‘Don’t worry,’ she whispered, her eyes shining with love for him. ‘They’ve gone. The shadows have gone. From now on it’s just the two of us.’
Chapter 23
In the afterglow of their new-found happiness, Christmas and New Year passed almost as quickly it appeared. From afar, George and Connie watched Max and Alison delight in each other’s company, oblivious to the comings and goings of other Church Haywood residents. Only the problems at Craven’s Stables shattered their idyll.
‘Can you believe it?’ Max announced to his sister, one morning at breakfast. ‘The minute they turned on the water, some idiot had to go and fracture the pipe. And I was hoping to move in tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow! That’s ridiculous, Max! The Stables is hardly fit for habitation just yet, surely?’
‘Oh, the builders have progressed quite well since you were there last, Constance. But no, you’re right, It’s not completely habitable just yet. I was hoping to have one room ready for the weekend that’s all.’
‘What’s happening at the weekend?’ Connie enquired, placing fresh toast on the table.
‘Bunty’s due back, or had you forgotten?’
Connie eyed the vast array of Australian postcards pinned to her corkboard. ‘No, of course I hadn’t, particularly as George and I are going to meet her at the airport. So… what’s that got to do with Craven’s Stables?’
‘It means Alison will no longer be on her own at Keeper’s Cottage.’
‘She can always come to the flat.’
‘I know,’ Max said awkwardly, ‘but it’s not quite the same as being on your own, is it?’
‘I suppose it’s not exactly Greta Garbo.’ Connie tried to make light of the situation.
‘Who’s talking about Greta Garbo?’ George called, kicking off his muddy boots. ‘I thought she died years ago.’
‘She did,’ Connie said, making a fresh pot of tea, ‘but, Max vants to be alone...’
‘I say Connie,’ George said, walking through, clutching his slippers. ‘You sounded just like her!’
‘George! We need your advice. Bunty’s coming back at the weekend and Max was hoping to move into the Stables tomorrow.’
‘That’s ludicrous...’
‘Don’t interrupt!’ Connie retorted. ‘Now, as I was saying, moving into the Stables is out of the question... and the flat for obvious reasons, is also out of the question, so what would you advise?’
Max broke in on their conversation. ‘Honestly, you two,’ he chuckled. ‘You forget I’m not a child anymore.’
‘Ah! But you’re still my little brother.’ Connie plonked a kiss on his cheek. ‘And I’d like to help you. You and Alison. It’s nice to see the two of you together.’
‘Yes,’ agreed George jovially. ‘By the way, when are you going to ask her to m...’ The words died on George’s lips, when he saw the look on his wife’s face.
Tight-lipped, Max rolled up his napkin and made for the door. ‘I suggest you don’t mention the ‘M’ word, George. ‘All I will say is, I’ll consider it when I feel the time is right for both Alison and myself.’
Undaunted, George called after him. ‘What about a mobile home up there, until the place is finished - or you’ve made up your mind?’
‘George, really!’ Connie scolded. ‘Max living in a mobile home! Whatever next?’
‘Then you are way out of touch, old thing. Mobile homes these days have all mod cons… central heating, running water the lot. Anyway, what do you think about Max, eh? Do you think he will ask Alison to marry him?’
‘I don’t know. He certainly surprised me back then. There I was fully expecting him to bite your head off and instead he says something like that and disappears without another word!’
‘So, our Bunty could be coming home to the sound of wedding bells.’ George grinned, stirring his tea.
‘Not unless Max gets a special licence, or had you forgotten it’s this weekend Bunty’s due back?’
‘Crikey! So I had! Gracious, those two months have flown quickly. I can’t wait to tell her the good news.’
‘George Henderson,’ Connie sighed, removing a piece of straw from her husband’s hair. ‘Underneath all those bales of hay, silage and milk quotas, you’re just one big romantic softy.’
Relieved to see familiar smiling faces, and waving a small koala bear in the air, Bunty called out to George and Constance.
‘Hello, you two. Thanks for meeting me. For one horrid moment I thought, having been away for so long, I might have been forgotten.’
