Leaving Terry to face the unwelcome visitors, Max checked in his pocket for his car keys and making his escape, looked back in his rear-view mirror. Fleetingly, he saw two figures emerge from the car and walk towards the newly erected sign.
‘Let’s hope that will keep you out from now on,’ Max said, heading in the direction of Thornhampton.
‘I’m very sorry,’ Terry began, ‘I’m afraid this is private property. Mr Craven has asked me to advise all uninvited callers...’
*
Alison blinked back tears as the plane taxied down the runway, taking her away from the rolling countryside of Church Haywood and Bunty’s cheerful smile.
‘Now off you go and have a wonderful time!’ Bunty had insisted, kissing her tear-stained face.’
‘Oh, Bunty!’ Alison had sobbed.
‘Now my dear. You’re not going away forever, you know. And we’ll all be here when you get back.’
Would they though? Alison thought, swallowing hard. Would Max be there when she got back? He certainly hadn’t been there when she’d left.
She recalled her final glimpse of him, talking to Terry before walking purposefully to his car and driving away. Telling Oliver that she wanted to say goodbye to Max and take one last look at Craven’s Stables, she hadn’t been able to say goodbye at all.
At first she didn’t think she’d be able to see Craven’s Stables either, that was until Terry had recognized her – well, not her exactly. Terry, in fact, had been more interested in Oliver.
*
‘You got rid of our property-developer friend then?’ Max called to Terry several hours later.
‘Not exactly.’
‘What do you mean not exactly? He’s not still here, is he?’
‘No, because he wasn’t a property developer.’
‘Then who was he?’
‘You’ll never believe me when I tell you,’ Terry grinned.
‘Try me.’
‘Oliver Benedict - you know, the cellist? The fellow on the CD.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Max said slowly, ‘I do know.’
‘Then did you also know he was Alison’s brother?’
‘Stepbrother to be precise,’ Max enlightened.
Terry appeared put out. ‘Yet you never said anything! Not even when I loaned you the CD.’
‘No, I’m sorry Terry. It hadn’t registered at the time. If it had, then naturally I would have... Incidentally, what was Oliver Benedict doing here?’
Looking down the drive Max wondered if the car was still in the vicinity. There was no sign of it anywhere. ‘Anyway,’ Max concluded, ‘I thought Bunty told Constance he was returning to the States today.’
‘He is,’ Terry continued, looking up into the clear evening sky, where a jet trail lingered overhead. ‘Who knows, that could quite possibly be them now.’
‘Them?’
‘Yes. Oliver and Alison.’
‘Alison!’
‘Yes. She’s gone back to America with him. She came to say goodbye and asked if she could take one last look at Craven’s Stables. Not inside, I hasten to add. And she took a photo. I hope you don’t mind?’
Max shook his head. ‘No, of course not,’ he answered numbly, running his hands through his hair.
‘I say Max! Are you OK? You look awful. You don’t get migraines, do you? They can be bloody miserable, so my sister tells me.’
‘No,’ Max said, walking away. ‘But I have got a headache. Would you believe, I’ve spent half the day, trying to find somewhere that stocks muslin.’
Alone in the half-finished bedroom, Max buried his head in his hands. Yes, he had a headache, all right. A splitting head to go with the aching heart, that longed so desperately for Alison’s return.’
Chapter 26
In New York, Alison watched Jasper struggle with what appeared to be an endless assortment of bags. Inserting his key in the lock, he kicked the door of the apartment open with an expensively shod foot.
‘Jasper! It would have been far easier for you to open the door, if only you’d let me carry some of the shopping.’
‘No way!’ Jasper called from inside the hallway. I’m not having you accuse me of being ungallant and ...’
‘Hi, you two. Been having fun?’ Oliver appeared, from his study. In one hand he carried a music score and in the other a pencil. ‘Good heavens! From where I’m standing, it looks as if you’ve bought up half of Bloomingdales!’
‘Correction,’ giggled Alison, holding up a selection of bags. ‘Jasper has bought up half of Barney’s and Bloomingdales. I thought they said women were extravagant.’
