Next morning, alone in the empty apartment, Alison stood by the window and stared wistfully at the magnificent panorama, stretching across the city skyline. The view from the Benedicts’ New York residence was simply spectacular.
‘Yes,’ she said, tracing her fingers slowly over the art deco photo frame that held a picture of her mother and stepfather in happier times. ‘There’s no doubt about it, Olmsted and Vaux did a superb job when they developed Central Park from a mass of pig farms and swamps. Who’d have thought it?’
In her head a little voice answered in reply. ‘And who’d have thought Max Craven could have turned those derelict stables into a Regency work of art?’
With thoughts of Max racing through her head and the memories of his lips on hers as they’d lain in bed together, Alison felt the old familiar stirrings in her stomach. Looking first at the blue airmail notepad, where she’d left it from the night before and then at the telephone, she hesitated and shook her head.
‘No!’ she announced, looking towards her mother’s photo. ‘I will not write to him and I most definitely won’t phone!’
Deciding she was doing no good by staying indoors, Alison picked up her jacket and purse and left the apartment. She was going to be alone for four days. She’d better make the most of it.
Stopping first at The Dairy to pick up the calendar of events for the month of July, Alison felt a pang of nostlgia when she surveyed the Victorian Gothic building. Somehow it always reminded her of London, and London reminded her of trains and trains reminded her of... Max... and the day he’d fallen asleep...
‘Oh! Stop it! Go away, Max!’ she cried.
‘Are you OK, ma’am?’
Startled, Alison looked up to see a mounted patrolman crossing her path. He looked puzzled, as if searching for her assailant.’
‘Yes. Yes. I’m fine thank you. I was talking to myself, trying to decide where to go first.’
‘That depends how much time you’ve got,’ he replied kindly, looking down at her from a sturdy, chestnut horse that remained motionless.
‘Four days.’
‘Then might I suggest you follow the points of the compass? North, South, East and West. Four days, four directions.’
Shielding her eyes from the bright sunlight, Alison smiled warmly.
‘Yes... What a good idea. I’ll do that. Thank you very much.’
‘Pleasure ma’am,’ said the patrolman touching his hat and edging his horse forward. ‘Have a nice day.’
‘Mmm,’ sighed Alison looking ahead to the welcoming shade of some trees. ‘I’m sure I shall.’
*
Four days later, sitting in the Cafe des Artistes, Oliver watched Alison toy with an ornate chocolate, cream and nut confection.
‘So, tell me about Central Park.’
Alison’s face lit up. ‘It was wonderful. I went north, south, east and west as the patrolman suggested.’
‘And weren’t you exhausted at the end of each day.’
‘Not particularly. I didn’t spend all day walking. One day I stopped by the Hans Christian Andersen statue and listened to them reading stories to the children, and the next I sat watching the children clamber all over the Alice in Wonderland bronze at Conservatory Water.’
Oliver studied Alison closely. ‘Something tells me you like to be with children.’
She blushed and scooped a mouthful of torte into her mouth. ‘I suppose seeing them reminded me of Rosie. Did I tell you she’s sent yet another picture?’
Oliver shook his head and stirred his coffee.
Reaching into her handbag, Alison carefully removed the four sheets of paper and spread them on the table in front of her. ‘There you are,’ she said, ‘I’ve had four now: April, May, June and July. One for every month I’ve been away.’
Oliver studied the four carefully detailed drawings. The first showed Rosie at Easter, surrounded by rabbits and Easter eggs.
‘Well, I’m sure glad the Easter Bunny called on little Rosie, if she’s as cute as you say.’
‘Oh, she is. Although I scarcely think she’d thank you for calling her cute. According to Bunty,’ Alison continued, ‘she’s not so little now, either. Apparently she’s grown quite tall.’
‘I’m not surprised, if as you say she’s always at Keeper’s Cottage and Bunty’s feeding her on those amazing dinners of hers and huge slices of fruitcake!’
‘And,’ said Alison, looking back at the pictures, ‘if she’s also having tea at Craven’s Stables as she did in June.’
