‘The band’s just tuning up again, Evangeline. You’ll soon be able to dance to your heart’s content.’
‘Dance or stumble?’ Bunty whispered in Connie’s ear. ‘You do realize she’s half cut. You’ve only got to look at her eyes.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Connie. ‘I only hope Tom will be able to cope with her. There’s no knowing what she’ll do now.’
‘And if you’ll excuse me,’ Bunty continued, ‘I’ll leave the dancing to you and George. I’ll go and finish off in the kitchen. Alison’s already gone back to finish the clearing up. You know she’s not in to leaping about the floor.’
‘By the looks of it, neither is Evangeline,’ Connie said grimly.
Cajoling everyone on to the dance floor, the caller announced, ‘The Dashing White Sergeant, followed by an Eightsome Reel, and there’ll be no sitting down until I say so.’ He grinned and picked up his fiddle.
‘Sounds like they’re having fun out there,’ Alison remarked in Bunty’s direction.
‘Mmm, most of them,’ Bunty mused, from her vantage point in the doorway. ‘That’s until they come face to face with Evangeline. I’m surprised she’s still standing. Oh, Lord! Poor Max! It looks as if Evangeline’s trying to drag him onto the floor for a Gay Gordons.’
At the mention of Max’s name, Alison hurried to Bunty’s side, only to hear Max apologise, politely but firmly, at the proposal.
‘I’m sorry, Evangeline. I’m not really in the mood for anymore dancing, and I’m absolutely useless at the Gay Gordon’s. If you’ll excuse me, I promised to help Alison take the out the rubbish...’
At the mention of Alison’s name, something in Evangeline’s head snapped. In a simpering, sarcastic tone of voice she repeated Max’s earlier words. ‘I’m sorry... I’m not really in the mood... and I’m absolutely useless... Now where in the dim, distant, past have I heard those words mentioned before?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Max asked in surprise. ‘I don’t exactly follow you. What precisely are you getting at, Evangeline? Surely you’re not implying I’ve said that to you in the past?’
‘Oh, no,’ Evangeline simpered. ‘It wasn’t you who said, it Max, it was your darling wife.’
‘Virginia? Virginia’s been dead for ten years! Besides, I don’t really see what my aversion to the Gay Gordon’s has to do with Virginia. Quite frankly, Evangeline, I think this is all a bit unnecessary.’
‘Oh, do you? Oh, do you, indeed!’ Evangeline reiterated, reaching into the pocket of her jeans. ‘Well, I don’t! I don’t think it’s at all unnecessary. I remember Virginia sitting in my kitchen at The Firs. Poured her heart out to me, she did, Max. And do you know what she said?’
Alison watched Max shake his head, and had the distinct impression that even if Max didn’t want to know what had been said all those years ago, Evangeline was about to tell him.
Attempting to emulate Virginia’s clear, clipped tone, Evangeline repeated what she’d heard. ‘You’ve got to help me, Evangeline. I’m absolutely desperate. Just how do I tell Max I’m sorry... that I’m not in the mood. I’m absolutely useless at lying. Besides, the whole situation is beginning to get out of hand and "you know who" wants me to go away with him. He keeps begging me to leave Max and...’
‘How dare you!’ Max broke in. ‘You’re lying, you bitch! You don’t honestly expect me to believe what you’re saying is true.’
Inserting a scarlet fingernail into the pink envelope, Evangeline tore it open and studied its contents. ‘Oh, you don’t have to believe me, Max, darling,’ she said, with cruel smile as jagged as the tear on the ripped envelope. ‘But don’t they say the camera never lies? Perhaps you’d better look at these and judge for yourself. Who knows, you might even see someone you recognise.’
As Max reached out for the photos, Evangeline drew them back quickly, then changed her mind. ‘No,’ she said with a sardonic smile, ‘they’re no good to me anymore. Here, you can have them, Max, but I’ll tell you one thing, it’s certainly not you, sitting half-naked, by Virginia’s side...’
Unable to listen to anymore, Alison turned and snatched the photos from Evangeline’s grasp. With a resounding ‘No!’ which echoed into the September night, she ran stumbling from the hall, with Max in pursuit.
