The Running Lie

by Jennifer Young

  ‘Dining in déshabillé, Knox?’

  ‘Doing damned hard work,’ Henry said.

  ‘Have we met?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘Henry Marshall. Head gardener.’ Henry didn’t extend his hand. ‘You look rather familiar.’

  ‘Probably. I visited Max back in ’48, I think it was?’

  Max nodded.

  ‘I heard you went out for a ride this morning, Max. It must have been lovely. Maybe we could go tomorrow?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  John ate silently.

  ‘John and I have plans already though.’

  ‘Really? What are you doing?’

  ‘Mother’s asked for some help with the party,’ Max said, inventing this on the spot.

  ‘And then Max’s going to show me some more of the local sights, if the weather holds,’ John said.

  ‘Flying?’

  ‘My plane’s in London.’

  ‘Pity. I’d love to see Norfolk by air.’ Tommy grinned. ‘Maybe I can come along too? I’m sure things have changed a lot in four years.’

  ‘Quite a lot has changed, Tommy,’ Max said.

  ‘I’m headed up to the house. Join me?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘I’ll stay here a bit longer, thanks.’ Max waited till he’d walked off before unwrapping a pie. She sniffed it. ‘Apple, I think. Who wants some?’

  ‘Who was that?’ Henry asked.

  ‘Tommy Dinsmore,’ John said. ‘A guest. And Catherine’s brother.’ His voice remained neutral.

  ‘Is his mother Beatrice Dinsmore?’

  Max nodded. ‘He’s a friend from my university days.’ She sliced into the pie.

  ‘No wonder he looked familiar. I haven’t seen her in years. Is she here?’

  ‘No. Apparently Mr Dinsmore just passed away. She’s not going out.’

  ‘A nice lady.’ Henry looked at his pie. ‘Mrs Brooks does have a way with pastry.’

  ‘She told me she’d teach me to cook any of this, if I wanted to tell John I made it. Which I didn’t, of course.’

  Henry laughed. ‘Girlie, I don’t think you’d ever make pastry like this, even if you practice forever.’ He poked his fork towards John. ‘I hope you aren’t expecting culinary greatness.’

  ‘Not in the slightest.’

  John carried the basket, now considerably lighter, back to the house. Max had draped his jacket over her arm, although he wore his shirt again. Mud patterned the front of it too.

  ‘Bobby really had a go with that shirt, didn’t he? Leave it out, and they’ll wash it for you.’

  ‘Okay.’ His eyes flicked down.

  Damn. The whole estate had to be a reminder of her wealth, never mind the laundry service.

  ‘Henry’s the only person who works here I’ve heard call you just Max. Or girlie, for that matter.’

  ‘He’s the only person in the world you’ll hear call me that.’ She smiled. ‘He built our tree house. We ran wild in his garden. I adore Henry.’

  ‘He threatened me with bodily harm if I hurt you. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have told him.’

  Max laced her arm through his. ‘Henry is excellent at extracting information.’

  John laughed. ‘That he is.’ He looked up at the house. ‘I wonder if the phone’s working again.’

  ‘Why did you go to Berlin as James Carter?’

  ‘Speaking of extracting information. I realised she’d been at Vassar the same time as you. That was as far as I got before I left. If I’d known how well you knew each other, I’d have asked to pass on it.’

  ‘Would they have let you?’

  John shrugged. ‘I’ve never asked before. At some point, depending on what you decide, I’ll have to tell them about you. Formally. I suspect they’ve got an idea anyway. Particularly as Sir Marcus knows.’

  ‘It scares me. There are people I love here. Henry, and Vivian and Bobby and Samantha and…’

  ‘I know.’ He dropped the basket and hugged her. ‘Sorry, I’m filthy.’

  Max held him more tightly. Sweat and grass and sap. And John. She ignored the hint of urine. ‘Mother says she’ll find a way to make them leave after the ball.’ She ran her fingers over his back muscles. ‘Is there a chance it has nothing to do with them?’

  ‘Of course.’ John kissed a path from the strap of her dress up to her earlobe. ‘Mm.’

  Max laughed.

  ‘Can I come to your room tonight?’ he asked.

