‘Anyway, most of these are merely courtesy letters from Nigel, keeping me informed of what’s going on in the office and the others relate to Craven’s Stables. Preliminary letters with regard to the planning applications, etc.’
Connie hesitated and drew a deep breath. ‘Max… about Craven’s Stables… Bunty’s been on the phone again and she was wondering… in fact we were both wondering ... couldn’t you perhaps change your mind and let Alison...’
Moments later there was the resounding revving of an engine and the Saab shot down the gravelled driveway, narrowly missing George who was returning in the Land Rover.
‘Crikey! What’s got into Max?’ George asked in alarm. ‘Has there been an accident?’
‘No... I was just er...’
‘You were just what, Connie?’
‘Asking Max about Craven’s Stables and letting Alison...’
‘Oh Connie! Why didn’t you take heed of what I said yesterday and simply leave things alone?’
‘But Bunty said...’
‘Then I suggest that you and Bunty learn to step back for a bit. Alison and Max aren’t the church fete or the WI jumble sale, you know. They have feelings and need to...’
‘I only wanted to help.’
George placed a comforting arm on his wife’s shoulders. ‘Take it from me, old thing, the best way you can help is by leaving them both alone.’
‘You really think so?’
‘Absolutely,’ George said with a grin, ‘and as I’m gasping for a coffee, how about it?’
‘All right, but first I’d better ring Bunty.’
*
‘You did what!’ Alison gasped, looking up from where she was studying colour charts for Evangeline’s bedroom.
‘I asked Connie to have another word with Max about Craven’s Stables.’
‘Oh, Bunty! I do wish you hadn’t. I honestly think we should forget all about my original idea of renting a unit at the Stables. Besides, I already have Evangeline’s bedroom to re-design and after that quite possibly a project for Penny. She was saying, Tony’s business commitments mean he never has time for jobs in the house and as the florist’s is doing so well…’
Bunty nodded approvingly and, in view of the conversation she’d just had with Connie, decided it was probably best to change the subject.
‘Perhaps you can do something for this place too, whilst I’m out of the way in Australia. I’ll pay you, of course.’
‘You’ll do no such thing! In fact, come to think of it, that’s a wonderful idea. It will be my way of saying thank you for all you’ve done for me.’
‘I wouldn’t hear of...’
‘Quiet, Bunty!’ Alison teased. ‘It’s my turn to be bossy now. You just carry on doing whatever it is you planned to do today. Wasn’t it the jumble sale and preliminary preparations for the harvest supper?’
Leaving Alison to concentrate on Evangeline’s bedroom and the even more exciting project of Keeper’s Cottage, Bunty picked up her car keys and left to deliver leaflets for the forthcoming jumble sale.
With one ear cocked, Jasper watched his mistress depart and turned his attention back to Alison.
Waiting for the magic word ‘walk,’ he was deeply disappointed. Alison was too busy pondering colour charts, fabric swatches and, last but by no means least, the last time she had seen Max Craven!
What had Max been going to say to her yesterday afternoon, just before he got back in his car? She was convinced he’d been about to say something. With a wry smile, Alison murmured softly, ‘I’m making it all appear like a game of consequences, just like Tara and I used to play when I was looking after her.’
The name ‘Tara’ echoed in her head. Was she just imagining it, or had Max whispered ‘Tara’ as he stepped from the kerb to his car?
*
Three weeks later Evangeline poured the remains of a bottle of gin into a heavy lead crystal tumbler, dropped in two ice cubes, a slice of lemon and the merest splash of tonic and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Leaning against the doorframe, she studied Alison who was at work stripping a multi-patterned wallpaper from the walls.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind doing that, Alison? You know I can still get that nice young fellow in from the village to give you a hand.’
Alison shook her head. ‘No, thanks, Evangeline. I’d much rather do it myself, that’s if you don’t mind it taking a little longer. I prefer to see for myself what’s under all these layers of paper. It’s important to make sure the walls are thoroughly prepared.’
