The Running Lie

by Jennifer Young

  ‘We’ll wait,’ Victor said.

  Max tapped on Dad’s door, and Mr Rawls jerked it open. Good. Maybe he’d spent the night in Dad’s room and didn’t hear anything from hers.

  ‘Have you slept at all, Mr Rawls?’

  ‘Is that Max? Let her in.’ Dad’s voice sounded normal, yet when she walked into the room he sat upright in bed. Papers spread around him, but he wore pyjamas. At nine in the morning. She’d never seen her father in pyjamas past six, even on Christmas morning.

  ‘How are you feeling, Dad?’

  ‘Fine, fine. A ridiculous heart flutter.’

  Poison. John hadn’t said the word, but he’d clearly meant it.

  ‘Don’t look so terrified, darling. It could have happened just as easily in London.’ He smiled. ‘But let’s not tell your mother, okay? She’ll never let me out of the house again.’

  Max sighed. ‘Maybe she’d be right.’ She held onto Dad’s hand. ‘Should we go home early?’

  ‘I’ll be all right for tonight, I’m sure.’ He patted the bed. ‘Have a seat. We need to talk.’

  God, they had been heard.

  ‘It’s about Mr Carter—or rather Mr Knox, as the case may be.’ Dad looked at her steadily, and she flushed.

  ‘He writes under different names for the paper.’ She tried to sound casual. ‘I’m surprised you remembered him, honestly.’

  ‘Well, besides Nancy going on about him, and your dates, there’s also the fact I met with him last week at my club.’

  John belonged to Boodles? They’d let an American in?

  ‘He asked to meet me. The day before we left for Berlin.’

  The day of Victor’s party. Before they’d had sex. ‘Why?’

  Dad took off his glasses. ‘Mostly, he wanted to ask permission to court you. Imagine my surprise when he shows up with Catherine.’

  ‘Oh.’ John had asked? Before he asked her? Tradition. But it rankled, all the same.

  ‘Has he proposed?’ Dad asked.

  Max nodded. ‘I haven’t answered him. I rushed with Daniel, and I’d like to be sure.’

  ‘And presumably this hasn’t made it easier.’

  Max swallowed.

  Dad tapped the stem of his glasses on the papers next to him. ‘I’d like to think he has a good reason, especially after he spoke about you with such fervour. Do you know what it is?’

  ‘Like I said, I think he writes under different names at the paper.’ The bedclothes matched the ones in her room. On hers, she and John had managed, briefly, to block out the deceptions and threats.

  ‘I was somewhat surprised you didn’t acknowledge him.’

  Max shrugged. How could she say John was a spy in front of Mr Rawls? It wasn’t her secret to tell. ‘I didn’t have much time to talk to him anyway.’

  ‘No. I did make a dramatic exit.’ He reached into a bedside table drawer and took out a cigar. Max lifted it out of his fingers.

  ‘I’m pretty sure Mother would want me to take that away from you, today of all days.’

  Dad’s lips pursed. ‘How do you feel about Mr Knox? Leaving aside the two name situation.’

  ‘I like him.’ What would Mother say about the A-frame house, the battered pickup truck?

  ‘If that’s all…’

  ‘It’s not,’ Max said quickly and flushed. ‘I have quite strong… I…’ She looked down at her hands. ‘I’m rubbish at this.’ Before and after she’d seen him with Catherine, she’d said the words aloud to him, whispered them into kisses across his skin.

  ‘Darling, I want you to marry someone you love. Someone who makes you feel reckless and happy and…’ He smiled. ‘Marriage is hard. It’s better if you start off right.’

  ‘You needed Mother’s money.’

  ‘I did. But I fell in love too.’

  They didn’t talk much about the courtship. Only Mother refusing to stay in England after marriage. Max glanced back at Mr Rawls. He studied a newspaper intently, but clearly he could hear every word they said. Dad patted her hand. ‘I’ll let you go get some breakfast. If we see him again?’

  Max shrugged. ‘I’ll be fine. Whatever happens.’ Did Dad honestly not know what John did? Maybe he didn’t feel that he could say anything in front of Mr Rawls either. ‘You’re going to rest today, right?’

  ‘There’s the film launch tonight. And I need to be around for some meetings.’