  ‘Certainly not.’ John raised his head. ‘Mother could hear a mouse sneeze. I’ll come to yours.’ She smiled. ‘And if they look for me, hopefully they’ll assume I’m back at Vivian’s.’

  He patted the skirt of her dress. ‘No pockets.’

  ‘No. Should I have?’

  He grinned. ‘You stole my cigarettes.’

  ‘Stole is a strong word.’

  ‘Is this your plan to get me to stop?’ He released her and lifted the basket, although he held her hand as they kept walking. ‘Did you not like the taste?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Smoking.’

  ‘I didn’t like the way it made me feel.’ She smiled. ‘If I didn’t like the taste, I probably wouldn’t like kissing either. I’ve never kissed anyone who didn’t smoke. Come to my room. I need to get my keys and your cigarettes.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THAT NIGHT, MAX forced herself to wait until the house silenced before leaving her room. She turned the corner from the family wing as Catherine reached the top of the stairs. She wore jeans and shirt, a far cry from what she’d worn at dinner.

  ‘Bit late for a walk,’ Max said. ‘Sort of a Vassar look there.’ She resisted the urge to pull her robe more tightly to her body. This one matched her blue nightgown.

  Catherine slid her hands in her back pockets and looked up and down Max’s body. ‘While I assume you’re crawling back from Knox’s bedroom.’ Her smile showed too many teeth. ‘Or maybe headed there?’

  Max stared at her, refusing to comment. The smell of sex undercut Catherine’s heavy perfume. Whom had she been with?

  ‘I understand from Aunt Nancy that you two are quite serious. I decided not to tell her about my own romantic interlude with John/James in Berlin.’ She cocked her head. ‘Why was it again you acted like strangers?’

  ‘A row,’ Max said, holding her nerve. She’d lied to Catherine for years.

  ‘Hmmm. Some row. I suppose you’ve made up now? And you don’t mind his handiness with me?’

  ‘It’s none of my concern,’ Max said evenly. ‘Why are you here?’

  Catherine’s laugh trilled. ‘Because Aunt Nancy invited me, of course.’

  ‘She isn’t your aunt.’ Max wouldn’t grit her teeth.

  ‘She offered, let’s see, was it the year of your wedding? Or not wedding? I think it must have been.’

  ‘I’ve always been content with Mrs Dinsmore,’ Max said. ‘I would have thought your mother would be with you.’

  ‘She’s otherwise engaged,’ Catherine said. She shoved a hand through her short curls, dislodging something small. ‘Good night, Max.’

  Catherine headed down the corridor. A pine needle lay against the carpet. Max bent and lifted it. Who had she been in the woods with? Charlie? Max fully intended to continue on to John’s room, or even go back to her own, but she found herself outside Charlie’s room. Faint music played, and then she heard a thud and swearing. She knocked on the door.

  ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘Max.’ The door flew open.

  ‘Good. Help me.’ He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into the room. A pillow lay on the floor beside him.

  ‘What are you doing?’ He wore pyjamas, and she exhaled. Not out in the woods having sex with Catherine. Charlie’s arm went around her waist.

  ‘Dancing. Or not dancing. God, it’s hopeless.’

  ‘You’ve been taught how to dance.’

  ‘I’m rubbish at it. And it’s worse with a limp. They’ll dance at this bloody ball, won’t they?’

  Max reposit
ioned his hand. ‘Yes. But I’ve seen you dance. Maybe you won’t be the star of the evening, but you’ll be fine. Certainly up to par with many of the guests.’

  Charlie flushed.

  ‘Someone in particular you want to dance with?’

  He dropped his arms. ‘It’s stupid.’ He kicked the pillow. ‘I bet John’s a good dancer. Catherine said he was.’

  Max picked up Charlie’s hands again, fighting back anger. ‘Okay, let’s practice.’ God help her. She didn’t want Charlie to make an impression on Catherine. Somebody would bring their teenaged daughter, surely.

  Four songs later, Max called a halt.

  ‘I’m still stepping on your feet.’

  ‘Not as much,’ Max said. ‘I should have worn shoes.’

  ‘Bare feet are quieter.’ Charlie laughed. ‘I’m assuming you were on your way to see John. I like him.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re insinuating.’ Max couldn’t stop a smile though.

  ‘Thanks for helping me.’

