Back at Keeper’s Cottage, Alison switched off the sewing machine and replaced its cover. Pleased with her night’s efforts, she gave a contented smile.
‘Finished, have you?’ Bunty asked, looking up from her armchair.
‘Not exactly, but that’s the machining out of the way. Because Rosie’s so small I’ve managed to make two serapes from one. I only need to finish the fringing and knot it, and that will be that as they say. I’m sure Max will be pleased.’
‘I’m sure he will, ‘ Bunty replied with a mischievous grin.
Chapter 13
Evangeline hesitated before unclipping the maroon silk backing from the photo frame. In the cold light of day, she wasn’t quite as confident as the previous evening. Ringing Tom on some pretext, making sure he was still at the office, she placed the sealed pink envelope on the bed beside her.
Lighting another cigarette, she inhaled deeply. Could she really do it or should she just let sleeping dogs lie? In the long run, what would she gain? It certainly wouldn’t send Max rushing into her arms, would it?
‘In fact, quite the opposite,’ she conceded. And, tracing her finger along the V-shaped seal of the envelope, returned it - unopened - to the photo frame. Stubbing out her cigarette, Evangeline flung open the bedroom window to disperse the smell of tobacco and spied Alison walking up the drive.
Yes, she told herself, placing the frame back in its original position, it would be far better not to upset Max or Alison at the moment, particularly as the bedroom was only halfway completed. Pausing on the landing she peeped in to survey Alison’s efforts to date. The dove-grey effect Tom had chosen was certainly pleasing and once the amethyst and grey silk drapes and borders were in place…
‘Good morning, Evangeline,’ Alison called cheerfully, hanging up her jacket in the cloakroom. ‘I’ve made the stencil for the border and brought it with me. You can let me know what you think.’
‘I’ll make us some coffee,’ Evangeline replied. ‘Drawing room or kitchen?’
‘Definitely kitchen! As you can see I’ve my working gear on again. I’m hoping to finish the walls today.’
With a tinge of envy, Evangeline studied Alison’s appearance. The tall slim figure was dressed in denim dungarees, white short-sleeved T-shirt and loafers. Unlike Evangeline, Alison possessed no designer labels, yet she still looked perfectly lovely.
Evangeline filled the kettle and watched the carefully cut-out stencils being laid across the table. Alison’s eyes, she noticed, were their usual clear bright blue unlike her own. Suppressing a sigh, she rubbed subconsciously at her puffy red-rimmed eyes and ran her hands through her thick mane of unruly hair.
Alison’s urchin cut, she pondered to herself, I wonder... But Alison was asking her something and the kettle was boiling.
‘You see,’ Alison repeated. ‘Amethyst clematis, intertwined with a grey green foliage. What do you think or would you prefer something stronger? If we go and hold this against the walls, you can decide for yourself.’
‘No. No, I’m sure that will be perfect,’ Evangeline called, following Alison upstairs. ‘Yes, there you are you see, simply perfect. Now let’s have our coffee, shall we?’
Returning hurriedly to the kitchen, there was only one thought uppermost in Evangeline’s mind. Alison had spoken of something stronger in relation to paint shade. To Evangeline ‘stronger’ meant only one thing. Brandy in her coffee! Nothing could have made her happier when Alison announced she would take her own coffee upstairs and Evangeline was able to reach for the flat, slim, handbag-sized bottle.
‘I’d better get on,’ Alison called from the landing. ‘I promised to help Bunty with some table decorations for the harvest supper and then I must finish off your serape for Max.’
With her hand poised on the brandy bottle, Evangeline froze. What did Alison say? Something about her serape for Max? Taking a large gulp from the bottle, Evangeline poured a generous measure into her cup and walked through to the hallway. ‘What were you saying about my serape for Max? ‘
Leaning over the banister rail, Alison called back. ‘Oh, only that Max gave Connie a donation for your old serape~ and he asked me to cut it down to size for Rosie Jennings. You know how much she’s into Clint Eastwood and those Spaghetti Westerns.’
*
When Tom Carstairs returned from work, he was both angered and disappointed to find his wife in the same drunken state as the previous evening.
‘My bloody serape!’ Evangeline screamed at him, the moment he walked through the door. ‘My bloody serape! Do you hear that, Tom?’
