Free Love and War by Sian James

studying her hands, first the backs and then the palms, almost as though she’s seeing them for the first time.
    ‘Well, as far as I can see, there are three ways open to you,’ she says at last. ‘Only first of all, close your mouth. You look really stupid with your cheeks all blotchy and your jaw hanging open.’
    I wipe my eyes and try to look intelligent.
    ‘First, you do nothing. You face up to the fact that you find him attractive and do nothing except give him a fond look now and again, and even that could be dangerous. He’s married – oh, he finds his wife a trial, I’m sure of that, but he’ll never leave her, I’m sure of that, too. She plays on the fact that she’s a foreigner, in a strange, a very strange country. She doesn’t choose to make friends, and with no friends or family, her dependence on Gwynn is that much greater. I suppose it’s possible that he asked you home so you could work all that out for yourself.’
    ‘She did seem to want to paint me.’
    ‘Perhaps he managed to plant that idea into her head. You’re quite pretty, I suppose, but you’re not that special. You’re certainly not the only pretty woman around here.’
    ‘Who else is there?’ I ask her.
    She ignores me. ‘Plenty of people, most people, perhaps, have a bit of a hopeless passion for someone at some time or another, but after a while it dies a natural death, I suppose, and they remember it, when they remember it at all, with a sort of wry smile.’
    How long do you think that takes? No, I’m not trying to be funny, I’d really like to know. How long does it take? From hopeless passion to wry smile?’
    ‘The second way is to have a very careful affair. This is the way I’d choose. I could probably manage it, so could Gwynn perhaps, but I’m not sure you could. By a careful affair I mean that you’d only meet once a week or even once a fortnight, and of course, where no-one is likely to see you. It could be in this house. I’ve heard of people having careful affairs without even breaking their marriage vows. You can have a lot of erotic pleasure having a meal or a cup of tea together, thigh by thigh. You wouldn’t, of course, ever turn up at his house unexpectedly or send him letters, or waylay him on the way to school. You’d always be perfectly controlled.’
    ‘I can imagine what the third way is. An uncontrolled affair. The world well-lost.’
    Ilona sighs. ‘Yes, it sounds very romantic. The reality is likely to be that his wife finds out and insists on going to live somewhere as far from Llanfair as possible. He’d go with her, his tail between his legs, and you and Huw would be left here hating each other. Those are your alternatives as far as I can see. Over to you, kid.’
    ‘I don’t think I’d be able to manage the first way or the third – and certainly not the second. Oh dear. Anyway, I haven’t got to decide tonight, have I? It’s wonderful, I suppose, to have a decision to make. I mean, to know that he cares for me. Last week, I had no idea. Last week, I had nothing. ‘
    ‘Only Huw,’ Ilona says, rather spitefully.
    ‘Poor Huw.’
    ‘Oh shut up. Don’t ever be sorry for a man. They always end up having the best of it.’
    At this moment, it strikes me that Ilona is far from being the light-hearted, free-and-easy flirt I’ve always taken her for. Something about the way she’s looking at me makes it clear that she knows precisely what I’m facing.
    ‘Who are you running away from?’ I ask her. ‘Why did you leave Brynteg and move to Llanfair?’
    For a moment, I think she’s going to confide in me, but her mood changes abruptly.
    ‘Why, indeed. I think perhaps the good Lord sent me here to try and knock some sense into you.’
    ‘Oh, Ilona, what am I going to do?’
    ‘Don’t start that moaning again. One way or another you’ll make a mess of your life, just like everyone else. You’ll do nothing and regret it or you’ll do everything and regret it. Take your