Domenica. “Highland Distillers. Then he’s on the board of the Bank of Scotland, and he’s chairman of the National Galleries of Scotland. He’s a very nice man. I’ve met him several times.
Those feet over there must be his – I’m sure of it. And it looks as if he’s in the chair!”
“And can you recognise anybody else?” asked Pat.
“I can,” whispered Angus Lordie. “Take a look at those feet halfway along on the far side. Look at the shoes.”
They all peered through the cracks to examine the shoes that had been pointed out to them. They looked ordinary enough though, and Pat and Domenica were wondering what special features had enabled Angus Lordie to identify them when there came a sound from above, a coughing, and then the sound of a gavel being struck on the surface of the table.
“I call the meeting to order,” a voice announced.
“I was right,” whispered Domenica. “I was right! I know that voice. I know it!”
“The secretary of the New Club,” she said. “That’s him!”
“Chairman,” said the voice, “would you like me to read the minutes of the last meeting?”
“No,” said another voice, from the end of the table. “I think we’ve all read them. Any matters arising?”
There was a silence. “How are things progressing with the . . . with you know what.”
“What?” asked another voice.
“You know,” someone replied. “That delicate business.”
“Oh that!” somebody said. “I had a word with the person in question and it’s all sorted out.”
“But what if it gets out?” asked a woman’s voice. “What if
“They won’t get to hear of it,” said the first voice. “And anyway, it’s just a social matter. Nobody else’s business.”
“Good,” said a woman. “You’ve handled it all very well.”
“Just as you handle everything,” said somebody.
“Thank you. But I think it’s a committee thing. I think we can all take a bit of credit for that.”
272
There was silence for a moment. Pat looked at Domenica, who smiled at her. Her expression was triumphant.
“I knew it!” said Domenica quietly. “I knew it all along!”
“Now,” said a more authoritative voice. “Now, I think we should get on with things and look at the draft mission statement. I’m not sure whether we should have a mission statement – or at least not a public one. But I suppose it would be useful to have one just for ourselves, so that we can remind ourselves of what we’re about. What does everybody else think?”
Some of the feet moved. Ankles were crossed, and then uncrossed.
“I think we should have one,” said somebody halfway down the table. As long as it can sum up our essential ethos. That would be useful.”
“And how would we sum that up?” asked a low, rather indistinct voice.
“Essentially we exist in order to . . .” said a voice which was too quiet to be heard properly, “. . . namely by ourselves.”
There were murmers of assent, and then, to the horror of those below, Cyril, who had been standing patiently beside Angus Lordie, uttered a loud bark.
For a moment all was confusion. Angus Lordie bent down to stifle Cyril, who responded by giving a loud yelp of protest. Pat drew away from the crack through which she had been staring, to bang her head rather sharply against Domenica’s forehead which was similarly moving away from the crack. But order soon re-established itself and the three of them moved quickly away from their secret vantage point.
“Time to go!” said Domenica. “Most disappointing, but I think it would be diplomatic to leave.”
They walked back down the new tunnel and soon emerged in the main railway tunnel. Then, the light of the torch getting feebler by the minute, although Domenica assured them there was enough power to see them back to Scotland Street, they began the journey home.
“Do you know what that was?’ Domenica asked. “Do you two realise what we witnessed?”
273
“A meeting,” said Pat.
“Yes,” agreed Domenica. “But that was a very special meeting.
That, you see, was the Annual General Meeting of the Edinburgh Establishment!”
