A Mother's Gift (36 page)

‘She doesn’t care about me, she won’t even advance me a few miserly quid.’

Robert rose to his feet and strode towards him. He was four or five inches taller than Bertram and well developed and he towered over him, making Bertram look like a spoiled little boy.

‘Come and sit down, Bertram. And you will apologise to your mother,’ he insisted.

‘No I bloody well won’t, you can’t make me,’ Bertram shouted. ‘You are not my father!’

‘No, but I have control of your money until you reach your majority and if you need an advance it is me you should come to,’ said Robert.

‘Oh yes, and you’ll give me what I need, won’t you?’ Bertram shouted in an attempt at sarcasm. ‘I don’t bloody think!’ He swayed dangerously and Robert put out a hand to steady him.

‘Don’t you touch me!’ Bertram screamed.

Maisie stood up suddenly, pushing her chair back so that it almost tipped on to the carpet and distracting Robert’s attention from Bertram.

‘G-goodnight,’ she stammered and rushed from the room. Robert looked after her, he should go after her and calm her, her nerves were so bad and she should not have had to witness this scene but he had to attend to Bertram first. As the thought ran through his mind there was a blow to his temple and he staggered, leaving go of Bertram and only just saving himself from falling to the floor. He put a hand up to his face and it came away wet with blood.

‘Bertram!’ his mother screamed, ‘what have you done?’ She ran to Robert and took his arm. ‘Come on son,
sit
down, let me look at you,’ she said.

‘That’s right, go to
him
,’ Bertram said though he was no longer shouting. In fact he sounded a little unsure of himself now. ‘Never mind me, he was threatening me.’

Mary Anne ignored him completely. She had taken the water jug from the table and was dipping a clean napkin in it to wipe the blood from Robert’s face. ‘There, lad, it’s not so bad,’ she said. ‘Bertie must have forgotten he had the glass in his hand when he hit you.’ She looked anxiously at him. ‘You feel all right, don’t you? I don’t think it will need stitches.’

‘Don’t fuss Mother, I’m all right;’ said Robert. The immediate shock of the blow was wearing off and he made to stand up.

‘Stay still for a while,’ said Mary Anne. ‘Shall I get you a drink? It may steady your nerves.’

‘No, no, I’m fine Mother.’

‘Of course he’s all right,’ said Bertram. ‘I hardly touched him. It was only because the glass broke, I bet most of that blood was from my hand, look, I’m bleeding.’ He held out his hand, showing a cut along his palm but no one was listening to him.

‘Anyway, he went for me first.’ Bertram wound a handkerchief round his hand ostentatiously.

‘I’m all right, Mother,’ Robert said again. ‘Please, go to bed, I’ll deal with Bertram. I don’t think he’ll try anything else.’

‘You’re sure?’ Mary Anne was hesitant. She glanced from one to the other.

‘Oh yes, go to bed, Mother,’ mimicked Bertram. He
had
recovered his poise now he realised that Robert hadn’t been badly hurt. Though it served him right if he had been, he thought savagely. Now he supposed he was going to have to listen to the Riot Act read to him. He turned to the sideboard again to fortify himself with another drink. Well, it had been worth it, he thought and grinned drunkenly as his back was turned. Sanctimonious sod, he should have been a vicar. Bertram chuckled at the idea.

‘Put that brandy down and sit down yourself before you fall down,’ said Robert. His contempt showed in his face and stung Bertram into retorting.

‘I’m perfectly all right!’ he said, swaying dangerously, but nevertheless he put down the bottle and sat himself. He was going to anyway, he told himself.

‘Right then, what’s this all about?’ Robert asked. ‘You haven’t been near the office for days and you’re in debt up to your ears. Don’t try to deny it, I’ve made some inquiries of my own. Now, I won’t have you pestering Mother for money, do you hear?’

Bertram attempted an ironic salute that nearly had him off his chair. ‘Yes Sir Boss,’ he said and leaned over and vomited on the floor.

