‘Guinea fowl?’ the waiter enquired.
Max nodded in Alison’s direction.
‘I was - um - wondering,’ Alison began, turning to the waiter. ‘You wouldn’t happen to have some feathers by any chance?’
‘Feathers madame!’ came the astonished reply.
‘Yes, guineas fowl feathers. I understand everything you serve here is fresh. So… I was wondering if chef had any guinea fowl feathers to spare?’
As the completely baffled waiter scurried away, Max studied his own main course thoughtfully.
Seeing his face crease into a broad grin, Alison whispered in pure earnestness. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘The look on his face when you asked for feathers. Am I correct in thinking you want them for Rosie’s bedroom?’
‘Right first time. You’ve obviously followed my train of thought. I thought they’d be useful for...’
Alison stopped and giggled, aware of a confused waiter deep in conversation with the maitre d’. ‘Oh, dear. I suppose I should have explained why I wanted them. He probably thinks it a most unusual request.’
‘Most unusual,’ said Max looking down at his venison in a filo pastry basket. He gave it a gentle prod with his fork. ‘Poor fellow, no wonder he’s looking so worried. As you’ve requested feathers from your guinea fowl, he’s probably expecting me to ask for the antlers that went with this!’
Towards the end of their meal, when Max was paying the bill, the same confused waiter approached Alison with a plastic carrier bag. ‘Erm - with the chef’s compliments, madame.’
With the faintest of smiles, Alison accepted the bag of feathers, saying simply; ‘Thank you so much, they’ll be perfect for my ranch.’
Stunned into silence, the waiter could only stare blankly as Max led Alison once more into the cold November night. An icy blast caught at her throat and, slipping on the frosted tarmac beneath her feet, Alison shivered and clutched at Max’s arm.
‘Gracious, either it’s got much colder or it was warmer than I realized in the restaurant.’
‘A bit of both, I think,’ he said, pausing by the Saab. ‘That log fire they had near the bar was certainly giving out some heat. No wonder people were loosening their ties and removing their jackets.’ Reaching onto the rear passenger seat, Max produced a travel rug. ‘Here, wrap this round you before you get into the car.’
‘I feel like a Navajo Indian,’ Alison joked, when Max placed the rug about her shoulders.’
‘You don’t look like one,’ he replied softly, spying the carrier bag in her hand, ‘but you could look like a Red Indian Princess.’
Before she realized what was happening, Max had plucked one of the longer black and white guinea fowl feathers from the bag and fixed it in her hair.’
‘Max! I can’t go back to Keeper’s Cottage looking like this.’
‘Then perhaps I won’t take you back,’ he said softly. ‘Perhaps I’ll keep you here instead.’
Feeling a cold gust of wind ruffle her short hair, Alison was aware of the feather, floating to the ground. With her arms encased beneath the warm red travel rug, she was helpless to retrieve it.
‘Oh, well, never mind,’ Max said, studying her intently. ‘From Red Indian Princess to Little Red Riding Hood.’
‘And what are you then? A grizzly bear or the big, bad wolf?’
‘I’m not sure I want to be either. What would you like me to be, Alison?’
Still savouring the delights of the meal and fine wine they’d just shared, and faced with such a leading question, Alison said the first thing to come into her head. ‘I’d like you to be my lover, Max… because I certainly don’t want to be a substitute for Tara. ‘
Unsure as to whether or not he’d heard her correctly, Max watched Alison’s eyes brim with tears. Moments later, with the travel rug falling to the ground at his feet, he became aware of her sobbing from the far corner of the car park.
‘Alison? Alison!’ Max called in pursuit. In desperation, reaching forward to catch her arm, he found himself holding the flying sash of her skirt instead.
Anxious to escape his grasp and pulling away, Alison realized all too late that she’d unloosened the sash completely. With a coil of shock, she stopped in her tracks. Max was holding one end of the sash, while she clutched clumsily at the other.
Even in the dimly lit corner of the car park, Alison felt Max’s burning gaze in the direction of her thigh. What was it Rosie had said? Alison’s scar went right up to her knickers.
