The Road to Rowanbrae (31 page)

‘Don't ask.'

Much later, Gina lay wide awake beside her husband, who was deep in the sleep of the sexually replete, but her brain was too active to allow her to drift off. Would Gregor Wallace lend her the money after what she had said to him only a year ago, after Sandy was killed? He had never given any sign of being a vindictive man, but it was difficult to tell how any person would react in such a situation. She couldn't ask any of her friends – she doubted if they would have enough money anyway – and Gregor was the only one she could turn to. She would have to make him promise not to let her mother know, for she didn't want
her
gloating over Campbell's misfortune – but she could surely turn on enough charm to win Gregor round?

At nine o'clock the following morning, Gina telephoned to make an appointment with her mother's husband. ‘Mr Wallace only comes in for an hour or so every afternoon now,' the girl on the switchboard told her. ‘I can put you through to Mr Martin or Mr Parker, if you like. They deal with mostly everything since Mr Wallace retired.'

‘No, thank you. It's Mr Wallace I have to talk to.' Gina was dismayed by the information. She hadn't realised that Gregor was old enough to retire, but he must be about seventy now.

‘I could give you his home address,' the girl offered.

‘No, it's personal and I don't want to bother him at home – but I must see him. Look, if I come in this afternoon about three, is there any chance that he'd be there?'

‘He usually comes in about two, so I'll tell him you wish to see him, but I can't promise anything.'

‘I understand, and thank you very much.' Laying down the receiver, Gina wished that she didn't have to wait. She might lose her courage by afternoon.

After lunch, she dressed in her grey wool costume with black accessories – they had cost a small fortune and she wanted to impress Gregor – then went out to catch a bus into town. If she could have used some of Campbell's petrol ration in her small car it would have been quicker, but the garage would not give her commercial fuel, which was coloured pink to prevent such private use.

It was only ten to three when she arrived, and she walked round Bon Accord Square twice so that she wouldn't be early, but at last she went up the steps. She was shown immediately into Gregor's office, and was surprised at how much older he looked, his hair almost white, his face gaunt and grey.

He smiled warmly and stood up, holding out his hand. ‘Gina! I wondered who this lady was who was so desperate to see me. This is an unexpected pleasure.'

She ignored his hand. ‘It's not pleasure at all, Gregor. It's purely business.'

‘I'm afraid I don't attend to much business these days, but how can I help you?'

After hearing her request, he sat twiddling his thumbs for a moment or two, then said, ‘What collateral are you offering? It's rather a large sum of money, and I must protect myself.'

Gina hadn't foreseen this, but recognised the necessity for it. ‘We have a large house in Bieldside, a Rover car and a small Austin. And your money will be safe enough. Campbell is a good businessman.'

His smile held no humour. ‘Not good enough to keep him from bankruptcy, apparently. However, I will trust you, Gina. Shall I make the cheque out to you or to your husband?'

‘You'd better make it out to Campbell, it's for his company.' As she watched him take his cheque book out, she remembered the other part of her errand. ‘By the way, I want your promise that you will never tell my mother anything about this.'

He screwed the cap back on his fountain pen. ‘Ah, that's a different matter.'

Feeling alarmed, she said, ‘Why? I don't want her to know.'

‘Your mother and I have no secrets from each other, and it so happens that I intended making
you
promise something before I handed over the cheque.'

‘What was that?'

‘Your solemn oath that you will go to see her and apologise for all the heartache you have caused her.'

‘Oh, Gregor, you can't seriously expect me to do that? You know how I feel about her.'

‘No apology, no cheque.'

He made to place his pen in the tray, but Gina said, ‘Wait. Give me time to think about it.'

‘Take all the time you need.' With a slight smile, Gregor leaned back in his chair.

Desperate for Campbell's sake, Gina let her mind tick over. Would it be so terrible to do as Gregor asked? It shouldn't be too difficult to keep up a pretence in front of her mother for an hour, as long as Gregor kept silent about Campbell's failure. It was worth a try. ‘Could we make a bargain?'

‘It depends, Gina.'

‘I promise to apologise to my mother if you promise never to tell her you've had to help me out of a hole.'

He frowned. ‘You're asking rather a lot of me, but …' He tapped his pen a few times on his desk. ‘I know that it would make my wife very happy to see you, and her happiness means more to me than anything else. All right, Gina.' He opened the chequebook. ‘I promise to keep quiet about your husband's financial problems, if you promise to go to see her tomorrow afternoon.' Bending his head to write, Gregor said, ‘If you don't, I can quite easily stop this cheque.'