It was well past midnight before Robert got to bed and then he couldn’t sleep. He lay awake going over the events of the evening. He had had practically to carry Bertram upstairs where he had flung him ceremoniously on the bed and thrown a cover over him. Let Bertram sort himself out tomorrow, he thought. His own nostrils were full of the stink of vomit and he had yet to clean up his
brother’s
mess in the dining-room, he couldn’t leave it for Daisy.

He was going to have to do something about Bertram. His need for money seemed more desperate than usual so what had he done? Got himself into debt? Gambling? Women? The possibilities were frightening. People in Teesside must know who he was; they probably allowed him credit on the strength of his inheritance which he would come into when he was twenty-one. I must put word about tomorrow, stop him getting any more credit, Robert decided.

He blamed himself to a certain extent. He had not kept a close enough eye on Bertram since their father died. But there was so much else to see to. He would have to spend more time here in Hamilton Hall than in his own house at Whitworth. As it was, a lot of his time was taken up by travelling between the two.

Well, tonight he would sleep here, his bedroom was still ready for him at all times. He went there now and made ready for bed. Once between the sheets he put the problem of Bertram to the back of his mind. His thoughts turned to Kate as they did so often these days. And Georgina.

He had a feeling of guilt every time he remembered Georgina. Had he pushed her too hard? She had been little more than a child really for all her brilliant mind. He had tried to force her to take an interest in the business, knowing she had a lot to give, would have made a highly successful businesswoman. And it was because of him she had gone away angry on the day of
her
death. Was he responsible for the crash? He feared thai he was.

He had to try to make it up to Kate, at least as much as he could. Kate. Pictures of her vivid dark blue eyes flashed into his mind. Her eyes mirrored her soul, all right, as the old saying went. Full of tragedy when she allowed herself to know that Georgina really had been killed. So full of light and happiness on a few occasions before it had happened.

Restlessly, Robert turned over on to his side and tried to empty his mind of all disturbing thoughts, he needed his sleep, he had a busy day tomorrow. Apart from all his other appointments, he had to look into whatever it was that Bertram had got himself into.

‘He’s not really a bad boy you know, Robert,’ said Mary Anne. She and Robert were sitting at breakfast. It was early, barely seven o’clock, so of course there was no sign of Bertram. In spite of Robert’s efforts of the night before, there was a stale smell in the room and he had opened the windows to try to dispel it. Though nothing was said, Mary Anne had realised what had happened.

Robert smiled at her. ‘No, Mother, of course not,’ he replied.

‘Only Matthew did spoil him, you know. He was away such a lot and when he did come home he wanted to make it up to Bertram.’ She bit her lip and gazed at her plate, remembering the main reason Matthew had been away so often.

Robert got to his feet and dropped a kiss on the top of
her
head. ‘Never mind, Mother, I’ll sort him out,’ he said. ‘Now I must run, I have a lot to do.’

After he had gone Mary Anne sat for a while over a second cup of coffee. It was true, she thought, Matthew had spoiled his son, but then he had also been over-strict with him sometimes. Matthew had been unpredictable and that was hard on a boy growing up. She sighed. At least Bertram was alive. Georgina was dead. Poor, poor Kate.

Robert put Brian Peacock on the job of finding out what Bertram had been up to. Brian was a retired detective inspector in Cleveland Police and knew the area well. He and Robert had become friends years before when Brian was investigating break-ins at the works during the war. There had been a small fire that could have become a major conflagration but for the vigilance of the security guard. There was suspected arson, documents missing from the office, foul-ups on the lines. Nothing very major but enough to suspect a fifth columnist in 1942. Robert had been home on leave at the time and had been keenly interested in the methodical way Brian had gone about discovering the culprit. Sadly, he had got away, but at least the sabotage had come to an end.

It was only a few days before Brian came up with some answers and the extent of Bertram’s debts were enough to horrify his stepbrother.

‘In hock to the hard boys,’ was how Brian described it.

‘But why did they let him get in so deep?’ asked Robert. They were in the bar of the Durham Ox, talking over a pint of Cameron’s Double Maxim and a meat pie.
Brian
took one bite of his pie and pushed his plate away.

‘I could have done the landlord here for false representation,’ he murmured. ‘Sometimes I’m sorry I’m retired from all that.’

