The Running Lie

by Jennifer Young

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘I didn’t think you’d be here this early, that’s all, Ken.’ She would have never described John as skittish. ‘John could take Centurion.’

  ‘If you think he’s up to him?’

  Max nodded. ‘Look, we interrupted you. We’ll saddle them up.’

  ‘I’ll do it.’ He walked back towards the stalls. ‘Be careful. Lots of trees are down. How far are you going?’

  ‘Just around,’ John said.

  Max headed to Poppy’s stall. She whickered gently as Max held her hand out. John followed. ‘This is Poppy.’ After a few minutes petting Poppy, Max took him to the next stall, holding her hand out again to Centurion. ‘He’s not as fierce as he sounds. The name’s ridiculous. George’s idea.’

  ‘Was he your brother’s?’ John asked softly.

  Max nodded. Ken brushed past them with a saddle.

  ‘I’ve lengthened the stirrups as far as they’ll go. You’ll probably still be too tall.’

  They walked the horses across the soggy field and headed to the drive.

  ‘Sorry about that. Ken’s usually quite affable.’

  ‘Did he like Hagan?’ John asked.

  How did John know Daniel’s surname? Poppy shook her head, and Max relaxed her grip on the reins. Maybe George had told him. Or Catherine. ‘Not particularly.’

  ‘Maybe it’s you he likes.’

  ‘Oh.’ She’d never considered that. The tree blocking the drive looked even bigger in the weak sunlight. ‘I think we’d better go off the path now.’

  They reached the village by six thirty, and, except for the green grocer setting up wares outside and warm lights coming from the bakery, the high street stayed quiet. Max waved to the green grocer but didn’t stop to say hello. The phone box stood on the far side of the village. John stepped into it as she held the horses’ reins and walked further into the field. She and George used to ride out together. Poor Centurion. She watched John’s profile. He seemed to wait for a while, or else he listened to someone else speak for ages. When he banged the door open, she didn’t feel it had been good news.

  ‘Okay?’ she asked.

  John shrugged. ‘Monitor. I pretty much expected that. The car though—the plate was stolen two weeks ago. It doesn’t go with an A90 at all, of any colour. But it could still be somebody who bought it on the black market. And driving from London to Norfolk itself is not suspicious.’ He smiled. ‘And I quote.’

  ‘You don’t believe them.’

  John compressed his lips. ‘I want you to be safe. I’m—I don’t have normal reactions to the threat of danger.’

  If he’d had her car keys yesterday, would he have chased the car across Norfolk? Max handed him the reins, a small tingle running up her arm from the brief contact. ‘I’ll ring Dad’s club and leave him a message about the phone. I’ll have to wait till later to speak to the telephone company.’

  The receptionist at the club sounded remarkably bored, although terribly polite.

  ‘Lord Bartlemas has already requested tea. Would you like me to put you through to his room?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ She tapped the surface of the phone. John patted the horses’ noses.

  ‘Bartlemas,’ her father said. He might have requested tea, but he sounded mostly asleep.

  ‘Morning, Dad.’

  ‘Why are you calling me before seven? Is everything all right?’ He laughed. ‘Not that it isn’t lovely to hear from you.’

  ‘We’re fine. There was a bad storm, and a tree went down across the drive. The telephone’s out.’ She paused. ‘John wanted to make a phone call, so I came into the village with him.’

  ‘Hmmm. Is he, ah, worried at all?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Why didn’t she just tell him? ‘Did you know that Mother invited house guests?’

  ‘Doesn’t she always? I’m sure she mentioned it. Anybody interesting?’

  If she told him it was Catherine, it’d sound like she wanted him to fix it. Like he’d fixed bringing friends for her in Berlin. Like she was a child.

  ‘Let me know when the phone’s repaired. I’ll see you Friday, darling.’

  She shoved the phone box open, the door making a satisfying smack.

  ‘Home?’ John asked.

  Max nodded. ‘By the way, did you tell Dad and Uncle Marcus about the Dinsmores?’

  ‘Sort of. They knew about what my colleague found, so we mostly discussed that. I said I found nothing on them.’ He glanced at her. ‘They grilled me about the, ah, nature of my assignment. But we didn’t discuss the Dinsmores and their relation to the case very much.’