  ‘Need?’ Max asked. Her face pulled into disapproval.

  Dad laughed. ‘It’s amazing how you can suddenly look like Nancy. I’ll start them in the afternoon.’

  Max hugged Dad hard, her chin resting on the widening part in his hair. ‘Be careful, okay?’

  Dad patted her arm. ‘Don’t overreact. It was nothing.’

  A knock sounded at Max’s door before dinner that night. Emma smiled at her when she opened it.

  ‘I wondered if you needed any help.’

  Max sighed. ‘Not really, but come on in.’

  Emma closed the door behind her. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I want Dad to rest.’ She went back to the mirror and lifted her mascara, but put it down again. ‘What the hell am I doing?’

  ‘Keeping up appearances and being incredibly British given you sound American?’

  Max nodded. ‘I don’t know if Dad’s all right, I don’t know if Catherine and John will be there, I don’t know how I keep smiling.’

  ‘But you do.’ Emma lifted the red dress off the wardrobe door. Black embroidery across the skirt and bodice gave it a flamenco feel. ‘This is lovely.’

  ‘Thanks. You look really nice. The green makes your eyes really stand out.’ The shawl collar framed Emma’s shoulders.

  Emma sat on the foot of the bed. ‘Can I ask something? How serious are you about John? To have gone out just a couple times, this seems to bother you a lot.’

  Max flushed. ‘It’s more…’ She took a breath. ‘More serious than I thought it would be. Swear you won’t tell Victor?’

  Emma’s reflection nodded.

  ‘John proposed. Before we left London. But I haven’t answered him.’ She forced a laugh. ‘So I’m not ready for Victor to be finding us a venue yet.’ Her cold fingers closed around her perfume bottle. ‘Apparently he asked Dad for permission to court me.’

  ‘Then he’s quite serious.’ Emma didn’t smile. ‘Leaving this aside, he seems like a really good man. What’s your inclination?’

  ‘I like him.’ The words came slowly. She shook her head. ‘I love him. But I don’t know if I can do this.’

  ‘Understandably.’ Emma came behind her. ‘Look, you couldn’t have had much time to talk. And you have your father being ill as well. Wait till you’re both in London and you can properly discuss it.’ She squeezed Max’s shoulders. ‘Try to not worry about what you can’t fix right now. Finish your make up and I’ll do up your zip.’

  Max nodded and applied mascara until her pale eyelashes became visible.

  Emma took the dress off the hanger and helped Max lift it over her head.

  ‘The thing is, Max, it’s very possible to combine…’ She stopped.

  ‘What?’ Max asked as she emerged from the folds.

  ‘Nothing.’ Emma smiled and pulled the zip upwards. ‘I was going to say it’s possible to have something feel dreadful now, and be better later, but it sounds like balderdash when you’re upset.’

  ‘Nothing you say is balderdash.’ Max grasped Emma’s hand. ‘Thank you.’ Max picked up her red lipstick and slicked it over her lips.

  Max straightened the stole of her Dior dinner dress as they left the car. The full red skirt twitched around her calves as they walked towards the cinema. She held onto Dad’s arm, while Victor and Emma followed. Mr Rawls presumably stayed close, but she focused on the comforting smell of cigar smoke that clung to Dad’s jacket and the warmth of his arm. Had he smoked the cigar she’d taken away from him this morning?

  ‘Looking forward to this?’ she asked instead. She’d already asked how he felt five
times in the car.

  ‘Not particularly. Are you?’ He smiled as flash bulbs popped around them, presumably snapping the film stars. ‘You still seem unsettled.’

  ‘A little, maybe.’ Mr Rawls wasn’t close enough to hear. ‘I can’t…’

  Someone approached them, and the next twenty minutes disappeared into a blur of chit chat, mostly in German. Max focused as hard as she could on her immediate surroundings. She would not look for a tall dark-haired man. And she didn’t. But Catherine’s gold dress gleamed, even in the press of people. Catherine’s arm curved around the waist of a man in dinner jacket. Max tried not to look higher, but John bent his head and kissed Catherine. Kissed Catherine with far too much passion for the still light evening. And in the midst of a crowd outside, not even in a nightclub. Or a hotel room.

  Her own heels had never felt higher, and she seemed to wobble. Emma’s hand touched her back quickly.

