‘Do you know,’ he said to Connie, when he caught up with her by the gift-wrapping, ‘according to the box that doll even vomits!’
‘Really, Max? How nice,’ said Connie, oblivious to his last remark. She was too busy pondering the wrapping paper.
‘There!’ she said eventually, ‘Does that make you any happier? As a result of your earlier comment, I’ve made one concession. The girls can have the floral paper and the boys can have the one decorated with cars and tractors.’
Studying the floral paper decorated with spring flowers, Max’s eyes rested on clumps of primroses. Through thought-transference, he found his mind wandering back to the ghastly scene with Evangeline and the delicate primroses Alison had painted on the bedroom wall.
Stuck at the back of a long queue, thoughts of Alison turned quite naturally to thoughts of his daughter. It was then Max remembered what the thick, plastic lining of the trolley reminded him of... Tara’s cot. Well, not her proper cot; that had been a wonderful confection purchased from the baby room at Harrods. No, the trolley Max was now pushing towards the till was just like Tara’s travel cot. A deep blue contraption on wheels that collapsed in on itself (not, of course when Tara was in it) and fitted quite easily into the boot of the car.
Max shuddered at the memory of the hours spent watching his daughter sleep contentedly and remembered his late father’s words. ‘You see, my boy, little Tara doesn’t give a fig where she sleeps. Babies don’t care where they sleep as long as they’re comfortable and warm. All those frills and lace, quite unnecessary! Why, I remember when Constance was a baby and we went to stay with friends, she even slept in a drawer!’
Looking at Connie now, where she was paying her bill, Max found it hard to believe his sister was ever small enough to sleep in a drawer. Ghosts from the past and Evangeline’s stinging words caused him to shudder a second time.
‘Oh dear, I do hope you’re not catching a chill, Max. We can’t have you going down with something just before the fete. We’re going to need as many hands as possible on Friday night and Saturday morning. There’s an awful lot to do.’
‘Don’t worry Constance, I’m sure I’m not catching anything. It must have been standing under that air-conditioning unit,’ Max lied. ‘I shall be OK, once we’re back out in the warm.’
Unloading the shopping into the hallway, Max suppressed a sigh. Much as he didn’t mind helping set up the stalls for Saturday’s fete, he would far rather be elsewhere while it was taking place. Perhaps if he was to give Nigel a ring… he could go and spend the weekend at Nigel’s flat?
In brighter frame of mind, leaving Connie to oversee the stowing away of her purchases, Max ran upstairs to make his phone call.
‘Max! Dear chap. What a coincidence! I was just going to ring you. The decorators are moving into the flat this weekend - I’m having the whole place revamped – and as Vanessa’s off to see her sister in Paris, I thought it was about time I popped down to see my old chum in Church Haywood.’
Max’s heart sank. He made some excuse about the fete.
‘That’s even better!’ announced Nigel. ‘I’ll be able to see all the locals at once!’
The local uppermost in Max’s mind at that moment was Evangeline Carstairs. She was the last person Max wanted Nigel to meet. As if on cue, Constance tapped on Max’s door.
‘Max, Tom Carstairs has just been on the phone; he tried ringing the flat but the line was engaged. He’d like to see you tomorrow at ten o’clock if that’s all right?’
‘It isn’t really, I was supposed to be meeting someone in the planning office to discuss the Stables. Perhaps I’d better ring him back.’
‘Oh, don’t bother now, I gather Tom was ringing from home. He left work early. It would appear Evangeline was upset about something.’
Myriad thought flashed through Max’s head at that moment. Tom Carstairs had been summoned home by Evangeline - because she was upset? Upset by what? Not only that what on earth would she tell Tom? That Max had called on the pretext of looking at the spare room and made a pass at her – or something even worse?
Watching Connie disappear down the stairs, Max drummed his fingers against the door frame. There was nothing for it but to face Tom with the truth at ten o’clock the following morning.’
‘By the way,’ Connie’s voice echoed from the hallway, ‘Thanks for taking me to the wholesalers, even if it was under sufferance. Don’t worry, I shan’t expect you to help me wrap the parcels for the bran tub. Alison’s offered to help me, she’s...’
