The Running Lie

by Jennifer Young

  ‘Charlie,’ Mother said.

  ‘And you hated all the dates he set you up with, Max.’ Charlie poked under his cast. ‘But I liked Mr Knox.’

  It was true. All those dates—they’d all been horrid. Most of George’s friends were.

  ‘Leave your cast alone, please, Charlie. How do you—how serious are you about Mr Knox, darling?’ Mother asked.

  Why hadn’t she agreed to meet him anywhere? ‘I…’ Max folded her hands around the handle of her handbag. ‘I like him. More than—I don’t know yet. But I do like him.’ Max checked her watch. Four minutes to seven.

  ‘What do you know about his family?’ Mother asked. Her voice didn’t have the warmth of Charlie’s.

  ‘They have a farm in North Carolina. John went to the University of North Carolina. Studied Languages, then joined up.’ She’d learned most of that on a ten-hour train ride with him, when she was exhausted and in pain. John had stopped being the mysterious, slightly annoying stranger she’d thought him before. He’d made jokes, played cards, gotten her food. And held her hand so she could have two hours of nightmare-free sleep.

  ‘Where in North Carolina?’

  ‘I don’t think we need to do a full-scale social investigation, Nancy,’ Dad said.

  ‘You would if he were British,’ Mother said.

  ‘There’s a smaller pool here. We know more of the young men Max would meet.’

  ‘Does it matter?’ Max asked. ‘It’s not like I’ll be producing an heir.’ Poor Charlie flinched. That duty belonged to him now. She stood to pace. ‘Not that I’m saying I would, with John I mean, but…’ God. ‘This is only our second date.’ Except she’d never had a second date where she’d spent so much time already with the man.

  ‘I’ll check his service record, Nancy, if it’s important to you. I’m sure Mr Knox’s family is fine.’

  ‘But North Carolina.’

  ‘You’re being a snob, Mother. You spent weeks saying he should have rung me after our first date. What’s wrong with North Carolina?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Mother smiled, that radiant glowing smile that lit the entire room. ‘But it shows you are really quite interested in him after all.’

  Her father laughed, as Max flushed. ‘She’s got you there, Max.’

  The doorbell rang, precisely as the clock chimed seven. Max ran to the hallway, barely pausing to grab her bag. She reached the door just ahead of Harris, the butler. She stepped back to let him open it, but she didn’t wait for John to be invited in or announced.

  ‘Let’s go,’ she said, grabbing his hand. ‘Sorry, Harris, can you tell my parents we’ve already left? Thanks.’

  ‘What happened?’ John asked, as Max pulled him down the steps. ‘Shouldn’t I say hello? I’d certainly do that at home. Hang on, Max.’

  Max found a smile. ‘I’m—my mother is full of questions.’

  ‘About me?’ He tugged at her hand, but she resisted. ‘My car’s this way. What’s in the bag?’

  Max exhaled and walked beside him to the car. ‘Wine for the party.’

  ‘May I?’

  Max relinquished the bag into his grip. ‘My mother takes an extreme interest in my social life.’

  ‘Isn’t that the definition of a mother?’

  Max laughed. ‘I suppose so.’

  John opened her car door and held it as she slid inside. Max wanted to simply relax and enjoy herself, but as he got in the car she had to ask. ‘How did you know where to find me today?’

  ‘Victor.’ He started the car. ‘I figured if you were working, a phone call would be pretty useless. I didn’t mean to frighten you.’

  ‘You didn’t. Of course not.’ She smoothed her skirt. Unnerved, perhaps. Not frightened. ‘You seemed to have little time for Will.’

  ‘Did I? Well, I was running late.’ He turned onto Fulham Road. ‘Did he say anything?’

  ‘Only that you’d been his captain. And he was a corporal.’

  ‘Was.’ He glanced over at her. ‘He was a private when I last saw him.’

  ‘Why?’ Obviously, John had demoted him. ‘I guess that’s a silly question.’

  ‘No, but it’s one I shouldn’t answer. I shouldn’t have said anything.’ He stopped at a stoplight and smiled at her. ‘I think I’m entirely too honest around you.’

  Would John answer any other questions? Where had he been on his trip? And did he actually work for a newspaper? ‘What’s your job like?’

