In Loving Memory. Emma Page
him in any way.’
Richard stirred his coffee thoughtfully. ‘I should have thought seeing his elder son again, after all these years, might be rather distressing. I don’t know that I would have allowed it at such an early stage.’
‘Oh but you see, Mr Mallinson particularly wanted to see him, he asked Doctor Burnett to send for him as soon as he was taken ill. It would have upset him far more if the visit hadn’t been allowed.’
Richard began to drink his coffee. ‘Yes, I suppose so. In any case Burnett knows what he’s doing. He’s a very sound man and of course he knows everyone here for miles around, knows all the family ins and outs, the feuds and alliances. It all helps when you’re trying to do what’s best for a patient.’
‘Has he always practised here?’ Gina asked. ‘I would have imagined a clever doctor like that would have been tempted away to a city, or a big hospital somewhere.’ She knew that Richard himself was only putting in a year or two with Dr Burnett, his sights were set on broader horizons, Rockley would not hold him for ever.
‘He was born here,’ Richard said. ‘He’s a man who sends down deep roots, a man with strong loyalties. But he did leave Rockley, he spent the greater part of his working life up north, in an industrial area of Yorkshire, I thought you knew that.’
Gina laid down her cup and stared at him in surprise. ‘No, I had no idea. I thought he’d always practised here. I had the impression – from the servants, I suppose – that he’d been here for years and years. Mr Mallinson always treats him as if they’ve known each other all their lives.’
‘They have, in a way. They were boys together in Rockley. Poor boys, both of them. Whitegates was owned by a county family then. Henry Mallinson’s father was a groom and Dr Burnett’s father was the gardener here at Whitegates. He was born in that cottage where the Fosters live now. They were bright lads, both of them. Mallinson came up the hard way, using his brains and hands to build up the business, Burnett read books and won scholarships. He came back here to practise after he qualified. Then, when he was about thirty or thirty-five, he went off to Yorkshire and didn’t come back till about ten years ago. I suppose he found he was growing old, thought he’d like to end his days where he was born. Not an uncommon wish.’
‘Did he never marry?’ Gina spoke the words with a trace of hesitation, hoping that Richard wouldn’t think she was sending out a feeler of any kind. Marriage had never been mentioned between them, but she knew that he had considered it, that during their visit to his home he would make up his mind.
Richard shook his head. ‘No, not so far as I know. He certainly never mentions a wife and I’ve never heard that he married. Rather surprising really, when I come to think about it. A wife is very useful to a doctor, most doctors marry. And Burnett, in particular, I would have thought he was the type to fall in love deeply and permanently.’ He laid down his cup. ‘By the way, Gina, I haven’t pressed you, but are you coming with me? Next month, when I go home? I’d like you to meet my parents, I’d like it very much.’ He gave her a level, direct, unsmiling look. ‘It’s important to me.’
She felt her heart give a sharp leap. ‘I’d like to, Richard, I’d be very pleased to. It’s only—’ She broke off and bit her lip.
‘Only what? What silly notion have you got into your head?’
It was utterly impossible for her to open her mouth and mention such a ridiculous trifle as her clothes. A man would never understand, and particularly a man like Richard. He would brush the words aside with impatience. But it does matter, Gina thought, it matters a lot to make the right impression. With the right clothes, I’d feel at ease, adequate, able to hold my own, however grand his parents are.
‘They mightn’t like me,’ she heard herself say, and was instantly depressed at the stupidity, the childishness of the remark. ‘I’m no one,’ she said, plunging even deeper into foolishness. She abandoned all pretence and let the words come out in a rush. ‘I’ve no family, no background. Your parents are well-to-do, they live in a big house, they’d wonder why on earth you bothered to bring home a girl like me.’ It was out, she’d said it. She closed her eyes for an instant in despair.
A moment later she was astounded to hear Richard laugh. A deep amused laugh, echoing round the hall. She jerked her eyes open.
‘You silly child!’ He bent down and put his arms round her, kissed her lightly and firmly on the mouth.
‘You’re someone very special, to me,’ he said, suddenly serious again, looking down into her eyes. ‘Don’t ever let me hear you talk such nonsense again. My parents will love you – as I do.’
‘Oh, Richard—’ Upstairs she heard a door open and close. She pulled back from his arms and glanced nervously towards the stairs.
‘It’s all right,’ he said in a low voice. ‘There’s no need to act like a startled fawn.’ But his manner resumed its customary trace of formality. ‘I take it you’ll be coming with me, then? If your objections are nothing more serious than that?’
She drew a deep breath. ‘All right, I’ll come.’
He patted her hand. ‘Good girl, I knew you’d see sense.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Now I really must be off or my patients’ relatives will all be ringing the surgery to find out where I’ve got to.’
She went with him to the door. ‘I’ll phone you,’ he said. ‘This evening or tomorrow, it depends how I’m fixed. We’ll go out and have a meal together as soon as I can manage a couple of hours off.’ He brushed her cheek with his lips and was gone.
Gina closed the door and stood with her back to it, her hands clasped together. I will go, she thought, and I’ll be a credit to him. I’ll get the suède coat and the skirt and the sweater. Shoes, bag and gloves. I’ll get them all. Somehow. I’ll look poised, elegant, suitable. I won’t let Richard down. She unclasped her hands, stood up very straight and looked up at the stairs towards the corridor beyond, towards the room behind whose door old Mr Mallinson lay.
‘Doing very well indeed,’ Kenneth Mallinson said. ‘Still plenty of room for expansion of course.’ He gave a little smile. ‘We’re not in the same class as you, not by a long chalk, but our balance sheet is pretty healthy.’
Henry Mallinson put the tips of his fingers together. ‘No, I don’t suppose you are in the same class as me. Took me fifty years to build the firm up. And things were different then. More opportunity for a young man with vision. Not so many rules and regulations, taxation wasn’t so crippling.’ He looked back into the past for an instant with pleasure, remembering the old days, the struggles, the triumphs, the near-disasters. He gave a little smiling sigh, wishing it was all to do again, that he could turn back the clock and start the whole long battle all over again.
‘There isn’t a thing I’d do differently,’ he said suddenly, following his own train of thought. ‘Not a thing.’ He’d enjoyed every moment of it, the difficulties and conflicts, perhaps those most of all.
‘Nothing?’ Kenneth asked in an altered tone. He wasn’t thinking of the business, he was thinking of his mother, of her spirit bruised and crushed over the long years of marriage to a man whose first and only thought was for the firm he had reared with so much toil and sweat. He was thinking of his own quarrel with his father and the years of silence. ‘Nothing at all?’
Henry Mallinson raised his eyes. ‘Not a thing,’ he said. ‘I’d do it all again exactly as before.’
Kenneth stood up and walked over to the window. He stood looking down at the sweep of lawn, at Foster kneeling by a bed, patting the earth around a plant. One learns nothing from the past, he thought, one learns nothing from one’s mistakes, we are all bounded inexorably by the limitations of our own natures. Myself as well as other men. He felt suddenly and acutely depressed.
‘You’re quite settled up north, then?’ his father’s voice asked. He didn’t add, ‘Not thinking of getting married one of these days?’