Oliver picked up the June drawing, where Max and Rosie sat at a table eating strawberry tarts. ‘And is this Rosie too?’ he asked.
Alison shook her head. ‘No, definitely not! That’s supposed to be Church Haywood’s May Day celebrations with the May Pole and May Queen. This must be Rosie, here in this corner wearing her serape.’
Oliver smiled, put the pictures back in order and passed them across the table to Alison. ‘Well, I must say Max is looking happier, so that’s a good sign.
‘Yes, he is,’ Alison replied thoughtfully, ‘I wonder why?’
Thinking back to the early drawings, Alison recalled how Max was always depicted with a downward droop of the mouth, looking exceedingly miserable and sad. Today’s post however, had brought a happier picture.
Now, re-examining the latest offering, Alison was curious to know why? There were three people on the July picture, Rosie on one side with the ever present serape, Max in the middle, with his usual mane of thick black hair plus a newly fixed grin to his face and on Max’s other side...
Alison froze! On Max’s other side was a tall young woman, with exceedingly long brown legs, wearing a floral dress. With equally long brown arms Alison noted, that ended in hands with stick-like fingers.
Ignoring Oliver for a moment who was consulting his diary, Alison peered long and hard at Rosie’s drawing. What was the picture trying to tell her? Study the most striking features Alison, a warning voice in her head began. Study them and tell yourself what you see?’
With an aching heart, Alison felt her blood run cold. As far as she was concerned, the picture depicted three salient points: Max smiling; Max holding the hand of the brown skinned young woman by his side; and the fourth finger of a brown stick-like hand, resplendent with what appeared to be with an enormous ruby ring!
‘Alison, are you feeling okay? Perhaps all that chocolate and cream is a bit too much for you in this heat. I see you haven’t finished your torte.’
Alison stared blankly, first at Oliver and then at her plate. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, ‘I think perhaps it is all a bit too much. Will you excuse me a minute, Oliver? I feel sick. I’ll just pop to the powder room.’
Watching her go, Oliver turned Rosie’s July drawing back towards him. ‘So that’s what’s upset you so much,’ he murmured to himself. ‘That enormous bauble on the hand of the young lady by Max’s side.’
When Alison returned, Oliver surveyed her ashen face with concern. He reached for her hand and said softly, ‘I’ve been looking in my diary and I’m pretty sure you’ve remembered already... but it is coming up to the anniversary of your mother’s death.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘So… don’t you think it’s a good time for you to go back home to Church Haywood? See that florist lady friend of yours about arranging a nice floral tribute for your mother... and maybe catch up with old friends?’
At the mention of old friends, Oliver watched in silence as Alison gazed forlornly at the picture of Max with his happy smiling face. Rubbing his hand thoughtfully across his chin, he only wished he could see his stepsister looking so happy.
Chapter 27
In St Faith’s churchyard, Connie was pulling out the last remains of chickweed from Elizabeth Benedict’s grave.
‘There.’ She sighed, with satisfaction. ‘That looks better. What do you think?’
Bunty nodded approvingly and gathered the offending weeds into a plastic carrier bag. ‘You don’t know anyone
with a canary, do you?’
‘A canary? What do you want with a canary, Bunty?’
‘I’m convinced my grandfather used to give his canaries chickweed, that’s all.’
Peering into the bag at the mass of green with tiny white flowers, Connie declared, ‘You don’t need one canary you need a whole aviary!’
Bunty smiled and eased herself up from the kneeling pad she’d brought with her. ‘By the way, how’s Max?’
‘Much better, since we last spoke. Now the builders have finally left, he’s been busy putting the finishing touches to the house.’
‘Looking nice is it?’
‘To be honest, Bunty, I’ve probably seen about as much of the interior of Craven’s Stables as yourself. He’s being very secretive about it all at the moment. Particularly the upstairs and the master bedroom.’
Connie shrugged her shoulders. ‘You know I even tried to find out from Maxine what was going on, but she wouldn’t say a word either. When she and Max are together, she keeps giving him secret, knowing looks.’
‘She’s spending a great deal of time over there, isn’t she? Mind you, I suppose at the moment, with the baby due, she’d prefer to be there’s with Max and not…’
‘By the way, any news of Alison?’ Connie broke in.