  ‘Are you okay?’ she murmured.

  Max took a deep breath. ‘They’re here.’ He’d sworn he wouldn’t sleep with her.

  Emma followed her gaze. ‘Damn.’

  ‘Max?’ Dad asked. ‘Shall we go in?’

  Max nodded. Dad extended his arm, and she forced herself to pace towards the cinema doors serenely. She’d been trained for walking in heels smoothly years ago—how could it feel so difficult now?

  Catherine’s gold dress manoeuvred through the crowd towards them, and for once Max wished Mr Rawls would do some body guarding and block her. But she approached, with John trailing behind her.

  ‘Oh, Lord Bartlemas, how are you feeling? We were so worried.’ Her crimson nails formed a pincer over Dad’s sleeve.

  ‘I’m fine, Catherine. Your concern is much appreciated. Now if you’ll excuse us, we’re expected inside.’

  ‘We are…’ Catherine started, but Dad pulled free of her grip and proceeded into the cinema.

  They found their seats, with Mr Rawls glowering at the people around them. And as the lights dimmed, Dad leaned close to her. ‘Perhaps we should have another talk later, darling?’

  Tears tightened her throat, but she nodded.

  The film passed in a blur. She chose to ignore the images flashing, although the audience booing proved more difficult to block.

  ‘They’re very vocal,’ she whispered to Emma.

  ‘You have to wonder if they’ll stop the film,’ Emma said.

  But the film continued. As it ended, Max pleaded an imaginary headache, and she and the Westfields headed back to the hotel alone. They walked through the streets, rather than getting a cab.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Emma asked.

  ‘Did you see them kissing?’ Max shouldn’t replay that moment, but she did.

  ‘No.’ Victor lit a cigarette. ‘I assume you did?’

  Max nodded. The street lamps shone yellow on the pavement. For once, she didn’t make herself walk as she’d been taught. She stared down tonight, arms wrapped around her middle. This time, blocking the memory of Catherine on top of Daniel proved more difficult. It was all too easy to replace Daniel’s body with John’s.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Emma asked.

  ‘More importantly, what am I going to say to Dad? It’s one thing going to a ball with her, but I think he saw them kissing.’

  ‘Would he go all authoritarian and ban you from seeing John?’ Victor asked. ‘I never have a sense of how strict your father is. Your mother, sure.’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to see John again.’ How could she put her lips against that mouth that Catherine—no, that John had kissed Catherine with? It wasn’t like he’d been an unwilling participant, batting her hands away from him. ‘Can we discuss anything else?’

  Emma kept talking, and Max tried to listen, but instead she watched the streetlamps puddle on the pavement. The swaying of her red hem over the cobbles.

  Finally, they could head home to London. Max watched people in the train station, barely listening to Emma and Victor chat. Dad stayed buried in his paperwork, while Mr Rawls paced. Did these people all have people in their lives who did one job—the one job they said they had? That woman in the lilac suit…

  ‘Would you like to come along?’ Emma asked. Max glanced at her, and Emma laughed. ‘That art show I’ve been telling you about. In Hampstead, at the Artists’ Council. Women artists only. This coming weekend. It’d do you good. It’s a small showing.’

  ‘And bring your purse,’ Victor said. He grinned. ‘You’re the only rich person we know.’

  ‘Victor! I didn’t mean that.’

  Max laughed. ‘I don’t mind. But every surface of the house is covered with art already.’ The wall behind John’s sofa. Kissing him under that landscape as they undressed each other. Would he be heading back to London too?

  ‘Max…’ Victor said.

  ‘Sorry.’ She snapped her gaze back to his face.

  ‘You’ve got two choices—trust him or don’t.’ Their train was announced, so they followed Dad, Mr Rawls and Dad’s various assistants towards the platform.

  ‘Easy for you to say. You’re happily married.’

  ‘Hmm. Has he proposed?’ Victor asked.

  Emma hadn’t told him. ‘What time would we need to leave for the show?’

  Victor blew a raspberry at her. ‘Fine. Ignore me.’

  Emma smiled. ‘I’ll be working, so would you mind going around alone or…?’

  ‘Am I not invited?’ Victor asked.

  ‘Or with Victor, I was going to say.’ Emma motioned for Max to go first into the train. ‘I’ll have to get there early.’