‘As if we would?’ George said, with a wry smile in Connie’s direction.
With the luggage stowed away, George helped Bunty into the car, where he noticed she was still holding the toy koala. ‘I don’t want to lose Ozzie,’ Bunty said. ‘I nearly left him behind on the plane. Luckily the air hostess came running after me.’
‘Who’s he for?’ Connie enquired. ‘I didn’t think you had any young children in the family.’
‘He’s for Alison,’ Bunty explained. ‘Didn’t you know she put in a special request for a toy koala before I went away?’
‘Oh, we know a lot more than you think.’ George said, looking in his rear view mirror in Bunty’s direction.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Bunty queried. ‘Alison’s OK, isn’t she? She’s not been ill or anything while I’ve been away?’
‘It depends what you mean by anything,’ George continued with a twinkle in his eye.
Connie fixed her husband with a glare. ‘George, just you concentrate on getting us out of this wretched airport, and leave me to tell Bunty the good news.’
Bunty breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank goodness it’s good news, for a moment you had me worried. So what is it? This good news?’
‘Alison and Max finally got together. They went to London for the weekend, after Alison finished Rosie’s bedroom - which by the way looks amazing - and they’ve been virtually inseparable ever since.’
Unable to resist the urge to keep quiet, George began humming the wedding march. ‘Dum, dum de dum. Dum, dum de dum.’
‘You don’t mean!’ Bunty gasped, grabbing hold of the seat rest in front of her.
‘No, he doesn’t!’ Connie said with an exasperated sigh. ‘At least not yet. But it looks a strong possibility.’
‘Oh, dear,’ Bunty said sadly.
‘Are you implying you don’t approve of the idea?’
‘No, it’s not that. Not that at all, I’m only sorry not to have been around when all this took place.’
‘Oh, Bunty!’ George and Connie, laughed in unison.
*
Dumbstruck, Bunty took in her newly decorated kitchen, with its gleaming quarry tiled floor, terra cotta walls and brand new contrasting accessories.
‘What a transformation!’ she cried. ‘However did you manage it? You know, somehow it reminds me of Ayres Rock at dawn.’
‘That’s hardly surprising,’ Alison replied. ‘Considering I was inspired by that wonderful exhibition of Aboriginal art at the Barbican. Do you remember? That was the day I bumped into Max on the train coming home. Well, not bumped into him exactly, but woke him up at Church Haywood.’
Bunty noticed the change in Alison’s eyes when she spoke of Max. An almost ethereal glow radiated across her entire face. Perhaps this was the cue she’d been waiting for.
‘I gather you’ve been seeing quite a bit of Max, while I’ve been away,’ she said, pretending to rearrange the vase of early daffodils on the kitchen table.
Blushing, Alison replied softly. ‘Yes, I have. I expect Connie and George will have told you coming home in the car.’
‘Mmm. They did, and I have to say I’m delighted! You know it’s what we’ve all been waiting for, Connie and myself, and even dear old George come to that. You seem right together somehow. In fact Connie says you’re far better for Max than Virginia ever was...’
Alison bit her lip. ‘I don’t think it’s fair to talk about Virginia. I’d
rather try and forget about all that if you don’t mind.’
‘Of course, dear, I should have realized, I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t easy for you, Alison, living with all that for so long.’
‘No, it wasn’t and thanks to Max… Anyway, if you don’t mind, I’d prefer not to….’
‘Of course,’ Bunty said, opening a cupboard door. ‘So I’ll change the subject and ask you to tell me where everything is. Since you’ve transformed this kitchen so magnificently, I can’t find a damned thing!’
Alison smiled and, opening each cupboard door in turn explained where everything was. ‘It’s not all that different from before really. It’s simply that I’ve separated the non-perishables into savoury and sweet - for want of a better description. And you’ll find them all in alphabetical order too, so they’ll be easier to find.’
Bunty studied the newly lined cupboard shelves, where even the lining paper matched the decor of the kitchen. Then she made a mental note to remember; the savoury items were on the left and the sweet on the right. ‘Alphabetical order,’ she chuckled to herself, as her eyes scanned the shelf, which began with baked beans and bean salad and ended with tuna. ‘I don’t think Keeper’s Cottage has ever seen such orderly cupboards.’