  ‘I sit in long meetings at the Universal Dispatch offices in London, and periodically I go to other countries and sit in long meetings about how to sell our paper in their region. Mostly to overseas Americans.’ He accelerated away from the intersection. ‘And could I interest you in a subscription, Dr Falkland?’

  Max laughed. ‘I’m not American, even if I sound it. Do you normally sell door to door, well, car?’

  ‘Nope. But I’ll make an exception for you.’

  ‘Do you focus on a particular region?’ Max asked. These were the types of questions she’d been trained to ask. That her ex-fiancé had expected her to spout at parties.

  ‘Yes. The entire world, minus the United States.’ He smiled. ‘I haven’t made it to either Pole yet.’

  He drove smoothly, calmly thorough the traffic. His eyes still looked tired, but his black hair swept back in a perfect pompadour. ‘How long have you been travelling today?’

  ‘Entirely too long.’ His finger tapped the steering wheel. The finger with the scrape. ‘At least I don’t have to go in tomorrow.’

  ‘What happened there?’ Max asked, although it fell outside the permitted questions.

  ‘Just an embarrassing collision with a door. I’d love to hear about your dig, if you can tell me about it,’ John said.

  Would colliding with a door break the skin so unevenly? ‘There’s no secrecy about it. Besides, the vicar keeps leaking everything we find to the press anyway, to bolster the restoration fund. We’ve started focusing on the nave.’

  ‘What were you doing when I arrived?’

  ‘Digging up a skeleton. The site’s riddled with them.’ Max glanced at him. Most men wouldn’t consider this appropriate conversation for a date. He’d change the topic and…

  ‘Makes sense, for a church, I suppose. What do you think you’ll find under it? Vikings?’

  He’d remembered her research interests. Max took a deep breath. How could he be so attractive when she knew so little about him? ‘No, not likely. I honestly just wanted to join any archaeological work I could find, and my mother wouldn’t let me leave London again. It’ll be Roman. Maybe Celtic.’ And then she heard words she hadn’t dared say aloud before. ‘I’m not enjoying it the way I thought I would. It’s…’ How did she compare digging a quarter of a trench under Will Firmin with the moment of her plane crashing, her run through the darkened distillery? John stayed silent. ‘I guess it isn’t the summer I expected.’

  ‘Would you have preferred to stay on Mull?’

  With gunfire and submarines? ‘Maybe.’ She’d been in control of the archaeological survey there. But was that all?

  ‘How are you sleeping now?’ John asked.

  That definitely fell outside the permitted questions. ‘Better than I was.’ The nightmares had stopped, but her dissatisfaction with her days had not.

  John parked on Victor and Emma’s street. ‘They really do live close to me. My place is three streets that way.’ He pointed.

  ‘Then Kensington was quite a trek. Sorry.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ His fingers brushed her cheek gently. ‘I can’t tell you how pleased I was when you said yes. And that I’m finally back in London.’

  ‘I’m glad too,’ Max said, flushing. She’d nearly said she’d missed him. And she had.

  They walked down the street, Max’s hand caught in the warmth of John’s. She’d been to dozens and dozens of parties at Victor and Emma’s, since she met them four years ago, on that same dig in Iceland. Victor had paraded so many men past her, convinced he
could find the one for her. Only her mother matched him in persistence. She glanced up at John’s profile. None of them had been as attractive, on any level.

  ‘Why are they having a party?’ John asked.

  ‘They like parties. I’m not sure about this particular one.’ They hadn’t had one in ages. After the last one, Emma had confided they were trying for a baby, and that she didn’t want late parties anymore. But here they were, hosting another one.

  People spilled out onto the street from the open door. Max said hello to a clump of archaeologists, introducing John and swapping pleasantries.

  They headed up the steps. The hallway felt dark after the low sun outside. Music washed over her along with a heady rush of voices. The piano riffs of ‘All of Me’ played, and a few people started dancing to Dean Martin’s voice.

  ‘Max,’ Victor called, manoeuvring through the press of bodies towards them. ‘Hiya, John.’ He grinned. ‘So, is this an accidental simultaneous arrival, or was this a planned, dare I say it, date?’

  John laughed. ‘I asked Max out, but she insisted she had to come here.’

