‘Old?’
Max laughed. ‘Well, for one thing, he’d be using his…’
Henry poked her, but before she could continue, another voice interrupted.
‘My goodness, manual labour. And here I thought you were just a newspaper hack.’ Catherine approached, holding onto Charlie’s arm. He didn’t have his cane.
‘Hiya, Henry,’ Charlie said. ‘This is Catherine. Henry.’
Henry nodded. ‘You’re growing up fast.’
Bobby decided to run off towards the woods, and Henry chased after him.
Max rose, rather than have Catherine tower over her. Max brushed dirt from her trousers, but she didn’t let her posture shift, despite the weight of Catherine’s stare.
‘You’re clinging on to the Vassar look, I see,’ Catherine said.
‘It’s practical.’
‘I heard you went tearing off early this morning. And after such a disrupted evening.’
‘Thanks for that, Catherine. I’m so glad the entire house could be roused on my behalf.’
Charlie laughed nervously. ‘It wasn’t that bad. John, how long will this take?’
‘As long as it takes, I guess. It’s been a few years since I last felled trees.’
‘When have you ever cut down trees?’ Catherine asked. ‘I thought you had a city background.’
‘Didn’t you grow up on a farm?’ Charlie asked.
‘The last time was actually in France during the war.’ John lit a cigarette.
‘You should have seen the way he reversed the car, Catherine. It was incredible. We might have died otherwise.’ Charlie laughed. ‘Certainly, it would have hurt Max’s car, if nothing else.’
‘What a shame that would have been.’ Catherine rested her hand on John’s white sleeve. ‘Can I have one, darling? Hmm, sweaty.’
Max breathed evenly and deeply. She wouldn’t think about the ball or the cinema. What other lies had John—as James Carter—told Catherine? John moved his arm casually, but he separated from Catherine’s scarlet nails.
‘And me,’ Charlie said.
John glanced at Max, then back at Charlie. ‘Have you smoked before?’
‘Yes.’ Charlie shoved his hands in his pockets, his face turning red. ‘When did you start smoking?’
‘Officially, eighteen. I started stealing butts from ashtrays at about eight.’ He took out his case and lighter, but Max intercepted them before Charlie could grasp them.
‘And yet, aren’t we supposed to set an example to you as your elders?’
Charlie’s face grew even redder. Max opened the case and extended it to Catherine, who extracted two. Catherine grabbed the lighter and lit both. She passed one to Charlie, the tip crimson with her lipstick.
‘I think Charlie’s more than old enough, Max darling. For all types of things.’ Her laugh was silvery. She tossed John his lighter.
Charlie inhaled and clearly struggled not to cough. His eyes watered.
Max flipped John’s case over in her hands, the worn silver warm against her fingers. Bobby slammed into her legs, laughing. Henry puffed up beside them a few seconds later.
‘That was easier when my son was his age.’ He took the case from Max. ‘Can I have one?’ He took out his own lighter. Max held Bobby’s hands as he jumped up and down, singing.
‘Why don’t you smoke, Max?’ asked Charlie.
‘I didn’t like it when I tried it.’
‘Daniel said you claimed that about many things.’ Catherine exhaled. ‘I suspect you’ve run into that, John?’
The silence stretched, while Max’s smile stayed finishing school bright.
‘Someone would do well to remember they’re a guest,’ Henry said flatly.
‘And I’ll have Lady Bartlemas dismiss you for rudeness.’
Henry laughed. ‘Give it a try.’
‘Maybe we should finish that walk.’ Charlie shifted his feet uncomfortably.
‘I should get you back for lunch, Bobby,’ Max said.
‘No! Stay here.’
‘Vile. Children in general.’ Catherine shuddered. ‘I’m sure he’s perfectly nice,’ she added, when even Charlie looked surprised.
Bobby started trying to climb Max’s legs, spreading mud over her jeans. John hoisted him onto his shoulders. Bobby giggled and curled his fingers into John’s hair. ‘Go horsey, go.’
Max smiled as John walked away, bouncing Bobby.
‘He’s a good’un,’ Henry said. He passed the cigarette case back to Max, and she slid it in her pocket.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Catherine said. ‘I’m quite certain John has some hidden secrets, even from our Max here.’
