bras here from thirty six A to thirty eight double D.”

Dave mumbled.

I’m not sure, she varies. I suppose she changes size with you know ...her cycles. I dunno’”

“Oh really Dave. This is weird; yes we all vary slightly with our cycles but not from an A to double D.”

“Well I dunno’ I’ve never asked her.”

“What size dresses does she wear?”

“Twelves or fourteens. She has to try them on when she buys them.”

“And tops?” briony persisted.

“Fourteens, nearly always fourteens.”

Briony wagged her head and returned to the bra issue again.

“How old is Daphne?”

Dave hesitated as he quickly tried to decide an age for his fictitious alter ego.”

“Uuhhm about twenty-yeey nine or thirty-ish. Thirty! I think! Men never remember their girlfriend’s ages.”

“They do. Particularly men as thoughtful as you. What are you trying to hide?”

Dave shrugged and made to leave, then had second thought.

“Look. Can you just choose a bra and get sorted. There’s new bras there; still in their packaging and never been used. Daphne probably won’t even miss one.”

Briony concluded she had been nosey enough. Whatever relationship he had with Daphne, he wasn’t prepared to discuss it, ‘and he had a right to refuse,’ she admitted to herself. Though she was truly intrigued.

She rifled through the assortments and marvelled at the variety, not to mention the quantity. Eventually she found something that she fancied and looked like it would fit her nursing udders and she held it up.

“Thirty six D with full cups and fairly broad straps. This should do. Nice colour don’t you agree.”

Dave nodded and fidgeted uncertainly as Briony slipped into the en-suite to put it on. There she slipped off the blanket and blouse, determined it was a really comfortable fit then came out boldly displaying her well supported assets and asked.

“What d’you think?”

“Good god Briony! Put the top on!”

“I can’t. My milk has already stained it. I’ve put some tissues over my nipples in this bra but I think I’ll need another top. Can I get one?”

“Oh all right then. Pick what you want. I’ll tell her it was an emergency.”

As she stepped into the walk-in wardrobe, Briony smiled to herself. She had never faced such a fabulous selection of dresses, skirts and tops. She felt like a boy in a sweet factory. She chose several and returned into the bedroom where Dave was reverently returning the bras to the drawer. He closed the drawer ‘guiltily’ Briony thought as he turned to confront her.

“I thought you’d put one on in there.”

“I want your opinion.”

“Flippin’ heck Briony. I suppose you’ll be asking to borrow tights next, I ... aah! You’ll need a change of uuuhhm thingies, uuuhm, underwear as well I suppose.”

“Could I be a real bore and impose?”

“I suppose you’d better. I suppose I’d better leave you here to shower first then get sorted. Wear what you want. You’ll find me in the kitchen. Please don’t abuse Daphnes’ hospitality.”

Briony felt a pang of guilt. She had rather pushed her luck; but once again, Dave had come up trumps and acted the perfect gentleman. It was a pity Daphnes’ feet were so large because her shoe collection was stunning.

“I’ll be down stairs entertaining the children. Don’t be long; I’ve got to make one last check on the animals.”

So saying he closed the door and left her to her own devices. Briony sat on the satin sheets and surveyed the room.

Daphne certainly had taste and certainly indulged her shopping genes. The room was tastefully decorated and she now had carte-blanche at the wardrobe. Dave had told her so. She stripped, and luxuriated in the shower before treating herself to some beautiful accessories. Then she raided the wardrobe big time and finally indulged herself at the spacious make-up table. When she had finished she stood in the mirror and frowned at her shoes that were the only flaw. They had suffered from tramping about in snow and mud at the accident. She shrugged. ‘There was nothing she could do about that.’

Otherwise a very attractive twenty-seven-year old girl looked back at her.
‘This’ll knock him dead!’ She concluded. ‘Briony, you’ve still got it girl, even after two kids.’

Then she wondered why she was competing with Daphne. She wished there was a picture of her but strangely there was none. Intrigued by this omission she started searching through the various lockers and cupboards and made a discovery that further intrigued her. On the top shelf in the Wardrobe she found over a dozen wigs all neatly sitting on proper wig frames.
Briony wondered if Daphne had any real hair then, finally it dawned on her.

‘Size nine shoes! Hundreds of outfits! All sorts of wigs! More makeup than a theatrical suppliers! Hold on! She told herself. ‘This bedroom was more like a theatrical dressing room than a bedroom.’ These clothes belonged to a narcissist; these clothes belonged to a transvestite!!
‘

Oh my God! She gasped. He’s a tranny. Just like the ones she had met in Cardiff, in Uni! In the clubs where she had finally learned to let her own hair down away from her censorious bible thumping parents.

She flumped down onto the bed and ran her fingers over the satin sheets as she collected her thought.

‘Why David Cadwalloder. You cheeky fraud! There is no Daphne!’ Well there was, but not the Daphne Briony had envisaged.’

Then she remembered. Dave was downstairs. Alone with her children.

‘Oh my God! He might be a ... a pervert!’

Without any shoes, because she had decided to rest her own, she slipped silently down stairs and listened at the kitchen door.

She heard Dave telling Sion a funny story about something on the farm and Sion laughing uproariously. Briony had studied sociology and psychology at uni and she knew enough to know that a child laughing like her own son was laughing, was not fearful of the other person. She listened a little longer and started to smile at the story Dave was telling. When the punch-line arrived she let out an involuntary snort and alerted the dogs. Laddie barked softly and Dave ordered him to be quiet.

“It’ll be Briony you silly mutt. Be quiet!”

Briony quickly opened the door and appeared as if she had just arrived in the passage.

Dave stood up from the Windsor chair by the Aga and his eyes widened with appreciation.

“Well! ‘Pon my soul, and aren’t you the pretty one! They look better on you than they do on Daphne. Sion had been lounging on the settee beside his younger sister on the other side of the kitchen and well away from any physical contact with Dave. When he saw his mother his eyes also widened with happiness. There was certainly no guilt, or fear or relief in his eyes. His face was just one big happy smile.

Sion had never seen his mother look so pretty and he simply stared at her. Briony smiled and reassured him.

“Yes! It’s me; your mummy.”

He sat up and stepped forward to hug her as he also remarked.

“You look nice mummy and you’re smiling. You've been smiling all day. It's nice here.”

Briony nearly burst into tears. ‘Had she been that depressed?’ she wondered.