They looked at one another and then at Max but did not respond with either the words or the appropriate amount of horror and shock that goes with not having contemplated such a notion before.
“Claudine was killed in an air-raid,” his mother said at last, gently waving her hand in front of her as if to brush the question aside, “and Alexander is dead so who knows what really happened.”
“You two do!” Max lost patience and barked at them, “and you’re going to tell me here and now.”
“Is that how you talk to suspects at the police station?” Clarissa asked huffily, no wonder you’re so successful.”
Max softened his tone. “Mother, this isn’t a police matter, I’m not here as a police officer, I’m here as your son and I’m asking you for the truth about the death of my wife.”
Still they sat solidly before him lips tightly closed like a physical barrier to his probing.
After a while, Charles spoke, “We owe Alexander far too much to do what you ask. You must make of our silence what you will because we won’t betray him and I hope you won’t either. The man is dead and gone. Must you denigrate his name, even in the interests of justice? It seems cruel and disloyal of you, Max.”
In frustration, Max put his head in his hands. What was he going to do now, brow-beat them into submission or make them aware of the misery and danger into which he had been placed because of their silence? “The silver cross Alexander left to Julia was the one I gave to Claudine. She didn’t give it back to me, so how did he come by it?” He asked the question gently and again they looked at one another but did not reply. “I know for certain that Claudine was wearing the cross on the night she died, so I ask you again how did it come to be in Alexander’s possession?”
His mother leaned forward and spoke gently, “Max we don’t know. Alexander did visit Claudine during the War to try and persuade her to come back to Oak Hathern and look after Jules. Perhaps she gave him the cross then so that he could return it to you and perhaps he just forgot about it, but, in any case, how can you possibly know she was wearing it when she died? She died in London and you were either wandering about lost in Portsmouth or had been taken to hospital. I really do think you’re getting a bit confused, it was such a long time ago.” Max opened his mouth to speak but she continued, “You really aren’t making a lot of sense, dear,” she smiled condescendingly. Having had a heart attack and with all the troubles you and Sarah have had lately and then your head injury, it’s not at all surprising.”
It was a tactic some of his more intelligent suspects used, usually the guilty ones. The sidetracking comments were meant to distract or undermine him and give his mother enough time to think. He hadn’t expected it from her. A novice might well fall for such a ploy but for Max with his years of experience it was an indication he was on target, almost at the truth. He stared at her and she met his gaze with surprising confidence, she was fighting for her life or someone else’s.
They all jumped a little when the doorbell broke the silence and the moment was lost. Clarissa got up quickly and went to answer it and returned with Carol, who looked unusually flustered.
“What’s the matter, Carol?” asked Charles.
Ignoring him she turned to Max and stammered, “I don’t really know if I’m doing the right thing by coming here, but there’s something you have to know Max and I have to be the one to tell you to protect Clive. I rang you at home and Sarah said you were here.”
“What are you talking about Carol?” Charles said anxiously, “What’s wrong with Clive?”
Again Carol ignored his questions, “Max the day you spoke to Clive in the church I overheard. I’d gone there to see if Heather needed help with the flower arrangements and as I came in through the vestry door I heard voices, so I waited. It could’ve been someone praying so I listened for a moment.” She looked at him pointedly and then at Charles and Clarissa. “I left immediately but I did hear what you said and I need to speak to you privately.”
Max smiled, “I assume you haven’t told anyone else what you heard Carol?”
“Certainly not! Clive and I never discuss anyone’s private confessions or troubles. I wouldn’t dream of interfering normally but I must tell you what I know or Clive will tell you, and then he will feel he has to resign and it will break his heart. He’s in the church now praying for guidance.”
“I don’t know about the others Carol, but I haven’t a clue what you are talking about,” said Charles.
“Tell him,” said Max firmly.
“Are you sure?” asked Carol. Max nodded and Carol took a deep breath, “Max do you believe you killed Claudine?”
Clarissa and Charles gasped and sat forward. This was what Max was looking for, the reaction to a totally new concept and idea that had not been previously considered, but before they could protest he answered Carol’s question. “Until tonight I thought it quite possible that I did.”
“No Max!” said Charles grasping Clarissa’s hand. “No! You didn’t kill Claudine. Why on earth would you think you did?”
“Let Carol finish what she has to say and then I’ll tell you.”
“I’m sorry,” said Carol, “but before he died Alexander confessed to Clive that he killed Claudine. Of course, Clive didn’t tell me but it disturbed him deeply and he talked about it in his sleep. One night he actually said out loud Alexander had killed Claudine and I woke him up and asked if it was true. He said it was, but neither of us could ever tell anyone and we shouldn’t talk about it even to each other. When you spoke to him in the church Max, he wanted to tell you, to put your mind at peace but he couldn’t, it would’ve been a betrayal of everything he believes in.” She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, “but you looked so ill and worried at the christening and tonight he said, it couldn’t be allowed to go on any longer, he had to put an end to your suffering. I can’t allow him to destroy himself so I’ve done it for him, I’ve told you about Alexander although I suppose I’ve betrayed him by telling you.”