Chapter 15
Out of breath and slumped against the stone wall behind the rows of parked cars, Alison clasped the photos to her breast. She didn’t need to look at them. She’d already guessed their contents.
‘You bitch, Evangeline! You cruel, heartless bitch! How could you? Wasn’t it bad enough that he lost ...’
‘Alison!’ Max gasped, rushing to her side ‘Why didn’t you stop when I called you? Why did you take the photos? Please, let me see…’
Knowing there was nowhere left to run, Alison nevertheless hoped to delay the inevitable.
‘Alison, please,’ Max begged.
Numbed and helpless, Alison felt Max prise the warm, curled photographs from her grasp. It was no use. Very soon, and in the bright beam of the security lighting, Max would discover the sordid truth. The truth she’d been trying so desperately to keep hidden for ten long years.
In stunned silence Max put the photos in his jacket pocket, walked back to Alison and took her roughly in his arms. ‘Who was he, Alison? Who the hell was he? What was his name?’
‘I don’t know,’ she cried lamely, ‘I honestly don’t know.’
With Max’s fingers, digging deep into her bare arms, Alison replied weakly. ‘You have to believe me, Max, it’s the truth... Please, you’re hurting me.’
Conscious of his vice-like grip on her arms, Max released her from his grasp. ‘I’m sorry, Alison, so very sorry. Forgive me, please.
Alison rubbed at the marks on her arm. ‘It doesn’t matter. You have every right to be angry.’
‘But not with you. Definitely not with you. So… won’t you please tell me… if you don’t know the man on the photos, why didn’t you want me to see them?’
‘Because… I didn’t want you to get hurt. I didn’t want you to get hurt like… Tara.’
‘Are you saying Tara knew about this? She knew about her mother and this man?’
Against the din of the band and loud voices rising to a crescendo, it was Max’s turn to shout ‘No!’ Only, unlike Alison’s cry, it was so plaintive and desperate and full of anguish, that she found herself drawing Max into her arms, desperate to hold him close, desperate to lessen the pain.
With her tears on his face and the warmth of her body pressed against him, Max felt a surge of emotion well up inside. Anger and hurt fought against desire to return to the hall and drag the name of Virginia’s lover from Evangeline’s taunting, scarlet lips. Alison’s lips, however, prevented him from doing so, plus the overwhelming desire to hold her close.
A tremor of unexpected pleasure surged through Alison’s body as Max’s lips sought hers. A tremor which was met halfway by panic and dark shadows. Sheer panic and fear, in fact. The fear of where this was all going to end.
Conscious of her trembling body and once again in control of his emotions, Max stepped back and taking her hand like a child’s, led Alison back inside to the warmth of the hall. Connie stood by the open doorway.
‘Max... Alison... I’ve been looking everywhere. Are you OK? Only Bunty mentioned something about Evangeline and photographs and...’
Connie placed a restraining hand on her brother’s arm. ‘She’s gone, Max. Evangeline’s gone. Tom’s taken her home. He’s asked me to apologize for...’
‘Apologize? Apologize! Do you realize what that woman did, Constance?’
‘Max - we think Evangeline’s an alcoholic. She needs help. Please try to understand... she probably didn’t realize what she was doing. She...’
‘No! Don’t go on. I don’t want to hear anymore. I’ve had enough for one night thank you. I’m leaving!’
‘Not leaving Church Haywood? But what about Craven’s Stables?’
Ignoring her questions, Max re
ached into his jacket pocket for the photographs. ‘However, before I do go,’ he said icily, ‘and as you’re my sister and you always appear to know everyone and everything, perhaps you can tell me who this man is… with his hands all over my wife!’
Connie shook her head. ‘I don’t know his name Max, but I’m not going to lie to you and say I’ve never seen him before. We met only briefly, and that was quite by chance at one of Evangeline’s tennis parties. He was a very good player by all accounts.
‘Hmph. That’s not all he was good at it,’ Max snapped with a sideways glance at the photos. ‘What puzzles me is why I never met him.’
‘Perhaps he only appeared when you were away? As I recall there was a period when you were away a great deal.’