Still holding on to his end of the sash with one hand, Max reached out to trace the long line of the scar with his other.
‘Alison,’ he whispered, huskily. ‘My dear, sweet Alison. I’ve never thought of you as a substitute for Tara. I’ve wanted you since that night...’ Max felt Alison tremble at his touch as he drew her into his arms. ‘Surely you must have realized? I thought you knew how I felt, yet at the same time I had to keep forcing myself to hold back. Telling myself you’d been Tara’s babysitter. Remembering you were only a little girl when we first met all those year ago...’
Alison stiffened indignantly. ‘But I’m not a child now!’
‘No, perhaps not,’ he said, tilting her face towards his, ‘but neither are you a woman in the true sense of the word.’
‘What do you mean? Mother and I travelled all over the world with my stepfather and stepbrothers. Not only travelling, but also living and studying there, too. Since my mother’s death, and setting up my own business, everyone tells me I’ve proved myself to be quite an independent woman.’
Watching her re-tie the sash of her skirt, Max led her gently back to the car. ‘Of course you have and I don’t doubt that at all, but you’ve never slept with a man, have you?’
‘I...’ began Alison, but she couldn’t go on. She could only feel Max’s eyes as they pierced hers relentlessly. She knew what he was saying was true.
Gathering the rug from the tarmac, Max draped the rug across her shoulders once more. Turning her towards him, he cupped her face in his hands, saying softly. ‘Alison, I’m a great deal...’
‘Don’t you dare say older than me because you’re not! Besides, I’m also used to being with older men. My stepfather was much older than my mother and my stepbrothers are almost your age.’
‘All right. All right,’ he teased. ‘There’s no need to bully me! I was only thinking of you and that perhaps your first lover should be someone more your own age, someone...’
Summoning up all her courage, Alison stared boldly into his eyes, which like her skirt and top, looked inky black in the moonlight.
‘First lover? You talk as if you’re expecting me to have a whole line of them! As far as I’m concerned Max, I only want one - I only want you.’
Holding her in his arms, Max hesitated. It felt so right holding her close like this, breathing in her sweet perfume. He bent and kissed the top of her head. ‘If you’re really sure, we’ll have to do something about it, won’t we? Heaven knows how I’ve been able to resist taking you in my arms all evening. If we hadn’t been in a crowded restaurant...’
At any other time, Max thought dejectedly, he could have taken Alison back to his hotel room, where they could be alone together, but that was miles away in London. As for the flat at the Grange, that too was out of the question. With George and Constance in such close proximity it was hardly conducive to...
To what? Max considered thoughtfully. Making love to Alison for the very first time. Taking her lovingly and slowly, every step of the way until she reached the very heights of passion. Even the very thought of making love to her, filled him with such intense longing. Yet, it was a longing he had to suppress. His conscience had already told him that.
London was too far away, he concluded for the second time, and the Grange too close for comfort. And he could hardly go home with Alison to Keeper’s Cottage. He could just see Bunty’s face! Then of course there were Evangeline’s revelations to consider. Until this moment, Max had completely forgotten Evangeline.
‘Max,’ Alison said softly, drawing his attention back to the present.
As if reading his mind, she continued in the faintest of whispers. ‘We could always go to the motel.’
‘The motel?’
‘The one we passed on the way. You remarked how utterly devoid of character it was. Just one solid mass of concrete you said, and wondered how it had ever got past the planning authorities.’
Alison shivered in his arms once more, whether it was from cold or nerves, Max was unsure. He was only sure of one thing at that moment. He wanted Alison so desperately and she was suggesting they went to a motel!’
‘Please!’ her voice begged. ‘I want it to be tonight while I...’
*
Walking down the seemingly endless motel corridor, Max knew their room would be just like hundreds of others scattered all over the United Kingdom. Rooms he’d stayed in often enough on his business trips, always alone and always bemoaning the fact that no one had yet come up with a better idea for the exhausted business man at the end of a long and weary day.
Tonight was no exception, Max thought disappointedly, opening the door. Alison ventured timidly inside.