  ‘But you said you were invited too,’ Max said. Had Victor told John about the dig site? They didn’t act like people who had spoken earlier today. Did it matter?

  ‘Look at you. A second date and you’re already bickering. Either it’ll be the altar or a quick ending.’

  Heat rose to Max’s cheeks, and she didn’t want to see John’s face. ‘Well, poor John’s carrying this bag of wine,’ she said. ‘Let’s take it to the kitchen.’

  ‘You all right to go alone? I need to sort something.’ Victor grinned. ‘Make sure you get some of hers, John. Vastly superior to the booze we have.’

  Max led John to the kitchen. Emma lifted a tray of pastry out of the oven.

  ‘Hello, darling. Hello, John.’ She dropped the tray on top of the cooker. ‘Why do I keep doing hot food in summer?’

  ‘Because you’re that kind of hostess?’

  ‘Can I put this here?’ John lifted the bag onto the bright yellow tablecloth.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Emma slid another tray into the oven. ‘Give me a second.’ She moved to the cabinets.

  Max pulled a bottle from her bag. John picked up a bottle opener from the table and took the wine from her. He smiled.

  ‘I didn’t learn how to do this either till I left home. The problems of growing up in a dry county.’

  ‘Did you have much wine in the Army?’ Max asked.

  John eased out the cork. ‘Mostly beer. But wine in France.’

  Emma brought over three glasses and John poured the red liquid equally. ‘It’s nice to see you both…together?’ Emma asked.

  Max closed her eyes. ‘Yes.’ Would she have a faint blush all night? She sipped the wine, then took a gulp. She couldn’t get smashed either.

  ‘Knox,’ a voice called. Will Firmin. ‘Oh, excellent. More wine.’ He came into the kitchen.

  ‘Are we running out?’ Emma asked.

  Will’s houndstooth suit’s check was simply too big. John wore the blue suit he’d worn earlier today, but the shirt looked fresh.

  ‘No, but I’m guessing that’s better, since Max’s standing guard.’

  Anger rose in a hot column, but Max exhaled rather than snapping. Will downed his remaining wine and held out his glass. Emma filled it.

  ‘Super party, as ever, Emma,’ Will said. ‘Thanks for inviting me.’

  ‘I think every archaeologist left in London is here,’ Emma said.

  ‘How did you get into archaeology, Will?’ John asked. ‘Emma, do you mind if I smoke?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  John lit a cigarette, and offered them to Will and Emma. He’d remembered that Max didn’t smoke. Will took one; Emma didn’t.

  ‘After the war, I thought it’d be a different way of looking at death, if you know what I mean,’ Will said.

  Max had heard this post-war explanation for doing archaeology before from Will. It sounded more intellectual than he was.

  ‘Did you ever do a degree?’ John asked.

  ‘Oh no, not me. Too dense for that. I’m good at the labour though.’ He grinned. ‘Strong back and all that. Still, Max here has to obey me on this dig.’

  ‘I’d hardly call site discipline that strict, Will,’ Max said, maintaining a smile. ‘Emma, can I help you with anything?’

  ‘Yes. Excuse us, please,’ Emma said. She and Max left the kitchen and moved down the hallway. ‘Is this thing with John serious?’

  ‘I thought you needed my help.’

  ‘Only in getting you away from Will. Serious posturing there.’ Emma frowned. ‘Has Will ever asked you out before? He’s very huffy.’

  Max shrugged. ‘He’s propositioned me. I wouldn’t say he’s asked me on a date per se.’

  ‘Lovely.’ Emma untied her apron. ‘What about John?’

  ‘It’s a second date. But I like him a lot.’

  ‘Good. What can I say we needed when we go back?’

  ‘I could change your hair?’ Max laughed. ‘Or we could just go back in.’

  ‘What are you plotting?’ Victor asked. His arm went around Emma’s waist. The music came to a halt, and only voices from the living room and further down the hall sounded now.

  ‘Emma’s just trying to get information about John.’ Max held up a hand to forestall him. ‘There’s nothing to tell. It’s a date. Leave it at that.’ She led them back towards the kitchen, but stopped when she heard Will’s harsh laugh.

  ‘Me? I never get knocked back,’ Will said. ‘I reckon she’ll only really go for some rich guy.’