‘Yes, I hear you,’ Tom sighed, ‘but I’m afraid I don’t understand. To be perfectly honest, I’m not at all sure what you’re talking about.’
‘My serape!’ Evangeline screamed again. ‘The beige and camel wrap, the one I bought from Harvey Nichols. Cashmere and silk it was… and it cost me a bloody fortune!’
‘Me, more like, Tom thought perversely. ‘So… what’s happened to this - er- wrap thing? Have you lost it?’
‘Of course I bloody haven’t!’
‘Evangeline, my dear, I do wish you wouldn’t swear, it isn’t...’
‘I’m not bl... Oh!’
‘Perhaps if you explain from the beginning,’ Tom suggested kindly. ‘And if you haven’t lost it, what exactly happened to it?’
‘Alison’s got it and she’s cut it up!’
‘What! Are you saying Alison stole it and...’
‘No, of course I’m not. Don’t be stupid, Tom! Alison’s not a thief. Besides I gave the serape to Connie for the jumble sale.’
‘So why are you so upset? I really don’t understand.’
‘I’m upset because Max gave Connie ten pounds for it and then asked Alison to…
Tom didn’t bother to listen to the rest of the explanation. Suddenly everything was falling into place like a puzzle. It wasn’t that the wrap had been cut up, it was more to do with Max buying it and then giving it to Alison to cut up for... Rosie Jennings...
Placing a calming hand on her shoulder, Tom chose his words carefully. ‘Really, my dear, if you didn’t want it…’
‘I didn’t, because it had started to bobble and was looking dated.’
‘….OK, and by all accounts Max gave Connie far more for it, than it was ever likely to fetch at the jumble sale - then surely giving it to little Rosie is a lovely idea. It can’t be easy for the child, what with all her brothers and sisters, grandparents and even great-grannie, all crammed together in those two cottages.’
‘That’s not the point!’ snapped Evangeline. ‘And anyway, they shouldn’t breed like rabbits!’
*
‘I know, I know,’ Bunty acknowledged, looking in Alison’s direction. ‘Jumble sale one week and harvest supper the next. You don’t have to tell me. I’m already aware it was very bad planning.’
‘I wouldn’t say bad planning exactly, just a bit exhausting for the committee. Look on the bright side, Bunty. The proceeds from the jumble sale will pay for the food for the harvest supper; ticket sales from the harvest supper will help with the autumn bazaar and, at the end of the year there should be a more than a generous contribution to St Faith’s restoration fund. Also, don’t forget the Christmas Fayre.’
‘Hmm. That’s one thing I do intend to forget,’ Bunty said, ironing the last of the red and white check table cloths, ‘ simply because I shan’t be here!’
‘Of course, I’d quite forgotten. You won’t be here for the Christmas Fayre, because you’ll be in Australia.’
‘Exactly,’ came the smug reply, ‘and for once somebody else can worry about finding a Father Christmas. I wonder who…?’
‘Please don’t let’s talk about finding a Father Christmas now. Gracious, it’s only September. We haven’t even had autumn yet.’
Knotting the final strands of fringing on the serape, Alison cast her mind back to earlier autumns. The autumns of her childhood, in fact. What her mother had always referred to as Indian Summers, ha
ppier times when they’d all been together. Tranquil autumn days lost in perfect innocence and the idyllic, rural charm of Church Haywood.
‘Autumn,’ she whispered longingly. ‘How I love the autumn.’
‘Well, autumn’s not for me. Give me long, hot summers any day. That’s why I’m going to be greedy this year and have two. By going to Australia for Christmas, I shall be having two summers, you see.’
Alison merely nodded and shivered. Two summers! She couldn’t imagine anything worse. Especially if they were like the summer when Tara had died.
‘Are you all right, my dear? Perhaps I should light the fire. There’s a definite chill in the air this evening.’
‘No, I’m fine, thank you, Bunty, though I’ll probably go and fetch a sweater. Don’t forget Max is calling for me. We’re going to take the serapes over to Rosie. Hopefully, we should just about catch her before bedtime. Max is convinced she’ll want to wear one of them to the harvest supper.’
‘And what do you intend to wear?’