  Max nodded. How blunt had Dad and Uncle Marcus been? ‘I wondered why Mother would invite them, given what Dad knew.’ She shrugged. ‘Although he clearly wasn’t even listening to her, so it wouldn’t have mattered.’

  They returned the horses and brushed them without seeing Ken. Max patted Poppy again. She shouldn’t wait so long between visits. They left the stables in silence.

  ‘When did you learn to ride?’ she asked.

  ‘Growing up. Never on a horse like that though.’

  The house would be swarming with people soon. Catherine at the breakfast table. ‘Come for a bit of a walk?’

  ‘Sure.’ His hand dropped to hers, and she held it.

  Max led him to the coolness of the woods. ‘I can show you our treehouse.’ She laughed. ‘At the risk of sounding about nine.’

  Rain started, fat thick drops that penetrated the leaf cover. Max grabbed John’s hand and ran towards a shed a dozen yards further into the woods.

  ‘Nobody uses it now,’ she said once the door flapped closed. She sounded more breathless than she should after such a tiny dash.

  John brushed her cheek. ‘Max, I…’

  She kissed him then, and they fumbled at clothes. John pressed her back against the wall, and then knelt to unzip her boots. ‘I spent all night thinking about you in that black lingerie. That red bow and your skin.’

  ‘Nothing so exciting today, I’m afraid.’

  ‘You’d be exciting in burlap.’

  John drew her down to the floor with him. The rain continued as their breathing slowed. ‘We should get back,’ Max said. ‘People will be waking up.’ She unbuttoned the last button on his shirt and spread it open. His belt buckle was cool against her waist. She’d certainly never had sex like that before, against the wall with John barely undressed. And the ages that he’d spent on her before…

  ‘Before Catherine reports you missing again.’

  Even her name couldn’t dent her satisfaction. Max folded her hands on his chest and rested her chin on them. ‘John Knox, you are anything but traditional.’

  John’s laugh rumbled under her hands. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

  ‘Do.’ Her eyes drifted closed.

  ‘You should have slept more, honey.’

  ‘Mm.’ A baby, a baby with his black hair, curling into her body.

  John rubbed her spine, and she relaxed still more. He was comfortable to lie on, with the heat of his chest against hers and the smoothness of his trousers against her bare legs. She burrowed into the darkness of his neck.

  ‘Max, honey.’ The words were repeated. Max slowly woke to John stroking her hair. ‘If anybody walked in on us, this would be difficult to explain.’

  ‘You half-dressed and me naked? How long did I sleep?’ She stretched, and he held her still.

  ‘Not long.’ He smiled. ‘Nice, though, having you snuggled on top of me.’

  Max pressed her lips to his neck, and then again. She slid down his chest, caressing and kissing.

  ‘I thought we were going back to the house.’ He sighed.

  ‘In a minute.’

  ‘Max.’ Her name was elongated, and his breathing quickened. ‘I don’t have another condom.’

  Max ran her tongue along the lines of his abdominal muscles, enjoying the way they tensed at her touch. ‘That’s okay.’ She grinned at him, and John’s laugh
ended on a rasp. ‘I think it was a bit one sided before…’ She scooted lower, the dirt floor uneven against her knees. A faint creak sounded. From outside? She hesitated above his open flies. Was that a crack? A twig? Nothing at the windows, but the woods could…

  ‘Max?’ John asked.

  ‘Did you hear something? Like a…’

  John jumped to his feet and ran out the door. Max shivered. Had someone been outside? Watching them? Another rustle, and she dressed quickly. John came back as she pulled on her boots.

  ‘I didn’t see anybody. There’s some torn-up mud around the window, but it could be from an animal.’

  ‘I’m sure I’m overreacting. Did you hear anything?’

  ‘I wasn’t paying attention. I should have been.’ His shirt was soaked with rain, but he buttoned it. ‘Somebody chopped that tree. And I think gave it a helping push.’ He shoved his hair back.

  ‘Not Tommy, he was dry.’

