‘Perhaps,’ Max said quickly, before she could see if John’s deep breath meant he was about to speak. ‘Excuse us.’ They paced away slowly, Max listening to see if Tommy followed them. The crunch of his shoes grew fainter.
‘Do you want kids?’ John asked. His thumb stroked her shoulder.
‘That’s all you have to say?’
He smiled. ‘I’m trying, okay? As long as he isn’t physically threatening you…’
‘A week ago, I would have said that was impossible.’ She sighed. ‘But I guess I do want kids, someday. Not now. Do you?’
‘Someday.’ He glanced sideways at her. ‘My mother’s been after me for years to… I just never felt like it was a possibility. Until I met you.’ His laugh sounded strained. ‘Is that odd?’
Max tried to swallow but her throat felt tight. ‘No.’ Yes. But she’d thought it too. A little black-haired baby, a warmth curving into her. She tried to imagine her own stomach swelling the way Vivian’s had.
‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.’
Max shook the baby thoughts away. ‘It’s fine. We should probably go in.’ They turned back to the house. ‘We didn’t talk about any of the big issues, did we?’
John grinned. ‘I suppose that depends on how you define children.’
Max laughed. How could she have such severe concerns about being with John and still laugh at his jokes? Still enjoy the warmth of his arm around her? ‘Maybe after dinner?’
‘I’d like that.’ He sighed. ‘Do you ever find the formality a little tiring?’
‘All the bloody time.’ She kissed his cheek and smoothed his bow tie. ‘Thanks for putting up with it.’
‘Anything to be with you.’
They held hands as they walked back to the house. What would he say about the job? And if he said no, she couldn’t go for it, what would it mean for them?
Their hands slipped free just before the threshold to the drawing room. Max couldn’t be sure who had initiated it.
‘There you are, darling,’ Mother said. ‘Look who’s here.’
Her grandmother sat beside Charlie on the sofa, although his eyes stayed on Catherine.
‘Granny? I didn’t realise you were back today.’ Max hugged her and kissed the soft skin of her cheek. The hug went on longer than Max meant, and her grandmother laughed and patted her back.
‘France wasn’t gripping enough to keep me from your mother’s birthday and the ball. And I heard…’ She smiled, although it dimmed when she saw Max’s face. ‘But how are you?’
‘Fine,’ Max lied. ‘Let me introduce you to…’ My boyfriend? My not fiancé? ‘John.’ John stepped closer to the sofa. ‘Granny, this is John Knox. John, my grandmother, Lady Bartlemas.’
‘It’s lovely to meet you.’ John bent over her hand in a graceful bow.
‘And it gets confusing if you have to call Aunt Nancy and Great Aunt Lillian the same thing,’ Charlie said.
When had he ripped his gaze from Catherine?
‘The rest of the world manages it, Charlie,’ Mother said.
‘But John isn’t the rest of the world, is he?’ Charlie looked straight at Max, and a flush climbed her cheeks. ‘Shouldn’t you be calling him John by now, Aunt Nancy?’
Max closed her eyes. And if Mother said no…
‘It depends on how Mr Knox feels about it,’ Mother said.
‘Of course,’ John said.
‘We’ve always done very well with Aunt Nancy, haven’t we?’ Catherine perched beside Charlie on the arm of the sofa. Her perfume wrapped nearly visible tendrils around Max’s throat.
‘Vivian still calls me Mrs Gould.’ Mrs Gould took a deep swallow of champagne. ‘As she should.’
‘I don’t think it will be confusing,’ John said. ‘But please do call me John, Lady Bartlemas.’
He’d told her to call him John in Mull. And she’d kissed him that night. Her head spun from the weight of Catherine’s perfume clogging her lungs.
‘Is it time for dinner, Mother?’ She took a step back from the sofa and collided into Tommy. He gripped her arms and twirled her around. They were three steps away from the sofa before she steadied. ‘Tommy.’
‘Excellent. We can talk. Or dance?’ He pulled her hand into hers.
