‘You’ve been here before,’ Charlie said.
‘Where? Hampstead? Victor and Emma live here.’ She turned into John’s street, navigating the narrow road.
‘You didn’t even think, or look. You knew the road.’
Max parked and switched off the Daimler.
‘And you aren’t looking for house numbers,’ Charlie said.
‘That’s John’s car,’ Max said, pointing towards the Humber. ‘It’s 15A Elm Row.’ She climbed out and walked towards the door. John had led her there the first time. Charlie trailed behind her.
She pressed the bell. Why hadn’t she left Charlie at home? When would they find any time alone?
John opened the door and reached for her hand. ‘Thank God we can talk.’
‘Charlie’s here too,’ Max said, her voice bright.
‘Hiya, Mr Knox.’
‘I could have gotten a cab.’
‘I’m in the Daimler.’
John shook his head. ‘How many cars do you own?’
‘This one is really Dad’s, but he always has someone driving him now.’ She shrugged. ‘It has three seats. And marginally more luggage space.’
‘Okay. Sorry, where are my manners?’ He stepped back from the door. ‘Come in.’
Max’s arm brushed against his before she could stop herself. ‘It’s lovely,’ she said. ‘You don’t believe in photos, do you?’ He’d removed the print. She remembered clothes scattered over the rug, and…
John laughed. ‘Rented. Do you want a drink?’
She wanted it to be two weeks ago. ‘I’m okay, thanks.’
Charlie crossed to the bookshelf. ‘Don’t you read in English?’
‘I can, obviously, but I like the challenge. And it keeps my languages sharp. I’ll grab my bag.’ He headed up the stairs.
‘You’ve been here before, definitely,’ Charlie said. ‘I’ve never been with you anywhere when you didn’t look at a bookcase first.’
‘We’ve talked about books. I know what John likes to read.’ She stretched. Seven days of John and her family. Charlie asking questions, Mother looking for signs that he was the one, the one that would lift Max off the shelf. What had she agreed to?
‘Max?’ John called.
‘Go ahead,’ Charlie said.
Max climbed the stairs, trying not to think about running up them naked. ‘Yes?’
‘Have I forgotten anything?’ He stood in the hallway.
‘I don’t know what you’ve packed.’ She smiled. She could push him into the bedroom. It’d only take three steps. ‘Dinner jacket, regular clothes, something to ride in, if you want. There’s a big library, but I imagine most of the detective novels are in English. Swim trunks.’
‘Swimming?’
Had he moved, or had she? Not much space separated them now, and she hooked her fingers over his wrists. His pulse felt steady.
‘It’s about an hour to the coast. I’m American enough that it doesn’t seem too far. And there’s a pool.’
‘I’ll just get them.’ He didn’t move.
‘Oh. The Fourth is a proper, full on ball.’ She didn’t have to ask if he’d owned evening dress—she’d seen it in Berlin. She undressed him out of it. Her breath hitched.
‘Already packed.’ He leaned closer to her, close enough that she could smell the mint of his toothpaste. ‘Max, I’m…’
‘Are we going soon?’ Charlie’s voice came from downstairs, but he could come up at any point.
‘There’s a village for things like cigarettes.’
‘Packed too.’
Max pulled her hands away before she kissed him.
‘I’ll be right down.’ John’s smile looked sad.
The fluster around departure didn’t seem to faze John, but maybe with a large family, he would be used to it. Max missed George teasing Mother, forcing her to stop worrying so much. Max made a few jokes, but Mother barely smiled. Finally, Mother locked the door to the townhouse. Dad would stay at his club while they were gone. He waved goodbye to them, and then his driver took Dad and Mr Rawls towards town.
The caravan of cars moved at a sedate pace through London, and then they were on the outskirts, but still they didn’t speed up.
‘This is so slow,’ Charlie complained. He dropped his novel. ‘I’m bored.’
‘We’re barely on the way,’ Max said. ‘Weren’t you going to practice your languages?’
‘Absolutely not.’ Charlie flicked the pages of his book. ‘Why is Mrs Gould riding with Aunt Nancy again?’
