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Other Stories
Other Stories
Other Stories
Ebook54 pages54 minutes

Other Stories

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Gaynor Madoc Leonard, author of 'The Carmarthen Underground' series, has brought together a collection of stories including the prize-winning tale 'The Last Cottage'. Whimsy, pastiche, kindness and lost love are found in these pages.
In 'At The Lyon House' a woman on business in New Orleans finds herself haunted by the first visit she made to the city 25 years before, finding herself unwillingly, frighteningly yet temptingly drawn back to that time; in 'The Red Snood' a young boy discovers that a single act of kindness and honesty changes can start a friendship and change lives. 'The Sheep-Whisperer of Llangendeirne' is a whimsical story about an itinerant Welsh chiropodist and 'Dead in the Afternoon' is a pastiche of the archetypal modern police detective story.
'The Last Cottage', first-prize winner in The West Coast Eisteddfod Short Story Competition in 2011, is the story of a woman who returns to the small cottage where she spent her honeymoon during World War One. Some years have passed but the cottage has remained the same and we share her reflections and memories.
Gaynor has received plaudits for her first novel, 'The Carmarthen Underground' (available in print from Y Lolfa, online and traditional bookshops) from both readers and the press. The second novel in the same series is being published on Smashwords.

Reviews of 'The Carmarthen Underground':

Americymru: “... Madoc Leonard’s first novel is an entertaining and occasionally thought-provoking spy-thriller...”

Cambria Magazine: “... there is a tenderness for landscape and myth...”

Some Amazon reader reviews: “... What a fab book. I loved it and read it in three sittings ignoring housework, family, meals etc...”
“... a cracking good adventure – fast-paced and absorbing...A very good read.”
“... a beautifully written story...”
“... such an enjoyable read...”

LanguageEnglish
Release dateMar 13, 2012
ISBN9781476471389
Other Stories
Author

Gaynor Madoc Leonard

Gaynor Madoc Leonard was born and brought up in Wales, where her parents still live. Gaynor has lived and worked in London for most of her life. Her first novel, The Carmarthen Underground, was published in December 2009 by Y Lolfa (www.ylolfa.com). Since then, the original novel has been published as an e-book on smashwords.com. Two further novels in the series have been published and are available in print from lulu.com. The books are now also available for e-readers.

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    Book preview

    Other Stories - Gaynor Madoc Leonard

    Other Stories

    by Gaynor Madoc Leonard

    Cover image by Gaynor Madoc Leonard: Vieux Carré Courtyard

    Smashwords Edition

    Copyright 2012 Gaynor Madoc Leonard

    www.madocleonard.com

    Follow Gaynor on Twitter: @madocleonard.

    This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only, it may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with someone else, please buy them a copy. If you’re reading this book and did not buy it, or it was not bought for you, then please buy a copy at Smashwords.com . Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

    Contents

    Title page

    The Last Cottage

    The Sheep Whisperer of Llangendeirne

    The Woman in the Red Snood

    At The Lyon House

    Dead in the Afternoon (and again in the evening)

    Author’s note

    About the author/Other books/Connect

    The Last Cottage

    The bag was suddenly heavy. Gratefully, she sank onto the rough bench outside the cottage and closed her eyes.

    As she relaxed, her senses sharpened; there were the calls of seabirds, the scents of wild herbs and grasses, the salt air and the warmth of early spring sunshine on her face.

    Opening her eyes, she smiled gently at the familiar view. A few doughty sheep grazed near the edge of the cliff, at ease with her presence and with the crashing waves far below, their lambs heedless of the danger as they pranced around each other. Revived a little, she rose slowly from the bench, picked up her bag and went into the cottage.

    In the living room cum kitchen, threads of sunlight dappled the scrubbed table and cushioned chairs. A fire in the old hearth gave out a cheering welcome with its crackling warmth. Skirting the table, she carried her bag toward the rear of the cottage and through the low wooden door. It was as she remembered, the high metal-framed bed with the clean but threadbare counterpane. Intricately embroidered pillowcases and sheets, worked so many years before by old women for her grandmother’s bottom drawer. The old washstand still standing in the corner, marble-topped and scrupulously clean. Mrs Lewis was a stickler, her work-reddened hands had moved quickly but firmly over that marble; no fuss, no nonsense, that was Mrs Lewis, but a kinder heart had never been.

    She put the bag onto a hard chair by the bed and opened it. There was little enough in it but then little would be needed. Taking out her India shawl, another relic of the old days, she went back to the kitchen and the fireplace, where she moved the already filled kettle onto the trivet above the flames. The teapot and caddy stood ready, all that was now required was milk which she knew would be in the tiled and slated pantry. She found it in a covered jug, next to a crock filled with fresh bread and an old meat safe containing some local cheese.

    Soon the kettle was boiling and she made tea in the proper manner, the ritual being as important as the drinking. Her shawl wrapped around her, she poured herself a large mug of tea and returned to the bench outside.

    The light was fading now, the horizon displaying a stunning array of colour ranging from ruby to tangerine, as though the sun was giving a crescendo finale to the symphony of the day. A flock of starlings added their showmanship by swirling through the sky and the scent of herbs intensified.

    A tear trickled down her cheek as she sipped her tea, wrapping her hands tightly around the mug. But there must be no tears now, this was a gift. The cottage, an old friend offering protection; the sea, its constant movement and sound her comforter; the scents of nature filling her heart with memories. He had loved it there too. The years had passed but she could see him in her mind’s eye even now; striding confidently across the fields, swinging his backpack and helmet carelessly, his hair ruffled by the breeze and a broad grin on his face. The man from that faraway place called Iowa, where she had never been. In his short life, he crossed an ocean, married a red-headed girl from a Welsh village and found his end in a field in Flanders. In that cottage, they had passed their brief time together, warming each other in the old metal-framed bed while he told her tales of freezing cold winters and short summers so many thousands of miles away across the

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