Alison shrugged her shoulders. ‘You know me and my amazing wardrobe. I had thought about jeans but then Penny told me about that shop in Thornhampton. The one next to the art and craft shop at the back of the market square? Apparently they’re having a sale.’
Bunty nodded and Alison continued with a wicked glint in her eye. ‘Who knows,’ she said, ‘I might even wear a skirt and surprise Rosie for a third time this year... by displaying my legs!’
Crossing the market square, with thoughts of Rosie’s delighted face still fresh in her mind from the previous evening, Alison was surprised to bump into Evangeline.
‘Fancy seeing you in town, Alison. I thought you’d be busy helping Bunty and Connie, moiling and toiling away, as they say, for this evening’s bun fight.’
‘They can manage quite well without me for half an hour,’ Alison replied trying to ignore the underlying tone of Evangeline’s voice. ‘Besides I’ve only popped in for half an hour. I’m on my way back to the village hall now.’
Evangeline studied the plastic carrier bag Alison was holding. ‘Good Lord! Is that place still open? I thought it closed down years ago. You don’t mean to tell me people still go in for all that tie-dye stuff and batik?’
Feeling herself go hot with anger, Alison studied Evangeline’s own array of carrier bags.
‘Hmph!’ she later remarked to Bunty. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if it cost more to produce those designer emblazoned carrier bags of hers, than it did to produce my one wrap-around skirt!’
‘Don’t let Evangeline bother you, Alison,’ Bunty said kindly.
‘I don’t, usually. But sometimes she really annoys me. She can be so unpredictable and so bitchy.’
‘That probably the drink.’
‘The drink? What do you mean by that?’
‘Come now, Alison. Even you must have realized that Evangeline has a little... well, you know... problem?’ Bunty raised an imaginary glass to her mouth.
‘You’re joking! I know at Connie’s dinner party she drank a lot. Are you implying she’s an alcoholic?
Alison stopped abruptly when a committee member came in carrying a tray of food and for the rest of the afternoon she found herself thinking of Evangeline’s erratic behaviour of late. If what Bunty said was true, it certainly explained a great deal.
At The Firs, Evangeline threw the last of the empty carrier bags onto the floor, raked her scarlet fingernails through her hair and went to find her husband. ‘Well,’ she demanded, ‘what do you think?’
Without thinking at all, Tom remarked incredulously. ‘My God! What have you done to yourself!’
Eyeing her sombrely dressed husband, Evangeline retorted. ‘Just in case you’d forgotten, Tom, it’s a harvest supper and barn dance we’re going to, not a wake or a meeting of the local parish council.’
‘I know, but that doesn’t mean...’
‘Doesn’t mean what...?’ Casting a withering look in Tom’s direction, Evangeline strode purposefully towards the drinks cabinet. Something told her Tom didn’t approve of her new purchases. Though to be honest, she didn’t give a damn.
At that moment she didn’t need his approval of the clothes she was wearing, or her new hairstyle either. But she desperately needed a drink. The problem was, would Tom let her have one? These past few days whenever he’d been at home, he’d been watching her like a hawk. To her dismay he’d even found some of the secret bottles she kept hidden away.
To her surprise, on this occasion Tom made no attempt to stop her when she took the cut crystal stopper from the whisky decanter. ‘Want one?’ She asked, half expecting him to say no and was completely taken aback when he answered.
‘Why not? There’s only going to be wine and beer at the village hall. As we shall be walking...’
Evangeline froze. It wasn’t the thought of walking to the harvest supper that bothered her it was more the prospect of the cardboard-tasting boxed wine, always served on these occasions.
Aware of Tom eyeing her suspiciously and knowing he wouldn’t agree to a little top-up, Evangeline placed her glass on the coffee table and walked through to the hall. ‘I’ll go and fetch my handbag and we can be off. That’s if you’re ready?’
‘That’s fine by me. It should be a good evening by all accounts.’
‘Who says so?’ Evangeline called out, crossing from the landing to the bedroom.
‘I bumped into George and Max this afternoon. They were collecting bales of hay to put on the stage to make it look more authentic. George was telling me Connie’s delighted with ticket sales. Oh, yes, and by the way, Max asked me to tell you Rosie Jennings is delighted with your wrap. He and Alison took it over last night.’