‘Because Mother is trying to protect Vivian.’ Max glanced at John. ‘My friend Vivian left early this morning, but she couldn’t face riding with her awful mother-in-law all the way.’ Her father had referred to John as a son-in-law last night. What would it be like? ‘Vivian and I have been friends since we were tiny.’ And in a lot of ways, Vivian’s relationship with Mother remained far closer than Max’s.
‘When did she have the baby?’ John asked.
‘About a week and a half ago. A girl named Samantha. Mrs Gould bullied her last time into stopping nursing Bobby, and…’
‘Yuck,’ said Charlie.
John didn’t react, so she kept going. ‘And Vivian got quite sick and she really didn’t want to quit. I’m going to try to support her.’
‘She’s going to be giving… getting her…’ Charlie said.
John turned around in the seat. ‘Have you ever seen a woman nursing, Charlie?’
‘No.’
‘It’s really not as erotic as I think you’re imagining. It’s just a baby being fed.’
Charlie’s face in the rearview mirror exploded into scarlet when John said ‘erotic’.
‘She’ll probably be in her room the whole time anyway,’ Max said. ‘I don’t think you’ll be getting an eyeful.’
‘So, you’ve seen it, Mr Knox?’ Charlie asked.
‘My sisters-in-law. And well, just women. I grew up in a small town. People weren’t that fussed.’ He peered into the backseat again. ‘Have you ever seen a cow milked?’
‘And you were doing so well,’ Max said.
‘What?’ John asked.
‘Vivian would have been enchanted with your answer, right up to the cow comparison. I figured out pretty quick you don’t compare a woman just out of labour to a bovine.’
John laughed. ‘Good point.’
‘Do you think my mother’s too old to have a baby?’ Charlie asked.
Max glanced back at Charlie. ‘Um, maybe. Probably? It’d be up to her. I honestly can’t remember how old she is.’
‘She remarried. And to make matters worse, his name is Charles,’ Charlie said to John. ‘I can’t stand him. A new baby would be unbearable. My mother nursing…’ He shuddered.
‘She might not nurse. Vivian is unusual, at least for our set,’ Max said. Charlie shifted in the back seat. ‘But I doubt she will have another. Sixteen years is a big gap.’
They were silent for a long time. ‘My dad, my real dad, died in the war.’ Charlie’s voice was soft. ‘I was only six. But he left when I was three.’
Charlie had never said those words aloud to her, or anyone else that she knew of.
‘My dad died when I was eighteen,’ John said. ‘I don’t think it’s easy at any age.’
‘Uncle Max is okay, of course. But he’s been a lot more interested in me since George died. Obviously.’
Max opened her mouth to deny it, but she couldn’t. They had seen Charlie more since George died. It also coincided with the remarriage, and Charlie’s desperate need to escape his mother’s house.
‘My mates—they have, you know, games and stuff. I don’t.’
‘Has anybody taught you how to play baseball?’ John asked.
‘Cricket. We don’t do baseball. George taught me a bit, a few summers ago.’
‘We can play, if you want. You can teach me about cricket. The paper sent me to cover a game once, and it was just complete nonsense to me.’
Charlie lau
nched into an explanation of cricket, which she ignored. Why couldn’t John actually work for a newspaper?
A cream coloured car—a Austin A90 Atlantic—came into view as a car behind her turned off. She’d seen that car before, as they ground through London traffic.
Normally Max would assume the car held other holiday seekers. People en route to a seaside or countryside. But it stuck with them, even with other cars joining the road.
‘Max,’ Charlie shouted.
‘What? You don’t have to shout.’
‘Well, you were ignoring us. Do you think there’s a baseball at the house?’
‘I’m absolutely positive there are at least six. George liked baseball.’ She looked at him in the mirror. ‘I could have taught you, if I’d known you were interested.’
John grinned. ‘Then we’ll all play.’
‘After we go to the beach.’ Max flexed her fingers above the wheel. ‘I always go to Sheringham as soon as we arrive.’ She glanced at John. ‘For that matter, there’s a basketball hoop on the back of the stables.’
‘Now you’re talking. I prefer basketball.’