Her eyes blazing, Gina burst out, ‘I bet you would, too, but let me tell you, if you ever mention one word of this to her, I'll create such a row that she'll never forgive you.'

Lifting his eyes for a second, he said, ‘So now we understand each other.' After blotting the cheque, he tore it out and handed it to her. ‘I trust that this will allow your husband to continue in business. If not, you need not bother coming to me again. I will have a contract drawn up, in which he will agree to pay me back this amount within … five years, and you will ensure that he signs it as soon as he receives it and returns it to me here.'

‘He will.' Gina placed the cheque inside her handbag and stood up. ‘I promise to go tomorrow, and thank you, Gregor.'

His eyes were cold. ‘I did it for your mother's sake, not yours. She is a far better woman than you will ever be.'

Stung, Gina retorted, ‘She wasn't always a good woman.'

‘I know exactly what she did when she was younger, more than you do, probably, but it was done out of love, not spite nor hate. She has never hurt anyone intentionally in her life.'

Gregor remained sitting after Gina left. If he had known who had made the appointment, he would not have kept it. He certainly should have refused to give her what she asked – a spell on the bread line was what that young lady needed to make a better person of her. But it was Maisie he had thought of, Maisie he had done it for, and if Gina kept her promise it would even be worth losing the five thousand pounds …
if
Gina kept her promise, which was extremely doubtful. But then he could always stop that cheque.

It was a miserable, blustery day, and Mysie was feeling quite miserable herself. She wished that Gregor would stop going to the office, even if it was only for an hour or two every day. He'd looked so peculiar when he came home yesterday that she'd asked him what was wrong, but he had said there was nothing. Knowing him as she did, however, she could tell that something was bothering him, and had been hurt that he hadn't confided in her. It wasn't like him to be so secretive.

When the doorbell rang, she took her time about answering it. It was probably a door-to-door salesman of some kind and she couldn't be bothered with that this afternoon. But it wasn't a man at all – it was a well-dressed young woman with a beautifully made-up face that reminded her of … ‘Gina?' she asked, scarcely able to believe it.

‘May I come in?' There was no warmth in the words.

Taking her hand off the doorpost, Mysie was astonished that she could stand without support. ‘Yes, of course.'

In the sitting room, they stood looking at each other warily for a moment, then Mysie said, ‘Sit down, Gina.'

‘I won't sit down, thank you. I only came to see how you were and to tell you that … I'm sorry for … I'm …'

She got no further. Her mother's arms were held out towards her, and she went into them in the same way she had done when she was a small girl. Recalling the comfort she'd been given then, in spite of her tantrums and misbehaviour, she was overwhelmed by a rush of love, of regret, of guilt for having stayed away. ‘Oh, Mother,' she sobbed, ‘it's been such a long time, and I'm truly, truly sorry.'

‘Gina, don't apologise. I've prayed and prayed for you to come back to me, and nothing else matters now that you have.' Mysie led her daughter over to the settee and sat down beside her. ‘That's both my prayers answered now,' she said, softly. ‘Before he was killed, Sandy wrote and apologised, too.'

Gina gulped. ‘I
was
sorry about Sandy, even though I told Gregor I wasn't. I realise now that he didn't mean to hurt me when he said I was …'

‘It was all my fault that night,' Mysie said, tearfully.

‘No, it wasn't. It was nobody's fault, really, but I was too young to understand.'

They sat silently then, Gina gripping Mysie's hand. Before she came, she had thought of this visit as being a price she had to pay to ensure Campbell's solvency, but it had turned out differently. She wanted her mother's love now, needed it, and she couldn't keep up a pretence any longer.

When Gregor came home, he was amazed to find his wife with her arm round her daughter's shoulders, both weeping softly. He hadn't been prepared to find Gina still there – he hadn't really believed that she would come at all – and was at a loss as to how to deal with the situation. ‘Gina. What a surprise,' he said, lamely.

‘She's told me everything, Gregor,' Mysie murmured, drying her eyes. ‘How you trapped her into coming to see me, so don't pretend you didn't know she'd be here.'

‘I thought she'd be gone by this time.'

Gina looked round at him. ‘It's you we've to thank for us making things up, Gregor. Your trap was loaded, wasn't it? You must have guessed what would happen.' Turning to Mysie, she said earnestly, ‘I'd been so busy grabbing what I could out of life, that I never gave a thought to what you were going through, Mother.'

Mysie stood up. ‘Well, it's all over. Everything's all right now, so just sit there and talk to Gregor while I make a pot of tea.'