Jasper gave a wry smile and pushed his thick blond hair away from his face. ‘Considering my agent sent me a nice pay cheque this morning for all my hard-earned efforts - remember the film I did in Egypt? I thought I deserved a little treat.’
‘You call that little?’ Oliver said, placing the sheet music on the hall table and the pencil, he was holding, behind his ear.’
‘It was, if you compare it with the cheque,’ Jasper said with a sly grin. ‘For my last film, I opted for a percentage of the box office takings instead of my usual fee.’
‘Did you indeed?’ Oliver replied, ‘Then perhaps I should get rid of Brunnhilde and take up acting instead.’
‘You couldn’t stand to be parted from your beloved cello,’ Alison called, walking through to the kitchen. ‘And I wouldn’t be able to come to your wonderful concerts.’
‘What about my wonderful films?’ Jasper protested, pretending to be offended. ‘That’s the last time I buy you anything from Liz Claiborne.’
‘Liz Claiborne?’ Oliver raised an eyebrow.
‘Yes. Jasper’s been spoiling me again. Just as he has for the past three months. I didn’t ask for it, but he insisted.’ Alison began showing Oliver the contents of one of the many bags. He also bought you a shirt.’
She handed Oliver the Brooks Brothers’ bag, containing one of their renowned shirts with small button-down collars.
‘Why, thanks, Jasper. That’s very decent of you.’
‘Don’t mention it, Ollie. Only I thought you could do with it if your present attire is anything to go by. From the state of that threadbare shirt, jogging pants and old loafers, I’d say you look more suited to busking in Central Park than gracing the stage at Carnegie Hall.’
‘Which reminds me,’ said Oliver, picking up the music score, ‘I’d better get a move on. I’m due at rehearsals in half an hour.’
With Oliver at rehearsals and supper cleared away, Alison picked up her airmail writing pad and began her latest letter to Church Haywood.
Jasper sipped his bourbon and watched her thoughtfully.
‘What’s that? Another letter to Max?’
Without thinking or looking up, Alison replied matter of factly. ‘No. Apart from that first letter to Max, when I arrived, I haven’t written since. I don’t believe in writing to people who can’t be bothered to reply to my letters. I’m writing to Bunty.’
Satisfied with the reply, Jasper continued with what had been on his mind since lunchtime. ‘Sure was a coincidence bumping into Spencer Blair like that in Le Train Bleu. What do you think of him, Alison?’
Finishing off her paragraph, Alison replied. ‘OK. I suppose.’
‘OK! What do you mean by that?’
‘To be fair I don’t really know him, do I? I’ve only met him at a couple of parties. He always seems pleasant enough.’
‘Jeez! You British!’ Jasper mimicked Alison’s ‘pleasant enough,’ and continued. ‘Spencer’s a great guy, Alison. One of the best in fact, we’ve known each other for years.’
‘So I suppose that puts you in a much better position to judge his character.’
‘W-e-l-l, how about you getting in a position to know him better?’
Jasper’s question had the required affect. Alison put down her pen and turned to face her stepbrother. ‘Jasper? What are you getting at?’
‘I’m getting at nothing,’ he rep
lied, with a sly grin. ‘I’m merely suggesting you get to know Spencer that’s all.’
‘But I already know Spencer.’
‘Gee, Alison! Do I have to spell it out for you! Spencer’s got a soft spot for you. He likes you a lot. He...’
‘He hardly knows me.’
‘Exactly! And that’s just what I’m trying to sort out here. I want you two guys to get together. Spencer wants the two of you to get together! He was wondering, this coming weekend, with me having to go away and Ollie with four days of concerts...’
Feeling two blobs of colour rise in her cheeks, Alison turned her attention back to the sheet of blue airmail paper. Back to the paragraph that began. ‘How are things progressing at Craven’s Stables? Have you seen Max lately?’
‘I’m sorry Jasper. I’d rather not, if you don’t mind. It’s very kind of Spencer and I’m flattered - he’s a very good-looking young man. It’s just that I’m...’
‘Still in love with that Max guy, huh?’
Alison bit her lip. ‘Actually, that wasn’t what I was going to say, but as you come to mention it, yes, I am still in love with Max and always will be.’