Right up the point John hit his nose again. ‘I don’t want to dance, Tommy.’ She tugged free of his grip, but had to dislodge his other hand from her shoulder. ‘There’s no music.’ Why did she qualify it? His arm went around her, his fingers skittering down her spine to the zip of her dress.
She shuddered and stepped away. ‘Stop. Please,’ she added in the sudden silence.
Her grandmother started talking again, and, after a pause just a second too long, John’s deep voice replied. She didn’t listen to the words. Conversation picked back up, but Tommy stared at her. A puffy purple tinge marked his nose.
‘I thought we were friends.’
‘Friends don’t…’ She exhaled. ‘I don’t appreciate being touched when I’ve made it clear it isn’t welcome.’
‘You make it sound like I was… very well.’ He turned away and lit a cigarette.
Why the hell did she feel an apology rise to her lips? She kept them firmly shut as Tommy walked towards Mrs Gould. Why couldn’t she go get in her car and drive with John to a pub?
‘I don’t think I’ve met everybody,’ Emma said. She stood beside Max in a pale blue dress.
‘You look lovely,’ Max said. ‘Did I overreact?’
‘No. It’d be easier outside this formality. You’d deal with it better on a dig.’
‘I suppose.’ She closed her eyes. ‘We were always just friends before. And I didn’t have to worry about Daniel punching anybody.’
‘John was restrained.’ Emma laughed. ‘And Victor, for that matter.’
‘Kiddo, I don’t remember your house parties being so tense.’
Why did Tommy’s touch remind her of Firmin? Sunlight streamed into the room and family and friends surrounded her.
‘You clean up well,’ Max said. She brushed the arm of Victor’s dinner jacket, which was exquisite, of course. Had Tommy meant his to be a similarly social touch? But she would never run her hand down Victor’s back. She felt ill just thinking about it.
‘So does John,’ Victor said. ‘You made up yet?’
Max shrugged.
‘Get on with it, kiddo. It’s painful to watch. Besides, John’s working so hard to be calm about creepy what’s his name.’
‘I know. Shall we rescue him from Granny?’
Emma looked over her shoulder. ‘He seems to be doing quite well. He’s personable.’
Max nodded.
‘Want us to beat him up after dinner?’ Victor asked.
‘John? Or Tommy?’
‘Well, I meant Dinsmore. Has it been that bad?’
‘No. Yes. I don’t know.’
‘Tell John to quit. Your father has tonnes of companies, right?’
‘Can you honestly see John being happy with a normal job?’ Max asked. She refused to allow herself to dig her fingernails into her palms.
‘He’d do it for you,’ Emma said gently.
‘And how is starting with a compromise that makes him miserable a win?’
Mother rose after dinner. ‘Shall we…’
‘Let’s all go together, shall we?’ Charlie interrupted.
‘I was about to suggest that, Charlie,’ Mother said. ‘Thank you.’
Max hadn’t considered it, but they could hardly leave John, Victor and Tommy alone, with poor Charlie watching them argue, or worse, fight. How had her life been reduced to this? Daniel was an ass, but he’d never had a fight in her house.
John dropped his cigarette lighter as people headed to the door, and Max hung back until only they remained in the room.
‘Are you all right?’ John asked.
Max nodded and stared at the surface of the white tablecloth, the napkins dotted around the table. ‘I don’t…’
‘I know.
You don’t need me to protect you.’ He slid his lighter back in his pocket. ‘I didn’t.’
‘And I was fine.’ She shivered. Mostly fine.
John held out his hand to her, and she laced her fingers through his.
‘We should talk. Outside? Will your mother mind?’
Max shook her head. ‘It’ll be okay.’ Maybe she’d think Max was accepting his proposal. This time she didn’t change her shoes. They walked into the rose garden, still holding hands. The sweetness of the roses felt overwhelming. Max exhaled. ‘I’ve never liked roses en masse like this. Henry and Mother consider that heresy, of course.’
‘Then let’s keep walking.’
They moved further into the darkness of the lawn, away from the lights that spilled across the roses. ‘By my reckoning, we have the, um, incident this morning and the Durham post to talk about,’ Max said. Despite the moonlight, John appeared only as a dark shadow beside her. Maybe it would be easier to speak without seeing his eyes.
