Alison felt two spots of colour rise in her cheeks and tried to pretend she hadn’t heard. It was already too late. Evangeline was waving a pudgy hand to attract her husband’s attention.
‘Tom! Tom! Do tell Max how pleased we are with the spare room since Alison’s worked her magic. Who would have thought you could do so much with such a dreary old room. It’s quite a transformation and I had such fun going to London with her to choose the fabrics.’
Much to Alison’s embarrassment, Tom Carstairs continued to sing her praise with such a string of glowing accolades, that Max was at last forced to take note and pass comment. He would have to, he acknowledged silently to himself, if only to shut Tom up and more importantly Evangeline, who was beginning to get on his nerves. If she put her hand on his wrist or his knee one more time he would... Well what would you do, Max? an inner voice enquired. Get up and leave the table? Hardly. This dinner party is supposed to be in your honour, you know.
It was the lesser of two evils, Max decided: leave the table and offend his sister and their fellow guests or begrudgingly acknowledge Alison’s presence for the first time since they’d sat down to dinner. Slowly and deliberately looking in Alison’s direction, yet avoiding eye contact, Max said softly. ‘If Miss Ben... er... Alison is as talented as you would have me believe, Evangeline, I hardly think she would be interested in the interior design of a very ordinary au pair’s flat here at Haywood Grange.
‘Oh! I’m sure she would, wouldn’t you, Alison? It would be a wonderful project to work on.’
Fortunately for both Max and Alison, Connie chose that particular moment to usher everyone back into the drawing room for coffee. Having been sitting for so long, Alison found it difficult to extricate herself from her chair and the nearby table leg. Bunty came to her rescue.
‘Having problems, Alison?’ she asked, kindly. ‘Here grab hold and I’ll give you a tug.’
Smiling at her own predicament, Alison offered Bunty her hand and, while Bunty heaved her free, watched Evangeline make a bee-line for Max and entwine her arm in his as they left the room. Suppressing a giggle she whispered to Bunty, ‘By the looks of it, it’s not only me who’s having problems. Did you see the look of utter disdain on Mr Craven’s face?’
‘Poor Max!’ said Bunty. ‘Evangeline’s been pestering him all evening. He won’t get any peace until he agrees to go and admire your handiwork in their spare room at The Firs.’
Still clutching Bunty’s arm as they walked back to the drawing room, Alison kept her thoughts to herself. Certainly Evangeline had been most insistent that Max should visit The Firs. Yet, innocent as she was, Alison was convinced it wasn’t really the spare room Evangeline had in mind when she’d issued her invitation.
Grateful for the diversion when Bunty and Alison eventually joined the others, Max left a disappointed Evangeline mid-sentence and went in search of his sister.
Connie, having served everyone coffee, turned her attention to her brother’s grim face with its ashen pallor. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered, ‘I didn’t realize Evangeline would come on quite so strong.’
Max sipped thoughtfully at his coffee and turned his back on the guests. ‘You could at least have warned me beforehand. My God! It was like sitting next to a praying mantis all through dinner.’
‘Then your best bet,’ Connie advised, ‘is to go and sit with Tom if you want to avoid her in future. Evangeline always steers clear of her husband at social gatherings.’
Muttering something about hoping there wouldn’t be any ‘in future’ as far as Evangeline Carstairs was concerned, Max finished his coffee and walked deliberately in Tom’s direction. There he found George and Tom deep in conversation over the recent release of green belt land for development and the proposed sale of Jessop’s Stables.
‘Who do you think would be interested in buying them?’ Max enquired.
George shrugged his shoulders. ‘Someone with plenty of money, certainly no sense and a bloody good imagination.’
‘You can say that again,’ said Tom. ‘A very good imagination, I would say! Oh, I don’t doubt the place has huge potential, but if it’s not dealt with aesthetically...’
‘As I’m so out of touch with the area, just remind me, where exactly are these stables? Somehow I don’t remember them.’
George turned to Max with a grin. ‘Quite possibly because you never did your courting in Church Haywood, Max. The Stables were part of the old Manor House and the local lusting ground in the fifties and sixties.’