Jasper shrugged his shoulders. ‘Out of curiosity, what were you going to say?’
‘I was going to say, I’m quite happy to be here on my own for a few days. I thought I might spend some time in Central Park. It seems ages since I’ve been to Belvedere Castle or visited the Conservatory Gardens.’
‘You’ve always said you thought the Conservatory Gardens are too formal.’
‘I know. Don’t forget there’s less formal areas too. That amazing wisteria pergola to begin with and that wonderful bank of wildflowers. I’ve not seen Mary and Dickon for a while, either.’
‘Mary and Dickon? Who’s that? I’ve never heard you mention a Mary and Dickon before.’
Alison smiled playfully. ‘Then you’ve obviously got a very bad memory. There was me thinking you were fond of me.’
Jasper look up with a puzzled expression on his face.
‘When my mother and your father first married,’ Alison explained, ‘and, being in awe of you all, I wouldn’t say boo to a goose - remember? You always seemed to be doing such lively, interesting things and I’d recently left Church Haywood...’
‘I am fond of you, extremely fond of you, Alison and I haven’t forgotten,’ Jasper interrupted, in more serious vein. He moved to the writing table and placed a brotherly hand on Alison’s shoulder.
Seeing renewed sadness in her face, Jasper refrained from continuing. It all came back to him now. Not only had he and Oliver been surprised when their father returned from one of his many business trips with a new wife, but also an English one at that.
An English wife who had brought with her a pale and timid teenage daughter, recovering from an horrific accident and the death of a young friend. Warned of both Alison’s physical and emotional scars, they soon realized it could take some time for their new stepsister to adapt to the Benedict way of life. New York was a far cry from sleepy Church Haywood with its lush meadows, bird-filled hedgerows and typical English cottage-style gardens.
‘The Secret Garden!’ Jasper exclaimed, softly. I remember now. Mary and Dickon. Weren’t they two characters from the book you were always reading?
Alison nodded, though perhaps not the usual teenage reading matter, it had been one of Tara’s favourites. ‘Yes, and your father took me to Central Park to show me their statues. I was always deeply fond of your father, you know. He was a good, kind man. I only wish things had turned out differently for him and Mother.’
‘Me too,’ Jasper said, reaching for a box of tissues and wiping a tear from Alison’s cheek. ‘But at least we three guys kept together. Just like the Three Musketeers.’
‘And a very peculiar Three Musketeers we must make.’ Alison sniffed, trying to force a smile.
Jasper tugged playfully at Alison’s hair with it’s new, smoother hairstyle. ‘And don’t forget,’ he grinned. ‘I know the perfect D’Artagnan.’
‘You mean...’
‘That’s it, Spencer! Got it in one. So how about giving the guy a break. Go call him and let him take care of you this weekend.’
‘Who’s taking care of Alison this weekend?’ Oliver called, walking in from the hallway, having first secured Brunnhilde in a safe position.
‘Spencer,’ Jasper enlightened him. ‘We bumped into him in Le Train Bleu at lunchtime and he wants to take Alison away for the weekend and...’
‘And I’m not going!’ Alison replied bluntly.
Jasper was on the verge of remonstrating with her when the telephone rang. Oliver picked up the receiver and looked in his direction. ‘It’s for you, Jasper. Someone called Layla, I believe?’
‘Layla? Layla! Gee great. OK, Ollie, I’ll take it in my bedroom.’
Oliver studied Alison’s troubled expression. ‘From the look on your face, I’d say you were offering thanks for Layla’s timely intervention. Do you want to tell me about it?’
Giving up with her letter writing for the evening, Alison screwed the top on her fountain pen. ‘I suppose from Jasper’s point of view, I am being a bit unreasonable, only I really don’t want to go out with Spencer.’
Reaching for her hand, Oliver led Alison to the sofa and sat down by her side. ‘I’m a little confused,’ he said, patting her knee. ‘How about if you start at the beginning?’