Connie’s last words echoed in the stairwell and remained there.
‘Damn!’ Max said softly. ‘I forget to tell her Nigel’s coming for the weekend.’
*
At ten o’clock the following morning, Max found himself ushered into Tom Carstairs’ office. Deep in thought, Tom, who had been on the phone, replaced the handset and jotted down a few scribbled notes.
From where he stood, Max felt unable to discern the solicitor’s frame of mind but was highly relieved when Tom’s sombre, grey face broke into a welcoming smile.
‘Max. So pleased you could make it at such short notice… I did try ringing you yesterday afternoon but I gather you were out.’
Out, yes, a voice whispered in Max’s head, but out where, Tom? Have you any idea, I wonder?
Tom reached for a letter on his desk, ‘I’ve heard from Bill Jessop’s solicitor about the proposed sale of the Stables. I take it he’s keen to complete the transaction as soon as possible and I merely wanted to check that you do still intend to go ahead with it.’
‘I see no reason why not. Though, no doubt there’ll be plenty of people in Church Haywood who’ll be thinking I must be mad.’
‘I doubt it.’
‘Really? You surprise me, Tom. How can you be so sure?’
‘For the simple reason that most of the locals will be only too pleased that someone, with Church Haywood connections, is undertaking the renovation, not some unknown property developer from outside the area.’
Warmed by Tom’s comment, Max proceeded to outline his proposed plans for the Stables and was pleasantly surprised by such a positive response. It was only when Tom’s secretary brought in a tray of coffee that the general benevolent atmosphere in the office began to change.
‘Mr Carstairs,’ she said, placing the tray on the solid mahogany desk, ‘your wife’s on the phone. I told her Mr Craven was with you, but that only made her more insistent.’
Max froze in his chair watching Tom pick up the receiver.
‘Evangeline ... Yes dear, he’s with me now. No, I haven’t discussed it with him yet... but I will, I promise.’
Even from where he was sitting on the other side of the desk, it was impossible for Max not to hear Evangeline’s hysterical ravings. He waited with baited breath for Tom to hang up the phone and confront him.
‘Max… this is all rather embarrassing, but I take it you went to The Firs yesterday afternoon.’
‘Yes. If you remember, you and Evangeline both suggested I take a look at your spare room and Alison Benedict’s artwork.’
Tom nodded and poured out two cups of coffee. Passing one across the desk to Max, he added softly, ‘and knowing my wife as I do, I suspect Evangeline had other ideas on the agenda. If that was the case, I can only apologize. Of course I only have myself to blame.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Max said, stirring his coffee.
‘No, probably not,’ Tom continued. ‘Nor can lots of other people, I suspect, for it has to be common knowledge within certain Church Haywood circles that Evangeline’s behaviour can sometimes leave a lot to be desired. However, as I said only moments ago, I do hold myself partly responsible. Not only was I unable to give Evangeline the family she so desperately desired, but also… well, let’s just say her needs were always different from my own.’
Not knowing how to respond, Max sat in silence as Tom rose from his chair and walked slowly to the window. There the sun’s rays brushed
his grey complexion with a healthy glow. ‘Years ago I even offered Evangeline a divorce… to give her the chance to have children with another man, but do you know what she said?’
Max shook his head.
‘To love and to cherish… in sickness and in health, until death do us part. Odd, isn’t it, considering her numerous affairs?’
Max refrained from advising Tom he had the order of service the wrong way round, he was too busy thinking about the words Tom hadn’t said… ‘forsaking all other as long as you both shall live’. What he simply couldn’t understand at that moment was how Tom could possibly condone his wife’s behaviour. And if Evangeline’s infidelity was common knowledge, did that also mean Tom knew about Virginia? Feeling a lump rise in his throat, Max sensed it was now or never. He had to ask Tom about Virginia.