‘None, other than that she’s still planning to arrive sometime this week. Don’t forget you’re still not supposed to know. Alison told me, Oliver’s organizing her flight and a car to meet her at Heathrow.’
‘How very thoughtful.’
‘Mmm,’ Bunty murmured, ‘Oliver was always the most thoughtful of the two, whereas Jasper’s what you’d call a man of action.’
‘You can say that again!’ Connie said, suddenly reminded of Jasper’s antics that had caused the abrupt halt to Max and Alison’s relationship.
Stopping by the lych gate, Bunty saw two familiar figures walking towards them. ‘I’d say Max is certainly enjoying Maxine’s company.’
Studying the deeply tanned body in the identical print frock to the one on Rosie’s July drawing, Connie nodded approvingly. ‘Well, he admits to being very fond of her... he also says she makes him laugh.’
‘Alison used to make him laugh too,’ Bunty said sadly.
I know my dear, but this is different, isn’t it?’
Drawing near his sister, Max noticed the gardening trug with its tools and the carrier bag full of weeds.
‘You’ve beaten us to it, I see.’
‘I thought as you and Maxine were busy at the house, Bunty and I would lend a hand here. You’d be amazed after that rain last week, just how many weeds had grown on both Tara’s and Elizabeth’s graves.’
‘That’s very kind of you, we certainly appreciate it don’t we, Maxine?’
Maxine nodded and gazed adoringly into Max’s face. ‘We’ve been to order the flowers…’ she said shyly, as if answering Connie and Bunty’s unspoken question.
‘Yes,’ Max concluded, ‘Penny said she’ll deliver them. They’ll never all fit in my car.’
‘Good gracious!’ Connie asked in surprise. ‘What exactly have you ordered?’
Max winked and, reaching for Maxine’s hand,’ said with a secretive glint in his eye, ‘You’ll have to wait and see, Connie. We’re hoping to surprise everyone.’
‘Well, I never, ‘ said Connie, watching Max and his companion walk away hand in hand. ‘What do you make of that?’
‘I’d say they were both up to something,’ Bunty said her voice full of concern. ‘I only hope what they’re planning doesn’t coincide with Alison’s homecoming.’
‘Do you think I should warn Max about Alison’s arrival?’
‘Oh, no Connie! Alison made me promise I wouldn’t tell Max. I’ve already explained I really shouldn’t have said anything to you either.’
‘And I would have been none the wiser, but for the fact you decided to spring-clean Alison’s bedroom. No wonder I became suspicious. I mean,’ said Connie, with a grin, attempting to make her friend feel better. ‘since when has Bunty Lowther spring-cleaned in late July!’
In the garden at Craven’s Stables, Maxine put down her glass and turned towards him. ‘Max, will you come for me when the flowers arrive?’
‘Of course.’
‘And everything’s ready?’
Max smiled and reached for his glass of wine. ‘Almost. They came to restretch the bedroom carpet this morning and I managed to hang the rest of the drapes this afternoon, before I called for you. That only leaves the champagne to collect but that can wait until the day after tomorrow.’
‘So am I the only one who’s seen the bedroom?’
‘Yes, you’re the only one.’
A look of pure delight swept over Maxine’s face as she watched Max finish his drink. Then in complete silence, they watched the last rays of a salmon pink sunset disappear into shadows on the newly planted herbaceous border.
Seeing Maxine shiver as goosebumps appeared on her bare arms, Max said softly, ‘I think I’d better take you home.’
*
Three days later Max took the last of the flowers from the boxes Penny had delivered. ‘Well, Maxine, what do you think?’
‘I think they’re beautiful.’
‘And you look beautiful too, if I might say so. The flowers match the colour of your dress perfectly.’
Two blobs of colour appeared through her sun-tanned cheeks as Max held out his hand. Then, removing a stray flower petal from his jacket, he breathed in deeply and said with a determined voice. ‘I take it we’re ready?’ Maxine nodded and, hand in hand, walked with Max into the welcoming coolness of St Faith’s church.
