Lizzie Marshall's Wedding Read Online Free PDF Page B

whether she should share her past with her son, she wasn’t sure he’d understand. He had loved his father deeply and might feel that her wanting to return to the Hall was, in some way, a betrayal, so she’d decided to retain her secret. But she was determined to have it and this, Max did understand. He too had come to expect that, if he wanted something, he would get it and the only time that he hadn’t, was when Lizzie had left him – and refused to go back.
     
    ‘You’re looking very pleased with yourself,’ Margaret said as Max entered the Morning Room from the terrace, via one of the French windows.
    He bent down and planted a playful kiss on her immaculately coiffed, silver waves. ‘Am I? What are you doing in the Morning Room, mother, it’s almost three in the afternoon?’ He grinned and sat down on a chair next to her writing desk.
    ‘Very droll, dear. Yes you are. Did you find anything of interest in the village?’
    ‘As a matter of fact, I did. Tell me, why is this called the Morning Room but there isn’t an Afternoon Room or an Evening Room? And why is the Drawing Room called that?’
    Margaret peered at him over the rim of her glasses. ‘The Drawing Room is where the ladies used to “withdraw” to whilst the men smoked their cigars after dinner but as to the rest, I have no idea. What did you find in the village?’
    ‘I’ll have to find some local toff and ask them.’ He leant back in the chair and put his feet up on her desk. ‘Is a parlour, like the one in gran’s old house, called a parlour from the French parler, because people used it to talk in – or gossip about the neighbours, in gran’s case?’
    Margaret raised her eyebrows. ‘Probably. Don’t put your feet on my desk Max. The soles of your shoes are muddy.’
    He put his feet back on the floor. ‘Sorry.’
    ‘I don’t think there are any local toffs left around here to ask. Why the sudden interest in the names of rooms anyway?’
    ‘Pity. I suppose, because you have so many rooms called different things. As incoming would-be gentry, I feel I need to find out. Shall I ring for whatshername to get us some tea?’
    Margaret put down her pen and twisted in her seat to face him. ‘Shall you what? Would-be gentry. What on earth are you talking about Max?’
    He grinned. ‘Nothing mum. Don’t mind me.’ He got to his feet. ‘Would you like some tea? I’ll go and put the kettle on. Remind me, is that the scullery or the kitchen, I need.’
    ‘What you need my boy, is a clip around the ear.’
    His grin turned into a beaming smile. ‘I think I nearly got one today. In fact, I think I nearly got one, twice. Oh ... and I’ve decided I’m going to stay on for a week or so, if that’s okay with you.’ He strode across the room without waiting for an answer. ‘If I’m not back in half an hour, send someone to find me. God alone knows which room I’ll end up in.’
    Margaret watched her son march into the hall, with mixed emotions. She was pleased that he wanted to stay but also slightly anxious. Max rarely took time off and whilst he had initially offered to, to help her settle in, he had seemed almost relieved when she’d told him there was really no need, since Victoria would be popping over regularly. So, why the sudden change of heart, she wondered, and what had he meant by that remark about almost getting a clip around the ear? Had someone threatened him in some way?
    Even as she thought it, she dismissed it. People didn’t threaten Max. Even at school, he had never been picked on or bullied and he certainly wasn’t the type to get into fights. He could defend himself though, if the need ever arose. His father had made sure of that.
    Royston Bedford had been born into the streets of London’s east end, in the days when it was wise to know how to defend yourself. His father had taught him and, although Max had been born into a very different street – there weren’t many gangsters in Esher in Surrey – Royston