‘Tom, yesterday Evangeline mentioned Virginia and I was wondering did…’
‘Virginia know about Evangeline’s affairs. Yes, of course she did. They were the best of friends, weren’t they? In fact, when you came back to live in Church Haywood with your wife and daughter, no one could have been more delighted than myself. Not only did Evangeline adore Tara, but also it took her mind off not having a child of her own. It also meant that she behaved herself for a while.’
‘Erm, that wasn’t exactly what I was going to ask,’ Max said softly. ‘What I really wanted to know was… did my wife have men friends too? According to Evangeline, she did.’
There was an embarrassed silence as Tom shifted papers uneasily about his desk. He was no longer able to look Max in the eye.
‘No, Max, Virginia didn’t have men friends plural… but I do think there was one man, and I can only apologize if it was Evangeline who told you. She had no right!’
Max watched in stunned silence as Tom, uncharacteristically slammed his fist on the desk top, sending the remains of the coffee cup flying. Mopping up the coffee dregs with a spotless white handkerchief, he studied the soggy papers relating to the Stables.
‘Will you… I mean, do you still intend to go ahead with this project, Max’?
‘I’ve given Bill Jessop my word.’
‘That’s not legally binding.’
‘It is in my book,’ Max replied curtly, preparing to leave. ‘Besides I think I’m going to need something to take my mind off the revelations of the past twenty four hours.’
*
Storming in through the front door of Haywood Grange, Max was surprised to find Alison standing in the hallway. Acknowledging her with a brief nod, he strode past both Alison and his sister and made his way to the back staircase and the au pair’s flat. It was then that he remembered Alison’s letter, given to him by Bill Jessop.
Sometime later, when Connie knocked on the door, Max already sensed what was coming.
‘I know,’ he said, opening the door. ‘I was bloody rude to Alison and I apologize.’
Surprisingly, Connie didn’t reprimand him. ‘I know, dear, you’ve had a great deal on your mind lately. I’m sure Alison understands.’ Connie stood uneasily, fingering the single rope of pearls at her throat. ‘Max, concerning Alison… there was something Bunty said the other day… Something about Tara’s accident. Only it would appear, that perhaps we don’t really know what happened that day after all.’
‘Constance,’ Max said, deliberately. ‘You’re my sister and I love you dearly, but as I wish to refrain from a full blown argument, I really would appreciate it if you’d leave me alone!’
Watching Connie close the door behind her, Max re-read Alison’s letter and wondered if he could take any more. First the revelation from Tom and Evangeline about his wife’s infidelity and then Alison Benedict trying to make some excuse about Tara’s accident. Snatching a sheet of writing paper from the drawer, Max picked up his pen and wrote hurriedly with long sweeping strokes.
‘Dear Miss Benedict, Mr Jessop has passed on your letter concerning the Stables. Much as I would like to help your business venture, I am unable to do so. I intend to live at The Stables myself.’
Chapter 9
At the breakfast table, Bunty watched Alison’s eyes brim with tears as she read the newly delivered letter.
‘I don’t believe it!’ Alison cried, ‘I simply don’t believe it! How could he do such a thing?’
‘Alison, my dear. What’s wrong?’
‘It’s the Stables, Bunty. I won’t be able to have one of the units after all.’
‘That’s not fair. I thought you said Mr Jessop agreed and you’d already written to him for confirmation.’
‘I did,’ sniffed Alison. ‘Don’t you remember? I wrote straight away when you advised me to… and even delivered the letter in person.’
‘That’s disgusting! If Bill Jessop replied to your letter, then he’s broken his word. We must do something about it, Alison.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing to do with Mr Jessop. He no longer owns the Stables. It would appear he agreed to sell them the day he received my letter.’
‘Then what about the new owner? Surely he’ll be interested in renting out the units? Perhaps you could write to him instead? Have you any idea who it is?’
‘Oh, yes. Very much so. You can see for yourself who the new owner is.’ Alison pushed the sheet of fine quality writing paper across the table and reached for her handkerchief.
In silence Bunty read and re-read the brief letter, recognising from the card he sent each Christmas the familiar, bold, black scrawl of the signature belonging to Max Craven!