‘Plus my job. And possibly my proposal?’
Max really didn’t want to talk about either of those. ‘The thing about Durham…’
‘Were you going to tell me about it?’
‘It’s not like I had an offer. The chances of me getting it…’
‘Fine.’
‘I haven’t even written to them.’
‘You wouldn’t want to discuss a really quite major life change with me?’
‘You didn’t discuss Berlin.’
‘That’s rather different.’
‘How?’
John put his hands in his pockets, but he didn’t draw out his cigarettes as she expected. It was different, she knew it, but her point stood.
‘I’m going to bed. Good night.’
Max let him walk four steps to the house, and then she ran after him. ‘Don’t you dare.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘How are we ever going to… You’re angry; tell me why.’
John turned to her. ‘I don’t have the luxury of not working. My family doesn’t have the luxury of me not working.’
Max blinked. His voice sounded raw.
‘This might be hard for you…’ He took a deep breath. ‘You asked why I had a picture of a bathroom. I paid for it. I didn’t grow up with an indoor toilet. I didn’t grow up with all this.’ His arms went wide. ‘I send money home every month towards the mortgage. My job actually is quite important. To me and to people I love, never mind the government. I can’t just quit.’
‘John, I didn’t mean…’ He’d offered to quit this morning. Was it simply to get over her anger? What would possibly fix this? ‘And if you get killed?’ The words hurt leaving her throat.
‘I have a very good life insurance policy.’
A company would give him life insurance?
‘Max, I respect that you worry about the ethics of working—you’re a good person—I just can’t comprehend having that problem. And I hoped you would have at least mentioned it to me.’
She kicked a clump of grass. ‘I don’t even know if I want the bloody job. It’s Edward and Victor telling me what to do, like my parents, like George, like…’
‘Me?’ John asked.
‘Sometimes, yes.’ How could she feel cold now? ‘Besides, I assumed you’d say not to go for it. They won’t give it to me anyway.’
‘Why?’ John asked.
‘Well, because I’m a woman, and because I have a reputation as a…’
‘No, why did you think I’d say that?’ John reached for her hands, and she let his warm fingers interlink with hers.
‘Marriage. And babies and…’ She trailed off. If only she could see his face properly in the dimness. ‘I wasn’t kidding about not being wife material. The only cooking I’m remotely good at is stuff that can be done on a camp stove, my peak of domesticity is flower arranging, I don’t iron, we’d fight all the time…’
John rested his forehead on hers. ‘If I wanted a girl who could cook and keep house, I’d have stayed in North Carolina. Besides, I’m perfectly proficient at cooking and ironing.’
‘Hey, Max.’
‘Charlie, go away,’ Max called, without taking her eyes from John.
Catherine’s laugh trilled. ‘Really, darling, it’s much more done to creep into his room at night for intimate moments. But then you know all about that, don’t you?’
Max tried to step back, but John tightened his grip.
‘Catherine suggested we all go for a walk in the moonlight,’ Charlie said.
‘Despite our best efforts,’ Emma added softly.
How much had they heard?
‘John makes such an impassioned speech, Max darling,’ Catherine said. ‘I think you should marry him, or at least put him out of his misery. And after all, who turns down a man who can iron? Of course, John, you’re rather glossing over the fact she’s had servants all her life to do the tedious business of food and clothing preparation. Hardly wife material for a working journalist.’
‘Just shut up,’ Emma said.
Max shivered, and John’s arm curved around her waist.
‘And Max, darling, I doubt any ring he could afford would measure up to that rock from Daniel. What was it, two carats? How far are you willing to…’
‘Stop it,’ Max said.
John released her.
‘Catherine, leave them alone,’ Tommy said.
Had he been there the whole time?
‘If we’re going for a walk, let’s go for a walk.’ He moved ahead, and Catherine yelped slightly as he dragged her with him.
‘I’m sorry,’ John whispered. ‘Do you want to go inside?’
Tommy crashed ahead, until Max could barely make out their voices.
‘Shouldn’t we see where they avoid?’ Max murmured. She grasped his hand again.