‘Everybody has secrets,’ Max said. ‘I’m not concerned.’ Her stomach churned, but she kept her face smooth.
‘I suspect you should be.’
‘Let’s keep walking,’ Charlie said. He ground his cigarette out on the drive, although he’d only had two puffs. He held out his arm, and they walked away, Catherine still nursing her cigarette.
‘She’s a nasty piece of work,’ Henry said. ‘What’s she talking about?’
Max shrugged. ‘I should rescue John. Unless you want to finish the tree?’
‘When I have free labour here? Why would I?’ Henry grabbed Max’s arm. ‘Wait a second. Is he good to you?’
Max nodded. John was, when he was actually John Knox, living in London. It was only the collision with his other life and cases. ‘He is.’ Max hugged Henry, and he wrapped his arms around her. She nearly cried on his shoulder, but she hadn’t done that since she was a child and fell out of a tree.
‘Girlie, what’s wrong?’
‘I’m worried about Charlie.’ She drew back, refusing to give into tears. ‘And I miss…’ She exhaled. George’s name didn’t come out.
Henry patted her back. ‘With good reason. She’s hideous.’ He offered her a handkerchief but Max shook her head.
‘I’m okay.’
John circled back around to them, Bobby still bouncing on his shoulders and giggling.
‘It’s safe again,’ Henry said.
‘Oh,’ John said, ducking his head and reaching for his neck. ‘Whoops.’
Henry laughed, but Bobby started to cry. John lifted him from his shoulders and cradled him in his arms. ‘It’s fine, Bobby. Accidents happen.’
‘Oh dear. Come here, darling.’ Max held Bobby against her shoulder. ‘Let’s take you inside.’ She mouthed sorry at John, who just shrugged. Max stroked Bobby’s back as she carried him into the house and upstairs. The nanny sat in a chair doing nothing, but she leapt up as they came into the nursery.
‘Bobby needs some new clothes. He had a little accident.’
‘Naughty boy,’ the nanny said. ‘Still, if you’d been in here and close to your potty and not gallivanting…’
Tears slipped down Bobby’s cheeks again.
‘Stop crying.’
Max held Bobby tightly. ‘Bobby, darling, accidents happen. It’s fine. Don’t you worry.’ She turned to the nanny. ‘Please find him dry clothes.’
Lunch had been delivered and set out on the table in the corner. ‘Let’s go wash your hands, Bobby, and then you can have lunch.’
After Bobby ate and was put in bed for his nap, Max went down to her bedroom. Mud daubed her jeans and her shirt still had a damp patch from carrying Bobby. She changed into a dress. She’d take John and Henry lunch. She ran down to the kitchen to ask for a picnic, and then she found her mother in her bedroom.
‘John’s helping Henry, so I’m going to take them some lunch. I’ll eat with them, if that’s all right? Vivian is asleep, so I doubt she’ll be there.’
Mother put down her book. ‘How on earth is Mr Knox helping Henry?’
‘The tree that fell across the drive. Henry said the under gardeners are both sick, so John offered to help. He’s doing most of it, to be honest.’
‘That’s very kind of him, if irregular.’ She stretched. ‘I’m hiding from Mrs Gould. I understan
d why Vivian didn’t want to be alone with her.’ Mother tugged on Max’s hair gently. ‘Do you like Catherine’s cut?’
‘Not much.’
‘It’s very stylish. Here at least. I suppose if you plan to go back to the States anytime soon you should leave it long. What are Mr Knox’s plans?’
‘Plans?’ Should she tell her about the proposal?
‘Is he permanently based here? Will he go home?’
‘I doubt if he’ll go back to North Carolina for good—his brother runs the family farm. I don’t know his long-term plans.’ Presumably it all depended on where he was sent. John Carter had a city background?
‘You should find out. If you’re serious.’ A delicate eyebrow arched. ‘Are you? You’ve seemed unsettled.’
‘We have some things to discuss.’ Max plucked at the fabric of her skirt. ‘Why did you invite Catherine?’