*
At 7.45 on a balmy summer’s evening the same, sleek black limousine that had taken Alison away pulled slowly into St Faith’s car park. Alison looked first at her watch and then at Oliver.
‘It was so good of you to put everything on hold and come back with me. I really appreciate it. You won’t mind if I wait here for another quarter of an hour.’
‘That’s OK by me,’ Oliver said. ‘After the chaos of Heathrow and that dreadful motorway cafe, doing nothing for a quarter of an hour suits me just fine. But tell me, why eight o’clock?’
‘Because hopefully by then there won’t be anyone else about.’
‘I see,’ said Oliver, knowing full well, by ‘anyone else’ Alison meant Max. ‘Then would you mind if we listen to some music, while we’re waiting. It might help delay the jet lag for a little while longer.’
Alison shook her head and watched Oliver press the button on the CD player.
‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ she said. ‘Where could you find a more peaceful setting? Sheep grazing on the periphery of St Faiths on a perfect summer’s evening, the gentle undulating countryside of Church Haywood and Beethoven’s cello sonata in A major. Although, hearing the Beethoven again perhaps I shall be transported back to New York and the last concert you gave before we left.’
Mention of New York transported Oliver back - not to his last concert - but his brother’s irate face.
‘What!’ Jasper had exclaimed. ‘You’re taking Alison back to England! Why? Surely not to see that jerk, Max?’
For once, the usually calm Oliver had turned angrily on his brother.
‘Jasper, from what I’ve heard of Max - from both Alison and Bunty - I would say he was anything other than a jerk. From all accounts, the poor guy lost first his daughter and then his wife, only to find out when it was too late, that she’d been cheating on him. Then… when he’s recovering from the shock and beginning to make a go of things with Alison, you appear on the scene. You drag her away on the night he was going to propose and...’
‘Hey Ollie! That’s not fair! How the hell was I supposed to know?’
‘You weren’t.’ Oliver concluded. ‘But just lay off Max, will you - for Alison’s sake, please! You’re so wrapped up with Layla, you’ve obviously forgotten the date. That’s why I’ve arranged to go back to England with Alison. I want to b
e with her on the anniversary of Elizabeth’s death.’
‘Oh, jeez, Ollie,’ Jasper had groaned his face full of remorse. ‘I’m sorry. I forgot. Do you want me to come too?’
Fearing further altercations if Jasper came with them, Oliver had politely declined his brother’s offer, insisting Jasper stay in New York with Layla.
Aware of Alison’s closed eyelids, Oliver coughed discretely, ‘Alison, it’s eight o’clock.’
Rubbing at her eyes, Alison stared about her, momentarily forgetting she was back in Church Haywood. With the clock striking eight, she stepped warily from the car.
‘I’ll wait here for a bit,’ Oliver said tactfully. ‘Give you and your mother chance to be alone for a few moments. I’ll join you in a while.’
Seeing her disappear behind the mellow stone wall of the car park Oliver reached down and switched off his CD.
Feeling tears of emotion well up inside, Alison walked slowly and apprehensively towards the churchyard. There, desperate not to disturb the sheer peace and tranquillity of the place, she left the gravel path for the quieter softness of freshly mown grass.
When the newly tended grave came into view, she emitted a tiny gasp. How…? Who...?
From the secluded shadows of St Faith’s porch, Max watched Alison look about her before sinking to her knees in a dense carpet of violets.
Though her face was buried in her hands, her hair worn in a smoother, longer style and the clothes more elegant, Max knew he would have recognized her anywhere.
‘Alison…’ he said, walking towards her, his voice curiously deep and thick with emotion.
Startled, tear filled eyes gazed up into his as he reached down to help her to her feet, just as he had almost a year ago.
‘Max? I don’t understand. Was this your idea? The violets...?’
‘They were in a way. I remembered you saying how much your mother loved them. I also remembered how difficult it was to find violets in July. It was Maxine who suggested asking Penny to order whole boxes, even having them flown in from abroad if necessary, but then,’ Max smiled warmly, ‘I’ve often found Maxine does things to excess.’
Secrets From The Past Page 29