Looking knowingly in her husband’s direction, Connie smiled and reached for his hand. Who said there was no pleasure in life once you got older?
*
Listening to the bells of St Faith’s as she lay in her husband’s arms, Evangeline murmured softly, ‘You really should have gone to church, you know. You are a warden, don’t forget, and it was Harvest Festival.’
‘I’m sure they can manage without me for once,’ Tom said, stroking Evangeline’s hair.
‘Does my hair look that dreadful?’
‘Let’s just say I preferred it long,’ Tom replied, running his fingers through a mass of short blond-streaked spikes.’
‘It’s going to take an awful long time for it to grow, Tom.’
‘You could always buy a wig.’
‘What, here in Church Haywood!’
‘No, I meant London. I thought we could go to London for a few days.’
Evangeline studied the concern in Tom’s grey eyes. ‘I’ve been an absolute bitch, haven’t I? I know I behaved badly last night, Tom, but I just couldn’t stop myself. I felt as if I’d been programmed to go out and destroy their lives. Do you think they’ll ever forgive me?’
‘They say time always heals,’ Tom replied, matter-of-factly.’
‘But I told Max about...’ Evangeline’s eyes filled with tears at what little she could remember of the previous evening and felt her mouth go quite dry. Perhaps if she were to have a drink? But Tom had insisted they spend a lazy morning in bed. He’d even forgone his parochial duties as Church Warden for her sake.
‘You... you really think I have a problem then... concerning my drinking?’ Evangeline asked, grateful for Tom’s reassuring arms around her shoulders.
‘No, my darling, I don’t think you have a problem. We have a problem, Evangeline, and I’m positive it’s something we can resolve together.
Chapter 16
The mere thought of going to The Firs on Monday morning filled Alison’s heart with dread. What should she say when confronted by Evangeline? More to the point, how would Evangeline react when confronted by Alison? As she’d remarked to Bunty over breakfast, there was no getting away from it: Evangeline’s bedroom had to be finished and the sooner the better.
‘Best behave as if nothing’s happened,’ Bunty said, trying to be helpful.
‘Easier said than done,’ Alison replied, watching Bunty spread honey on freshly toasted bread. If only the paint she’d been using in Evangeline’s bedroom had gone on quite as smoothly.
Still, she brightened, after today she could hopefully begin the stencilling. With luck she could say goodbye to The Firs by the end of the week and turn her thoughts to her next project. The prospect of working for Penny from the florist’s was far less daunting.
Alison’s fear and dread of coming face to face with Evangeline, was swept almost literally under the carpet. Ringing the bell to The Firs, she was greeted by the cleaner Madge Hastings.
With the vacuum cleaner drowning out the sound of the bell, Madge opened the door wide, swooped down and flung the doormat into the front porch, where it landed at Alison’s feet.
‘Oh, my Gawd!’ Madge cried, switching off the Hoover. You fair gave me a fright, Alison! I completely forgot you was coming today. Now what ‘ave I done with your letter.’
‘Letter? What letter?’
Madge delved into the pockets of her blue and white overall.
‘The one the missus give me for you.’
Hearing Madge refer to Evangeline as ‘the missus’ could only mean one thing. Evangeline was not at home. When she was, she expected Madge Hastings to address her as Mrs Carstairs.
Alison breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I take it she’s not here.’
‘No ducks, gawn to London she has with Mr C. Won’t be back till the end of the week. ‘S’all in the letter, I ‘spose.’
At this point Madge found the aforementioned letter and handed it to Alison with a smile. ‘Good, tho’ innit, ‘cos it means I shan’t be having her breathin’ down my neck about "this smudge on the furniture" or "that bit of fluff on the carpet." Sometimes she’s so bleedin’ particular.’
Seeing Alison would not be drawn into conversation on Evangeline, Madge retrieved the front door mat, thrashed it against the porch brickwork with a vengeance, and placed it back on the floor.
With Alison standing in the hallway reading the letter, Madge sighed and closed the door, casting an eye in the direction of the carrier bag propped against the umbrella stand.
