The Kissing Gate Read online

  ‘Vicar, we want to thank you … comfort … consolation … we are so glad we came. Your organization of this whole trip has been wonderful.’

  As they identified their bus and made their way towards it, the reason for this visit seemed to be tidied away and talk turned towards the evening’s meal.

  Gussie said quietly, ‘Did it strike you that Selway’s opening words were almost the same as Father Martin’s?’

  ‘Open wide the gates of glory,’ Ned said pensively. ‘A triumph instead of a terrible defeat.’

  ‘I wish he’d done the whole thing – the trumpets sounding. I just loved that.’ Jannie grinned. ‘And if a dog had wandered in too … Can you see now why it doesn’t matter how often we do this sort of thing? The words can be said a hundred thousand times and still be comforting!’

  She sighed and turned to another subject. ‘What I don’t understand is why they didn’t get in touch with us immediately. The McKinnons. About the message from Mum and Dad.’

  Ned nodded. ‘Don’t know. He was probably too ill after the operation. Then he’d have all the business of the board to sort out.’

  ‘Yes, it must have been a nightmare. There were so many of them,’ Jannie said. ‘And they were more than fellow Trustees. They were friends! Mitch and that nice man from the Bronx, and the representative from the City Museum … Sorry. It’s just that sometimes it hits home.’

  ‘The West Coast members weren’t there, apparently,’ Ned said.

  ‘How do you know that?’ Gussie asked.

  ‘He told me. Mack. On the phone.’

  Gussie might have followed this up but as they approached the bus, a man in a chauffeur’s uniform touched her arm.

  ‘Excuse me, miss. Are you the Briscoe family?’

  Gussie said, surprised, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Mr McKinnon has sent the car for you. He hopes you will join him for lunch.’

  For a moment Gussie was tempted to see this as a cavalier act, but Jannie chipped in eagerly, ‘Well. What could be better? Let me just tell Sheila and May.’

  She looked at Ned with raised brows and after a moment’s hesitation he nodded. He did not enjoy being bulldozed like this but he could see it was the most practical arrangement. It was going to be a difficult meeting however it was arranged, but this way it would be quickly over. They were going home the day after tomorrow. He remembered Selway’s voice echoing around the wasteland where formerly had stood a miracle of design and engineering; he tried to picture the gates of glory and could see only one of the many kissing gates on a footpath near Zennor. He smiled at Gussie. That would do. That would do wonderfully for Mark and Kate Briscoe.

  Seven

  SO THE THIRD farewell took place that afternoon.

  The McKinnons lived in an apartment overlooking Central Park. The chauffeur would have dropped them at the wide canopied entrance where a suitably grand porter awaited, but they opted to stay in the car and let him take them into the underground car park and then up in the service elevator.

  Perhaps it was his pristine uniform and his expertise with New York traffic, but they did not find him as friendly as most New Yorkers until they were actually in the elevator. Then he said, not looking at them, ‘I – we – are so sorry for your loss.’

  The formal phrase sounded completely sincere and was too much for Jannie. She said, ‘That is so kind,’ then put her hands to her face. The chauffeur cleared his throat. Gussie held her sister as usual.

  Ned said, ‘Yes. Most kind. Everyone … most kind.’ He too cleared his throat. ‘The service … it was quite a wonderful experience. Surprisingly.’ Everyone nodded, even the chauffeur. The elevator slowed and stopped smoothly. Ned said, ‘We’re Gussie, Jannie and Ned.’ He indicated the others in turn. ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Michael.’ The man met Ned’s eyes. ‘My wife looks after the domestic side of things and I see to transport. She’s Emily.’ The doors slid open on to a wide foyer and there was Mack, leaning on a stick, his free hand held out in a gesture of welcome. They all recognized him and realized they had met him when he had come to England after he had joined the board. They saw, too, that he had aged shockingly.

  Ned went forward to take the outstretched hand and was immediately drawn into an embrace. Gussie followed and then Jannie. Mack held her away and looked at her carefully.

