money, returning a moment later with her change.
Drink in hand, Verity walked to a table by the window where she sat, watching the world outside. Was Melantha here? Perhaps the letter was nothing. Perhaps she was clutching at straws.
“You a friend of hers?”
“Pardon?” Verity turned to face the bald-headed man who’d spoken. Dressed in a sombre grey suit too big for his frame, he sat at the next table, nursing a pint of bitter in his hands. Dark skinned, his wrinkled face showed signs of age, and his dark eyes held a lively twinkle. Apart from a few hairs sticking out of his ears, the only hair on his head was a straggly grey moustache.
“This gypsy woman, you a friend of hers?” he asked.
“I never said she was a gypsy, so you must know her. Is she here?” Verity's heart skipped a beat.
The man chomped his lips as though chewing something, and when he spoke, his false teeth almost fell out. “She's bad blood.”
“Bad blood?”
The man supped his drink and nodded his head. “You'll rue the day you met her.” He sucked air between his teeth, as though trying to stop them falling out again.
“No, she’ll rue the day she met me when I find her. So where is she?”
“Do you know what Melantha means? Its means dark flower.”
Verity wasn't bothered with what it meant. “Just tell me where she is.” Her voice rose and the barman looked across and frowned.
“You wouldn't be so eager to find her if you could see her black heart.”
“Look, I'm a friend of hers. More than a friend. She’s my stepmother.” She almost choked on the words.
The man snorted. “You're gadje . You'll never be a friend of hers.”
“ Gadje ?”
“Foreigner. Not a gypsy.”
“I really need to find her.”
“She's marime , polluted and you're best steering clear.”
“I think that's my decision, not yours.”
The man shook his head.
“Is old Leo here bothering you, miss?” the barman asked, standing over the table.
Leo looked up and belched loudly. “I don't bother anyone, Bill. Now bugger off back behind the bar and leave me alone.”
“Miss?”
Verity waved her hand dismissively. “We're just talking.”
“Well, if he gives you any trouble, just give me a shout.” He glared at Leo. “You're not too old to be barred you know.”
“Away with you.” Leo put his hand to his mouth as his teeth slipped out.
“And if you leave those teeth in one of my glasses again, I'll throw them away.”
“Bugger off and leave me be.”
Bill shook his head and wandered back behind the bar, where he sat staring at Leo.
Leo took his teeth out, dropped them in his jacket pocket and slurped noisily on his drink.
“Please, I really need to find her.”
Leo sucked his gums. “She'll only bring you prikasa , bad luck, and I don't want it on my conscience. Go back where you came from. This is no place for you. There's a dark cloud hanging over this village. Leave before it's too late. There's a saying: in a village without a dog, a man can walk without a stick.” He swallowed the last of his pint, stood up, grabbed a walking stick that leaned against the wall and walked out of the pub.
Perplexed, Verity stared after the man. Seconds later, she stood and followed Leo outside. He knew where Melantha was.
A strong wind blew, the sky overhead leaden. Apart from the rocky escarpments in the distance, the surrounding landscape appeared barren and windswept, the only sign of life the odd sheep that endured the elements as it hunkered behind crumbling drystone walls.
Although harsh, the landscape radiated an uncommon beauty.
There weren't many houses in the village, and Verity doubted there were more than four hundred inhabitants. Apart from a couple of crofters’ cottages on the outskirts, most of the village seemed self-contained, a small enclave that survived against the worst the British weather could throw at it.
Verity watched Leo stop at the end of the high street and light a cigarette, shielding the flame
Drink in hand, Verity walked to a table by the window where she sat, watching the world outside. Was Melantha here? Perhaps the letter was nothing. Perhaps she was clutching at straws.
“You a friend of hers?”
“Pardon?” Verity turned to face the bald-headed man who’d spoken. Dressed in a sombre grey suit too big for his frame, he sat at the next table, nursing a pint of bitter in his hands. Dark skinned, his wrinkled face showed signs of age, and his dark eyes held a lively twinkle. Apart from a few hairs sticking out of his ears, the only hair on his head was a straggly grey moustache.
“This gypsy woman, you a friend of hers?” he asked.
“I never said she was a gypsy, so you must know her. Is she here?” Verity's heart skipped a beat.
The man chomped his lips as though chewing something, and when he spoke, his false teeth almost fell out. “She's bad blood.”
“Bad blood?”
The man supped his drink and nodded his head. “You'll rue the day you met her.” He sucked air between his teeth, as though trying to stop them falling out again.
“No, she’ll rue the day she met me when I find her. So where is she?”
“Do you know what Melantha means? Its means dark flower.”
Verity wasn't bothered with what it meant. “Just tell me where she is.” Her voice rose and the barman looked across and frowned.
“You wouldn't be so eager to find her if you could see her black heart.”
“Look, I'm a friend of hers. More than a friend. She’s my stepmother.” She almost choked on the words.
The man snorted. “You're gadje . You'll never be a friend of hers.”
“ Gadje ?”
“Foreigner. Not a gypsy.”
“I really need to find her.”
“She's marime , polluted and you're best steering clear.”
“I think that's my decision, not yours.”
The man shook his head.
“Is old Leo here bothering you, miss?” the barman asked, standing over the table.
Leo looked up and belched loudly. “I don't bother anyone, Bill. Now bugger off back behind the bar and leave me alone.”
“Miss?”
Verity waved her hand dismissively. “We're just talking.”
“Well, if he gives you any trouble, just give me a shout.” He glared at Leo. “You're not too old to be barred you know.”
“Away with you.” Leo put his hand to his mouth as his teeth slipped out.
“And if you leave those teeth in one of my glasses again, I'll throw them away.”
“Bugger off and leave me be.”
Bill shook his head and wandered back behind the bar, where he sat staring at Leo.
Leo took his teeth out, dropped them in his jacket pocket and slurped noisily on his drink.
“Please, I really need to find her.”
Leo sucked his gums. “She'll only bring you prikasa , bad luck, and I don't want it on my conscience. Go back where you came from. This is no place for you. There's a dark cloud hanging over this village. Leave before it's too late. There's a saying: in a village without a dog, a man can walk without a stick.” He swallowed the last of his pint, stood up, grabbed a walking stick that leaned against the wall and walked out of the pub.
Perplexed, Verity stared after the man. Seconds later, she stood and followed Leo outside. He knew where Melantha was.
A strong wind blew, the sky overhead leaden. Apart from the rocky escarpments in the distance, the surrounding landscape appeared barren and windswept, the only sign of life the odd sheep that endured the elements as it hunkered behind crumbling drystone walls.
Although harsh, the landscape radiated an uncommon beauty.
There weren't many houses in the village, and Verity doubted there were more than four hundred inhabitants. Apart from a couple of crofters’ cottages on the outskirts, most of the village seemed self-contained, a small enclave that survived against the worst the British weather could throw at it.
Verity watched Leo stop at the end of the high street and light a cigarette, shielding the flame
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