‘You’ll find Mr Craven in there,’ Alison said, motioning towards the marquee.
‘And where do you want the box?’
‘Oh, that’s to go in the marquee too, but don’t worry I can manage.’
‘No way!’ remonstrated Nigel, placing the cutters on the sheets and looping the wire on his arm. ‘If I can’t be a knight in shining armour here in this picturesque setting of Church Haywood, then where can I be?
‘Certainly not in London,’ he continued. ‘The last time I offered to help a young lady in London, she thought I was going to attack her!’
Studying his Burberry tweeds and expensive leather brogues, Alison thought Nigel, with his beaming smiling face, looked anything but a criminal.
Recognising the familiar voice, Max looked up as Alison lifted the canvas flap for Nigel to enter.
‘Nigel! What the.... How on earth did you know I was here?’
‘Well… I could say sent on a mission by Merlin the wizard, or in this case, Jennings the gardener, he of the long white beard. I was then helped on my way by a charming sea-sprite and I come bearing gifts.’
To Alison’s surprise, Max roared with laughter when he saw the contents of the box Nigel was carrying and he also made the connection with Alison’s newly cropped urchin cut and her sweatshirt, decorated with appliqued sea-horses.
‘Nigel, have you been drinking?’
‘Haven’t touched a drop, my friend. That isn’t to say I don’t intend to, once you’ve finished here for the evening. I trust we can walk to the local hostelry?’
Patting his friend warmly on the back, Max relieved Nigel of the box and directed him to the far end of the marquee where George was erecting the last of the tables. Alison meanwhile, still smarting from the shock of Max’s letter, returned to Bunty’s side.
There she overheard Bunty whisper to Connie, ‘I for one still think it’s pretty underhand, Connie. Perhaps you could persuade Max to reconsider? Lord knows, he doesn’t want all of that vast place to himself, does he?’
‘I’ll try, but he’s been so...’ seeing Alison approach, Connie shook her head sadly. ‘Bunty’s been telling me all about it, Alison. I can’t promise of course, but I’ll certainly see if I can get Max to change his mind. ‘
‘Oh no! I’d rather you didn’t, I...’
‘But Alison,’ Bunty interrupted, ‘you’re going to need somewhere to work.’
‘I know, but in the interim, Evangeline rang me only this evening, just as we were leaving. She’d like me to re-design her bedroom. For the moment at least, I’ve something to do.’
‘Of course, Evangeline!’ Connie continued. ‘Max was only saying yesterday what a wonderful job you’d made of their spare room. He was very impressed, you know. He thinks you’re extremely talented and should do very well as an interior designer.’
‘Hmph!’ Muttered Alison miserably, walking back to the car. ‘If that’s the sort of encouragement he gives to people whose work he admires, I’m better off without it, thank you very much!’
Bunty said nothing in reply; her thoughts were already elsewhere. On the Saturday morning, the villagers of Church Haywood woke to clear blue skies and brilliant sunshine. Placing the last slices of bread in the toaster, Connie clapped her hands. ‘Thank heavens for that; at least we should get a good turnout. With all the restoration work needed on St Faith’s, we have to make as much money as possible.’
Nigel buttered a slice of wholemeal toast and reached for the marmalade. ‘That was a wonderful breakfast, Connie. I can’t remember the last time I breakfasted so well. With Vanessa it’s just yoghurt and muesli. And, if I eat any more of the latter, I swear I shall end up with buck teeth. I’m convinced it’s really rabbit food in fancy packaging.’
Connie smiled and filled Nigel’s cup with freshly brewed coffee. ‘It’s nice to see someone eat breakfast. Most of the time I can only tempt Max with tea and toast.’
‘What! You’re still waiting on him, the lazy so-and-so. No wonder he’s looking much better.’
‘Not for much longer,’ Max broke in. ‘Waiting on me, I mean. I shall soon be moving out.’
Connie looked up in alarm. ‘That’s preposterous! You can’t even consider moving into the Stables just yet. They’re not even fit for horses at the moment, let alone humans!’
‘Stables?’ queried Nigel. ‘What have you been keeping from me, Max?’
Later, walking to the fete, Max explained his proposed new venture.
‘At first I thought I might simply let the place. Then one thing led to another and I ended up thinking, why not live there?’