Trying to hide her disgust at Alison’s short unpainted finger nails, Evangeline compared them with her own acrylic ones, painted with Pagan Glow to match her favourite lipstick.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Alison pulled away at yet another strip of wallpaper. ‘Handcream and cotton gloves at night work wonders. l really do prefer the hands-on approach you know.’
‘So do I dear, so do I,’ muttered Evangeline, walking unsteadily back downstairs, ‘but not in the way you’re thinking, I’m sure!’ Taking a box set from her extensive collection, Evangeline slipped it in to the DVD machine, slumped back on the settee and took a large gulp of her drink.
‘Wearing cotton gloves in bed. My God! What a dreadful thought! I can’t think of any man wanting to go to bed with a woman wearing cotton gloves. How can you run your hands over a man’s...? Still,’ she mumbled drunkenly, ‘from what I’ve seen of Alison Benedict since she’s been living in the village - and clever as she is, I must admit - I doubt if her talents extend to knowing how to please a man in bed.’
As the credits began to roll, Evangeline thought of the man she’d so hoped to please. ‘Max Craven,’ she hissed under her breath, ‘you don’t know what you were missing when you rejected me.’ Ignoring the opening sequence of the film, Evangeline thought angrily about her further attempts at getting Max Craven alone. All to no avail, they had only left her feeling bitter and resentful.
Even last night (with Tom away at a seminar) when Max had called at her request to collect the bags of clothes for the coming jumble sale, Evangeline had been thwarted. The ever-conscientious Alison had decided to work late in the bedroom and Max, on learning she was still in the house, had offered to give her a lift home.
‘Damn you, Max Craven! I’ll get my own back, just you wait and see!’ Gulping back the remains of her drink, Evangeline pressed the pause on the DVD player and went in search of another bottle..
Later that evening, only moments after she’d left The Firs, Alison recognized the familiar sound of Max’s car.
‘Hop in,’ he called, running round to open the passenger door.
‘I’m quite capable of walking.’
‘I know you are Alison, but I wanted to ask you something.’
Alison froze with the clasp of the seatbelt in her hand. Ask her something! What could he mean? Recently she’d overheard Bunty and Connie in conversation, whispering about Tara, Virginia and the accident. Surely Max wasn’t going to ask her about that! Reluctantly she got into the car.
‘Here, let me,’ Max said, reaching across, taking the seatbelt from her grasp. When their hands touched and Alison smelt his now familiar aftershave, panic rose in her breast. She wished he wasn’t quite so close. And what was it he wanted to ask her?
‘Don’t look so worried, I’m not going to ask you to rebuild and redecorate the Stables… I’m sorry, that was a bit insensitive of me, I suppose. I understand from Connie it’s still a bit of a sore point with you.’
‘I’m not going to lie to you, Max, and tell you it doesn’t matter, because it does, or at least it did. Anyway, I’m getting used to the idea now. Not only am I working on this project for Evangeline but also Penny’s asked me to do something for her and after that...’
Alison stopped and paused for breath. She was talking far too quickly and Max was still holding her hand. Looking down, she became aware of the contrast between her own work-worn reddened fingers and Max’s long, smooth, tanned ones.
Reaching on to the rear passenger seat, Max pulled at a Harvey Nichols carrier bag and dropped it on Alison’s lap.
‘What is it?’ she asked, peering inside.
Max grinned, ‘I’m not exactly sure what the correct name is. I called it a shawl but my sister tut-tutted and told me it’s a syrup or something.’
Unable to contain her laughter, Alison announced with a giggle, ‘I think Connie meant something that sounds like serrapay – though I’m not sure exactly how it’s spelt. I’ll have to check. But what’s it for?’
‘Oh, sorry! I forgot to say. It’s for Clint.’
‘Clint?’
‘Perhaps I should have said Rosie. Remember how she wants everyone to call her Clint?’
Alison nodded in understanding. At least, she thought she was beginning to understand and let Max continue.
