“I’m convener of the ball committee, and we’re having a bit of a battle getting enough people to come to it. We’ve hired the hotel, so it’s going to have to go ahead, but we’re a bit thin on the ground. In fact, it’s only going to be the four of us so far.”
Bruce stared at him mutely. Was this a social problem, he wondered, or was it a political one?
Todd had married Sasha when they were both in their mid-twenties. She had just completed her training as a physiotherapist and had been one of the most popular and sociable students at Queen Margaret College. At their first meeting, Todd had decided that this was the woman whom he wished to marry, and, as he said to his brother, he had never regretted the decision for one moment.
“Really?” Gordon had said. “Are you sure?”
The question had not been intended as a slight, even if it had sounded like it. It had made Todd think, though. Was his
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wife as attractive and compelling a personality to others as she was to him? People had different tastes, and it might be that there were those who found her too . . . well, what could they possibly object to in her? Sasha had opinions, of course, but that was far better than being a passive, reflective sort.
Of course there was jealousy to be taken into account. Sasha was undoubtedly attractive, with her blonde hair in bouffant style and her trouser suits. She never looked anything but well turned-out, and this could attract envy. That is the problem with this country, thought Todd. We sneer at people who do well, and who want to make something of their lives. Look at the remarks which a certain sort of person makes about Bearsden. What is wrong with living in Bearsden, or, indeed, with having the sort of attitudes that go with living in Bearsden?
Nothing.
The people who ridicule people like us, thought Todd, are making up for their own failure. And there are plenty of people
– Labour politicians, for example – who
As he pondered these matters of political philosophy, Sasha picked up the telephone at the other end.
“Honey bunch?” she asked.
“Sugar,” replied Todd.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes. I’m sitting here in my office thinking. Things are a bit quiet. Gordon is in London looking at a building down there, and nothing much is happening in the office.”
“Come home, then.”
“I can’t. I can’t leave the office in the hands of the staff. On which subject, that young man, Bruce Anderson. You’ve met him.”
“The one in your office?” said Sasha. “The good-looking one?”
Todd paused, tripped up by the taboo that prevents one man from commenting, except adversely, on the looks of another. You couldn’t say it – you just couldn’t.
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“Hah!” he said. “I suppose the girls might say that. I don’t know about these things.”
“He is rather dishy,” said Sasha. “Dark hair. Lovely shoulders.
Well-shaped . . .”
Todd felt slightly irritated. “Well-shaped what?” he asked.
“He’s got a well-shaped what?”
“Nothing. I just said well-shaped.
Todd moved the conversation on. “Anyway, that’s the one.
I’ve asked him about the ball. He says that he can come. He’ll be happy to dance with Lizzie.”
“That’s wonderful! Lizzie met him once at that Christmas do and I think he made a bit of an impression on her. Good.”
Todd sighed. “But there’s still this wretched problem with the tickets. Has anybody else said that they can come?”
“No,” said Sasha. “I phoned around again this morning. A lot of people are tied up in one way or another that weekend. Archie and Molly said that they might think about it, but I hear he’s just been carted off to hospital again and so that’s them out.
Perhaps we should call it off.”
“No we won’t,” said Todd firmly. “That’s the last thing – the last thing – we’ll do. It would be a total admission of failure.
We have the prizes for the tombola and the band booked.