Max considered his brother in law’s remark. No, he hadn’t done much courting in Church Haywood and certainly when he’d met Virginia most of their courtship had taken place in London, initially because he’d been studying in London, and later because he’d worked there. When he’d taken up his first position working for a team of highly respected London architects, it had been better to live in the city. It was only later, after his marriage to Virginia and the birth of his daughter, that Max had decided country life would be better for both his wife and child. Now, years later, he recalled Virginia’s initial reaction to his suggestion.
‘You can’t be serious, Max! Leave London and move to Church Haywood. It will be like living in the back of beyond! What on earth shall I do all day?’
‘For a start, look after Tara.’ Max had responded, somewhat taken aback.
‘But I won’t know anyone...’
‘Of course you will. There’s my mother and there’s Constance and George and the twins. Constance knows everyone and she’ll soon introduce you. Don’t forget too, there’ll be a wonderful village school for Tara - plus the swimming pool and tennis courts at Haywood Grange.’
Suitably mollified by the latter, Virginia had agreed on condition that Max kept the London flat. So began the early years of Tara Craven’s childhood, and her mother had been introduced to Evangeline Carstairs.
Hearing Evangeline’s raucous laughter from the far end of the room, Max shuddered. All those years ago Virginia and Evangeline had been the best of friends. Only now did he begin to question what on earth the two women could possibly have had in common.
Max felt George’s hand on his shoulder. ‘Looks as if our guests are going home, Max. Let’s bid them all goodnight as quickly as possible, shall we? Then we can all relax and hopefully Connie will leave you in peace for a bit. You look as if you could do with it.’
‘Does it show that much?’
‘Only if you look closely. Don’t forget, I’m used to Connie’s little soirees. Even I have to admit that sometimes they can be a bit of an ordeal.’
Max watched Tom help Evangeline into a purple and orange shot-silk jacket and breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Let’s just say I could have done without you-know-who in such close proximity. How was it you described her earlier: looking like some exotic hot-house flower? Good lord, George! Either you’re mad or you need glasses!’
‘Neither,’ said George with a wicked glint in his eye. ‘But next time you go to London, Max, try and visit Kew en-route. You have my word, some of those exotic plants are perfectly revolting and quite hideous to look at!’
Max emitted a rare smile and walked to where Constance was beckoning. For his sister’s sake, he decided, he would be the perfect gentleman when it came to bidding all their guests goodnight.
Having applied yet another coat of Pagan Glow to her overlarge mouth, Evangeline left a large orange splodge on Max’s cheek. ‘Promise me,’ she gushed, clinging unsteadily to his chest, ‘you will come and see the spare room.’
Desperate to be rid of her, Max replied convincingly. ‘Of course; I’ll get Constance to bring me over some time soon.’
‘Oh! don’t bother about Connie! She’s already seen it; come on…’
Evangeline got no further as Tom unhooked his wife’s arms from Max’s jacket and led her away to the open doorway. ‘Come along dear, Connie and George are waiting to go to bed and Alison and Bunty are waiting to say goodbye. Alison looks exhausted, poor girl. Don’t forget i
t’s been a very harrowing time for her lately.’
Although Tom had lowered his voice, being in such close proximity to Max meant his words had found an audience.
Smoothing his crumpled jacket, Max considered Alison where she stood by Bunty’s side. A harrowing time was right, he concluded, if all the snippets of information he’d heard about Alison Benedict since his arrival were correct, yet he still felt ill-disposed towards her. Pale and drawn in her simple black linen dress, she’d seemed strangely out of place during the evening’s fiasco. Hearing her whispered, ‘Goodbye,’ Max responded with a polite, ‘Goodnight,’ and stopped himself from adding. ‘Quite possibly, Alison, you’ve hated tonight as almost as much as I have.’
Chapter 5
Hearing movement from the au pair’s flat, Connie ran quickly up the back staircase and tapped gently on the door.
‘Max as you’re awake, I was wondering if you’d like to come to church with me? George is convinced you won’t want to, but I’ll ask anyway...’
