Free Constable Evans 03: Evanly Choirs by Rhys Bowen

now,” Bronwen said.
    “At least I’ve managed to postpone the date until the eisteddfod ’s over,” Evan said. “We’ve got practices every evening until we perform.”
    “How’s it coming along? You sound alright from what I can hear.”
    “What you can hear is Ifor singing and the rest of us opening our mouths,” Evan said with a grin.
    “When are you performing?”
    “Saturday night. We’re going down to Harlech on Friday evening to rehearse in the pavilion, so we get a feel for the size of the place.”
    “I’ll have to come and listen to you on Saturday,” Bronwen said. “I’ve promised to take some of my children from school down to watch the folk dancing. Maybe we’ll stay on to listen to your choir if it’s not too late.”
    “I shouldn’t bother if I were you,” Evan said. He realized that the last thing in the world he wanted was for Bronwen to hear him singing.
    “Oh, why?” Bronwen looked disappointed. “You don’t want me to hear you sing?”
    “We’re not very good, Bron. Frankly I’ll be glad when it’s over,” Evan said. “The atmosphere at rehearsals is getting uncomfortable.”
    “Oh? In what way?”
    Evan sighed. “Mostyn Phillips takes the thing very seriously. Ifor thinks it’s a huge joke. I think we’re heading for a major blowup.”
    *   *   *
    That evening Evan had just come home from the pub and was sitting in his room reading when the phone rang. It was Mair Hopkins, Charlie’s wife. “They’re at it again, Mr. Evans,” she breathed into the phone. “I can hear shoutin’ going on outside this time. I don’t like to complain, but it’s past nine o’clock.”
    “Don’t worry, I’ll go up there and see what’s going on, Mrs. Hopkins,” Evan said. “Thanks for calling me.”
    He put on his uniform jacket and hurried up the street. He could hear raised voices but he couldn’t see what was happening because the chapel blocked his view of the speakers. Evan realized immediately that this time it wasn’t just a domestic brawl. The voices were both male.
    “I’m warning you!” The voice was clearly not English or Welsh.
    “You think I’m scared of your warnings?” Evan recognized Ifor’s big voice immediately. “Go back home and do your worst. I’m itching for a good fight. I’d just love to see you in court—best publicity I ever had!”
    Before Evan had reached the chapel he heard something that sounded, in the clear night air, like a shot. With heart pounding, he realized it was only a car door slamming. An engine revved and a long, low car sped away. Evan could see that it had a foreign number plate. By the time he got to the Powell-Joneses’ driveway, Ifor Llewellyn had gone back inside and everything was quiet. Evan hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should knock on the door, then decided whatever it was, it wasn’t his business to interfere.
    Ifor didn’t show up for rehearsal the next day.
    “Oh, this really is too bad,” Mostyn said as the choir stood ready to start and Ifor hadn’t made his entrance. “He knows how important it is to start rehearsals on time. He’s doing it deliberately to annoy me, that’s what it is. Alright. We’ll start without him.”
    He nodded to Miss Johns at the piano. They worked their way through their program and still no Ifor. Evan sang along uneasily and was just about to volunteer to go and find him when the door burst open and Ifor strode in. “What was that meant to be?” he boomed. His speech betrayed a recent visit to the Red Dragon. “It sounded like a group of mice squeaking in a very large church. Give it some sound, for God’s sake. Make it ring.”
    “You’re very late, Ifor,” Mostyn said in a clipped voice. “It’s setting a poor example to these men.”
    Ifor grinned. “Ah well, I’ve just had some interesting visitors,” he said. He looked around expectantly. “You’ll never guess who just approached me—the boys from the Blaenau Ffestiniog choir!