Bertie Shaw, aka Naughty Bertie, was a great friend of Logan’s.
‘She’s going to have tea with Bertie and Harriet will drop her off at Furlings later. Or she can stay the night there, whatever you prefer. Have you got her number?’
Angela nodded weakly. Logan was bound to want to stay the night, which was fine with her. It was about time her daughter had a night off from perching at her bedroom window clutching binoculars, hoping to catch a glimpse of Gabe Baxter. Plus it would also be easier to talk to Brett with Logie out of the house … if she wanted to talk to Brett. Right now she wasn’t sure. It was so much easier, so much safer and less troubling to believe that what she’d overheard this afternoon was idle gossip. To dismiss it, refuse to allow it into their lives.
‘I gave Dr Grylls a call.’ Max Bingley’s voice brought her back to reality. ‘Once he’s taken a look at you I can run you home, if you like.’
‘Oh, no. God no, please. I don’t need a doctor.’ Finishing her water, Angela sat up straight, then gingerly got to her feet. ‘I’m completely fine.’
Max Bingley frowned. ‘I think you should see someone, Mrs Cranley.’
‘Angela, please. And I assure you there’s no need. Please,’ she turned to Max’s secretary, ‘ask Dr Grylls not to come.’
Mrs Graham looked to Max for approval. He nodded, although his expression made it plain he was still concerned.
‘I don’t need a lift home either,’ said Angela hurriedly. ‘I appreciate the offer, but I’m perfectly capable of walking. Despite appearances, I assure you I’m not some pathetic, feeble damsel in distress.’
She laughed, but Max Bingley answered seriously.
‘I never for a moment thought of you as either feeble or pathetic,’ he said. ‘Far from it.’
There was something terribly intense about him. When he focused his attention on you, it was like sunlight burning through a magnifying glass. Angela felt as if she might burst into flames at any moment.
‘However, I’m afraid I do absolutely insist on driving you home.’
Max Bingley said this in a tone that made it clear he would brook no argument. Tired suddenly, Angela acquiesced.
Max drove a very old Land Rover, the back seat of which was piled high with books, papers and classical music CD cases. The CDs themselves were strewn liberally on the front passenger seat. Scooping them up, apparently unashamed of the mess, he chucked them into the glove compartment so that Angela could sit down.
‘They’ll get scratched, you know,’ she warned him.
‘I know,’ said Max, pulling out of the school and heading along the green in the direction of Furlings. ‘I’m awful about putting them back in their cases. But I like having them to hand. CDs are my one extravagance. I love music.’
‘So do I,’ said Angela. She found herself telling him about Jason’s talent as a pianist. How she’d always encouraged him, but Brett disapproved.
‘That’s a shame,’ said Max. He’d yet to meet Brett Cranley in the flesh, but he was finding it harder and harder not to dislike the man. ‘What about Logan? Is she musical too?’
Angela laughed. ‘Unfortunately not. She’s tone-deaf like her father.’
‘She’s a sweet little thing,’ said Max. ‘Seems to have settled in really well.’ Angela could hear in his voice that he had a genuine love of children. It made her like him even more.
‘She’s a handful. She’s growing up so fast,’ Angela sighed, thinking about the sheet of signatures in Brett’s drawer.
‘Oh, they’re all a handful,’ Max grinned. ‘Some of them just wait a little longer than others to let it show, that’s all.’
‘Do you have children?’
They’d arrived at Furlings just as she asked the question. Angela hadn’t even noticed them turning into the driveway before the car juddered to a halt.
‘Two daughters,’ he said. ‘They’re both grown now, of course.’
Angela longed to ask about their mother. She knew that Max lived alone, but she wasn’t sure if he were divorced or widowed. For some reason she was curious, but she didn’t want to be rude or to overstep the boundaries.
‘Well. Thank you. For the lift and … everything.’ She opened the passenger door. ‘Sorry again for all the drama.’
‘Not at all.’ Max smiled, but it was a brisk, distant smile, the smile that a headmaster would usually employ when addressing a parent of one of his pupils. The fleeting intimacy Angela had felt hovering between them on the short drive was gone now. Although perhaps intimacy wasn’t the right word? It was more a sort of paternal affection. Angela realized with a pang that she missed her own father. She would call him tonight. Hearing his voice, even from thousands of miles away, always made her feel safe.
Standing outside the front door of Furlings, she watched Max Bingley drive away.
Then she turned and went inside, smothering her doubts and fears like someone throwing a wet blanket over a fire.