‘Yes, but don’t forget there’s no gas on this side of the village, so what about heating? The place is far too big for night store heaters.’
‘Open fires, log burners, oil fired central heating.’
‘Whew! You’d need to be a sheikh or have shares in an oil company to fuel a place this size.’ George waved his arm to encompass the entire area of stonework. ‘Crikey! Can you just imagine what size tank you’d need?’
Max turned to George with a cryptic smile. ‘Not just one tank George, possibly four.’
‘Four! Bloody hell! In that case Max, the best thing old Jessop can do is demolish the place and sell the land instead or...’
Luckily for George, Max was too engrossed in the roof structure to notice the pregnant pause in the conversation. He’d been about to say ‘set fire to the place.’ In the circumstances he thought better of it.
‘I doubt it,’ Max replied, wandering through to the opposite archway. ‘This is bound to be a listed building. And when I said four tanks, I meant four small ones, not something that looks like a BP refinery.’
George was examining his left forefinger in an effort to remove a stubborn rose thorn. ‘So… you’d turn it into four units, would you, a bit like the craft centre at Little Harberry?’
‘Perhaps,’ Max replied thoughtfully, walking from the cool shade of the covered archway back into brilliant daylight. There he closed his eyes, lifted his face to catch the warmth of the morning sun and breathed in the heavy, flower scented air of the summer hedgerow.
If Mandy (the receptionist from Craven and Painton) had been passing at that moment, she would most certainly have repeated her brother’s earlier observation. Silhouetted against the impressive stone archway, eyes closed and deep in thought, Max Craven could easily have been guarding the Tower of London. Only in this instance, he was guarding his innermost thoughts and desires.
*
With the church bells heralding the end of morning service and coffee being served near the font, Alison walked shamefacedly to Bunty’s side.
‘Bunty, I’m truly sorry about my outburst in the churchyard. It was most uncalled for.’
‘Don’t mention it, dear. I realize it’s been a difficult time for you. Connie said the same about Max too. I suppose seeing you again was bound to open up old wounds. When he sees you, it’s inevitable that he should think of Tara. You spent so much time together.’
‘Think of her, Bunty? Yes, as I think of Mother almost all the time, but it’s not right that Max should hold me responsible for Tara’s death.’
For a brief moment Alison’s attention was caught by the sunlight radiating onto the head of an angel in a stained glass window. An angel, who by some trick of the light, looked just like Tara. Alison shuddered and turned to face Bunty with tears glistening in her eyes. ‘It’s not fair. Not fair at all. I was the only one there. Only I know what happened and why Tara...’
‘Why Tara did what?’ Bunty urged gently, taking hold of Alison’s arm. But the moment was lost when an elderly parishioner, missed her footing and stumbled against Alison’s side.
‘What was it you were going to say?’ Bunty coaxed, anxious for Alison to continue. To her dismay, Alison appeared to be looking at her with unseeing eyes.
‘Nothing. I wasn’t going to say anything, other than that I’d like to go back to Keeper’s Cottage. I have the most awful headache.’
‘What was all that about?’ Connie asked, coming up with the last of the hymn books left behind in the pews. ‘Alison looks quite dreadful. If I didn’t know otherwise, I’d say the poor girl looked as if she’d seen a ghost.’
‘And I’d say you were probably right!’
‘Seen a ghost! Not here in St Faith’s in broad daylight, surely?’
‘Not exactly seen,’ said Bunty, taking Connie to one side, ‘but perhaps been reminded of one. Anyway I don’t think we should discuss it now. I don’t want Alison to know that I’ve said anything. Look, when we get outside, just behave as if nothing’s happened and I’ll give you a ring tomorrow. Alison normally takes Jasper for a walk in the morning...’
Curious to know more, Connie reached for Bunty’s arm. ‘You can’t just walk off without telling me what you know!’
‘I’m afraid I can, for the simple reason I don’t really know anything. Let’s say it’s gut reaction shall we?’
‘But you said...’
‘I said, I’d ring you tomorrow, Connie’
Catching up with Alison, who was waiting by the lych-gate, Bunty called out chirpily. ‘I was just thinking, why don’t you give those stepbrothers of yours a ring. It will probably cheer you up. Isn’t it cheaper to ring the States on a Sunday?’