One look at Max’s face told Connie George’s assumption had been perfectly correct. ‘Oh, well,’ she sighed, shrugging her shoulders, ‘it was just a thought. Another day, perhaps? George said to tell you the Sunday papers have arrived and he’s got some nice home-cured bacon on the go.’
Sensing his sister’s disappointment, Max gave her a reassuring hug. ‘Constance, like Evangeline wanting me to look at her spare room, I promise I will come to church with you one day soon. For the moment, however, I’d appreciate it if you…’
‘Would leave you alone?’
‘No, I’m not asking you to do that, I simply need a bit of breathing space, that’s all. You forget I’ve been living on my own and looking after myself for a long while now. It’s not easy being the centre of attention – as I was last night.’
‘George told me it was a big mistake, and I shouldn’t have subjected you to such an ordeal…’
‘Constance,’ Max broke in kindly. ‘It wasn’t exactly an ordeal. In fact it was extremely thoughtful of you. Let’s say perhaps I wasn’t ready for it just yet - neither will you be – if you are still intending to go church and morning service?’
‘Crikey! Is that the time? I’d better fly.’
‘At least you already have the halo,’ Max said, kissing his sister’s forehead.
‘Have I? How’s that?’
‘Because not only are you my big sister, but also my guardian angel as well.’
Reaching for her handkerchief, Connie blew her nose hard and turned her gaze back towards the staircase. ‘Don’t forget George and the bacon. It’s almost ready.’
‘By the way,’ Max called as she hurried away, ‘is it my imagination or does Alison Benedict walk with a limp? I noticed she sometimes appears to have difficulty walking. Last night when she tried to get up from the table…’
Half way down the stairs, Connie stopped and reached pensively for the banister rail. ‘Surely, you haven’t forgotten. The accident… Alison’s leg? She was in hospital for weeks. At one time they thought she might never walk again.’
Seeing the shuttered look on Max’s face, Connie chose not to continue and carried on downstairs. ‘George!’ she urged on reaching the kitchen, ‘look, I must dash but Max has just asked about the accident. Not the accident exactly, but Alison and her leg. I thought he remembered, but obviously not. So be careful when you see him, will you? I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
Struggling with the handle of the grill pan, George gaped open-mouthed as his wife made for the back door. ‘But Connie! You can’t go and leave me to explain…’
‘Pardon?’
George looked up startled as Max entered the kitchen and reached hurriedly for a pair of tongs. ‘Oh morning, Max. Sorry you caught me talking to myself. Now can I tempt you to some breakfast? Proper home-cured bacon this. None of your foreign muck here at Haywood Grange.’
Choosing not to offend George, by declaring he hardly ever ate breakfast, let alone grilled bacon, mushrooms and tomatoes, Max accepted the plate he was offered and sat down at the kitchen table.
‘I was right then,’ George said, giving the bottle of tomato ketchup a hefty thump, ‘I told Connie I didn’t think you’d be up to St Faith’s after last night’s episode. Can’t say I blame you. I restrict myself to Christmas, Easter and Harvest Festival.’
‘And leave Connie to pray for you in between,’ Max joked.
‘What? Oh, yes.’ George replied, glad to divert Max’s attention away from more sensitive issues.
Buttering a slice of toast, Max looked pensive. ‘George... I’ve been wondering about...’
With baited breath, George Henderson braced himself and silently cursed his wife for leaving him like this to deal with the problem of Alison. Only to his surprise, it wasn’t Alison and the accident Max had in mind.
‘Jessop’s Stables,’ Max continued, ‘I don’t suppose you could take me over there this morning?’
Reaching for his cup of tea, George swallowed hastily until he almost choked. He stood up. ‘Why of course, Max. No trouble. Let’s go right away, shall we?’
‘Hang on a minute! It’s not that important that you can’t finish your breakfast.’
*
Approaching the footpath to St Faith’s, Alison left Bunty’s side. ‘I’ll just go and pop these on Mother’s grave. I won’t be a moment.’
‘These’ were the African violets Penny had given to Alison the previous evening with the words, ‘I know it’s not proper violets, Alison, but it suddenly occurred to me they might make a nice display during the warm summer months. Try them and see what you think.’