John sighed. ‘Yes.’ They started to follow, with Emma, Victor and Charlie trailing behind them.
‘Max,’ Charlie said. ‘Why is she…’
‘I’m fairly certain she can be summed up in one word,’ Victor said.
‘She doesn’t like me, Charlie. We didn’t get on at Vassar, there was an issue a few years ago…’
‘Because of George?’ Charlie asked.
Would that tug in her chest ever fade when she heard his name? She took a deep breath. ‘Catherine slept with Daniel. That’s why I ended the engagement.’
‘Oh my God.’ Charlie stood still.
‘Nobody else knows—except John—so I trust the three of you to keep it to yourself.’
‘You let me fawn over her and didn’t tell me?’
‘It’s not always about you, son,’ Victor said. ‘I’m sorry, Max.’
‘Honestly, she did me a huge favour. So, that’s why we don’t get on, Charlie.’ She’d leave out John. ‘I didn’t think it was relevant to you.’
‘I thought it was over marks! Or something really ordinary. Bloody hell, Max, do you think I’d want to be with somebody who hurt you?’
Max pulled away from John and walked back to Charlie. She hugged him. ‘I’m sorry. I wanted to treat you like an adult, and let you make up your own mind.’
Charlie pushed her arms away. ‘I’m going inside.’
‘No, stay with us,’ Emma said. She took Charlie’s hand. ‘You’ll only stew inside. What’s your favourite spot on the estate?’
‘I’m going to head this way,’ Victor said. ‘Catch up with you later?’ His quick pace belied his diffident tone. He followed Catherine and Tommy’s route.
‘I really want to go back to the house.’ Charlie detached himself from Max and Emma’s holds. ‘I’m fine, really.’ He turned.
‘I’ll go with him,’ Emma said. She patted Max’s shoulder.
Max watched them go, and then she took John’s arm. ‘Should I have told him?’
‘For his own good? Yes. For yours? I’m not sure. But it’s a crush. It’ll pass.’ They walked across the lawn, but without discussion, their steps became quieter and more cautious as th
ey reached the woods. Without any hesitation, John led Max to Victor, half hidden behind a tree.
‘They’re just ahead,’ Victor murmured.
‘Being a bitch doesn’t help at all,’ Tommy said.
‘And fighting in the library does?’ Catherine asked.
‘This is hard enough, without you needling Max all the fucking time. Stop it. It’s not having much of an effect, for one thing.’
‘You think not? I don’t see them announcing an engagement.’
‘That’s what matters to you? And what the hell were you doing with Hagan?’
‘That was years ago. I thought part of the point of this trip was for you to get your hands on Max’s money.’
‘Well, I can’t. We could just go…’
‘No. Not yet.’ A lighter clicked and flared. ‘I’m going for a walk alone. Go away.’
‘Again? Must you?’
‘Well, it’s that or a sixteen-year-old. I’m not that confident of his lasting power.’
Max shifted, but John grabbed her arm. She stilled, and his grip eased away.
‘Fine,’ Tommy said.
Catherine’s feet crashed through the twigs and leaves, and Tommy came past them a minute later, lighting his own cigarette. He didn’t seem to notice them.
Max exhaled. ‘What now?’ she whispered.
Only Victor stood beside her. ‘Back to the house?’
‘Where’s John?’ She knew though. He’d be chasing Catherine through the woods.
‘Following Catherine.’
‘Great.’
‘Give him a break, Max. He’s…’
‘Working. Sorry. New to long term relationships. Pretending to be James Carter. Bloody fucking sorry. Again.’
‘You knew after Scotland what he did, or at least guessed. And you chose to keep seeing him. Okay, so you didn’t know all the ramifications, but you can’t pretend it was a complete surprise.’
‘What do you know about Scotland?’
‘I saw the newspapers; you clearly had been injured when you visited me. I don’t know exactly what John did—or you, for that matter—but…’
She took a deep breath, the memory of the gunfire booming in her ears.
‘He’s a good man. And if you didn’t love him, you wouldn’t care.’ He patted her back. ‘Now that’s all I’m going to say, kiddo. What about that job?’
The Running Lie Page 22