‘From what you say, it sounds pretty impressive, so when do I get to see what Connie refers to as "Craven’s Stables?"‘
‘I’ll take you this afternoon,’ Max replied, ‘once the fete’s in full swing and I’m no longer needed.’
Nigel’s face lit up as the sound of the Boys’ Brigade Band filled the air. On high hung red, white and blue bunting, and somewhere across the field, a wayward balloon shot skyward, whisked away by a sudden gust of wind. Hearing a child’s plaintive cry, Nigel’s eyes scanned the crowd for the unhappy youngster.
‘I know just how he feels, exactly the same thing happened to me once. I pestered my mother all afternoon for a balloon and the minute I got one, I let it go. I remember bawling my eyes out for the rest of the day.’
Knowing his partner as he did, Max thought it unlikely Nigel could ever be miserable. It must be wonderful to be so positive, in fact. Which was why at that precise moment, Max decided that as far as his new venture was concerned, he would let only positive thoughts occupy his mind from now on. He’d had more than enough negative moments this past week. First with Evangeline, then Connie chattering on persistently about Alison. Now it was time, he concluded, to concentrate on Craven’s Stables.
Unfortunately, as the afternoon wore on, Max discovered things weren’t going to be quite so easy going and straight-forward as he’d hoped.
Breathing in the air filled with the aroma of frying onions for hot dogs and the sweet smell of candy floss, Nigel’s face shone like a child’s. ‘Max, this is all truly amazing! I haven’t been to anything like this for years. To be honest, I didn’t think village fetes like this still existed. Come on, how about a hot dog?’
Declining Nigel’s offer, Max watched in bemused silence as Nigel painstakingly squeezed first a layer of mustard along the entire length of his hot dog, before topping it with another of tomato sauce.
‘I don’t know how you can,’ Max teased. ‘Just you wait until I tell Vanessa.’
‘You wouldn’t dare,’ came the muffled reply. Nigel savoured his first bite and a surplus blob of ketchup dropped on to his shirt.
Walking across the field, Nigel caught sight of Alison, who was again wearing blue. ‘I say, isn’t that my sea-sprite? What a wonderful colour that is. It always reminds me of Vanessa in her blue silk.’
Max followed Nigel’s gaze to where Alison, dressed in blue chambray, was talking to the vicar. ‘Oh, you mean the girl talking to Reverend Hope?’
‘Young woman, more like!’ Nigel replied. ‘Well, as he’s the Reverend Hope, who would that be, Faith or Charity? You know you never did introduce us last night. Damned rude of you, I thought at the time, too, Max.’
Finishing his hotdog and wiping his mouth with a handkerchief, Nigel continued. ‘Mind you I can quite understand why you’d want to keep the little sea-sprite a secret. And I thought you said there weren’t any decent women in Church Haywood.’
Pondering Nigel’s reference to Hope, Faith and Charity, Max explained. ‘You mean Alison Benedict. She was a friend of Tara’s. Her mother died recently and...’
‘Was that the funeral you mentioned, the day you left Craven and Painton?’
‘Good heavens Nigel! You’ve a good memory. I’d better watch what I say in future.’
‘And that child had better watch where she’s going or else...’
It was too late. Having ju
st made her lucky dip from the bran tub, Rosie Jennings was running to catch up with her grandfather when she tripped over a tent peg and went crashing to the ground. Momentarily stunned, she studied the gash on her leg with delight. It was only when she examined her newly acquired bran tub toy that she burst into floods of tears.
‘But it’s broken,’ she sobbed. ‘It’s all broken.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Nigel, rushing to her side and examining the injured leg. ‘What do you think Max? Not broken, but certainly a very nasty cut.’ ¬Max knelt down on the grass to examine Rosie’s knee. ‘No, no broken bones but it’s bleeding quite badly. I think we’d better use a handkerchief to...’
‘But it is broken!’ Rosie remonstrated, holding up the model aeroplane. Look the wing’s all smashed and the nose is all bent.’
Max looked at Nigel in amusement. So it wasn’t the injured leg that was upsetting the child, it was the broken toy. Nigel produced his ketchup-stained handkerchief and shook his head. ‘I don’t think we’d better use this. Covered in all that sauce and mustard it’s not very hygienic, is it?’
‘And mine’s not white, it’s paisley,’ said Max, producing a patterned handkerchief from his trouser pocket.