  Max kissed his cheek, feeling the soft prickles of stubble almost too faint to see. ‘There will be other women, Charlie.’

  ‘Max? What did Catherine mean about John having secrets?’

  ‘Nothing. You don’t get to be our ripe old ages without secrets.’ She turned to the door.

  ‘You, um, you aren’t fond of her, are you?’

  Thank God she faced away so he couldn’t see her expression. ‘We didn’t get on at Vassar. And she… it’s nothing.’

  ‘She treats me like I’m an adult.’

  Max hugged Charlie tightly. ‘You’ll be an adult soon enough. And—it’s just that we love you.’ She smiled. ‘Mother and Dad treated me more like an adult too before George died. It changed a lot.’

  ‘You’re telling me.’ He pushed her shoulder. ‘Go see John. Thanks.’

  Max crept back out into the darkened corridor. Nearly two am. She found herself in the guest wing anyway. She went past the yellow room, the one where she’d walked in on Catherine and Daniel. The one Catherine slept in now. She tried the handle of John’s room. Locked. Maybe he’d fallen asleep. She started to retreat, but the lock clicked and he pulled her inside.

  ‘I was starting to think you weren’t coming.’ He kissed her before she could speak, and her arms closed around him.

  ‘Hang on.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Here.’ She handed him the pine needle from her pocket.

  ‘In case I miss home?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘North Carolina is blanketed with pine trees. I think it’s the state tree.’

  ‘This one fell out of Catherine’s hair. She had rather obviously come from an encounter with someone outside.’

  ‘Charlie?’

  Max shook her head. ‘He was practicing dancing with a pillow. He needs it. My poor toes.’

  ‘Sit down.’

  She paced. ‘You’re the only other male guest right now, besides Tommy. Who else could it be?’

  ‘Someone from the staff? Or from the village?’ He patted the bed. ‘Sit down, honey.’

  ‘She’s not likely to shag somebody lower status. She’s a terrible snob.’

  John tugged her hand till she sat. ‘Marry, no, sex, yes, I’d say.’ He perched at the bottom of the bed and lifted her foot, his thumb rubbing over her arch.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Max asked.

  ‘Showing you how a well brought up young man can take care of you.’ He grinned. ‘Sort of young.’

  Max smiled. ‘I love you.’

  ‘Want to marry me?’

  Max looked at his bare chest, his dark bent head, his fingers on her foot. Every part of her should say yes, should want to say yes. The bruise on his side had faded, but there would be more. The bandage on his arm had been reduced to a plaster. She shivered.

  ‘Should I stop asking?’ He didn’t glance up from her toes. ‘I didn’t know if you’d even consider it, after Berlin.’

  ‘She asked me about that. I said we’d had a row.’ He nodded. His pyjama bottoms had a fine dark blue stripe on a pale background. ‘I know it sounds—I need to think about it.’ Her toenail polish had been scuffed by the sand at Sheringham, and she had automatically chosen red when repainting them last night.

  ‘Of course.’ He stroked her toes. ‘Catherine going outside is not in itself suspicious. She perfectly entitled. The question is…’

  ‘The hut was really clean.’ The blanket folded in the corner didn’t have the tracings of spiderwebs and leaf fall she’d expected. ‘It’s usually full of leaves and debris. It could be a tramp. Maybe that’s what I heard.’

  ‘Or they could have brought someone with them. Has she visited before?’

  Max nodded. ‘I ended my engagement here.’

  John squeezed her foot.

  ‘I still don’t see Tommy being in this, whatever it is.’ She shoved her hands in her pockets. Edward’s letter crinkled.

  ‘If you want to give up archaeology, you could always try the spy life. You’d be good at it, I think.’ He lifted her other foot and brushed a kiss over the big toe.

  ‘My parents don’t even want me to get an archaeology job.’ The pressure of his hands sent tingles up her legs. She leaned back on her elbows. She should tell him about the letter. ‘What did you suspect them of in Berlin?’

  John pursed his lips.

  ‘You say I don’t trust you.’

  ‘They aren’t my secrets to tell, honey. Ask me something about me, anything.’