‘Still,’ she said, thoughtfully, ‘I s’pose I shouldn’t go on about her really, not after wot she give me this morning for my Shirley.’
Disregarding the letter for a moment, Alison’s curiosity was aroused.
‘Oh, and what was that Madge?’
‘You can see for yourself,’ Madge said, offering up the carrier bag for Alison’s inspection.
Peering inside, Alison was amazed to see an Armani T-shirt, a pair of CK jeans and Nike trainers. ‘But they’re brand new! She only bought those last... She wore them to the barn dance. Why does she want to give them away?’
‘Beats me,’ Madge said, clutching the bag to her ample bosom. ‘All I know is that she says to me this mornin’, "Oh, by the way, Madge, there’s a few things in the bag by the door for your daughter." ‘ Peering into the bag, Madge continued, ‘An’ I shall be takin’ them home with me right quick, in case she comes back and changes her mind!’
‘I don’t think there’s any danger of that,’ Alison reassured. ‘In her letter, Evangeline states quite clearly, she won’t be coming back until Friday night at the earliest.’
With a sigh of relief, Madge put the bag down by the front door and watched Alison climb the stairs.
‘I’ll make us a cup of coffee in a tick’.
‘Thanks, all the same, Madge, but don’t bother. I can make one for myself later on. I’d prefer to get on with the decorating if you don’t mind. Once I start this last wall of rag-rolling, I’d prefer not to be interrupted.’
‘Suit yourself,’ came the reply. Switching on the vacuum cleaner once more, Madge retorted. ‘Rag rolling, indeed! Wot’s wrong with woodchip and emulsion?
*
In London, at the offices of Craven and Painton, Nigel was also turning his thoughts to paint colour charts and fabric swatches. Thoughtfully, he turned to Max. ‘I don’t suppose the sea-sprite would be interested in re-designing the offices.’
‘I very much doubt it. It’s far too big a project for Alison to take on single-handed.’
‘Pity. It would be a real pleasure to see her again. Wouldn’t it be nice for Vanessa to meet her too? I thought perhaps we could all...’
‘No, Nigel! We could not! I’ve already told you, I don’t want anyone to know I’m in London. I don’t intend to stay here for long anyway. If you so much as breathe a word...’
‘OK. Point taken. You have my word.’
In silence, Max strode to the window. Why come to London when he hated it so much? After Church Haywood the air seemed so polluted. And the noise... well, the noise was unbearable.
‘You know you’re more than welcome to stay at the flat with us. Vanessa really wouldn’t mind.’
‘I know,’ Max broke in kindly. ‘I appreciate your offer... and your concern Nigel. It’s just...’
‘Just what, my friend?’
‘That I need to sort a few things out, that’s all.’
‘And I take it you still don’t want to talk about it?’ Nigel asked, already guessing the reply.’
Max shook his head and walked towards the office door. ‘Not at the moment, but rest assured, as I value your friendship, Nigel, if I do ever want to talk about it, you’ll be the one to whom I unburden my soul.’
‘Crikey! How profound.’ whispered Nigel under his breath, watching the door close. ‘This has got to be serious!’
Buzzing through to reception, Nigel gave strict instructions that no one was to say Max had been at the office. ‘And
don’t forget,’ he reiterated, ‘if you’re in any doubt what to do, just direct any difficult calls through to me. I’ll deal with them.’
*
For Tom Carstairs, his phone call had been anything but difficult. He’d had no trouble finding the number he sought. Now, driving through one of the quieter London suburbs, with Evangeline studying the A - Z, he had no trouble finding the way either.
‘Right this must be it,’ Tom said, pulling up outside a neat but nondescript double-fronted house. To anyone else it looked pretty ordinary. Net curtains at the windows, making it impossible to see into the clear glass windows. A blue painted front door with brass door-knocker and letter box, polished to Madge Hasting’s high standard, Evangeline noticed, and a well-scrubbed front step.