  Max took a deep breath, remembering the pressure of Will’s hand on her arm in Iceland. Many times since, he’d laughed when she said no, but bitterness sounded in his voice now.

  Will kept talking. ‘But I’m sure you’d love to get your hands on her dosh. It’s not like the Knoxes are flush, right? Besides, Max’s a bi…’

  ‘You’ll keep a civil tongue, Firmin,’ John snapped.

  Only an officer could make that sound so sharp.

  Victor took a step forward. ‘That’s enough. I won’t have that in my house.’

  ‘He didn’t know we were listening, did he?’ She turned and pushed Victor back. ‘Leave it. It’s nothing I didn’t suspect he’d say already.’

  A body crashed into her, and wine tipped out of her glass to the floor. Arms steadied her. ‘I’m so sorry,’ John said. He was slow to move away from her.

  Will barged out past them without saying anything.

  ‘I’ll get a cloth,’ Victor said, easing into the kitchen.

  ‘And I’ll put on another record,’ Emma said, heading to the living room.

  ‘How long have you been here?’ John shoved his hands in his pockets.

  ‘Not long.’ She looked down at the small puddle on the floor. A drop had fallen on the toe of her shoe. At least the black leather wouldn’t stain. ‘But… thank you.’

  ‘What did you hear?’ A smile twisted his mouth. ‘Or do I want to know?’

  Max leaned up to kiss his cheek. His arm closed around her back, warm and solid. She wanted to tell him she wasn’t a flirt. She wanted to thank him for chastising Will. She wanted to know what had been said that sent Will charging out of the kitchen when she couldn’t hear them anymore over Victor’s outrage.

  ‘Someone to Watch over Me’ started playing.

  ‘I love Ella Fitzgerald.’ Max let go of all her questions.

  ‘I do too. Want to dance?’

  Max nodded, and they walked back to the living room. Max went into John’s arms, inhaling the faint spiciness of his aftershave and smoke. Without any negotiation or conversation, they embraced more closely than her mother would have thought proper at one of the endless balls she forced Max to attend.

  ‘You dance well,’ Max murmured. Pleasure hummed through her, from the warmth of his hand on her waist, the smooth way they moved together, and the feel of his body under his suit.


  ‘You sound surprised.’ John smiled at her. ‘My mother loves to dance. I...’

  He stopped speaking as someone tapped his shoulder. Will Firmin.

  ‘Mind if I cut in?’ Will asked.

  Max minded, terribly, and she squeezed John’s hand before releasing it. What else could she do? Will hadn’t asked her, and a room full of sharp eyed archaeologists watched her. If she refused, another strike would be added to her dilettante, difficult reputation. With smiles from all three of them, the switch was engineered.

  She stiffened her arms when Will tried to pull her close. His breath reeked of wine, onions and smoke.

  ‘Useful day on the site,’ she said.

  ‘What do you see in him? He’s a stick in the mud. Come out with me instead.’

  ‘I think, if we manage to get through the layer of burials, we might find some of the Roman...’

  ‘I’m as tall as he is, easily as good looking.’

  True, Will had regular features. His hair was reddish brown, but how could she possibly ever kiss that ridiculous moustache? And it came down to she’d known Will for four years. She’d never found him remotely as attractive as John Knox. John stood on the far side of the room, talking to Emma. He lit a cigarette and watched them. And made no pretence that he didn’t.

  ‘And I’d definitely be better in bed.’ Will’s fingers traced her skin. Max shuddered. ‘See? I reckon you’ve been screwing the wrong guys.’

  How in God’s name could he consider her reaction to be attraction? She took a deep breath. ‘Will, have you ever considered just talking to me instead of hitting on me?’

  ‘But look at you.’

  ‘You mean I’m a blonde woman with secondary sex characteristics? That doesn’t mean I can’t think or talk.’ Her mother’s words rang in her ears: twenty-seven, too much education, stubborn. ‘Lots of other men manage to talk to me.’

  ‘Knox?’ His voice grated.

  ‘Yes. And Victor and...’ Actually, not that many other archaeologists. Her PhD supervisor, Edward.

  ‘Victor is disgustingly monogamous.’

  Max laughed. ‘Oh, Will, you sell yourself so well. You won’t talk to me, and you admit you wouldn’t be faithful, even if I did sleep with you.’