  ‘He’s too scrawny anyway.’ John frowned as he tucked his shirt in. ‘This rain doesn’t help. And there are too many places for people to hide here.’

  ‘People? Plural?’

  ‘I don’t know. Have you ever had vandals from the village?’

  ‘Not in my lifetime.’ She shivered. ‘I thought I heard it again while you were gone.’

  John went around the walls and tapped on each.

  ‘It’s just a shed. No hidden passages,’ Max said. ‘Maybe it’s lack of sleep.’

  ‘Let’s go back to the house anyway.’

  She kissed John. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Me too.’ He laughed. ‘Another time.’ He turned to the door, lifting his jacket.

  ‘Hey. I meant to say, I didn’t mean to be so cross last night.’ She didn’t. But how did she contain her anger about Catherine?

  ‘Why? You’re perfectly justified.’ He stretched and hooked his fingers on the door lintel. ‘Quite frankly, I thought you were pretty calm, considering. I’m just sorry about the whole damned situation.’ He held the door open for her, and they stepped into the rain.

  Max tried to ignore the way he scanned the surroundings, like he had on the train from Oban. Why had he reacted so strongly to Ken startling them this morning? Max lowered her gaze to the smudges of dust on his light trousers. She brushed at them, and John flinched. ‘Dirt,’ she said.

  ‘And mud. I’m not sure they’re recoverable.’

  They dripped back into the house. Lucy crossed the entry way as they came in.

  ‘Oh, Miss Max,’ she said.

  ‘We’ve been out riding. Got caught in the rain, again.’ Which was strictly true. ‘Excuse us, please.’

  When Max returned from her shower, tea waited in her room. She dressed and headed down to breakfast. John smiled at her over his coffee cup. Everyone was there, except Catherine and Vivian.

  ‘Nice ride, darling?’ her mother asked. ‘Could you possibly wear a dress, please?’

  Max sat down and lifted her napkin. ‘I rang Dad from the village and told him about the phone.’

  ‘Thank you. There’s a letter for you, by the way.’

  ‘How’d the postman get up the drive?’

  ‘It came yesterday. I forgot to give it to you when you came back.’

  Max took the envelope, which bore Edward’s elegant hand. He’d written doctor in full. ‘Pardon me.’ She slid open the flap.

  Dear Maxine,

  I spoke to Professor Bailey from Durham. They have a job going, entry level, for a Viking specialist. You must apply. Write him a letter today. I know you’d rather die than leave London, but you could always have a pied-a-terre there and drive back and forth. Don’t just slip into your parents’ expectations (but don’t tell Lord Bartlemas I said that either).

  Yours faithfully,

  Edward

  Max folded the letter again neatly.

  ‘Bad news?’ asked Tommy. ‘You look quite thoughtful.’

  ‘No, just a letter from my PhD supervisor.’ She laid it by her plate and lifted her cup. A job. A job that took her away from her parents… and from John.

  ‘A PhD. I don’t understand why you wanted to do one of those. It’s not like it serves a purpose,’ Mrs Gould said. ‘You would have been much better…’

  ‘To do what I wanted, which I did.’ Max smiled at Mrs Gould.

  ‘If you wanted to work, you could have done a secretarial course.’

  ‘I wanted to expand human knowledge.’ She sounded as pretentious as Will Firmin.

  ‘How else would we know about Vikings and board games, if Max hadn’t done her PhD?’ John said.

  He’d read her thesis. No one else, bar her examiners, had, not even Dad.

  After breakfast, Tommy veered towards her, but she slipped her hand into John’s. Tommy turned to the right as they went left.

  ‘What now?’ John asked.

  ‘I need to do some writing. I have a deadline to submit an article.’ And to think about Edward’s letter.

  ‘Okay. Catch up with you later then.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘Thanks for a lovely morning.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  He shrugged. ‘I’ll find something. Good luck with your writing.’ He pulled his fingers free and headed down the hallway.

  A few hours later, Max emerged from the library. She preferred her own study in London, but at least no one had disturbed her. None of the visitors, with the exception of John and Vivian, were much for reading it seemed. No noise came from Vivian’s room, so she eased the door open. Vivian and Samantha both slept so she crept away. John didn’t answer his door either. She headed up to the nursery. Bobby played with puzzles on the floor while the nanny fussed with linens in the corner.