Tears ran down her cheeks and Max stood up and put an arm around her shoulder. “You haven’t betrayed him Carol, you’ve saved him and me and I’m greatly indebted to you. Go home now and tell Clive I already know, tell him Mother and Uncle Charles told me,” he glared sternly in their direction, “that won’t be a lie because they are going to tell me.” A touch of ‘Red Max’ had crept into his voice.
At the front door, Carol hugged him. “I knew you couldn’t kill anyone Max and so did Clive.”
He smiled sadly. “I didn’t think Alexander could but apparently he did, he killed Claudine, he beat her to death with a building brick, Carol.”
“Oh yes! Alexander was quite capable of killing to protect those he loved. I think all of us could see that in him, that’s why we felt so safe with him around, even as children. Perhaps having grown up with him you were too close to see it but there was nothing he wouldn’t do to protect us and we knew it but as for those two, I can’t believe they’ve carried this secret, especially Clarissa she always seems so fragile and delicate and even Charles is so gentle. Do you think they’ve always known? How have they lived with it?”
Charles and Clarissa listened closely while Max explained the things that had happened to him over the past weeks. The guilt he had borne not only about Claudine but also over the death of Norma Gordon and the danger in which he had put his colleagues at the archives. They listened patiently but appeared oblivious to the implications.
“Don’t you see?” he asked in exasperation, “I put other people’s lives at risk because I was trying to find out if I killed Claudine and all the time you two knew Alexander had done it.”
“Yes, but we didn’t know what you were doing dear,” said his mother with childlike logic.
“Yes, I realise that, but Alexander killed my wife, the mother of my son and you covered that up and protected him all those years. Don’t you think you should’ve at least told me the truth?”
“We didn’t know until he was dea
d, not until after the funeral, not really,” said Charles quickly but unconvincingly. “It wasn’t until we’d given out the gifts that we remembered you’d given Claudine the cross with the ‘E’ on it and we began to put two and two together, but it was too late. What reason could we give for asking Julia to return it? We just hoped it wasn’t significant. You were just getting over your illness. It didn’t seem at all right to involve you at such a time, to rake up the past when nothing could be done about it and certainly it could serve no good purpose.”
“So what exactly do you know?” Max demanded, “And suppose we sit here all night, I’m not leaving until you tell me everything.”
They both looked pale and very fragile, and it suddenly occurred to him that they were frightened of him. “Please,” he asked in a kinder voice, “just start at the beginning and tell me what you know.”
Charles began: “On the day you wandered off without telling anyone and went missing for a couple of days, Alexander was on training course with the ARP, at least that’s what he told us and we had no reason to doubt him. He arrived home very late and he was in an awful state; his uniform was dirty and torn and he did seem extremely distressed, but sometimes that happened to him as you well know. He said he’d been caught in an air-raid and we had no reason to doubt him but when Clarissa cleaned his uniform she found dried blood on it and thought he might be injured. She asked him if he was hurt, but he just shrugged off the suggestion and said he wasn’t. You know what he was like when he didn’t want to talk. We didn’t know he’d been to London and in any case we were frantic about you so, I suppose, we just didn’t push the matter further and put it out of our minds. When he died and we found the cross amongst his belongings we did wonder why he had it, but we couldn’t do anything to harm him or his reputation and it was all so long ago, it seemed better left in the past. He said in his bequest list that Julia was to have the cross and we thought it could do no harm to give it to her.”
“So you’ve always had some suspicions,” Max stated, “and when Alexander died, when there could no longer be any repercussions for him you didn’t you tell me because I’d been ill? I have to say it sounds a bit lame.”
“And because you’re a policeman Max,” his mother implored. “We didn’t want to put you in an invidious position, you might have done what you’re doing now. We were trying to avoid this situation and besides we couldn’t and wouldn’t betray him. As Charles said, you had been ill, seriously ill, don’t forget you nearly died, and we didn’t want anything to happen to you.”
Max stood up and walked around the room nodding his head slightly as things fell into place. “This is all because of that bloody agreement you made years ago isn’t it?” he accused angrily.
“It wasn’t just an agreement,” Clarissa said with unusual sharpness, “it was a pact, a sacred promise we made to one another, don’t trivialise it.”
Max raised his voice, “It was decades ago, Mother. It’s hardly relevant now.”
Her voice shaking, Clarissa snapped at him, “It was an oath and it saved our lives. We were four dead people and the pact we made together was our resurrection. You can’t imagine what we were like. Your grandmother had lost her son, I’d lost my husband and very nearly you and my life, and I wanted to die Max, have no doubt about it, I wanted you to die with me. Can you imagine that? Can you imagine being so desperate and unhappy you want your newborn child to die with you rather than face the world?”
A sob caught in Charles’s throat. “That was my fault. Your Mother nearly died because of me. I abandoned her, left her alone because I didn’t think your father was good enough for her. I made her choose between the man she loved and me.”
Clarissa reached across to touch his arm. “Don’t Charles, don’t go over that, please.”