‘Yes,’ continued Connie, going with the flow, ‘after all my dreary guests last night, it will probably do you good to speak to some younger people.’
‘They weren’t dreary,’ Alison replied, ‘and the food was simply wonderful.’
‘Then you must come again soon… but we won’t make arrangements for that now, you’ve got your phone call to make. Remember me to Oliver and Jasper and send them our best wishes.’
Watching Connie walk away, Alison gave Bunty’s words some serious thought. It probably would do her good to have a chat with her two stepbrothers. But that would only be possible if Oliver wasn’t in the middle of rehearsals and Jasper wasn’t dating some Sex in the City lookalike. Besides, what was the time? It was now almost half past eleven and she never could remember the time difference between the UK and the States. Looking to where Bunty was pulling a stray piece of bindweed from an otherwise well-tended grave, Alison walked on, unaware of the mystery she’d provoked.
*
Later, attempting to remove the red wine stain caused the previous evening by Evangeline’s clumsiness, Connie turned to her husband. ‘What have you and Max been up to? He certainly appears a great deal happier than he did last night.’
‘Us? Well, I took him over to have a look at Jessop’s Stables. He seemed full of ideas for the old place, then I suppose these architect chappies are all the same. Show them a barn and they see a palace.’
‘Unlike you, George,’ Connie teased. ‘Show you a barn and you automatically think of pigs and cattle.’
George smiled and watched Connie squeeze lemon juice on the burgundy stain, before rubbing it with salt. ‘Of course,’ she said, reaching for the kettle, ‘I should have dealt with this last night, it might be too late to remove the mark completely. Still, it’s worth a go. Can you just hold the fabric taut, while I pour on the hot water?’
Watching the stain miraculously disappear, George volunteered, ‘You’ll be pleased to know Max didn’t mention Alison or the accident. With luck that topic won’t crop up again for a bit.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘Just something Bunty said after church that’s got me thinking. With luck she’ll be able to throw some light on it tomorrow.’
*
At Keepers Cottage, Bunty delighted in hearing Alison’s voice in animated conversation with Oliver.
‘Yes, I’m fine, so’s Bunty, and we went over to the Grange last night for a dinner party. What? No, nothing in particular, merely a sort of welcome home dinner for Connie’s brother.’
Alison purposely avoided further mention of Max and instead asked Oliver if he’d received the photos she’d sent of her mother’s funeral.
‘Yes, they were beautiful flowers, weren’t they... and don’t worry I’ve already written and thanked everyone. Anyway, look I’d better go, Bunty’s phone bill and all that. Give my love to Jasper and tell him to behave himself. Bye.’
At the mention of his namesake, the four-legged Jasper went bounding into the hallway and sat at Alison’s feet in anticipation of what was to come. ‘Oh, all right,’ she sighed bending down to pat his head. ‘I’ll take you for a walk. Come along, let’s go and find your lead.’
‘Everything OK in the States?’
Bunty asked.
‘Mmm, fine, thanks. Needless to say, I couldn’t get hold of Jasper, but that’s nothing unusual and Oliver said he spoke to him only last week. Apparently he’s got a pretty tight filming schedule ahead of him, so this week he’s relaxing in sunny California.’
‘It’s all right for some,’ Bunty said, pouring a sherry.
‘We certainly can’t complain; our summer’s been pretty good so far. Wouldn’t it be lovely if it stayed that way for the summer fete?’
‘It’s not the summer I was thinking about,’ Bunty said rubbing her thigh. ‘My hip has been giving me real gyp just lately, Alison. It’s the winter I’m dreading.’
‘Then perhaps I should send you out to stay with Jasper for the winter.’
Bunty roared with laughter. ‘Oh, yes, I can just see Jasper’s face if I was to arrive on his doorstep. Mind you it’s a thought...’
Hearing his name mentioned yet again, Jasper tugged impatiently at his lead and dragged Alison towards the back door, leaving her to ponder on Bunty’s last remark... and Bunty to make a telephone call of her own.
On Alison’s return, she found Bunty looking particularly pleased with herself. ‘Well, that’s my winter sunshine sorted,’ she said smugly. ‘I rang my brother in Australia, and Bob and Freda have invited me to stay for Christmas and New Year.’