Poised with her hand on the dressing table drawer, Evangeline was filled with a venomous surge of jealousy. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Alison. She did and she was greatly in awe of her many talents. What irked most, however, was that Alison was young and pretty and recently fortunate enough to command Max Craven’s undivided attention. Why, she’d even been allowed to sit in the confines of that wonderful black Saab of his.
Being the only black Saab in Church Haywood, it hadn’t escaped Evangeline’s notice that whenever she had seen Max with a passenger, it was invariably Alison Benedict.
‘Although you’re not quite old enough to be her father,’ Evangeline whispered to an imaginary Max, ‘your daughter often wished Alison was her big sister. I wonder what Virginia would have thought.’
Memories of Max’s dead wife came winging back as Evangeline rummaged through her bedroom drawer. ‘Damn! Where is that bloody bottle?’
All too soon realisation dawned. Tom had been there before her!
Undaunted, Evangeline walked to her wardrobe and pulled out a Gucci shoe box. Success at last! This was one place Tom hadn’t thought of looking.
‘Evangeline!’ Tom called. ‘Are you coming? If you don’t hurry up we shall be late and miss all the food.’
‘You’re quite welcome to it, my darling,’ Evangeline hissed sarcastically. ‘It’s hardly likely to be Fortnum and Mason’s.’ Then, concealing the small brandy bottle in her handbag, she strode defiantly back to her dressing table and reached for the silver photo frame.
*
Congratulating themselves on their efforts, Bunty and Connie emitted deep sighs of satisfaction as they surveyed the village hall. Red and white checked cloths adorned the tables. Garlands of hops, wild flowers and berries hung suspended from the walls.
‘Alison’s table decorations are a novel idea. I kept wondering what she was going to do with all those old flower pots.’ Connie’s gaze encompassed the terracotta pots, placed in the middle of every table. In each pot stood a creamy white church candle and from every pot cascaded more autumn flowers, seed heads and foliage.
‘I have to confess I was a bit concerned at first when she started talking about surrounding the pots with moss, to cover the oasis…’
‘Me too,’ Bunty interrupted, ‘that�
�s until I saw her raking all the old moss from my back lawn.’
Connie laughed. ‘Yes. She even got George and Mr Jennings doing it. It was amazing how much they raked up. I thought I might use what’s left for my winter flowering baskets.’
‘Speaking of Mr Jennings, I see he’s managed to bring his mother here tonight after all.’ Bunty nodded to the far corner where the male members of the family were carefully positioning old Mrs Jenning’s wheelchair.
Duly installed, Maude Jennings flashed her sons, daughters, grandchildren and great-grandchildren a toothy smile, despatched her eldest son to get her a drink from the bar and settled back to enjoy the evening.
‘Well, we are honoured,’ Bunty acknowledged with a wave in Maude’s direction, ‘she’s actually put her teeth in for once!’
‘A little bird tells me that’s for Max’s benefit,’ Connie added with a grin. ‘Maude plans to tell him all about the old days in Church Haywood… and what he used to get up to as a boy!
‘Poor Max, I do hope she doesn’t monopolize him for the entire evening, I was hoping he and Alison...’
Bunty was halted mid-sentence as an embarrassed hush fell upon the hall.
‘What the...?’ A lone male voice echoed from the far corner, when into the room walked Tom and Evangeline Carstairs. ‘Nice clothes, shame about the face!’ he quipped.
‘And the hair!’ his female companion replied.
All eyes were on Evangeline as they swept from the top of her newly cropped head, Armani T-shirt and CK jeans, before finally resting on her Nike trainers.
‘Bloody Hell!’ came a third voice, who refrained from continuing as his mother rapped at his knuckles.
Anxious to divert everyone’s attention, Connie motioned to the country and western group, busily tuning up on stage. When the first strains of ‘You Are My Sunshine’ reverberated from behind the bales of hay, Connie greeted Evangeline with a welcoming smile.
‘Evangeline... and Tom! How lovely to see you both. For a while we thought you weren’t coming. Let me show you to our table. George and I thought you might like to join our party for the evening. However... if you’d rather...?’
Secrets From The Past Page 14