  Had he enjoyed kissing Catherine? Was it possible to kiss someone like he had outside the cinema and not feel aroused? If they kissed like that in the club, what had the kisses in private been like? Did he like his job? Did he miss a normal life, if he knew what a normal life was? Why did he want to marry her? What would he say about the job in Durham? Max took a deep breath. ‘Make love to me,’ she said instead.

  ‘Does it count as a question when you know the answer is yes?’

  ‘In Berlin…’ His eyelashes swept down, but his hands didn’t falter on her arch. ‘Victor and Emma heard us.’

  ‘Mrs Gould is already on high alert for snoring.’

  ‘Vivian says she does.’

  ‘I concur.’

  She giggled and rolled to hide her face in his pillow.

  John kissed her neck. ‘I love you, Max Falkland.’

  Max pushed him onto his back and stroked his arms. ‘I liked watching you work.’

  John laughed. ‘I’m glad it was good for something. I can’t believe Henry had a chainsaw.’ He pulled her close for a kiss, but she slid down to nuzzle his neck.

  ‘I owe you for this morning.’

  ‘Only if you want to,’ John said.

  Max glanced up. ‘What do you mean?’ Where was the aroused and amused face from this morning?

  ‘If you’d like to. It’s…’

  ‘You bloody listened to her.’ She scrambled upright, and John winced as her elbow landed in his stomach. ‘I can’t believe you’re thinking about that, about her, now.’

  ‘I didn’t mean…’

  ‘Do you really think I’d do anything I didn’t want to? Do you think…’

  ‘Max, keep your voice down.’ He sat up too. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Max took three deep breaths. ‘For your information, not that you need it, what I didn’t like with Daniel was he believed in receiving but not giving. I have no idea what he told her. But it hasn’t been an issue with you, so I hadn’t thought about it in years.’ That wasn’t strictly true, as she’d thought about it the first time they’d made love.

  John stroked her cheek, and as much as she wanted to jerk away, she didn’t. ‘I only meant there isn’t a tit for tat balance between us. You don’t owe me anything. It’s whatever we want, isn’t it, each time?’

  ‘It wasn’t about Catherine?’

  ‘Honey, why would I believe anything she says?’ He kissed her fingertips. ‘I already knew Hagan was a fool, and now I know he was a selfish idiot too.’


  Could she believe him? Tears pricked her eyes, but she hugged him. ‘Why can’t you be a banker?’ she muttered into his chest.

  ‘I think I’d be pretty bad at it, for one. I’ve always been better at languages than math.’

  ‘And I don’t like bankers, usually.’ She relaxed into the warmth of his skin, the regular rhythm of his heartbeat soothing her. He pressed his lips to her hair, and she kissed his neck.

  ‘I love you,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve loved you since you didn’t laugh at me for choosing that horrible sherry at the Society of Antiquaries. And I’ll always love you, whether you marry me or not.’

  ‘I think I started loving you at the dreadful pub in Mull when you interrupted so I didn’t have to talk about George. Although I would have denied it. And I was sure all of what you said was lies.’

  ‘As I recall, it was mostly true. I didn’t want to lie to you.’ John stroked her back. ‘I still don’t want to lie to you.’

  What stories did James Carter usually tell? ‘I know.’ Max pushed John back against his pillow and climbed on top of him, just as she had been in the shed.

  ‘Max?’

  She kissed him, and he threaded his fingers through hers. They kissed and kissed and kissed as if she could gauge the truth through his lips, his tongue. It was a long time before they made love, slowly and gently.

  Max held onto John tightly afterwards.

  ‘Don’t fall asleep,’ he whispered.

  ‘I’m not. My mother would have a panic attack.’ She ran a finger over the rawness of his lips and then her own. ‘This is less than discreet. I hope we look less swollen tomorrow.’

  John laughed. ‘Completely worth it. I’ve never done anything that felt so… open.’

  Max nodded. While she had gained no truths, no answers, she felt calm. And loved. ‘I should go. But…’ She reached for her robe and the letter in its pocket.

  John stood and stretched, then walked to the wardrobe. He took out jeans and a dark jumper.

  ‘What are you doing?’ She tugged on her nightgown.

  ‘I’m going to have a look around outside.’ He buckled on his watch. ‘I’ve got an hour or so before dawn. Neither Tommy nor Catherine wielded that axe.’