‘Bunty that’s wonderful! What about Jasper? Have you...’
‘Yes, I’ve already thought about that too. I’ll put him in kennels for a fortnight.’
‘A fortnight! You can’t go half way round the world for a fortnight. How long is it since you’ve seen Bob and Freda?’
‘Twenty five years,’ Bunty replied with a nostalgic sigh.
Chapter 6
By the end of what proved to be an eventful week, Bunty had been persuaded to consider going to Australia for at least two months.
‘Are you really sure, Alison?’ Bunty asked for the umpteenth time. ‘Two months is a long while for you to take on both my dog and the cottage. That’s quite a favour you’ll be doing me.’
‘And what about the favour you’ll be doing me? Don’t forget you’ll be giving me a roof over my head while I get this project of mine off the ground.’
‘Oh, yes. I meant to ask. How’s it going? Did you see Mr Jessop, and what did Tom Carstairs advise?’
Moving to the kitchen table with her mug of coffee, Alison took a bulky envelope from her bag and placed it in front of Bunty. ‘You can see for yourself, it’s all there in black and white. Oliver’s already contacted Tom with regard to the legacy from my stepfather. With luck there should be enough to rent one of the units from Mr Jessop.’
‘It’s definite that he’s no longer going to sell, then?’
‘Not exactly definite,’ Alison said brightly, ‘But if Mr jessop lets the Stables as four craft units – a bit like Little Harberry - I shall only need the basic four walls and a loo. It shouldn’t be too difficult to put in electricity and…
Thinking of her rheumatism, Bunty broke in. ‘Yes, but what about heating? It will be jolly cold stuck out there in the winter.’
‘Calor gas,’ Alison said, undeterred, ‘and quite possibly lots of sweaters! Don’t forget I shall only be using the Stables - or at least my quarter of them - as an office. I’ll be out most of the time visiting clients. Oh, Bunty! Isn’t it exciting? Just think, thanks to my stepfather, I can start up my own little business.’
Bunty placed her own careworn, reddened hand on Alison’s smooth and delicately boned white one, and patted it gently. ‘Yes, and I’m very pleased for you, you deserve it. I only hope…’
‘You hope what?’
‘That Bill Jessop doesn’t change his mind. You take it from me, he has been known to in the past.’
Determined to remain optimistic, Alison took her empty mug to the sink. ‘But this way, Mr Jesop doesn’t have to wait for the right buyer to come along. He can start charging rent almost immediately. Even Tom Carstairs said prospective buyers are thin on the ground at the moment; a) because Mr Jessop is asking such an inflated price, and b) because the Stables are in such a bad state of repair, particularly if you’re talking about using them for offices or private dwellings.’
‘I suppose so,’ Bunty said, not entirely convinced. ‘Anyway, as you appear to have everything in control and are going out for the day, I might just pop over and see Connie.’
Pausing at the door, Bunty turned back. ‘If I could offer a word of advice, Alison: can I suggest you get a proper letter sent off to Bill Jessop as soon as possible? Request a definite letter of acceptance on his part - just in case.’
‘Oh, Bunty,’ Alison sighed, giving her a hug. ‘What is this, another of your superstitions? Don’t worry, I’ll write to Mr Jessop this very minute and deliver it in person, before I catch my train.’
At Haywood Grange, Bunty sat in the conservatory and gazed admiringly at Connie’s displays of tubs and hanging baskets.
‘You know, Connie, I don’t know how you do it. Every year you surpass yourself with your geraniums and fuchsias. I was only saying to Alison the other day…’
‘And how is Alison? Come along, Bunty, you know I didn’t invite you here to talk about my plants. I’ve been waiting with baited breath all week for what you’ have to say.’
‘I’m afraid you might be disappointed. I don’t really know any more than I did last Sunday. Hard as I tried, I couldn’t get a peep out of Alison.’
Connie folded her hands dejectedly in her lap. ‘Oh, dear, what a pity. Still I suppose you could at least tell me what prompted your curiosity last Sunday morning. In case you’re wondering, it’s quite safe, Max isn’t here. He’s gone to London.’
Bunty gave a cynical smile. ‘So Evangeline’s pesterings have eventually driven Max away.’