Placing the terracotta pots with their deep violet-coloured flowers, on the grave, Alison half expected to find Max Craven lurking in the shadows. To her relief she found herself alone.
‘I haven’t thanked you yet for last night,’ she remarked, returning to where Bunty stood waiting by the church door.
‘What for?’
‘Declining Mr Craven’s offer of a lift home.’
‘Alison! You heard what Connie said last night. Good gracious, my dear, the way you speak Max’s name, you make him sound like that villainous Mr Rochester from Jane Eyre!’
‘Was Mr Rochester a villain?’
‘He was in my book,’ Bunty said. ‘Didn’t you think he was?’
‘No, not exactly. I’ve always thought him dark and mysterious and I suppose I always felt sorry for him really. It couldn’t have been easy for him, having a wife who deceived him like that.’
‘Then how about feeling just the teeniest bit sorry for Max. It was very hard for him, you know, losing Tara and then Virginia... in such tragic circumstances too.’
Alison was incredulous. ‘You think I don’t know that, Bunty! Don’t forget I was there too, at least when Tara...’ She stopped mid-sentence when she saw Connie running up the path.
Watching Alison walk in through the heavy oak door of Faith’s, Bunty turned to face her friend. ‘Trust me to put my foot in it again, Connie. It’s my own fault really. I suppose Alison’s going to take quite some time coming to terms with her grief.’
‘Then let’s hope it doesn’t take Alison as long as it’s taken Max, that’s all I can say.’ Connie reflected on her conversation with her brother before her hasty departure. ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, Bunty, but do you get the distinct impression there’s a conflict developing between Max and Alison?’
‘I don’t know about developing,’ Bunty whispered, opening the church door for her friend. ‘I’d say it’s well and truly established, though Lord knows why.’
‘Then, as we’re in His house,’ Connie said, nodding towards the altar, ‘perhaps He’ll have the grace to enlighten us during the next hour... or at least show us the way to remedy the situation.’
‘Amen to that.’ Came the hushed reply.
*
George Henderson negotiated the uneven and overgrown track to Jessop’s Stables. ‘This is why I insisted on using my wheel
s and not yours. I don’t think you’d be any too pleased having all that gleaming black bodywork scratched by brambles and blackthorn.’
‘Probably not,’ Max acknowledged. ‘It’s certainly overgrown up here. I never would have found the place on my own.’
Stepping down from the Range Rover, Max stopped and surveyed the view. Every so often through the twisted maze of brambles, briar rose and black thorn, he discerned odd patches of mellow sandstone masonry and was reminded of one of Tara’s favourite bedtime stories - The Sleeping Beauty. If Tara were with him now he was sure she would be thinking...
‘Well, what do you think of it?’ George picked up a gnarled stick and hacked at the unyielding, tangled undergrowth. ‘If you want my opinion, I think it’s all a bit of a nightmare.’
Max rubbed thoughtfully at his chin, ‘I don’t know about that. I was thinking the exact opposite. In fact, more of a fairy tale.’
‘Aren’t fairy tales supposed to have happy endings? Then mark my words, Max, anyone taking this little lot on can expect quite a pantomime before they walk into the sunset to find their crock of gold.’ George laughed cynically. ‘They’ll probably say goodbye to their crock of gold long before they get to the other side of the rainbow.’
‘I take it you don’t believe in magic or fairy godmothers?’
With a suspicious look in his eye, George studied Max carefully. Disregarding the thorns snagging his sweater and trousers, he was forcing his way through a gap in the hedge. ‘Of course,’ he said, following in pursuit, ‘I was forgetting… I suppose you and your partner have dealt with some equally horrendous and derelict properties in your time.’
Leaving George to disentangle his own sweater from a stubborn blackthorn spike, Max wandered through the central archway of the stables. With a stable block on either side, he was surprised to discover an identical feature, complete with archway, on the other. Turning back to look at George, he announced. ‘It’s pretty amazing, isn’t it? To think after all these years... It’s definitely Regency and the stonework is in surprisingly good condition. I don’t suppose it would be too difficult to connect up the electricity.’
Secrets From The Past Page 5