‘Yes,’ said Robert and waited patiently for an answer to his question.

‘It’s obvious, isn’t it,’ said Brian. ‘It’s who he is, really. Don’t forget, they knew your dada well. He wasn’t a stranger to the sleazy side of Middlesbrough. Or Hartlepool for that matter. I daresay they knew what old Matthew was worth down to the last penny.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Well, when his lad comes along and shows a taste for the things they have to offer, they are going to oblige, aren’t they? They’ll hand him the reckoning late, won’t they?’

Robert had to agree with Brian’s logic. After he left him he went back to Hamilton Hall. He was fairly sure he would find Bertram there. His half-brother had been strangely reluctant to leave the Hall these last few weeks. He found Bertram still in bed. Thankfully Mary Anne was spending the day at Whitworth so Robert had nothing to stop him from bursting into the bedroom and hauling Bertram out of bed.

‘Get dressed,’ he said. ‘You and I have business to discuss and this is not the place for it. I won’t have my mother troubled by it.’

‘She’s my mother too!’ Bertram protested. ‘And anyway, I’m not going anywhere with you. I don’t have to, why should I?’

Robert sighed. ‘I’m not arguing with you. Now, get dressed, we’re going out. If you want to keep your neck intact I’d do as I say.’

‘Are you threatening me?’

‘No. But I know certain people who will and believe me you don’t want to meet them. Not at the minute.’

LIFE ON THE
wards was hard, even harder than Kate remembered it to be in the South-East Durham General Hospital. Or was it just that she was older and not as strong as she had been? No, it wasn’t, Kate told herself crossly as she walked along Escomb Road and hurried up the ramp to D Ward, which was, strangely enough, a gynaecological ward like the one she had first started work on when she was eighteen. She was tired. It had been hard to get out of bed this morning. Yesterday they had had a couple of emergencies and the ward was full to capacity;

‘I am perfectly capable of doing this,’ she said aloud. ‘I am only thirty-seven, not eighty-seven.’

‘What did you say?’ It was Penny the cadet nurse on the ward. Penny was sixteen; even younger than Georgina had been when she died. Kate was did enough, to be the mother of most of the girls who had started in the same nursing school. A few more years and she could almost have been Penny’s grandmother. She pushed that thought
to
the back of her mind. No, that was rubbish, she was exaggerating.

‘Morning, Penny,’ she said now. ‘Enjoy yourself last night?’

Penny had been to a dance at the rink the evening before with the other students on the ward who were free. Except for Kate of course. Kate had said she couldn’t make it and they hadn’t pressed her; leaving her with the dismal thought that they thought her too old for dancing anyway.

‘I met someone,’ said Penny, all excited. ‘He asked me to dance four times and then the last waltz.’

‘Did he take you home?’ asked Kate, immediately thinking of the dangers Penny could be in and that was another sign of her advanced age, she knew.

‘No, he had to catch the bus home to West Cornforth,’ said Penny. ‘But he asked me if I would be at the rink next Saturday.’

‘Well, that’s great,’ said Kate. The dance hall at Spennymoor was called the rink by everyone for it had once been a roller-skating rink and had a sprung floor, perfect for quickstepping and jitterbugging. It attracted the young people for miles around.

They went into the cloakroom and pinned on their hats and the morning’s duties began. Listening to Sister reading out the report, doing the bedpan round, making the beds, doing vaginal douches, running for Staff Nurse who was doing the dressings, then clearing the dressing trolley and washing the instruments and putting them in the steriliser. There was supposed to be a twenty-minute
break
during the morning but it was usually cut short for one reason or another. But Kate had forgotten her tiredness.

She worked on happily though. She had been at the hospital for almost six months, first as an auxiliary and then in the training school and now on the wards. And she loved it. Even on a Sunday like today when the nurses had to do all the cleaning because the ward cleaner was off-duty. So they pulled out the beds from the wall to sweep and buff the floor then pushed them back to do the middle. She liked to buff the composition floor; it gave her a sense of satisfaction to swing the buffer backwards and forwards and see the deep shine gradually emerge. Besides it was undemanding, she could think of other things while she worked.