Tom helped his wife from the car and placed his hand on the wrought-iron gate. Evangeline hesitated, taking in her unfamiliar surroundings: the avenue of trees, whose leaves were just turning to their autumn colours, the neatly clipped privet hedge and the newly trimmed postage stamp of front lawn.
‘Evangeline?’ Tom questioned, desperate not to show any anxiety in his voice. They’d come this far. Surely she wouldn’t change her mind now? Although, to be honest, he wouldn’t have blamed her if she had. It was going to be an enormous step to take. Placing a reassuring hand beneath her elbow, Tom said softly, ‘Well, my dear, shall we go in? And please don’t worry. Remember what I said. This is our problem and we shall face it together.’
*
Max Craven, however, was less fortunate at that moment, inasmuch that he had no one to lead him by the arm. Leaving Nigel and the office, he’d telephoned Connie, purely to reassure her he was OK and to tell her that in no way was she to try and contact him.
‘But Max!’ Connie had protested.
‘I mean it, Constance. I want to be left in peace, and whatever you do you are not to keep pestering Nigel.’
‘I was only going to ask about the Stables.’
‘What about the Stables?’
‘You will be coming back to check on their progress, won’t you?’
‘My builders are perfectly capable of managing on their own. They know what I want.’
‘But do you know what you want, Max?’ Connie whispered into the mouthpiece of the phone, but Max had already hung up the receiver and was heading back to his cheerless hotel room. Mention of the Stables had only served to accentuate his complete and utter despair.
*
Evangelene gazed about her at the sea of unfamiliar faces. Thank heavens, she thought, reaching for her handbag, not one familiar Church Haywood face anywhere... apart from Tom, of course. Tom heard her audible sigh.
‘OK?’ he whispered. ‘At least they all look normal.’
Evangeline smiled wryly. Trust Tom. What on earth was he expecting? Self-confessed alcoholics weren’t freaks with one eye and horns sticking out of the tops of their heads. Nor did they walk around wearing placards that proclaimed their obsession for booze! No, if all the people in this room had alcohol related problems, then they appeared – as Tom had so correctly described them – quite a normal-looking bunch on the whole.
Sensing Evangeline’s unease, the young girl with peroxide-blonde hair, sitting by her side, announced confidently. ‘You can smoke. It’s only the drink that’s a no-no.’
‘Mention of the word ‘drink’ only served to remind Evangeline of her last drink. The remains of the half-bottle of brandy, consumed in the grimly decorated interior of the ladies’ cloakroom at the village hall. Since then Tom had hardly let her out of his sight, not to mention the fact he’d locked all remaining bottles away and pocketed the key.
‘I always knew that redundant gun cabinet would come in useful one day,’ he’d announced, trying to make her feel better. The problem was, it hadn’t helped then and it didn’t help now.
*
Sitting on a chair covered with a dust sheet, Alison sat back and admired the finished rag-rolled walls. ‘At least that’s finished,’ she said, contentedly. ‘I can begin the stencilling tomorrow.’ Picking at a blob of grey on her paint-stained hands, she studied her fingernails. ‘Alison Benedict, your hands are a disgrace. Why, they’re not fit to be seen.’ Unlike Max Craven’s, a tiny voice echoed in her head.
Stretching her hands across the knees of her denim dungarees, Alison remembered Max’s slender, long-fingered hands as they’d reached for her on so many occasions. That first meeting in the churchyard after her mother’s funeral; the evening he’d fallen asleep on the train and given her a lift home; and then of course last Saturday.
Last Saturday, when he’d led her onto the dance floor, his touch had been both firm and confident, yet at the same time full of tenderness and concern lest she should stumble. Later, however, following the harrowing incident with Evangeline and the incriminating photographs, Max’s grip had been vice-like.
Rubbing at her arm, where his fingers had grasped her bare flesh, she recalled how his anger had been followed swiftly by profuse apologies and concern.
Desperate to relive the moment when Max’s lips sought hers, Alison could only recall her panic and inner turmoil. The panic Max had interpreted so incorrectly. Assuming his own unexpected surge of emotions had upset her, he’d held her away from him, taken her hand in his and returned her to the comforting warmth and safety of the hall like a child.