‘She rang, and said she’d seen you briefly in Berlin. It’d be good to catch up, I thought. Such a shame the way her father died.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Well, they said it was a hunting accident but it was hardly the season. Everyone thinks he shot himself. Poor Beatrice is in seclusion somewhere, presumably a sanatorium. I haven’t pressed. Tommy looks worn, doesn’t he? I don’t know how well the business is doing.’
‘Machine parts, wasn’t it?’
‘I think more to do with development. Your father said it supplies something or other to the government, but Samuel was the inventor, not Tommy. Poor boy.’
‘Oh.’
‘Presumably Catherine’s looking for a husband. I assume that’s why she wants to be at the ball. If Mr Knox doesn’t propose soon, dear, you need to start looking again too.’
‘Mother.’
‘It’s true, I’m not having an on the shelf daughter.’
‘A highly educated, happy daughter?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. You were much happier when you started seeing Mr Knox and you know it.’ She rose and went to her dressing table. ‘It is odd about the gardeners. Harris says the footmen are ill too. We simply have to get supply staff in for the party. What are you going to wear? What’s Mr Knox’s favourite colour?’
Ill footmen too. ‘He likes me in red,’ Max said. ‘But I think his favourite colour is blue.’
‘What a pity. You’d look like you’re in patriotic costume. I had noticed an uptick in red in your wardrobe. What else has he said he likes about you?’
Damn. She hadn’t meant to tell her so much. ‘He likes my hair long,’ she said. At least maybe she’d shut up about the haircut.
‘Well, long blonde hair served me well too.’ She laughed. ‘It certainly wasn’t fashionable in the twenties of course, but your father liked it. So, don’t cut yours. Catherine said something odd last night.’
Max froze behind her mother’s vanity chair. ‘What?’ She tried to keep her face smooth.
‘Just that she didn’t think you two were serious when you met in Berlin. She was quite surprised.’
‘John was working. I didn’t want to pester him.’
‘Catherine is considering a film career, you know. I think she might be a touch old to start out though. She’s preserved well. Maybe a bit hard around her mouth.’ She examined Max. ‘I may be biased, darling, but you wear your age much more gracefully.’
‘Thanks.’ Colour rose in her cheeks. Maybe Mother would attribute it to the compliment. ‘Could you, if…’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’d rather Catherine and Tommy not stay for the whole summer, if that’s possible.’
‘Why ever not?’ Mother reached for a lipstick.
‘She toyed with George, and well, we were never friends at Vassar. She was quite unpleasant—cruel—about the end of my engagement.’ A modified truth.
‘The flirtation with George was nothing.’ She looked up at Max’s reflection in the mirror. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you? I can hardly ask her to leave now.’
‘No, of course not. It’s simply that in my experience, she is economical with truths.’
Mother nodded. ‘I’ll work on a way to ask her to go after the ball. Now, go have lunch with your young man.’
Max headed to the kitchen to collect the picnic. How could illness be striking only the men who did the heavy work?
‘Mrs Brooks, has anyone in the kitchen been ill?’
‘No, miss. All the women are all right, just the men. Funny thing. Mr Harris is fine too. I think they drank some bad cider. Be all right tomorrow, I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘Thank you. And thank you for this.’
‘No cider in there.’ She smiled. ‘Is he a special one?’
Max shrugged. Why did everyone want her to marry? If George was alive, would this pressure remain? She hoisted the basket. ‘Good Lord, what did you pack?’ She opened the lid. Two bottles of wine and one flask of water. And only two glasses.
‘A bit of this and that. Feel free to tell him you made any of it—I can always teach you how if he likes it. It’s ever so nice him helping Henry out like that.’
‘Could we have third glass and plate please? And I think two waters and one wine, given how hard they’ve been working.’
‘Oh, Henry will come back to the house for lunch. And I heard he’s handsome. Rose went out and said…’
‘Mrs Brooks, thank you.’ Would Charlie say she had slipped into haughty? ‘I think Henry will stay with us.’
‘If you think you need a chaperone.’ Rose giggled.
‘It’s just—we’ll eat with Henry too.’
Mrs Brooks filled a flask of water and wedged it in the basket. Rose handed over another glass and plate. ‘We just all want you to be happy, Miss Max.’