  A car waited for Max, Dad and Mr Rawls at Victoria Station. Victor and Emma headed to the Tube to go back to Hampstead. Did they mind that she rolled along in leather seats while they crammed into the Tube? Of all her friends, they never seemed bothered.

  ‘Did you enjoy Berlin?’ Dad asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Max lied. ‘Did you find out how Mrs Dinsmore is?’

  ‘Catherine said she’s resting.’ He took off his glasses. ‘How are you?’

  Could she pour out her woes? Not in front of Mr Rawls. ‘Fine.’

  ‘Tommy was quite taken by you.’ His glasses went back on his nose. ‘Mr Rawls said he sent flowers.’

  Did Mr Rawls say he’d manhandled them?

  ‘Don’t worry. I won’t tell Nancy.’ His newspaper dipped. ‘About Tommy Dinsmore or Mr Knox.’

  Max nodded. ‘Okay. Thanks. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Fine. And unless you want your mother to ask why you didn’t drag me home, you should stop asking me that.’

  ‘I should have.’

  ‘Hello, darling.’ Her mother brushed a kiss over her cheek. ‘You look exhausted. What was the journey like?’

  A footman appeared and lifted their suitcases.

  ‘Thank you,’ she murmured.

  ‘How was Berlin? And you’ve had no messages from Mr Knox, but presumably you told him you were away.’

  Max nodded. After a fashion.

  ‘Vivian did ring, and she wants you to come over for dinner tonight. I know you’re tired, but we’re going to Mrs Smythe’s party and…’

  ‘Mother, I don’t feel up for a party.’

  ‘I told Vivian I was sure you’d want to come to dinner. Have a little faith in me, darling.’

  Max closed her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. Do you think Dad will want to go out tonight?’

  ‘He never wants to go to parties. And if he’s tired enough, he’ll simply claim he has to work.’ Mother shrugged. ‘I know what he’s like.’

  Max nodded.

  ‘Is there a reason you asked, darling?’

  ‘No, of course not. It’s just rare for me to see up close how hard he works.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  PUSHED MAX INTO the living room, then carefully lowered herself onto a sofa.

  ‘Where’s Bobby?’ Max asked. Usually her two-year-old godson would be swarming all over her as soon as she arrived.

  ‘His
nanny’s giving him his bath.’

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Okay. My ankles haven’t swollen as much this time.’ She frowned. ‘But Brian’s mother is due to arrive in a couple days. Frankly, the idea being in this teeny house with her makes me feel sick. She didn’t want me to nurse Bobby, and I’m sure it’s only going to be worse.’

  ‘Come to Norfolk. We’re going in a few days. Have the baby there.’

  ‘You’re crazy. What about doctors and…’

  ‘There are doctors in Norfolk! I was born there, and George. There’s more than enough room, my mother can distract Mrs Gould, and I can help you.’ She tapped her fingers on the table. ‘I’ll do some research on nursing…’

  ‘What will that do? They’ll just argue that formula is a wonder invention. Which I’m sure it is, but when I nursed Bobby, it was…’ Vivian shrugged. ‘I’ve never been so happy. That’s why I don’t want to let them mess me up this time. Even if they say it will make me saggy. Brian says he doesn’t care, if that’s what I want.’ Vivian stretched out her feet and rubbed her belly. ‘Anyway, how was Berlin? And your mother said you went on a second date with that man—what was his name?’

  Max closed her eyes. She could not tell Vivian about Berlin. ‘John.’

  ‘That face looks unhappy. Was he a jerk? Where did you go?’

  ‘No, he’s lovely.’ Max looked at her lap. ‘We went to a party at Emma’s, then back to his flat.’

  ‘Maxine Falkland. Did you sleep with him?’ With anyone else, it would have sounded judgmental, but Vivian sounded as if she might explode with excitement.

  Max nodded. She wished a blush didn’t climb her cheeks.

  Vivian laughed. ‘Excellent. How was it?’

  Max pleated the fabric of her skirt. ‘Amazing.’

  ‘Better than Daniel?’

  ‘Definitely.’ Should she tell Vivian about the proposal? ‘How’s Bobby?’

  ‘Uh-uh. I want more details than that. Did he…’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No, he didn’t, or no, you won’t share details?’