When she went out, Gregor said, gently, ‘You have my heartfelt thanks, Gina. You've done much more than I asked.'

She smiled wryly. ‘I didn't plan to let it go as far as this. It just … sort of happened.'

‘Well, I'm so grateful that we'll forget about that contract. Your husband can take his own time to … no! I don't want to be paid back at all.'

‘He'll pay you back,' Gina declared, looking slightly offended. ‘I don't want to be accused of being a beggar on top of all the other bad things I've been.' Her mouth relaxed abruptly. ‘I know I've been a poor specimen for years, thinking of nobody but myself, but I swear I'll turn over a new leaf now.'

‘Good for you. I see you do have something of your mother in you, after all, and that's the highest compliment anyone could ever pay you, believe me.' Gregor sat back, beaming.

When Mysie carried in the teatray, she could see that both Gina and Gregor looked very smug, as if they had come to some big decision together. She did not know what they had been talking about, and she didn't care.

After filling the three cups, she lifted hers high up in the air. ‘It's maybe not the done thing to drink a toast in tea, but who cares? Here's to us – to you, my darling Gregor, for loving me so much over all the years; to you, dear Gina, for coming home again and healing the rift in my family; to me, because I feel that my life has come full circle and I am truly happy at last.'

She sipped daintily for a moment, then ordered, ‘Go on, drink the toast, just to please a sentimenal old woman.'

The other two cups were raised and two voices, one holding the suggestion of a sob and the other deep and resonant, said, ‘To us.'

P
ART
F
OUR

Chapter Thirty

1982

‘I wish you'd go and sit down, Mrs Wallace.' Gina's current housekeeper was mildly irritated with the old woman. ‘You're not fit to be standing so long.'

Her faded eyes flashing, Mysie snapped, ‘I'd pared tons of potatoes long before you were even born, Marion, likely before your mother was born, and I'm not stopping now.'

‘But Mrs Bisset said I shouldn't let you do anything.'

‘My daughter's a fusspot. I'm as strong as a horse. Get on with your own work and let me get on with this.'

Marion Miller shrugged and took the canister of flour out of the cupboard. She'd be glad to sit down if she was given the chance, and she was only forty-one. God knows what she'd be like when she was ninety-three, like her employer's mother.

She had weighed out all the ingredients for the pastry she was making for the apple pie, and had just started to rub the butter into the flour when the shrill voice spoke again. ‘Hold your hands well above the bowl when you're doing that. It lets the air in, and that's what makes pastry lighter – that, and not using too much water.' Mysie tutted disapprovingly. ‘Girls nowadays have no idea how to do things properly.'

Saying nothing, Marion did as she was told. Mr Bisset had told her, not long after she started working for them, that his mother-in-law had once been a cook, and that she'd run a cook-shop at one time, too, but that must have been in the year dot and her ideas were old-fashioned. Just the same, it was wiser not to get on her wrong side.

‘That's more like it,' Mysie said, as she passed on her way out, ‘and don't handle it too much when you're rolling it out. I'm going to tidy the lounge now.'

Some of these girls would never learn, she thought. What did she need with a housekeeper, anyway? She'd managed perfectly well, ever since she came to Bieldside, with just the charwoman coming in twice a week to do the heavy cleaning. Of course, it was that little dizzy spell she'd had a few years ago that had frightened her daughter. It hadn't really been anything at all – she'd just turned too quickly – but that Mrs Dickie had made a meal of it, phoning Gina and fussing around until she came home from work, worried out of her mind.

‘It's a blessing I was here,' the cleaner had told Gina as soon as she set her foot inside, ‘or she'd have been a goner.'

Gina had scolded her gently. ‘Mother, I've told you hundreds of times to take it easy, and I don't care what you say now, I'm employing a housekeeper.'

Mysie, feeling better by that time, had been sarcastic. ‘Am I supposed to sit and twiddle my thumbs all day?'

‘It's what you should be doing anyway, at your age.'

‘My age has nothing to do with it. I don't feel old, and that's because I've kept going all my life. If I'd let you take in a housekeeper when you first suggested it, I'd have died of boredom by this time.' Mysie had changed her tone. ‘I'll just fade away slowly if you stop me doing things.'

‘No, Mother, you won't get round me this time.' Gina had been angry. ‘I'm employing a housekeeper, and that's final.'

So a woman had started the following week – Mrs …? Mysie couldn't remember her name, but she hadn't lasted long. None of them had lasted long, for they didn't like to be told the right way to do things. This Marion, though, wasn't as bad as the rest. At least she did what she was told without arguing.