‘I know. I really appreciate it.’ As the door started to swing close, she heard Rose say ‘If I had a sweaty gorgeous man like that, I wouldn’t…’
Max kept walking, the heat outside at least matching the temperature in her face. Heir production rested with Charlie, not her. Why did people care?
No chopping sounds filled the air. She followed the winding drive. John dragged chunks of wood to either side. He’d shed his shirt completely, and the muscles of his back shifted beautifully. No wonder Rose had returned full of tales and admiration.
Henry jerked his hand towards Max, and John turned.
‘I hope you brought your car keys,’ he called.
‘Lunch.’
‘Thank God,’ said Henry.
‘I didn’t think you’d done much work,’ she said as she drew level with them.
‘Supervision makes you hungry.’
Max carried the basket into the shade of the next tree along. She spread the blanket over the grass as John moved the last chunk of wood from the drive.
John threw himself on the blanket and covered his eyes with his arm.
‘You’ll be sad to miss this,’ Henry said. He lifted containers out of the basket as Max filled glasses with water.
‘It’s been years since I chopped that much wood. Give me a minute.’
Sweat beaded on John’s chest, rested in the lines of his abdominal muscles. His tan was darker since this morning, when she’d licked that skin. Her face flushed when she saw Henry grinning at her. She helped him unpack the remainder of the food.
‘That tree didn’t just fall,’ Henry said. ‘Good, sound tree. As sound as any of these.’
‘I know,’ Max said. ‘When did the gardeners get sick?’
‘Yesterday.’
‘The footmen are ill too. Mrs Brooks says it’s bad cider.’
‘That’s rubbish,’ Henry said. ‘Bill wouldn’t touch cider with a ten-foot pole.’
John sat up. ‘So, what’s going on?’
‘Bobby’s nanny got sick before they came down. Maybe it’s something that’s going around.’ Max passed John a glass. ‘I don’t like this agency one. Neither does Bobby.’
John drank all his water and refilled the glass. ‘I suppose I should dress for lunch.’ He picked up his shirt.
&n
bsp; ‘Sweat’s one thing; child piss is another,’ Henry said. ‘I don’t mind, and Max clearly doesn’t.’ He filled his plate with chicken and potatoes.
John glanced at Max.
‘You’ve seen me filthy on a dig. Just eat.’
‘Hard to imagine, isn’t it, when she sits there all proper in her dress?’ Henry laughed.
Max looked down at her pink and white striped sundress. ‘Mrs Brooks—the entire kitchen—are quite taken with you. Helping Henry like this.’
Henry snorted. ‘They want you married off. Why won’t you answer him?’
John had told him. She blushed again. ‘And when are you going to tell John you have a chainsaw?’
John swore and then laughed.
‘Nothing wrong with seeing if you have enough hard work in you for our Max.’
‘Did I pass?’ John bit into a chicken leg.
‘You’ll do. Go ahead and marry him, girlie.’ He grinned. ‘You have this old man’s blessing, if that was what was holding you back.’
‘Yes, Henry, that’s it exactly. That’s the thing holding me back.’
John laughed. ‘Stop it, both of you. Henry, you said you’d tell me how you ended up in Norfolk from New York.’
‘Nancy brought me.’
‘Causing enormous upset to the existing gardener structure, not to mention angering her mother in New York,’ Max said. Henry only called her mother Nancy in front of the family, not people he’d just met. ‘But the roses here are second to none.’
‘I’ll tell you a secret. The gardener here was okay with roses. Nancy was scared witless about coming to England.’
Max looked up. ‘I’ve never heard this.’
‘And we grew up playing together in the gardens. She said she wanted a friend.’
‘Does Dad know?’
‘Of course, he does. He’s the one who talked me into it.’ He tossed an apple in the air. ‘And here I am, nearly thirty years now. Married my Dorothy here, from the village. And Ken runs the stables. Dorothy passed three years ago. Max, hurry up.’
Max patted his hand.
‘Well this is cosy,’ Tommy said. He dropped down onto the blanket. ‘Is there room for one more?’
Max found a smile, although she was slow to remove her hand from Henry’s. Tommy lifted a chunk of bread.
The Running Lie Page 18