  ‘You have a Scandinavian look, Jannie. That comes from your mother, of course. But there is something … Gussie has it too. The Briscoe eyes? I don’t know.’ He sighed sharply and turned towards the solid door flanked by flowers. He nodded at one of the enormous arrangements. ‘These keep coming, you know. People are kind.’ Michael moved ahead of him and held the door open. ‘Michael found you, then? We were worried you would be caught up in some kind of tour of the site. Marion suggested Michael ought to come and try to rescue you.’ He glanced at Gussie. ‘Marion is my wife. She is the one who actually heard the telephone message.’ He cleared his throat. ‘At the time.’

  Gussie began to feel ashamed that they had thought the McKinnons high-handed and even insensitive. She said quickly, ‘It must have been terrible, you in hospital and – and – everything.’

  They were ushered into an enormous space, rather like one of the galleries in St Ives where the main reason for the walls was that they provided hanging space for art. The whole area was lit by a semicircle of windows providing breathtaking views of Manhattan.

  Before they could respond to these surroundings, a wheelchair bowled around one of the walls. It contained a tiny woman, Dresden-delicate, almost frail until she was near enough for them all to see her face.

  She went into free wheel and held out her hands. ‘Welcome, welcome. I’m Marion. I couldn’t manage the trip to England when Mack came over to meet all of you so this is a treat for me. Thank you for changing your plans and coming here like this. It could be a sad occasion but … it’s not going to be. Is it?’

  She looked round at them challengingly and they all found they could smile back at her. She led them round one of the many corners of the room to where a table was laden with crockery and another small – though not frail – woman was already loading a plate with seafood. Michael stood by her, took the plate, smiled at the others as they came to the table.

  ‘This is my wife, Emily. She and Kate – Mrs Briscoe – were buddies.’

  Marion smiled up at Gussie. ‘They were Mark and Kate to everyone here, as you know. We really only knew them after Mitch retired from the chair but – ’ she paused and then said strongly – ‘we loved them.’

  Gussie cleared her throat. ‘Dad always wants to talk about local things and Mum talks about … us.’ She heard her own words and corrected herself. ‘I mean, they did.’ She glanced at Jannie, who was nodding, her face still blotched with tears.

  Mack too cleared his throat. ‘Let’s keep them in the present tense, Gussie. They’re still with us. That’s a fact.’

  Jannie beamed at him. ‘That’s lovely. Thank you. And it’s great that you all knew them. We didn’t realize that. We sort of grew up with Mitch.’ She transferred her beaming smile to Emily. ‘I bet Mum loved talking food with you, didn’t she?’

  ‘Sure she did.’ Emily beamed back. ‘She’d come into the kitchen to see what was cooking. Said she had to get the appropriate juices ready.’

  Jannie was surprised. ‘We always had water. She said juice spoiled the taste of the food.’

  Emily laughed unrestrainedly. ‘She meant her digestive juices, honey! Gee, no wonder she loves you three. You’re something else!’

  They all laughed and then crowded round the table with their plates. Quite suddenly, for the first time since their arrival in New York, the siblings were at ease. Even Ned, who had been against this meeting, relaxed enough to admire the room and its amazing contents. When the girls took their plates to the window and tried to identify various landmarks, he wandered off around the apparently random walls and stopped, grinning, in front of a Jackson Pollock hanging next to
a small, early Picasso. Mack’s voice came from behind him.

  ‘Does it offend you? Mixing the two? We keep changing the hanging spaces so that they can be friendly together. But these two … it tickled Marion. Michael thinks it’s sacrilege.’

  Ned grinned at him. ‘Surely it’s not that random? There’s a link – they were both innovators.’

  ‘Sure, that’s true.’

  They moved on to a Constable. Then a Hockney. They talked of Lowry and the Newlyn School. Ned felt more comfortable than he had since his parents died.

  Mack said suddenly, ‘I’m off to California tomorrow. Did I mention it on the phone?’

  ‘Yes. To do with the Trust?’

  ‘The West Coast board members could not attend the annual meeting. They wanted to postpone until I was out of hospital but your parents were already here and Mitch knew how to handle the whole thing – better than I did, in fact.’

  There was a silence. Ned swallowed. ‘Perhaps the point is … similar to your choice of picture positioning.’ He gave Mack a wry down-turned smile. ‘Sometimes the mismatch turns out to be just right.’