“He should know Clarissa,” Charles continued, “he should know that but for Alexander, you and he would have died.” He turned to Max, “I behaved abominably toward your mother. She was alone, frightened and in danger when Alexander found her. He took care of her, helped her, he was with her when she got to know your father had been killed and collapsed in premature labour brought on by the shock and grief and when he thought she was going to die he sent for me. Me! The person who had caused it all. That night Alexander and I promised one another that if the two of you survived we would care for you and your mother always, no matter what happened, that would be our priority, even if one of us did not survive the war, the other one would keep the promise. We arranged for your grandmother to join us in London so Clarissa would have someone to care for her when we went back to the war …” He stopped unable to go on.
Still holding on to Charles, Clarissa’s voice was stronger and harder, “When Alexander and Charles eventually came home they were traumatised by the carnage and death they had witnessed for months and months. Charles was wounded and Alexander was almost out of his mind. He couldn’t speak or even get out of bed, but we had the pact, the oath we and your grandmother had sworn before they went away, to be together, to take care of each other always and to protect you. It gave us courage and the will we all needed to go on living. You were there when we held hands and pledged ourselves to one another, you were in your crib struggling for life, the symbol of life given in place of Michael. It was the oath that kept us all together over the years, but it was your wellbeing that spurred us on.”
Alarmed by her unusual display of emotion Max held up his hands to calm her but she went on describing the horrific picture of their world just after the war. Once the celebrations abated, the country was a mass of bereft, grieving people. Almost every family had lost someone, their black clothes the outward symbol of their inward mourning, the fortitude to help one another driven out by their own despair. There was no-one to turn to, little care for the sick and injured, and ex-soldiers begged in the streets.
“Alexander didn’t leave the house for weeks,” said Charles. We hardly knew how to help him, and even when he slowly began to function again, he was unstable and frightened. Once when Eloise was singing a French lullaby to you, we found him crouched in a corner saying Michael’s name over and over again. He couldn’t tell us why it affected him, but your grandmother never sang the song again.” He leaned forward speaking urgently, seeking understanding, offering mitigation, “Two years after the war your mother persuaded him to go to church with us on Armistice Day and he collapsed during the service.”
Clarissa finished the story, “We were singing the hymn, Abide With Me and he suddenly fell. The scar on his forehead wasn’t a war wound it was from that fall. Later when he had recovered, he told Charles that when the war ended they held a service on the battlefield and sang the hymn, that’s when he wandered off and got lost and was missing for several weeks.”
Max shivered. The incident in the church they had just described was there in his mind’s furthest recesses where other probing had recently intruded.
Higher than usual he was able to look into his grandmother’s face and, in spite of her sadness, she smiled at him and gently held his arm with one hand, her hymn book in the other. He was standing on the seat between his mother and grandmother and liked his new, high place.
Something happened, something noisy, Uncle Charles pushed his way quickly along the pew, and Max felt the brush of his black woollen coat against his baby face and his grandmother let go of his arm. Suddenly he wobbled, he was alone in his high place and the grown-ups were on the floor in the side aisle, too far away, just a black huddle around a prone figure. In front of him a row of darkly clad backs and shoulders were gently rising and falling with the music. Unsteadily, he turned to look at those behind him, more dark figures, hymn books raised, mouths opening and closing but eyes turned to the side aisle watching the drama unfolding. A girl about seven years old in an oversized black hat was looking at him her, hands holding the back of the pew on which he stood. He ventured a bewildered smile, but the big girl poked out her tongue. He wobbled dangerously and wailed in fear.
>
“Was I with you in the church with you?” he suddenly asked taking Charles and Clarissa by surprise.
“Yes,” Clarissa answered distractedly, “you were only two, you were standing on the seat when we all rushed to help Alexander and you got frightened and started to cry.”
At his fearful cries Clarissa and Eloise had lifted their heads, the brims of their large black hats half obscuring their faces tilted upwards to look at him, but they seemed not to move quickly enough to save him. Against the stark white of their complexions and the depth of their black clothing bright red blotches gaped at him. Was it blood in such neat patterns? No, only Alexander had blood on him, oozing from his temple into a white folded handkerchief held firmly in place by Charles. The red shapes were poppies fastened in lapels and buttonholes dancing brightly in the midst of the misery reminders of the shed blood that had brought them to this moment.
“Do you understand what we’re saying Max?” his mother pleaded, “damaged men like him ended up in mental institutions for the rest of their days but we didn’t let that happen to Alexander because we had each other, we had the pact. We fought to bring him back to us and in doing so, we all became stronger and you were the focus of our lives. I’m sure that’s why he killed Claudine. He was wrong, very wrong, but even after all those years he was trying to protect you, surely you can see. He must have momentarily gone insane when he saw her with another man, you told me yourself she was unfaithful, she was …”
“She was my wife and the mother of my son,” Max interrupted then turned to stare at his mother. “How do you know what he saw?” he demanded. “How do you know what drove him to do what he did if you didn’t discuss it with him? If as you say you didn’t know until he was dead, how can you know why he killed Claudine?” His uncle and mother looked guiltily at one another, they weren’t used to lying and not very good at it. “Never mind you wondered about it after he died! You’ve both known all along haven’t you?”
The Lazarus Secrets Page 21