‘It came from a pile of things Evangeline was clearing out. For the jumble sale… remember? That’s what I called to collect yesterday. Only when I saw it on top of the bag, it reminded me of that blanket affair Clint Eastwood wears over his shoulders in all those Westerns. So… I gave Constance a donation for church funds and I was wondering… as you’re very clever with your hands, if I could persuade you to cut it down to size for Rosie?’
‘What a wonderful idea, Max, of course I will. It will be a pleasure.’
Something in the way Alison spoke his name and looked deep into his eyes, caused a desperate longing in Max’s breast. A longing he hadn’t known for years, not since…
‘When would you like me to do it?’
Max stirred himself. What had Alison said?
‘I was wondering if you wanted it in a hurry. Is it for any particular occasion?’
‘Oh, yes. Sorry I was miles away... Would it be too much to ask if you can finish it in time for next week’s barn dance and harvest supper? From what I understand, the entire Jennings clan intend to be there in force. Constance tell me they even plan to take Great-grannie along in her wheel chair! It sounds as if we could be in for quite a pantomime.’
‘Then your wish is my command,’ Alison said, following the theme of their conversation.
‘I was also wondering,’ Max said, for once strangely lost for words, ‘if you’d consider coming with me to the harvest supper, that’s if you’re not already promised elswewhere?’
‘No, however I did promise Bunty I would help in the kitchen...’
‘You can’t spend all night in the kitchen! Won’t Bunty release you from her apron strings for a couple of dances?’
‘I’m not sure I can dance very well.’
‘Of course you can! I thought all women loved to dance. Or are you only saying that because you’re frightened of me treading on your toes,’ Max offered with a smile. ‘Besides, don’t forget it’s a barn dance. It doesn’t matter how you dance as long as you take part, and I promise... Oh, I’m so sorry, Alison, I was forgetting. Were you implying that you can’t dance because of your leg? Constance did tell me…’
Anxious to lessen his embarrassment, Alison tried to make light of the situation. ‘Actually, I do quite enjoy dancing. However, I don’t think it’s very amusing for my partners when I have to leave the dance floor, hobbling like Long John Silver. It doesn’t always happen of course, but if it does, people invariably think I’ve left my partner because he’s just crippled me, which isn’t the case at all.’
Max was now standing by the passenger door, offering his hand. ‘Well, Long John Silver or not, I’m prepared to risk it, so expect me to come and drag you from the kitchen stove.’
At the door of Keeper’s Cottage, Alison called back. ‘What about the serape? Shall I bring it over when I’ve finished it?’
‘No, don’t worry, I’ll come and collect it; perhaps we can take it to Rosie together?’
Peering out from her vantage point behind net curtains, Bunty glowed with contentment. ‘Perhaps we can what together?’ she murmured. How annoying that Jasper, on hearing Alison’s voice had bolted to the door, sending the kitchen stool flying, thus denying her the end of the conversation.
‘Mmm, a lift home two nights in a row, that’s...’
‘Bunty! Stop it!’ Alison commanded good-naturedly. ‘And stop looking at the Harvey Nichols bag like that. For your information it’s not a present from Max, it’s something he’s asked me to do for Rosie Jennings.’ Alison took the serape from the bag and laid it across the hall table.
‘It’s a bit big for her, isn’t it?’ Bunty enquired suspiciously, still unsure if Alison was telling the truth.
‘Exactly. Which is why Max has asked me to alter it for her. Now are you satisfied?’
With a nonchalant shrug, Bunty walked into the kitchen, straightened the kitchen stool and proceeded to take the beef casserole from the oven. She wouldn’t say another word to Alison, she decided, for fear of upsetting her. After all, ‘things’, as she and Connie referred to them, seemed to be taking their own course after all. However, if Alison should by chance take Jasper for a walk after dinner, she could always ring Connie and tell her the latest news.
While Alison picked up her scissors, to trim the serape down to size, Evangeline was struggling with a different implement.
‘Bloody lemon!’ she cried, grasping the sharp bladed knife. ‘Why can’t you bloody well keep still!’
Arriving home, Tom Carstairs called from the hallway. ‘Having problems dear?’