‘Max... I don’t believe it!’
‘I’ve already said that… twice in fact,’ Alison added, reaching for a box of tissues.
‘What does Max want with a place the size of the Stables? He can’t mean to live there alone.’
‘Perhaps he has a new girlfriend.’
‘Nonsense! If Max had a new girlfriend, Connie would be the first to know about it. You forget she’s Max’s sister.’
‘And you forget Max Craven also happens to be remote and aloof. Even verging on the rude, if you want my opinion.’
Alison was thinking back to the earlier meeting in the churchyard and the more recent, abrupt acknowledgement at Haywood Grange.
‘I admit he can give the appearance of being a bit stand-offish,’ Bunty said, folding the letter and replacing it in its envelope, ‘but I’ve known Max since he was a small boy. Mark my words there’s something deeper going on in that stubborn head of his that’s prompted all this.’
*
When Friday came, Max viewed Nigel’s imminent arrival with mixed feelings. On the one hand, it would be good to see his business partner again. On the other, there was the prospect of introducing Nigel to the locals. The only consolation being, there were bound to be hundreds of people attending the Church Haywood summer fete. With luck, at some opportune moment, Max and Nigel could slip away unnoticed.
There was precious little chance of Max going unnoticed, however, at least by Bunty and Alison, when they arrived to help set up the stalls for the tombola and bran tub. Connie looked up and waved.
‘Hello you two, glad you could spare the time. Thank goodness the weather forecast is good for tomorrow. Max and George are already inside the marquee, setting up tables for the produce show.’
Bunty popped her head round the corner of the canvas flap and called in George’s direction. Max, she simply ignored.
‘You don’t have to ignore him on my account,’ Alison hissed under her breath. ‘It’s me he’s upset, not you.’
‘Don’t you believe it, Alison. I might look tough and thick-skinned but believe me, beneath all this excess of cellulite, I can feel hurt and betrayal just as much as you.’
‘Oh, Bunty, what would I do without you?’
‘Don’t forget you’ll have to manage without me when I go to Australia.’
‘That’s not until December.’
‘I know, my dear, and in the meantime we’re jolly well going to have to wrack our brains about finding you somewhere else to set up shop
. Did you manage to get in contact with the "glass lady" who was also hoping to rent one of the Stables’ units?’
‘Who’s talking about the units?’ George enquired, walking through to collect another trestle table.
‘I was,’ replied Bunty, ‘and I don’t mind saying I think it’s pretty despicable of Max to let Alison down, particularly when she’d built her hopes up so much. ‘
‘I’m sorry Bunty, I’m afraid you’ve lost me.’ George rested the table against the side of the marquee. ‘How has Max let Alison down?’
Too embarrassed to remain in the vicinity while Bunty explained the delicate situation, Alison wandered off back to the car park. There she was in the process of removing the large cardboard box, containing sheets for covering the produce tables when her attention was drawn by a flash of red shiny metal.
‘Excuse me,’ said the driver of the gleaming, red sports car, ‘I wonder, have I arrived in the right place to find Max Craven? The gardener at Haywood Grange - did he say his name was Jennings? - said I would probably find him here and would I give him these?’
Alison noticed the stranger was carrying a vicious looking pair of wire cutters in one hand and a roll of heavy-duty wire in the other. Oh, yes, he’s here all right, she wanted to say. Instead she merely nodded and closing the boot of the car replied. ‘Mr Craven’s in the large marquee. Perhaps if you’d care to follow me.’
‘Only if you let me carry that box. It looks pretty heavy from here.’ Nigel peered into the box at the layers of sheets, then at the wire-cutters he was holding. ‘I say, what is all this? Shrouds and instruments for the sacrificial slaughter?’
Alison smiled weakly and found herself thinking of someone she would like to slaughter at that very moment. Only, knowing her luck of late, it would probably end up with Max performing the sacrificial ritual and her on the receiving end. She was, after all, what was required, if all the Dennis Wheatley books she’d read as a teenager were correct: pure and innocent, the unsullied local virgin.
Secrets From The Past Page 9