‘Let’s do both.’ Her mother’s car slowed, so she did the same. One o’clock already. Usually they were further towards Norfolk before they stopped for lunch, but she must have identified a different picnic spot.
Max pulled the car over by the side of the road, and the cream car flashed past. Clearly, she’d been overreacting. Harris and Mrs Brooks would be at the house already, but footmen carried picnic baskets from the boot of Mother’s car. Mrs Gould and Mother picked their way over the grass to where blankets were being spread.
‘We do this every year,’ Max explained. ‘It’s a big deal to Mother. She likes her routines. Wait till you see the party for the Fourth.’
‘One could call it overkill, given that she lives here now,’ Charlie said. ‘I’m starving.’
‘How are you finding the journey, Mr Knox?’ Mother asked as they came close.
‘Very easy, ma’am. Max is a good driver.’
‘Darling, surely you want to let Mr Knox drive?’
‘Why?’ Max asked.
Nancy Falkland wouldn’t allow herself to sigh too loudly, but Max read her displeasure all the same.
‘Can we eat?’ Charlie asked. ‘Hey Max, can I drive?’ He sprawled on the rug.
‘No.’ Max dropped down beside him. ‘But I’ll start teaching you, if you want, when we’re in Norfolk. Not in Dad’s Daimler though.’
John sat a careful distance away from her. Mother started opening baskets, forestalling the footmen who had expected to do all the work.
‘How long has it been since you’ve been home, Mr Knox?’ Mother asked.
‘Nearly three years, ma’am. I hope to visit soon.’
‘Do you still call it home, Lady Bartlemas?’ Mrs Gould asked. ‘It’s been how many years that you’ve lived here now?’
‘Before the war, six. And since the war, full time. And of course, we came back for Max and George’s births.’
‘You’re kidding,’ Charlie said.
‘We had to be born British,’ Max said. ‘In case I was a boy, and obviously for George.’
‘Where do you call home, Max?’ John asked. Mother handed him a plate. ‘Thank you.’
‘London, really. But I came back for the war, although I wasn’t in London most of the time.’ She took a plate. ‘But I guess I say I’m going home when I travel back to New York too.’ John had said he hadn’t considered London home before he’d met her.
‘It’s easier to have one country,’ Charlie said.
‘I agree,’ said Mrs Gould. ‘It’s nice to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live here. Of course, now Brian’s had two children born in London. I guess that means Bobby can’t be president. But maybe he can work for the Embassy, like his Daddy.’
After lunch, they returned to the cars. Max told herself not to look on the rearview mirror, but after five minutes she saw it again. That cream A90 Atlantic pulled out from a lay-by, and merged into traffic behind them. Max craned her neck, but the curving front end had to be the same.
‘Are you all right?’ John asked.
‘Fine.’ Before she knew John, would she have even worried about it? Considered it?
John glanced behind them.
‘What’s wrong?’ Charlie asked. He pivoted around too. ‘Are we being followed? Like a spy novel?’
‘By a dozen holiday makers, maybe,’ Max said.
‘Then why do you look so worried?’ Charlie turned back around.
‘Do I look worried?’ Max tried to sound light-hearted.
John’s jaw tensed. ‘Could you pull over, when you see somewhere?’ he asked softly.
‘It’ll panic Mother.’ She reached for the turn signal, but John touched her arm. ‘Okay. The second one. Cream.’ Could she stop on an A road without signalling? Max just made out a lay-by ahead. She tried to gauge the distance between her car—Dad’s car—and the one behind. Should she speed up or slow down? What would pulling over prove?
Max swerved the car to the left. With a spray of gravel, she downshifted and hit the brakes. The car behind her blared its horn, and the cream car kept going.
‘What the hell was that?’ Charlie bounced on the back seat.
‘Nothing.’ Max relaxed her fingers from the wheel. The car’s nose touched some grass, but nothing harder.
‘I asked her to,’ John said. ‘I didn’t feel great.’
‘Funny how whiplash does that to you.’ Charlie turned to look out the window. ‘Sure we weren’t being followed?’
‘Who would follow us?’ Max asked. Nausea rose from her stomach.