In Oliver’s reassuring presence Alison explained how, early that morning - following a mysterious phone call - Jasper had suggested they ‘do the sales’ on Fifth and Madison Avenues. And how, despite all her protestations Jasper had insisted, dragging her from department store to department store until she was exhausted.
Mysteriously at one o’clock, shopping came to an abrupt halt and they’d found themselves in Le Train Bleu at Bloomingdales.
‘So there you were in "Bloomies",’ Oliver coaxed, ‘surrounded by bags of shopping. What happened next?’
‘Spencer Blair appeared, as if from nowhere.’
‘Nowhere?’
‘It certainly seemed like it at the time. Only now I’m not so sure. I’m beginning to wonder if it wasn’t all pre-arranged. You know… Spencer and Jasper together...’
As if on cue, Jasper appeared in the doorway. ‘Bye, folks. See you later.’
‘You’re going out? ‘ Alison looked at her watch. ‘At this time of night? But it’s late.’
‘That’s right,’ called Jasper. ‘And the night is still young and the lovely Layla beckons.’
‘Layla?’ Oliver queried. ‘I don’t believe we’ve met Layla, have we?’
‘Not yet,’ Jasper called from the hallway, as he headed for the door. ‘Because I’ve only just met her myself. She’s an Egyptian actress. Over here for a screening of some Egyptian films. See you guys tomorrow.’
As an afterthought, Jasper hurried back and looked earnestly in Alison’s direction. ‘Don’t forget to give Spencer a call, will you.’
‘I’ll try not to,’ she said, her voice trailing to a whisper.
Oliver gave a sardonic smile. ‘You mean you’ll try not to call Spencer, or you’ll try to forget to call him?’
Alison sighed wearily and laid her head against Oliver’s shoulder.
‘You remind me of Max. That’s the sort of thing he would say.’
‘Is it?’ Oliver murmured, turning kindly, deep brown eyes in her direction. ‘You still miss him, don’t you? And although I’m not a betting man, I’d be prepared to bet if it was Max inviting you to spend the weekend with him, instead of Spencer, you’d already have your bag packed!’
Forcing a smile, Alison studied Oliver’s deeply hooded eyes, before uncontrollable tears began to flow.
‘He never even answered my letter,’ she cried. ‘Surely he could have written just once...’
‘Maybe he did and it never got here. Then again, if you wrote when you first arrived, I expect Max was still feeling sore about that incident at Bunty’s cottage. I know I’ve never
met Max – and from what you say he’s a proud man and has taken some knocks in his time – but I’d be prepared to say his pride took quite a hammering that day.’
‘You would?’ Alison sniffed.
‘Of course. I’m sure I would have felt exactly the same. From all accounts, after a series of false starts, you and Max had gotten things together really well. Then along comes ‘Hurricane Jasper’ and...’
‘Along comes Hurricane Jasper and what?’ Alison asked.
‘Complete devastation?’ Oliver concluded with a smile.
Alison brightened. ‘Put like that, I suppose you could say Keeper’s Cottage had its own hurricane, whirlwind and tornado all at once. Especially when I remember seeing Bunty’s rain hat in the aspidistra, the settee all askew and cushions everywhere.’
‘Don’t forget the flood,’ Oliver said, patting her hand.
‘Oh, you mean the tears I shed afterwards? I looked a dreadful sight didn’t I, when you first brought me here? All red eyed and...’
‘... skinny and wouldn’t eat. Jasper and I were most concerned.’
‘I know, but it didn’t help very much with Jasper calling Max a complete idiot and a stupid jerk at every available opportunity.’
‘That’s Jasper I’m afraid. Believe it or not, it’s his way of showing he cares. And as I care too, can I suggest you go to bed and get a good night’s sleep. You look all in after that shopping trip.’
Standing outside Alison’s bedroom door, Oliver bent and kissed her forehead. ‘Don’t worry about Spencer. Just ring and politely refuse. Say you’re sick or something. Perhaps take a rain-check... just in case at a later date...? You could also try writing to Max again.’
Closing her bedroom door, Alison choked back yet more tears. Yes, she was sick. Sick with longing for Max. She also knew she wouldn’t write to him again, nor would she change her mind about Spencer.
Secrets From The Past Page 28