Alison clasped her hands to her face. Why hadn’t she said something then? Why avoid all Max’s questions when it could have been so easy to dispel all the ghosts and shadows from the past.
Easy? A voice questioned in Alison’s head. How could it have been easy? Those ghosts and shadows would always be there to haunt her. As for any thoughts of the future, and seeing life in a different perspective, that was a joke!
Rising from the chair, Alison made her way to the bedroom window. There she stopped abruptly and turned to scrutinize the newly decorated walls with a critical eye. That same, taunting inner voice, however, was having none of it. The future! Why you fool, Alison Benedict! You honestly didn’t believe there was a future for you and Max Craven. How could there be? Oh, yes of course he held you in his arms and even kissed you. But at that moment he was so desperate for consolation and you just happened to be there!
‘Hmph! Future and perspective’, Alison said with a brittle smile, sealing the lids on the paint tins and gathering her tools together. ‘Forget about the future and concentrate on the perspective, in particular the perspective of this room!’
In her mind’s eye, she saw the finished bedroom with its stencilled border of trailing clematis and pale amethyst and grey silk drapes. Yes, it would look lovely, she would make sure of that. Irrespective of her personal feelings towards Evangeline at that particular moment, she would not let them cloud her professional judgement when finishing the room. Locking the house and dropping the key through the letter box, Alison retraced her steps to the main gates, pondering as she did so how Shirley Hastings would react to Evangeline’s latest donation to her wardrobe.
‘It really was amazing,’ Alison explained, setting the table for dinner. ‘At first I couldn’t believe it. It was all there in the carrier bag. Jeans, T-shirt and trainers.’
‘But they must have cost a fortune!’ Bunty called from the kitchen, where she was peering into a pan of steaming vegetables.
‘Precisely. If you’d seen Mrs Hastings this morning, with that bag clasped possessively in her arms, I’m convinced she thought I might take it from her, thus depriving her Shirley.’
‘But that’s daft! I mean any comparison between Madge Hastings’ Shirley and yourself Alison.’ Bunty roared with laughter.
‘I don’t know. If you carry on serving me meals like this, Bunty, I may very well end up like Shirley!’
‘Never in a million years.’ Bunty said, passing Alison her plate. ‘Besides, I thought we deserved a special meal this evening after - well you know - the events of the past few days.’
For a moment, forgetting the roast sirloin of b
eef with its onion gravy and baked suet pudding, Alison’s thoughts turned to Max. What would he be dining on this evening? It was common knowledge that, while he’d lived with Connie and George, and despite his repeated request for independence, Connie always insisted he eat his main meal of the day with them.
‘Penny for them, Alison?’ Bunty said, passing the dish of roast potatoes.
‘Oh, I was just wondering what Max would be eating this evening. I don’t suppose Connie has heard,,,’
Bunty shook her head. ‘No, he’s given strict instructions he wants to be left in peace. Come to think of it, it’s probably what he could do with right now. The past ten years can’t have been easy for him. It must have been a dreadful shock when he saw those photos, especially as he thought Virginia was so perfect.’
‘Bunty please! I’d rather not talk about the photos again, if you don’t mind.’
‘No, of course not, how insensitive of me. Let’s get on and eat, shall we? I’ve made us a nice blackberry and apple pie for pudding.’ Bunty studied Alison’s anxious face and, reaching out across the table, patted her hand. ‘Max will be fine, you’ll see. In fact, I think we’ll all be OK from now on. Evangeline’s probably been a genie in disguise and not the wicked witch we all think her to be.’
‘I can tell you’ve been discussing Church Hayward’s winter pantomime, but I don’t quite see the connection.’
‘You could say showing Max those photos was like rubbing Aladdin’s lamp. Instead of a genie, out popped not only Max and Virginia’s past, but events that have affected us all in one way or another over the past ten years.’
Finding it hard to see it in such a simple and light-hearted way, Alison couldn’t resist the urge to say. ‘And you think if we’re all granted three wishes, we can make everything perfect!’
Secrets From The Past Page 17