‘Well, clearly somebody who wants something from Uncle Max. It’s his bloody car. And he’s the Home Secretary. I assume that it isn’t random chance they gave him all those guards.’
Damn. She hadn’t even considered that. How self-obsessed had she become? When did Charlie get so smart?
‘I’m sure we weren’t being followed. Nice driving, Max.’ John’s smile looked easy. But what if they saw that car again?
‘Thanks. Do you want to get some air?’
‘I would, since we’ve stopped,’ Charlie said.
John rose to let Charlie out of the backseat. Charlie limped off behind a tree. Max stared out the window at the rushing traffic.
‘When did you notice it?’
‘Before lunch. I’d seen it in London, and along the way. I told myself it couldn’t—but it came out of a lay-by after lunch. Of course, maybe they were having lunch too.’
‘I got the license plate. I’ll call in from Norfolk.’ He wrote something in a small notebook.
Charlie slammed his hand on the window, and Max jumped. John let him in again.
‘You should see the tread marks you left, Max! That was amazing. Think you could do it again?’
‘No. Everybody ready?’
They parked the cars in front of the house. Max tried not to think of the A-frame house in John’s photo as they walked up the wide stone steps. She watched him study the brick edifice but he didn’t say anything. The door swept open.
Welcome home, Lady Bartlemas,’ Harris said formally as he opened the door. ‘Miss Vivian has already arrived. They’re resting in their rooms, and Mr Bobby is upstairs with his nanny.’
‘Is Vivian okay?’ Max asked. Harris still called Vivian Miss Vivian, as he had for years before her marriage. Just as he called Max Miss Max, despite her doctorate. She doubted if it would change even if she got married. Max Knox. A lot of x sounds.
‘Very tired, she said. She asked for tea on a tray in her room.’
‘I should probably check on her,’ Max said.
‘Surely you want to show Mr Knox around first, darling?’ Mother removed her gloves.
‘I don’t…’ John started.
‘Which room is John going to be in, Harris? And Vivian?’
‘Mr Knox will be in the yellow room. Miss Vivian is further down the hal
l, in the rose room.’
Max swallowed. ‘Could John be in the blue room instead?’ Not the yellow room. Anywhere but there.
‘Of course. Mrs Gould will be next door, but the blue room is ready as well.’
‘Do you snore?’ Mrs Gould asked.
‘I don’t think so.’ John managed to sound gracious.
‘Well, I hope the walls are thick.’ Mrs Gould sniffed.
‘I believe you’ll find any sound will be minimal,’ Mother said.
Given that Mother spent nights in each season in every guest room, she held her outrage in well. But Mother always did. ‘It’ll be fine,’ Max said. ‘Come on, John, I’ll show you your room and then I can check on Vivian.’
‘That wasn’t what I had in mind,’ Mother called as Max and John climbed the stairs.
Before they’d even reached the landing, Charlie followed them. ‘Apparently, I’m your chaperone.’
‘To show John his room?’
‘I’m certainly not walking in on Vivian.’
‘Charlie, go to your own room, please. I won’t—well, I don’t know what Mother thinks I’m going to do.’
‘I do.’ Charlie laughed. ‘Okay, your virtue is in your own hands.’ He turned to the left.
‘That’s the family’s wing,’ Max said. After the time they’d spent together, no way should a blush rise in her face.
‘I promise not to compromise you.’ John smiled.
Max laughed. ‘Your room is this way.’ She forced her feet past the yellow room, where she’d found Catherine and Daniel. It had been a blessing. She had to remember that. Otherwise, she’d be a bored housewife in New York, no doubt with several snotty, pudgy children.
‘Is there a ghost in this yellow room?’
‘Not as far as I know.’
They passed another door. Max pointed to the next one. ‘That’ll be Mrs Gould’s.’
‘Charming.’
Max and John went into his room, and John pulled the door closed behind them. ‘Any reason why I’m here instead of the other room?’
‘I don’t like the yellow room.’ Of all the guest rooms, the yellow was considered the nicest. Putting John there had been a mark of how much importance Mother attached to this visit.
The Running Lie Page 12