  Max had been surprised to find a new nanny, but Vivian explained their usual one had gotten ill before they left London. She’d come join them once she recovered.

  ‘Do you want to go outside, darling?’ Max asked.

  ‘Yes.’ He hopped up and down as Max found his wellies.

  ‘Please bring him back for his lunch at eleven thirty,’ the nanny said.

  She offered no assistance or affection, and Bobby had no reaction to leaving her. His usual nanny would have come along.

  Bobby jumped down each step holding Max’s hands, telling her all about the loud rain. By the time they were outside, she had to carry him. He chattered about everything as they walked—the squirrels, the puddles, the branches strewing the ground.

  ‘What that noise?’ Bobby asked. A dull thwack repeatedly filled the air.

  ‘An axe, maybe?’

  ‘Axe?’

  ‘They use it to chop up trees. Like a very big knife.’ Maybe the gardeners were working on the tree, but why wouldn’t they use the chain saw?

  Bobby struggled to get down.

  ‘Promise to hold my hand, okay? Axes can be dangerous.’ Max half jogged to keep up with Bobby. Please God, let them be careful around her car. She should have moved it back.

  They rounded the curve of the drive. John stood, legs braced, and an axe poised over his head. He brought it down on the trunk, then jerked it free again. Bloody hell. She only realised she’d stopped when Bobby’s fingers nearly slipped out of hers.

  She grabbed him around the waist.

  ‘Auntie Max!’ he shouted.

  ‘We have to be careful, darling.’

  John put down the axe and slid off a pair of heavy gloves. ‘It’s all right. Do you want to see, Bobby?’

  Bobby ran to John, and he hoisted him up to show him the deep cut marks in the trunk.

  ‘Hello.’ Henry, the head gardener, sprawled on the ground next to a wheelbarrow.

  ‘What…’ Max tried to form the words but John’s torso in the partly opened white shirt transfixed her.

  ‘Close your mouth, girlie,’ Henry said. He laughed. ‘You’d think you’d never seen a man working before.’

  ‘What is John doing?’

  ‘Under gardeners are sick. They say. Shirkers.’ He patted the ground beside hi
m. ‘Probably a bit muddy, I guess. When were you bringing this young man out to meet me?’

  Max sat down beside him. ‘And why is he using an axe?’ She lifted the canvas from the lump in the wheelbarrow and saw Henry’s chainsaw, his pride and joy.

  ‘Well, nothing wrong in seeing how hard he works.’

  ‘Right up to the point he puts the axe in his foot.’

  ‘Nah, he knows what he’s doing.’

  They watched John holding Bobby’s hand as the little boy did a slippy walk along the top of the tree.

  ‘He’s different. Not like that ass you had out here before.’

  ‘Different good or different bad?’

  ‘I’m not the one to answer that. But what’s his name –’

  ‘Daniel.’

  ‘Daniel would have died before he talked to me, much less did some actual work.’

  ‘Ken didn’t like John much.’

  ‘Yeah, but Ken likes you.’

  How long had she been so oblivious? ‘Henry, I didn’t…’

  Henry patted her hand. ‘It’s old news, girlie. Before the war, sure, but I think he’s got a girl in the village now. Besides, I raised my boy to be a realist.’

  John glanced over at Max, and she flushed.

  ‘And you never reacted like that around Daniel. Not that he was a strapping young lad either, mind you.’

  ‘Henry, stop talking, or I’ll tell John about the chain saw.’

  He laughed.

  Bobby jumped into John’s arms, and John carried him over to Max. Bobby started trying to climb the wheelbarrow, but Henry held it steady.

  John tossed her car keys in her lap. ‘I forgot to give these to you yesterday. I moved the car back, well out of the way.’

  She’d completely forgotten. How could she be so easily swayed by his body? ‘Thanks.’ She shielded her eyes from the sun. ‘I thought you’d find a book or something when you said you’d keep busy.’

  John shrugged. ‘Where would that leave poor old Henry?’