Mysie's thoughts stopped abruptly. Why had she come into the dining room? It was the lounge that needed tidying. She'd better not tell anyone about this – they'd think she was going off her head. She turned slowly, not wanting a repeat of the giddiness, and suddenly felt very tired. She'd better take a seat for a while. Maybe she
was
too old to be doing so much.

Lying back in the settee, she let her mind go back over the years to her reconciliation with her daughter. It was only a couple of months later that she was told she was going to be a grandmother. She had been a grandmother long before that, of course, and she would regret to her dying day never having seen Sandy's child. But she'd been so pleased about Gina that she had gone to Wellbrae to tell Jess Findlater. She was very glad that she had, for Jess had died not long after. She had thought her old friend was much thinner, especially about the face, but she had never dreamt that it was cancer. She had been very upset at the funeral, but Gregor had helped her to get over it, though it had taken a long time. It was really Alexander's birth that brought her out of her depression.

Poor wee Alexander. Gina had called him after Sandy, and he had been the light of Gregor's life, and hers, from the day he was born. They had worshipped him, and they'd come to Gina's house every day to take him out, in the pram until he was old enough to walk himself. He'd been such a bright boy, drinking in everything she told him about the different trees, and the wild flowers, and the birds. He could name them all without any help in no time at all, and he'd been so pleased when they told him he was very clever. He had only been four and a half when the tragedy struck. Meningitis. Gina had not been able to have any more children.

She was still almost certain that it was Alexander's death that had started Gregor's health deteriorating so quickly. It had affected him as badly as it had affected her, but he had been a great comfort to her. She would never have got over it if he hadn't been there, but only a couple of months later, he'd begun to forget things, to be bad-tempered, and he had never been like that before. It was a year or so after that before he grew senile altogether, not able to do a single thing for himself, and she had nursed him day and night for seven long years. Not that she minded, for he would have done the same for her if their positions had been reversed. Gina, of course, had wanted her to get a proper nurse in, but she had stuck to her guns. It was her place to look after her husband.

By the time Gregor died she was so worn out that she didn't even feel like arguing when Gina told her to sell the house and come to live at Bieldside, and it had taken her a month or two to get her strength back. She might have known that they wouldn't get on, together all day like that, and it was probably because she had interfered too much that Gina had taken a job. Her daughter had done very well, and was now an active partner in a pair of boutiques, as they called dress shops now – out all day, though she came back at dinnertime.

When Gina came home for lunch, she was alarmed at being told that her mother had been asleep in the lounge for an hour and three-quarters. Hurrying through, she made up her mind to be firmer. This couldn't go on. ‘Mother,' she said gently, ‘it's time for lunch.'

‘Already? I just shut my eyes for a minute.'

‘Marion said you'd been sleeping for nearly two hours.'

‘Oh no, I couldn't have been.'

‘Oh yes, you were. I've let you have your own way ever since you came here, but I'm putting my foot down now. You are not to do any housework in future. I'd have thought you would have had enough of it, anyway. You've been here for over twenty-two years, and you kept house for seventeen of them, so …'

‘I didn't do the heavy work, there was always a cleaner.'

Gina felt her anger rising. ‘Don't quibble. You didn't even stop working when I did get a housekeeper in. Goodness knows what they must have thought of me for letting you go on the way you've been doing, and it's got to stop. I mean it.'

Mysie frowned and made to stand up, but her legs wouldn't take her weight and she sat back heavily. ‘Oh, Mother.' Gina was concerned now. ‘You're not fit, and I'm only doing it for your own good.'

‘You can't expect me to sit about all day doing nothing,' Mysie muttered, but she knew in her own heart that what her daughter said was true. She wasn't fit any longer.

‘You could knit, or take up embroidery, or read books. Oh, there's plenty of things you could do to pass the time.'

‘Pass the time? Aye,' Mysie observed, mournfully, ‘that's all I'll be doing from now on, I suppose – passing time. Well, maybe it'll not be for much longer.' Letting her daughter help her to her feet, she went through to the dining room.

Mysie took to lying in bed later in the morning, watching television in the lounge all forenoon and having a nap in the afternoon. In spite of this, she often felt ready for bed in the early evening and went upstairs at eight. ‘I'm stiffening up,' she informed Gina one day. ‘All this sitting about's not good for me.'

Her daughter had noticed that she was very unsteady on her feet, but had assumed that it was just the ageing process. ‘It would be a lot worse for you if you were on your legs all day. Do you want me to get the doctor in to have a look at you?'