  Mack was silent, thinking about it. Then he sighed and shook his head. ‘I can’t see it at the moment, Ned. All I can do is to try to put us back on track. We were meeting, as you know, to discuss your father’s latest contribution to the Trust.’

  Ned nodded. He had not thought of an agenda; but it was true that Mark Briscoe was dominating the work owned by the Trust.

  Mack cleared his throat. ‘That’s why I’m going to California, Ned. To see your father.’ He moved along to another Hockney; one of the swimming pool scenes. ‘Mark had offered to talk to him personally. I don’t know whether it would have worked. Anyway, he didn’t turn up. He likes the warmth of the West Coast. Well, you know all this.’

  Ned was stunned. ‘No. I did not. Mum and Dad didn’t talk a lot about what was happening commercially. They talked about what Dad was actually working on. But then, they wanted to know about Gussie’s latest project and how Jannie was doing at Exeter. And Dad was always interested in my research work. Always …’ He heard his own voice breaking up.

  ‘Yes. Sure. I was forgetting. Mark Briscoe was your dad. I guess Victor Gould gave up that role a long time ago.’

  Ned managed to change another cough into a snort. ‘When I was six years old, actually.’

  ‘Yes. Sure.’ Mack nodded. ‘It was just that … Victor offered us a set of paintings for a song. Then made a huge fuss about some small contractual thing and withdrew the offer.’ He glanced sideways. ‘He can be awkward.’

  ‘Yes.’ Ned recalled his mother’s heartbreak all those years ago. ‘Yes, you could say that.’

  Mack said, ‘Let’s go and get another drink.’ He moved back, then said suddenly, ‘Any chance of you coming with me tomorrow, Ned? You might be able to swing the whole deal.’

  Ned stopped in his tracks. He could remember his mother saying when the Trust first approached them about the sculpture for the cathedral, ‘We have to be careful, Mark. They are businessmen first, art collectors second.’

  ‘Is this what it is all about?’ he asked.

  Mack did not pretend. ‘Getting you on our side?’ He gave a small smile. ‘I guess we didn’t want to lose our Briscoe contacts. And the fact that you are Victor’s son—’

  ‘I never want to see him again,’ Ned interrupted. ‘He dumped my mother and me, and if it hadn’t been for Mark Briscoe … No. I can’t come with you to the West Coast to kowtow to my father. We’re going back to England the day after tomorrow, anyway. Flight is booked.’

  He walked over to where Jannie and Gussie were laughing with Marion.

  ‘We must go, girls. These people need to pack.’

  Marion looked up from her wheelchair. Mack started to speak and she said quietly, ‘Leave it, darling. It wasn’t that good an idea.’ She reached for Ned’s hand. ‘It was mine. My idea. I thought you might want a chance to take over from Mark and Kate. Forgive me.’ She shook the hand gently. ‘Don’t go off in a huff, Ned.’

  Ned forced himself to return the pressure of her hand. ‘Sorry. It’s all so surprising.’ He managed a smile. ‘Listen, would you mind very much if we took the tape with us?’

  ‘We assumed you would. It’s such a private thing.’ She looked round at them. ‘I heard it … the first time. But I was sobbing and yelling. I haven’t listened again. We haven’t listened to it. Let us know when we may. We have our copy.’

  There was a silence, then Gussie said hoarsely, ‘Thank you. We had the wrong idea. We thought you might want to – to – use it in some way. For the work of the Trust. We’re sorry. Really sorry.’

  Jannie said earnestly, ‘It is a private thing, you’re right. Yet how can it be private when the whole world saw it happening? People we’ve never seen have called on us back home and talked to us as if it has happened to them – and in a way it has.’

  Ned said nothing. He too was ashamed of his knee-jerk reaction to the McKinnons. But the girls did not yet know that Mack had wanted him to see Victor. Ned stood between them and watched Michael and Emily wheel away the table of food. It was all so smooth, so engineered.

  It was also the signal for their departure. Gussie accepted the neatly wrapped package containing the last words from their parents. It was so ordinary yet its significance was beyond extraordinary. Technology had given them a symbol that might well prove impossible to bear.