Rosie’s face lit up. ‘Gosh! is that a real cowboy’s handkerchief you’ve got there, mister?’
‘Happen it is,’ drawled Nigel in true John Wayne fashion. ‘Would you like my pardner to tie it round your leg, to make it better?’
‘Wow! Yeah,’ came the delighted reply. ‘Will you mister?’
‘Why, sure thing missie,’ Max continued, influenced by Nigel’s attempt at a western accent. ‘And if you want us to help you find your folks, well, just hop on to my shoulders…’
Revelling in this new-found attention, Rosie studied both men carefully and then burst into tears once more.
‘Oh, dear, what’s the matter? Look if you’re upset about your plane, I’m sure we can find you another.’
Through her tears, Rosie gazed up at Max and sniffed. ‘S’not the plane. It’s me dad, he said I was never to go wiv strangers and I was to stay wiv me grandad... only I don’t know where he is now...’
‘I swear you’ll be quite safe with us,’ Nigel interrupted. ‘Scout’s honour.’
‘Scouts is stupid! Me brother was a scout,’ echoed a voice.
Tying the folded handkerchief on Rosie’s leg, Max looked in Nigel’s direction and whispered. ‘She’s got a point you know. We can’t be too careful, can we? Don’t want to be accused of child-molesting.’
‘We can’t leave her here, Max. That cut looks pretty deep and needs attention. Also, no one else around here seems to be taking too much notice of her.’
Lifting Rosie high into the air, Max said cautiously. ‘Look, why don’t you sit on my shoulders. That way you might be able to see your dad or your grandad. Perhaps you could also tell us your name.’
‘Rosie... Rosie Jennins.’
‘Rosie, that’s a nice name.’ Nigel announced.
‘No, it’s not. It’s stupid! I want to be called Clint or Tom, but me mum won’t let me. And at that stupid chris’nin’ the other week, the vicar splashed water all over me face and called me Rosemary. Ugh!’
With Rosie unable to see Max’s face, from where she was sitting, he allowed his face to break into a broad grin. Nigel meanwhile suppressed his smile with a ketchup-stained handkerchief and pretended to sneeze.
‘Where were you last?’ Max asked, attempting to solve the mystery of the lost child. ‘Perhaps someone there will recognise you.’
‘At the bran tub. That silly woman wouldn’t let me pick from the boy’s barrel but I din’t want no stupid girls’ toys. Then Al’son came along and said if I wanted a boy’s toy, I could have a boy’s toy! I like Al’son she’s nice. I told me mum Al’son never wears skirts and dresses so I...’
Listening to this garbled conversation, Max could only assume ‘the silly woman’ Rosie was referring to was his sister Constance. He also assumed correctly that Alison had probably taken over from her at the bran tub. ‘Right then,’ Max called triumphantly. ‘I think we’re on the right track, Rosie, so hold tight.’
Alison looked up in surprise to see Max, followed by Nigel, trotting along with a small child on his shoulders. She stood open-mouthed.
‘It’s broken Al’son,’ Rosie called down tearfully.
‘Oh, dear!’ gasped Alison in alarm. ‘Then we must get you to the first aid tent immediately.’
‘No, not her leg,’ whispered Max, as Alison’s gaze rested on the injured limb. ‘Her aeroplane. It looks as if it’s been in the Battle of Britain.’
‘Don’t be daft, mister. They didn’t have Concordes at the Battle of Britain, they had Spitfires and...’
Max raised a quizzical eyebrow and looked towards Alison for help.
‘She said she was here only recently. Apparently her name’s Rosie Jennins or something... Would you happen to know who she belongs to?’
Suppressing a giggle, Alison turned to Max and Nigel. ‘Of course I do. You should too, Max. It’s Mr Jenning’s granddaughter - Connie’s gardener, remember?’
‘But I thought she said. Oh, I see now! Rosie - Rosie Jennings!’
‘That’s what I said, mister!’ came the retort from the direction of Max’s shoulders.
‘Otherwise known as Clint... after Clint Eastwood, I suspect,’ broke in Nigel ‘... or Tom after...?’
‘Tom Cruise,’ explained Alison, ‘in Top Gun. That’s another of her favourites.’
Talk of Top Gun reminded Rosie about her plane. She held it out for Alison’s examination. ‘Al’son, can I have another Concorde please?’