‘It’s this bloody lemon, it keeps moving. Damn! I’ve cut my finger now. Get me a plaster will you Tom.’
Pausing in the kitchen doorway, Tom not only discerned the state of his dishevelled wife, but also the chaos in the kitchen. Evangeline was holding her cut and bloodied finger under the tap.
Stepping forward, he turned off the tap, reached in his pocket for a clean white handkerchief and led Evangeline to a chair. Telling her to keep the handkerchief in place, he soon located the first aid box and the necessary box of plasters.
With Evangeline studying her newly plastered finger, Tom couldn’t help but notice the numerous slices of discarded lemon, a tray of melting ice cubes and a none too brilliantly hidden empty gin bottle. His wife had always been fond of the odd drink or two, but lately things had certainly been getting out of hand. The problem was, however, how on earth was he – or should that be, they, going to deal with it? When Evangeline made to leave her chair, Tom put a firm but kindly hand on her arm.
‘I’ll get whatever it is you want, my dear. Don’t worry about dinner. I’m sure I can prepare us both an omelette or something.’
At the mention of the word ‘dinner’, Evangeline stared about the kitchen. Where was the chicken she’d intended to cook for dinner? She had remembered to get it out of the freezer, hadn’t she? And hadn’t she already peeled and prepared the potatoes and onions for Tom’s favourite - Lyonnaise?
‘I thought perhaps we could have a little drink before dinner,’ she said, casting glazed eyes in Tom’s direction.
‘And I think perhaps you’ve already had your little drink, Evangeline. Why not go and watch television or something while I get us something to eat. It won’t hurt to have trays on our laps for once.’
Later with their supper dishes cleared away and the kitchen back to its neat and orderly state, Tom made a large jug of strong black coffee. Initially his intention had been to discuss Evangeline’s drink problem. Now, he decided against it. On reflection perhaps it might be better to get a decent night’s sleep and broach the subject again in the morning.
Listening to Tom locking the house for the night, Evangeline climbed the stairs to the recently transformed guest room. She and Tom were using this room while Alison completed th
e work on the master bedroom… With regard to Alison, Evangeline puzzled, kicking off her shoes, hadn’t she been upset about something to do with Alison, just before she’d had her little drink?
No. Not Alison, Evangeline told her reflection in the mirror as she sat slumped at the dressing table. The person she’d been upset about was Max Craven. For two days running, she’d been aware of Max taking Alison home. Max wasn’t falling for Alison, was he?’
‘You bastard!’ Evangeline spat bitterly. ‘You couldn’t face coming here to meet her, so you waited until you saw me wave her goodbye.’
Drumming her fingers against the dressing table, Evangeline was desperate for both a drink and a cigarette. Unfortunately, not only had Tom forbidden her to smoke in the bedrooms but also she’d watched in despair as he’d poured her reserve bottle of gin down the sink.
With the names of Alison and Max reverberating in her head, Evangeline’s train of thought eventually drifted from Max to his sister. Hadn’t Connie rung and asked her for some photos – photos for the harvest supper. Apparently that had been another of ‘Alison’s clever ideas’, as along with the quizzes they usually held at these events, the new-found object of Max Craven’s attention had also suggested that people hunt out, and take along, all their old photos and mementoes of Church Haywood and its residents.
‘I’m certainly more than happy to oblige there, Alison my dear,’ Evangeline sneered. ‘My photos might not be that old, but they’ll certainly prove interesting, particularly if your name is Max Craven!’
When Tom Carstairs opened the bedroom door, he was deeply touched to see his wife studying their wedding photo in its antique silver frame. With a rare show of affection he sat down and drew Evangeline into his arms.
‘It will be all right, my dear,’ he said stroking her thick hennaed hair where it fell about her shoulders.
‘We’ll solve your little problem somehow. Downstairs in the kitchen, I was thinking. I’m convinced I know exactly what to do.’
‘So do I, Tom.’ Evangeline replied with a cruel smile, glancing secretly at the silver photo frame. ‘So do I!’
*
Secrets From The Past Page 13