‘It’s like an oven in here,’ she gasped, walking over to heavily curtained windows.
Seeing her struggle with the window lock, Max went to her assistance.
‘They’re probably never opened,’ he said, glancing down at her. ‘Perhaps if we can find the thermostat?’
Alison nodded and looked about her.
‘Well, what do you think of the decor?’ Max said, adjusting the dial on the wall.
‘It’s not as bad as I thought. The furniture’s quite nice. The dark mahogany does at least tone with the curtains and bedspread and,’ she said, peeling back the bedspread, ‘it is proper linen, and beautifully laundered by the looks of it.’
Max smiled and watched her run her hands along the crisply folded sheet. Crisp white linen, where very soon he would be lying with Alison, safe in his embrace at last.
Turning off the main overhead light, the room was plunged momentarily into darkness. But Max was already by the bed switching on the table lamp. Seeing renewed fear in her eyes, he sat on the bed and reached for her hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ I should have done that in reverse order - switched on the bedside lamp first. Did it frighten you?’
‘No,’ Alison lied.
‘So, you’re not afraid of the dark anymore. I vaguely recollect, when you were younger you...’
Max bit his lip thoughtfully. Bearing in mind their earlier conversation, now was not the time to remind Alison of when she was a child.’
Brushing at an imaginary piece of fluff on her skirt, Alison felt a shiver of apprehension run through her body. No, she wasn’t afraid of the dark any more, that had stopped years ago. What did worry her was the fact that she’d begged Max to bring her to this motel and now she was beginning to have second thoughts. Now, she didn’t even know if she could go through with this charade.
It isn’t a charade! A determined voice echoed in her head. I love Max, I want to be here with him, I want him to make love to me. I...
‘Alison?’ a gentle voice urged. ‘Would you like to use the bathroom first?’
‘What? Oh, yes. Of course.’
With a puzzled frown, Max studied her blank face, as she walked with unseeing eyes in the direction of the bathroom.
Once there, Alison looked about the bathroom in wide-eyed panic. What should she do now? What did people do now at this moment of their relationship? She wasn’t on the pill. Would Max... they had machines in both gents and ladies loos these days didn’t they? Had he thought to..?
*
Hearing music from the other side of the bathroom door, Alison could only assume Max had switched on the radio or television. She breathed a deep sigh of relief. At least with unseen singers and musicians, she didn’t feel quite so alone and desperate.
After some considerable time, Max heard the bathroom door open. Looking up he saw her, freshly showered, wearing a white bath robe over her satin undies. ‘I’m afraid there’s only one... one robe.’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ he reassured. ‘You can wear it now and I’ll wear it in the morning, when I get up to make the tea.’
Heading for the bathroom himself, Max nodded and Alison followed his gaze. There was the typical motel room tray, with its customary sachets of teabags, coffee, sugar and miniature cartons of milk and cream. Morning! Max was already talking about the morning and she still had to get through the night!
Quite how long she’d been waiting with eyes closed, Alison didn’t know. Without warning Max slipped into bed beside her and she heard the click of the bedside lamp being switched off.
‘Alison... my dear, sweet Alison,’ his voice murmured in her ear, while strong yet gentle hands reached out, drawing her towards his tightly muscled body.
Slipping her arms over his shoulders, Alison ran her hands slowly and nervously down his back to the base of his spine and breathed an almost inaudible sigh of relief. He wasn’t totally naked as she had feared.
Feeling her relax in his arms, Max brushed his lips gently against her eyes and cheeks before seeking her mouth with his own.
‘I want you to be sure, Alison,’ he said, his voice soft and low, ‘really sure. If you’ve changed your mind, we can get dressed and I can take you home now. It really doesn’t matter.’
This time it was the turn of Max’s inner thoughts to play tricks inside his head. Liar! A voice echoed. Of course it matters! You’ve waited for her long enough and now she’s here - in bed beside you, wearing little more than a silk slip - you couldn’t possibly let her go and simply walk away.
‘I haven’t changed my mind and I don’t want to go home,’ her trembling voice answered in the darkness.