Alison studied the plastic dustbin filled with sawdust. ‘Oh, Rosie. I’m afraid we can’t open every parcel just to find another Concorde. It wouldn’t be fair on the other boys... or girls... would it?’
‘S’pose not,’ sighed Rosie, tugging at the knot on Max’s handkerchief.
‘I know, what we can do,’ Nigel announced cheerfully, and three pairs of eyes turned expectantly in his direction.
Chapter 10
‘Look, trust me... er... Alison. That’s if I can call you Alison. I’m Nigel, by the way... Nigel Painton. We’ll ignore my friend Max here as he was so rude not to introduce us yesterday evening.’
Nigel held out his hand and Alison responded. Concerned about Rosie’s welfare, she’d forgotten how upset she’d been to receive Max’s letter, until Nigel mentioned the word ‘rude’. So, she wasn’t the only person to think ill of Max Craven. Yet, seeing him, trotting along with Rosie shouting, ‘Giddy up mister’ astride his shoulders, she couldn’t help thinking if this was the same Max Craven she’d first encountered in the churchyard.
He must be a Gemini, Alison thought to herself: split personality and all that - two people. One nice and the other...
‘Alison?’ queried Nigel. ‘As I was saying - trust me, or at least agree to my suggestion. What do you think?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve only just taken over from Connie at the ban tub. I can’t leave it unattended.’
‘No one is asking you to. I’ll take over...’
‘What!’ exclaimed Max. ‘You’ll take over, but you don’t know...’
‘Of course I know what to do! I merely take the money, direct the boys to the boys’ tub and the girls to the girls’. Isn’t that right Alison?’
‘Not exactly,’ replied Alison, looking knowingly in Rosie’s direction, where she was peering with delight at the trail of congealed blood, oozing down her leg.
Nigel nodded in understanding and turned to face Max. ‘Right, that’s sorted, then. You and Alison take Rosie to the first-aid tent, get her leg seen to and then go and look for her father or grandfather. It will be more respectable if you go together. Rosie’s far too heavy for Alison to carry and, as you say, you can’t take her on your own.’
Unaware of the conflict between the pair, Nigel nudged Alison towards Max with a, ‘Don’t worry about me,
I’ll get along just fine,’ and a jovial, ‘So long, pardner,’ to Rosie.
‘Bye, mister. See ya.’
‘Watching the St John Ambulance volunteer clean Rosie’s leg, Max whispered to Alison. ‘Do you think it’s going to need stitching?’
‘I doubt it. It doesn’t look half so bad, now that most of the blood’s been cleaned away.’
‘Oh, she won’t like that.’
‘Won’t she? Why?’
‘Because when Nigel and I picked her up, she seemed positively delighted with her injury. She probably thinks of it as a war wound or something. By the way, did she really have a battle with my sister over the bran tub? She told me she thought Constance was a silly woman!’
Alison nodded and smiled. ‘So I gather. Rosie’s such a tomboy, but as I said to Connie, if she wanted to pick from the boys’ bran tub, what harm would it do?’
A few moments later, Rosie came running over, waving Max’s handkerchief in the air.
‘Hey! Take it easy,’ Max called. ‘We don’t want you falling over again, do we?’ He winked in Alison’s direction. ‘Especially as we’ve got to go and round up your folks, er - Clint.’
Rosie giggled and reached out for Max’s hand. ‘Do you want to ride on my shoulders again?’ He asked. ‘No thanks, mister. ‘Cos like this I can hold your hand and Al’son’s too. ‘Al’son,’ came the inquisitive voice. ‘Why have you got legs today?’
‘You mean why am I wearing a dress? That’s because it’s a special day, Rosie. I thought it would be nice to wear something pretty.’
‘But you never wear anythin’ pretty Al’son, you always wear jeans and sweatshirts, ‘cept when you’re at chris’nins . Anyway, what do you think, mister? Don’t you think Al’son looks better in jeans?’
Rosie fingered the soft, blue chambray fabric, encircling Alison’s legs. It didn’t look right somehow, seeing Alison’s calves and ankles. She waited expectantly for Max’s reply.
‘I think Alison looks very pretty... in both jeans and dresses.’
Oblivious to Alison’s blushes, Rosie sighed and kicked at a soft drinks can lying in the grass. ‘Goal!’ she shouted triumphantly, watching it land between the wheels of a pram.
Secrets From The Past Page 10