  They parted on good terms. The lift dropped to the basement in about six seconds and Michael held the car door open for them. They got into a current of yellow cabs and ground their way to Times Square and then past the familiar Howard Johnson restaurant to the hotel.

  Michael’s parting words were, ‘They’re good people.’ And then, ‘They loved your parents.’

  In the elevator Jannie said suddenly, ‘They had no flipping right to love our parents!’

  Ned and Gussie both smiled at her childish indignation, but they nodded.

  Gussie said, ‘If only it had been Mitch.’

  ‘Yes, but we would have cried a lot. And Mum used to say that crying just gives you a headache,’ Ned reminded her.

  ‘It would have been worth a headache.’

  The lift doors opened, they slid the key-card into the lock, trooped inside, sat on the first bed and held hands and waited. Nothing happened.

  Jannie groaned. ‘Just when we could do with it there’s not a tear between us!’

  Then they began to laugh. Gussie fished in her bag and put the square gift-wrapped tape on the bedside table. They stared at it.

  Jannie whispered, ‘Oh God … oh God …’

  They bowed their heads. Then Ned fed the disc into the player and clicked switches. When the dear familiar voice of Mark Briscoe came into the anonymous, flower-filled room, they lifted their heads, shocked at its normal, conversational tone. The girls gasped, drawing in air as if they had been under water for too long. Ned stared wide-eyed at the bank of technology, waiting for a picture to appear on the black screen of the television. He blinked hard to disperse the absurd expectation, then took Jannie’s outstretched hand, put it on his knee and sandwiched Gussie’s hand with his own.

  Mark said, ‘Hope you get this, loves. You’ll understand why, so no need to explain. Mum thought it would be a good idea to send you a message.’

  Kate’s voice overrode her husband’s. ‘It was his idea. I’m worried it might make the future worse instead of better!’

  ‘It won’t. You need to know that. You need to know that we’re not taking all the fun with us. We’re leaving it for you. That’s a promise.’ A pause. ‘Strange, I can’t think of anything to say. It’s as if just by holding the phone we are linked. I’ll hand you to Mum for a moment.’

  Kate’s voice was louder than Mark’s. She sounded very strong. ‘It’s been wonderful knowing the three of you. Sorry I kept asking you about your life before me, Gussie. I wanted to get the complete picture. I wasn’t lucky with girl friends
until you came along. Thank you for loving me, for loving Jan, for loving Ned, for loving your father … for all your loving. Keep it up, it’s a great gift. You shared it with me.’ Her voice stopped abruptly and Mark’s took over.

  ‘We love you – you know that. Jannie is going to be something wonderful. Ned and Gus, you might need to look at other options. Not sure. You’ll know the right ones when they come along.’ They heard him draw a breath, and as background noise crescendoed, he said quickly, ‘We’ve decided to chuck my legs out first and follow straight after, darlings. Don’t want to wait for the final curtain. Better to leave while we’re ahead!’ There was a gasping sort of laugh and then their voices in unison: ‘Bye! Just for a little while! Bye!’ And they replaced the receiver.

  Their children stared, waiting for more. It was too brief.

  Jannie broke the silence. ‘There was nothing else to say.’ She was not weeping.

  Ned nodded, then shook his head and actually smiled. ‘So typical. So bloody typical.’

  Gussie retrieved her hand and patted the other two. ‘That’s what makes it wonderful. It’s so typical, so normal. I bet Mum put down the telephone and then said, “Let’s get on with it!”’

  Jannie stopped staring at the player and looked at Gussie. ‘You’re right. I can almost hear her saying it!’ She asked, ‘Is this what an anticlimax is? Did we expect them to come up with some gem of wisdom? Or offer to appear at midnight when it’s a full moon?’

  Gussie gave a little smile. ‘It wasn’t the time for joking. So, no, that’s not what we expected. We got them, just as they were. Our parents. That’s good enough for us. Yes?’

  After that, everything seemed easier. Dinner at the Florabunda had its moments. Several of the party were in obvious distress; one man did not speak or eat and Mrs Selway sat by him talking in a low voice now and then. Sheila and May seemed happy with the service and their shared lunch afterwards.