Chapter 22
Those same words rang in Max’s ears the next morning when he filled the kettle as quietly as he could and switched it on.
‘I haven’t changed my mind, and I don’t want you to take me home,’ Alison had pleaded softly.
No, she hadn’t changed her mind about spending the night with him in the motel and she’d certainly resisted all suggestions he’d made to take her home - or at least to Bunty at Keeper’s Cottage. Yet, thought Max, arranging cups and saucers on the tray, despite spending the night together they hadn’t made love after all.
Watching steam escape from the kettle, Max was grateful for that. This characterless motel room would never have been his choice for their first night together. At least now he could find somewhere more suitable for them to go and stay.
Dropping tea bags into the pot, Max turned to the bed and felt a warm glow tug at his heart. It had been quite a traumatic night one way and another, yet despite all that, they’d managed to resolve all their problems. Hmm… perhaps not all their problems, but those that concerned Alison the most, before they’d eventually fallen asleep.
Catching sight of his reflection in the mirror, Max studied the dark shadow on his chin and combed his hair away from his eyes with his fingers. ‘Max Craven! What will your sister think seeing you looking like this for the second time in forty-eight hours?’
‘What do you think Connie will say?’ a sleepy voice called from the pillow.
‘Hopefully nothing,’ Max replied, ‘providing Bunty’s followed my strict instructions and told Constance not to interrogate me on my return.’
‘You’ve rung Bunty this morning!’ Alison asked mortified.
‘Actually, I rang her late last night,’ Max explained, seeing Alison’s look of sheer disbelief. ‘And the reason I rang was to tell her you wouldn’t be coming home. I knew she’d worry otherwise.’
‘But...’
Max took the tea tray to the bedside table and bent to kiss her on the nose. ‘Don’t worry, I also told her you would be perfectly safe with me. If I’m to be perfectly honest, I almost sensed that dear old Bunty quite liked the idea of me waking up to find you cradled in my arms.’
/>
Smoothing down her mini-slip, Alison blushed. Had she really ended up in Max’s arms? She couldn’t really remember.
‘Don’t look so worried! Nothing happened. Remember what we agreed?’
Reassured, she sat up in bed and reached for her tea. ‘I’m so glad I stayed. I feel so much better knowing that it’s all out in the open... that you know... about everything.’
For a brief moment, Max felt a familiar, menacing dark shadow rearing its ugly presence.
‘Know about everything,’ Alison’s voice repeated in his head. Yes, he knew about everything now, and it had been anything but easy listening to Alison’s heartrending sobs, as she’d lain in his arms, explaining in every lurid detail, what had happened all those years ago.
The reason behind Tara’s accident, the reason Virginia had begun drinking and accidentally set fire to the house, and quite possibly even the reason for Evangeline’s recent drink-related problems.
Evangeline, Max pondered, watching Alison sip thoughtfully at her tea. Quite possibly thanks to Evangeline, he and Alison now had a future together. It was after all Evangeline who, having confronted him in the churchyard, put forward her theory that Alison was perhaps incapable of having a proper relationship with a man until the circumstances of Tara’s death had been completely dispelled from her mind.
Taking the cup from her hand, Max reached out and drew Alison into his arms. He needed to feel her close to him. Wanted her to feel safe.
‘Yes,’ he replied in understanding, stroking her short spiky hair. ‘I’m glad that I know everything, too.’
Listening to the sound of her gentle, rhythmic breathing, Max swallowed hard and relived the bitter-sweet moments when the awful truth had finally reared its ugly head. He had to, he told himself. It was necessary before he and Alison left this austere, cheerless place. They must leave their equally cold and chilling memories behind.
Unlike last night, Alison was now relaxed, as if almost at peace with herself. Max stroked a slender arm and reached for her hand, where delicate fingers entwined gently with his own.
Raising her fingertips to his lips, he kissed them tenderly, remembering last night how those same fingers had curled and clenched into white-knuckled fists. How, when he’d undressed her and moved dangerously close towards her, her earlier unresisting body had become rigid with fear.
Secrets From The Past Page 23