‘Maybe I was, but I certainly wasn’t playing tennis! I was working round the clock to get Craven and Painton up and running. Just because I was striving to give my wife and child a decent lifestyle, I hope you’re not implying that I’m to blame for all this…Tara and Virginia and the fire?’
There was a deathly silence in the kitchen. ‘The fire,’ Max repeated huskily. ‘You don’t think Virginia set fire to the house deliberately?’
‘No, Max,’ Connie reassured. ‘Virginia wouldn’t have done that. We all know Virginia started drinking after Tara’s accident. She also became a virtual chain smoker.’
Max rubbed at the purple scar on his wrist. The scar from the injury he’d sustained when he’d rushed back from London and driven to the burnt-out shell of what had once been his home. The officer on duty had begged him not to go into the cottage. Virginia – or at least what remained of her – had already been taken away in an ambulance.
Disregarding the warnings, Max had pushed past the remaining firemen in search of anything, anything that would have given him hope; anything that would bring his dead wife and daughter closer. Spying the charred remains of a small teddy bear on what had once been the hall table, Max had reached for it in desperation. It was then that the main banister rail collapsed and he had thrown up his arm to protect his face; only the actions of a quick-thinking fire officer had saved Max Craven from serious injury.
Told by a kindly WPC that his wife had probably been so emotionally exhausted, following the death of their little girl, and that she’d quite possibly fallen asleep, with a lighted cigarette in her hand, Max had eventually agreed to George and Connie taking him away to hospital.
Thinking back to that long, painful night, Max emitted an anguished groan. No, Virginia wasn’t emotionally exhausted. She was drunk! Drunk through attempting to drown her sorrows and appease her guilty secret.
With a shudder, Max dislodged Connie’s arm from his shoulder, slumped at one of the stools and buried his face in his hands. It was there George found him when he made his way back into the kitchen.
‘Come along, you lot,’ George called chirpily, ‘they’re about to play the last waltz or whatever it is they play at barn dances. I’ve come in search of my dear wife and as Max and Alison are here too, what could be more perfect? Max can dance with Al…’
Connie shook her head and watched as her brother rose from the stool and walked numbly towards the kitchen door.
‘Thanks all the same, George,’ said Max, ‘but I’m no longer in the mood for dancing. However, I’m sure Constance will oblige.
When the door opened, Alison felt a cool and welcome burst of air upon her face. Reminded of her presence, and the contents of those disgusting photographs, Max turned in her direction.
‘Alison. I can only apologize on behalf of myself and my family for completely ruining your life. The thought of you being subjected to all this when…’
‘Oh! But you haven’t,’ she cried. ‘You…’ But Max had already turned on his heels and walked away into the late September night.
*
It was an extremely subdued quartet who met in the porch of St Faith’s the following morning. Bunty and Connie distributed the hymn books in silence, while George carried the sheaf of corn to the altar and Alison followed on behind picking up stray pieces of chaff.
Harvest Festival, she thought to herself. This is supposed to be a time of celebration not…
With the organist playing a resounding opening to ‘We Plough the Fields and Scatter’, Alison looked anxiously about her. Sensing exactly who she was looking for, Bunty leaned sideways and whispered in her ear, ‘He’s gone. Max has gone. Connie told me just before we sat down.’
Not wanting to believe her, Alison looked across to the neighbouring pew, the pew that had been used by generations of the Craven family. Connie glanced up from her hymn book and smiled sympathetically.
*
Gone! An inner voice echoed in Alisons head. Gone - but gone where? Max couldn’t have gone to London, could he? He’d only recently sold his flat and most of his furniture. He wouldn’t simply walk away from Craven’s Stables. Not when he had such plans for it and...
Alison felt Bunty tug at her arm. The hymn had finished and the rest of the congregation were sitting down, waiting for Rev Hope to climb the pulpit steps and deliver his harvest sermon.
‘All is safely gathered in,’ he began. Deep in her heart, Alison could think of only one thing. How she’d felt last night when she’d ‘gathered’ Max into her arms. At the time it had seemed the most natural thing to do. It was only when he’d kissed her she’d felt the beginnings of panic.
‘You’re sure Max has gone?’ Alison found herself struggling to ask Connie, as they left the church.