‘He'd laugh at me.' Mysie hadn't much faith in doctors.

Gina talked things over with her husband that night. ‘Do you think I should stop going to the shop and stay at home to look after her?'

After considering briefly, Campbell said, ‘I don't think she'd be happy about that, and she would still be sitting all day. Her arthritis is getting worse, and she'll soon be off her feet altogether. Anyway, you would just get on each other's nerves again, and that's why you went out to work in the first place.'

‘I would never forgive myself if anything happened to her and I wasn't here.'

‘Forget it, Gina,' he advised. ‘Nothing's going to happen to her for a long time yet. I know she's old, and her legs are a bit dodgy, but her heart is as sound as a bell. You should be retiring next year, in any case, shouldn't you.'

‘Don't remind me that I'll be sixty-five on my birthday,' she pouted. ‘Anna and I are the same age – we were in the same class at school – and we're going to have to discuss what to do with the shops soon, but we haven't mentioned it yet.'

‘You should have packed it in when you were sixty.'

‘Anna didn't, but I suppose we will have to sell them.'

Although the subject wasn't mentioned again, Mysie knew that it had only been shelved. Within herself, she knew that her legs were … on their last legs – she chuckled at the thought – and that it was just a matter of time before she would be as dependent on someone else as Gregor had been on her during the last few years of his life. It was inevitable. Her body would give up gradually, bit by bit, and she'd be very fortunate if her brain lasted as long as her heart. Gregor's hadn't.

She would hate for Gina and Campbell to have to put up with a senile old woman, dribbling at both ends … it was quite unthinkable. But it had to be thought about, planned for.

Two days later, she voiced her idea after they had finished their evening meal. ‘I want to go into a home.' Their wary, shocked expressions told her that they thought she had gone over the edge. ‘I'm not mad, I know what I'm saying. I want to go into a home. I've given it a lot of thought, Gina, and I don't want you to be tied to the house looking after me.'

Gina found her voice at last. ‘But I wouldn't mind …'

‘I know what it's like, remember, and it wasn't so bad for me, because I loved Gregor with all my heart.'

‘But I love you, Mother, and I'm quite prepared to stop work to be here with you … I should have stopped long ago.'

‘My mind's made up. The places they have nowadays, private nursing homes they're called, they're not like the places the old folk were put into long ago. They were more like lunatic asylums, but the new ones are like … hotels, and there's people to look after you, day and night, if you need it. And because they're run privately, you can move if you don't like the first one you go to. I've read all about them.'

Campbell spoke now. He hadn't wanted to interfere before, but he could see that Gina was on the verge of tears. ‘Look, Mother, if you've made up your mind, I wouldn't think of trying to make you change it, but you've lived here for so long that I'd have thought you would consider it your home.'

Mysie held up her hand. ‘I've outlived my usefulness, and it's time I was moving on.'

‘Oh, Mother,' Gina burst out, ‘you don't have to move on. I'll stop working right now and I'll be here every day with you.'

‘And that's just what I don't want,' Mysie said, firmly, and turned to her son-in-law. ‘Campbell, if you understand what I'm getting at, will you please explain to Gina?' She rose unsteadily and picked up the walking stick she had lately been forced to use. ‘I want no more arguments, and I'll be in the lounge if you want me.'

Making her laborious way through, she smiled to herself as she heard Campbell quietly calming the now hysterical Gina. He would likely be reminding her about the terrible life his own mother had given his unmarried sister until old Mrs Bisset died. The old lady had been inclined to be violent, so that might help Gina to see what her mother was afraid could happen.

Resigned to following Mysie's wishes, Gina drove her to inspect several private nursing homes over the next few weeks. Most of them seemed quite pleasant, but the younger woman always had faults to pick, and it wasn't until they found Sunnyfields that Mysie put her foot down. ‘I like this place,' she told her daughter. ‘But you'd better find out what they charge.'

Back in the car, she said, ‘It's too much. I'd never dream of paying that every week.'

Gina turned to her seriously. ‘You don't need to worry about the financial side of it, Mother. You've never touched Gregor's money, nor what you made off the house in Ashley Road, and it's been gathering interest all this time.'

‘I wanted to have something to leave you when I die,' Mysie protested, rather plaintively.

‘I don't need anything, Mother. Campbell and I are quite comfortably off, as you should know. I can't understand why you're so set on going into a home, but if Sunnyfields is where you want to go, I'll arrange it for you.'