‘Make sure they stay that way, then,’ Alison teased. ‘I enlisted Max’s help with those and it took us ages.’
‘Once more, at the mention of Max’s name, Alison’s face became a picture of radiance. ‘Which reminds me,’ she said walking to the hallway, ‘I must ring him. He wants to know what you think of the kitchen.’
‘Tell him, I think it’s perfect,’ Bunty called, ‘and that I want to see him as soon as possible.’
Picking up the tiny koala that had been sitting, propped up by the fruit bowl, Bunty whispered softly, ‘Yes, Ozzie, it’s perfect. Everything’s perfect. Somehow I don’t think Alison will be needing your company after all.’
*
One Friday morning in late March, a perfect stillness bathed Craven’s Stables, filling Max’s whole being with a sense of contentment and satisfaction. Looking from the half-finished kitchen, he gazed in wonderment at the early morning sunshine dancing on dew-filled grass and mellow golden sandstone.
Spring at last, he thought, moving to the kitchen door and opening it, breathed in the chill, yet delicately scented early morning air.
Almost in greeting, tubs of daffodils nodded their golden heads and Max made his way down the newly made gravelled walk to the far end of the garden. He took the same route each morning, always peering anxiously and stopping in the far corner in the shelter of the high stone wall. This morning, however, he not only stopped to feel the warmth of the sun on his face, but also bent down and plucked at a tiny purple bloom.
‘The first violets,’ he said huskily, examining the delicate purple petals. ‘The first violets for Alison. This is what I’ve been waiting for.’
Hearing his voice, a lone male blackbird tugging at a worm, cocked his head to one side and stared at Max with a bright button eye. ‘That’s OK, Max called softly. ‘You carry on with your breakfast and I’ll go in and have mine. I’ve got what I came for.’
Before returning to the house, Max knocked on the door of the mobile home. He had taken George’s advice to bring one on site, but it was not for him to live in.
The reason for its presence, he’d told his startled sister, was to provide a home for his site manager while at the same time guarantee there was always someone on site to keep an eye on the place. Now that Craven’s Stables was nearing completion, security was essential.
Waiting for Terry to open the door, Max recalled how in the days prior to the mobile home’s arrival, he’d had several problems with vandals and extremely curious villagers. While the needlessly broken and knocked down pile of insulation blocks and broken windows had cost a considerable amount to replace, it was the almost unexplainable curiosity of neighbouring inhabitants that now annoyed Max more.
‘I suppose you must expect it.’ Connie had remarked, trying to be helpful. ‘After all, the Stables were left to fall into rack and ruin. Now that you’re having the whole place totally transformed, people are bound to be a little bit curious.’
‘I don’t mind a little bit curious,’ Max had replied tetchily, ‘but I do draw the line at them coming out in droves on a Sunday afternoon!’ Consequently, both the mobile home and Terry, had arrived at almost the same time.
‘Morning, Max,’ a cheery voice called, opening the door to the area marked ‘SITE OFFICE.’ ‘You were up bright and early again, I see.’
Max nodded and studied the site plan on the wall. On it Terry had quite clearly marked, ‘FINISH KITCHEN’.
‘What do you think?’ enquired Max. ‘Will I be able to cook in there tomorrow?’
‘That depends what you intend to cook,’ Terry said cheekily.
‘Nothing too fancy, merely a simple supper for two.’
‘Oh, I see. Just you and Alison, is it? In which case, as you won’t be in need of banqueting space, I would think the lads could manage that.’
‘I’d appreciate it if you could, Terry. So, can I leave Craven’s Stables in your capable hands, then? I need to go to town, to collect some furnishings and also find something relatively simple to cook.’
‘Couldn’t you have got Connie to rustle up something? I’m sure she wouldn’t have minded.’
Max shook his head. ‘Quite possibly, but that’s why I like being able to stop here occasionally. I’m convinced Constance still thinks I’m about twelve!