‘Afraid so. He was adamant. Packed his bag and left, first thing this morning.’
‘What about Craven’s Stables? Surely he won’t just turn his back on the project? He’s only recently had news of planning permission. He had such big ideas for the place.’
Connie shook her head sadly, remembering the tall, remote figure of her brother as he tossed a weekend bag into the boot of the Saab. It had been no use remonstrating and pleading with Max to stay. He was a Craven through and through. Strong-willed, determined and proud.
‘Oh, I dare say he’ll continue with the Stables. Perhaps he’ll just get the basic shell renovated and then put the place back on the market. Who knows, Alison? What I do know, however, is that Max was very concerned for your welfare.’
‘My welfare? Why?’
‘Following last night’s shocking revelations about Virginia and – well, you know what - it would appear Max holds himself personally responsible for the pain and anguish you must have suffered these past ten years.’
‘That’s ludicrous! That had absolutely nothing to do with Max. It wasn’t your brother’s fault Virginia was having an affair.’
‘Then... you did know about it,’ Connie ventured. ‘You… and Tara both knew?’
Alison nodded and plucked at an imaginary piece of fluff on her jacket.
Connie hesitated, trying to choose the right words. ‘Can I ask how you knew... how you found out about it? Did Tara tell you… or did you perhaps see them together?’
A look of sheer panic filled Alison’s face. ‘I’m sorry Connie, I’d really rather not talk about it. If you’ll excuse me, I promised to take Jasper for a walk. He didn’t get much exercise yesterday. I spent most of the day decorating the village hall.’
‘Yes, and it looked quite delightful,’ Connie called, watching Alison hurry away. ‘Everyone said what a splendid job you made of...’
Connie jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
‘Oh, sorry my dear. I didn’t realize you were miles away.’
‘George! For one minute I thought - I hoped - it was Max.’
‘Sorry to disappoint you, old thing, I’m afraid it’s only me.’
‘Not so much of the old,’ Connie scolded, forcing a grin.
‘At least I’ve made you smile.’
‘Oh, you can always do that George,’ Connie said, affectionately, slipping her arm through his. Thank God our lives have never been as complicated as Max and Alison’s.’
/> ‘What makes you think Alison’s life has been as complicated?’
‘Something she said, or, more to the point, something she didn’t say when I was asking her about Virginia and that... that man! Oh, George, if only I’d known that Virginia was cheating on Max, perhaps I could have warned him… for Tara’s sake if nothing else.’
‘But you didn’t know, Connie my dear. And with things the way they are at present, I’m a great believer in letting life take its natural course. My great-grandmother was convinced that our lives were all mapped out for us. We follow a series of paths and are occasionally given the choice of which one to follow. You and I have been lucky. Our paths crossed and we’re still on the same course.’ George bent and kissed his wife. ‘And for that I say Allelula! However, I’ve always believed your dear brother to be less fortunate.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Only that I think he’s got a few more paths to cross before he finds what he’s been searching for all these years.’
‘And do you…’ Connie began with a faltering voice. ‘Do you think Alison is what Max has been searching for?’
‘Connie! What is this with Max and Alison?’
Connie shrugged her shoulders. ‘I think she’s right for him, that’s all.’
‘That’s all!’ George teased. ‘In my book that’s quite a lot. There’s the age difference for a start and...’
‘And?’
‘Well, I suppose at the moment I can’t think of anything else. Though I have to confess they always look sort-of-right together. Almost as if they belong.’
‘Exactly!’ Connie replied, with a satisfied smile. ‘As for the age difference, I don’t think it either matters or shows. Because of the life she’s led, travelling all over the place with her stepbrothers and stepfather - before Elizabeth came back to England – Alison has shown herself to be a very independent and mature young woman.’
George held up his hands in mock defence. ‘OK. OK. You’ve convinced me and I’ll only add that anything is possible. Let’s face it, Max is bound to return at some point. In the meantime, however, do you think we could get a move on? Do you realize for the first time in weeks, it’s going to be just the two of us for Sunday lunch. After all the excitement and commotion of last night’s pantomime, I thought you and I - er - could perhaps have a little rest after lunch.’
Secrets From The Past Page 16