‘Not exactly. Max has gone to see his bank manager. Mind you, I told him only this morning before he left, as far as Evangeline is concerned, it would be far better to get it over and done with. The sooner he goes to see her spare room, the sooner she’ll leave him in peace.’
‘And pigs might fly!’
‘I’m sure Max can take care of himself as far as Evangeline is concerned. She’s all talk and no action.’
‘Hmm. I wouldn’t be so sure of that,’ Bunty said, with a rueful shake of the head. ‘Anyway, about Alison… of course, I could be wrong, but it was the way she said it, that’s all. She seemed so desperate...’
‘Said what? Oh, for God’s sake, Bunty! If this has anything to do with Tara’s accident, then it concerns not only Max but also me.’
‘OK. But for the moment I can only tell you how the conversation began and how it ended. After that, you’ll have to make your own conclusions. On the way to church, Alison thanked me for not accepting Max’s offer of a lift home after your dinner party and… somehow we started talking about Mr Rochester.’
‘We don’t know a Mr Rochester, do we?’
‘Course we do! School… Jane Eyre, remember?’
Ignoring Connie’s exasperated sigh, Bunty continued, ‘Apparently Alison’s always felt sorry for Mr Rochester because his wife deceived him, and I said I felt sorry for Max… so couldn’t Alison do the same...’
‘Why? Because you think Virginia deceived Max?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Bunty replied lamely. ‘I’ve not thought about that for a long while. However, you know how Alison’s got this bee in her bonnet about Max blaming her – well, not exactly blaming her, but perhaps holding her partly responsible to Tara’s death.’
‘It was an accident! Everyone knows that. Weren’t they playing chase or something… and didn’t they say at the inquest, Alison was chasing Tara and when Tara ran in front of that car…?’
For a long while Bunty remained silent, juggling thoughts around in her head, trying desperately to remember back to ten long years ago.’
‘Yes, I know that,’ she murmured thoughtfully, but you see, Alison said – and here I remember her every word, ‘It’s not fa
ir Mr Craven should hold me responsible for Tara’s death… I was the only one there. Only I know what happened and why Tara…’
‘Yes, go on,’ Connie urged, ‘Why Tara did what?’
Bunty hung her head and gave a low moan. ‘That’s just it, Connie. I don’t know. Alison never said anymore. When I tried to find out, she shut up like a clam.’
‘We can’t leave it at that! It could be important.’
‘I don’t doubt it. Have you any suggestions as to how we can find out? Because I certainly haven’t.’
Connie hesitated for a moment. ‘If she wouldn’t tell you, she might tell me. Tara was my niece, after all.’
‘And if she doesn’t, what then?’
‘We could always get Max to ask her.’
‘For goodness sake, Connie! Don’t you think the situation is bad enough between Alison and Max as it is? I for one don’t want Alison to suffer more than she has already. And, no doubt, as Max is your brother, you must feel likewise about him.’
Connie rose from the wicker armchair and walked into the garden, with Bunty following on behind. She needed some fresh air in order to think straight. ‘Oh. If only Max hadn’t gone to London, perhaps we…’
‘Yes, but as he isn’t there’s not a great deal we can do other than keep mum and… hopefully we can persuade Alison to change her mind. Though, I’d be prepared to hazard a guess that all of us – Max included – won’t much like what she’s been keeping to herself all these years.
With Connie worrying about Max, he meanwhile was almost enjoying the prospect of a day in London. At least at the end of the day, he’d turn his back once more on the hustle and bustle of the city and head back to the peace and relative tranquillity of Church Haywood. Peace, that was, if you discounted the likes of Evangeline Carstairs.
Now far away from Evangeline’s clutches, Max began to see the funny side of the situation. Nevertheless, he still found it strange to think that, years ago, Evangeline and his wife had been such good friends. Hadn’t Virginia said that they had so much in common? Shared interests, that included tennis tournaments, weekly gym sessions, charity lunches and, when Max was working in London, trips to the local cinema and theatre. At the time, Max had even been glad Virginia had Evangeline to take her mind off his long absences. He’d certainly been very busy, taking over the business from old Mr Butler and establishing Painton and Craven in its own right.
Secrets From The Past Page 6
