said desperately. ‘Not a penny more.’ No use in buying anything cheaper, the coin had to be a rarity if it was to serve any purpose at all.
The shop-keeper flicked up his eyes with new interest.
‘Twenty-seven pounds ten,’ he said briskly.
‘Twenty-five,’ Tim repeated, regretting now that he hadn’t started bidding at twenty. ‘I’ve only got twenty-five.’
‘Twenty-five it is,’ the shop-keeper said at once, recognizing the truth when he heard it. The fellow thrust his hand into the pocket of his jeans and drew out a fistful of notes, a scattering of coins. When he had counted out the money there were only the coins left on the counter, a few shillings at most. Paint-stains on the long fingers with their grimy nails. A sudden access of sentimentality took the shopkeeper by surprise, carrying him back all at once to the far-off days of his own youth, to his stall in the street market, his poverty-stricken cronies for ever dabbing at canvases with oils, for ever tapping out their immortal novels on ancient typewriters, hacking in unquenchable optimism at great lumps of stone.
‘You can have it for twenty-two pounds ten,’ he said abruptly, astounded at his own folly. The fellow looked as if he hadn’t eaten three good meals a day since he’d left home, whenever that might have been.
Tim snatched back the two pounds ten before the shopkeeper could change his mind.
‘Thanks,’ he said with a grin. ‘You’ve saved my life. Could you put the coin in a box? Something impressive-looking?’
The man nodded and groped on the shelf behind him, restraining himself with difficulty from enquiring why his customer should be willing to spend every pound he had on a coin of a long-dead empire.
And now for the public library, Tim thought, standing on the pavement again. A book about coins, two or three books perhaps. He’d have to study them on the way to Rockley, pore over them in his room at the pub, if he was going to be able to make any kind of showing with old Mallinson.
He walked along the busy street, whistling. A dark grey suit – he knew a lad who still had a dark grey suit, hadn’t yet parted with it for a few pounds to a second-hand shop. And he knew where he could borrow a couple of near-white shirts. And a decent suitcase. Pyjamas, he remembered suddenly. Better have a pair of pyjamas. He frowned and ceased his whistling. He’d better try and lay hands on a dressing-gown too.
He glanced down at his shabby shoes. A dead giveaway those shoes. He let out a long breath of dismay. Things were getting a trifle more complicated than he’d bargained for. Who on earth did he know with a newish pair of shoes? And a second pair to wear while he lent Tim the newish ones? One of his friends might know some college kid, some lad still with the remnants of his parent-bestowed wardrobe. He couldn’t afford to be too fussy about the size.
His face took on a grim expression as he turned into the public library, envisaging the long agony of the next few days with his tortured feet squeezed into size seven or slopping awkwardly around in number tens.
Life isn’t merely a battlefield, he thought, going up to the crowded shelves. It’s a ruddy massacre.
‘I HAVE TIME for a quick cup of coffee,’ Richard Knight said, smiling at Gina. He would never do more than smile at her in front of the maid who had answered his ring at the door and who was still hovering in the hall, giving the secretary an enquiring glance. The servants at Whitegates were by now all quite certain that romance was brewing between Miss Thorson and Dr Burnett’s young partner. They viewed the developing situation without envy, with interest and pleasure. A pleasant young woman, Gina Thorson, one who had seen hard times somewhere, not a girl to give herself airs with the domestic staff – not like Mr David’s wife up at Tall Trees, who fancied herself more than somewhat in spite of the fact that she had apparently sprung from nowhere at exactly the right moment to catch Mr David and marry him.
‘Could we have some coffee, please?’ Gina smiled at the maid, making an ally of her, as was her way. ‘Dr Knight hasn’t much time.’
‘Certainly, Miss Right away.’ The girl disappeared in the direction of the kitchen quarters.
‘I’m just off on my rounds,’ Richard said. He slid an arm round Gina’s waist and dropped a light kiss on her cheek. She was aware as always of a slight distance between them. Until his ring was actually on her finger he would always treat her with a trace of reserve and formality. ‘How’s the old man?’ he asked, walking up to the great fireplace and looking down at the logs burning in the grate.
Gina followed him. ‘He seems to be doing very well. He’s getting restless, I suppose that’s a good sign.’ Richard gave a little nod. ‘Doctor Burnett was in earlier this morning, Mr Mallinson was pestering him to let him get up.’
Richard raised his head. ‘And is he going to let him?’
‘Yes, for a very short time this afternoon, Mrs Parkes said. Just to sit in a chair in his room. I don’t suppose that will satisfy him for long, though.’
The maid came in with the tray of coffee. Gina began to pour it out. ‘Kenneth Mallinson is here,’ she said. ‘Did you know?’
‘I knew he’d been sent for, I didn’t know whether or not he’d arrived.’
Gina handed him a cup. ‘He got here about ten minutes ago. I didn’t see him, Mrs Parkes told me he was here.’ She inclined her head towards the curving stairs. ‘He’s up there now, with his father. Doctor Burnett said he could have visitors, provided they didn’t stay too long or excite 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