‘That’s the trouble with big sisters,’ Terry grinned. ‘Mine’s exactly the same. That’s why I jumped at the chance of living here for a bit. What could be better than a good book, a nice bottle of claret and a decent concert on the radio. Should be a good one on the radio tomorrow by the way - that’s if you’re interested. They’ve been featuring the cello all week on Radio 3 and tomorrow night’s concert is coming from the Barbican.’
‘That’s one of Alison’s favourite haunts,’ Max said, stepping from the office. He remembered fondly that was where she’d been the day they’d met on the train. ‘Hopefully,’ Max added to himself as he walked away, ‘just for once, we’ll be too busy to listen to a concert.’
Listening to Alison singing in the shower, Bunty crept downstairs and reached for the phone.
‘Well,’ she asked Connie. ‘Have you any idea what’s happening? Do you think he’ll ask her tonight? Has he told you anything?’
‘Sorry to disappoint you, Bunty, all I know is Max has invited Alison to Craven’s Stables this evening for supper. Though the place isn’t finished yet, of course.’
‘Oh!’ Bunty tried to hide her disappointment. She’d secretly hoped Max had confided in his sister and told her of his intentions as far as Alison and marriage were concerned.
Initially they’d half expected Max to propose on St Valentine’s Day, especially when Alison had received two dozen red roses and had returned from their dinner date clutching a red satin box. Unfortunately for Connie and Bunty, its size alone indicated that it hadn’t contained the long-hoped-for engagement ring.
Instead there had been a glass oval sun catcher, edged with silver and suspended on a simple silver chain. Etched on the glass were delicate hand-painted violets; the same delicate violets that now commanded Alison’s attention.
With her skin and hair still damp, Alison tied the sash of her kimono and walked to her bedroom window. There, with the tip of her index finger, she very gently touched the silver frame, causing the glass to move slowly from side to side like a pendulum.
As it did so, the last rays of evening sun caught at the exquisitely detailed flowers and their almost heart shaped leaves. Alison sighed dreamily. What was it Max had said when he’d telephoned?
‘Come for supper, if you’re prepared to risk my cooking, and in the morning we’ll get up and pick dew-covered violets together.
For once ignoring what might happen after supper and the prospect of m
aking love in the morning before they went to pick the violets, Alison had declared excitedly, ‘They’re out! You mean the violets are out? That’s wonderful! We’ll be able to take some to mother’s grave and...’
‘Wait a minute,’ Max had interrupted kindly. ‘For the moment there are only a few, down at the far end of the walled-garden. They’ll probably only fill an egg cup but you’re more than welcome to have them.’
‘Then isn’t it a shame to pick them? Wouldn’t it be better to leave them until the larger clumps by the garage are in full bloom?’
‘I’ll leave it entirely up to you Alison, and if you change your mind, I’m sure they’ll look positively charming on your breakfast tray instead.’
Feeling the familiar butterflies in her stomach, Alison was reminded of the variety of breakfasts she and Max had shared together since their first night together in Nigel’s flat. By all accounts, Max had already decided she would be spending the night with him at Craven’s Stables. Tonight, she acknowledged, couldn’t come quick enough.
‘Alison,’ Bunty called from the hall. ‘I’m off now, so will you please make sure you lock up when Max comes for you. Have a nice evening. I expect you’ll be staying over... and that I shall see you sometime tomorrow?’
Peering over the banister, Alison met Bunty’s knowing grin with a winsome smile. ‘Yes, I expect I will ... and you shall. Max has invited me to go violet-picking before breakfast.’
With a bemused shrug of the shoulders and a quizzical look in her eye, Bunty picked up her album of Australian photos. She’d been invited to spend the evening with friends on the other side of Little Harberry.
‘Violet-picking indeed!’ she chuckled, switching on the ignition of her car. ‘That’s a novel way of describing it, I suppose!’
*
When the doorbell rang, forty minutes before she was expecting it to, Alison ran downstairs eagerly to open the door.
‘It’s OK, even though you’re early, I am ready to…’
Secrets From The Past Page 25