Pat stared at Angus, fascinated. He had three gold teeth, she noticed, one of which was an incisor. She had never seen this before.
Domenica noticed the direction of her gaze. “Yes,” she said loudly. “Extraordinary, isn’t it? And do you know, that dog of his has a gold tooth too!”
“Why not?” laughed Angus.
After a few minutes of coruscating conversation with Angus Lordie, Domenica was distracted by another guest. This left Pat standing with Angus Lordie, who looked at her with frank interest.
“You must forgive me for being so direct,” he said, “but I really feel that I have to ask you exactly who you are and what you do. It’s so much quicker if one asks these things right at the beginning, rather than finding them out with a whole series of indirect questions. Don’t you agree?”
Pat did agree. She had observed how people asked each other questions which might elicit desired information but which were ostensibly about something else. What was the point of asking somebody whether they had been busy recently when what one wanted to know was exactly what they did? And yet, now that she had been asked this herself, how should she answer? It seemed so lame, so self-indulgent, to say that one was on one’s
But then there was a case for truthfulness – one might always tell the truth if in an absolute corner, Bruce had once remarked.
“I work in a gallery,” she said with as much firmness as she could manage, “and I’m on my second gap year.”
She noticed that Angus Lordie did not seem surprised by either of these answers.
“How very interesting,” he said. “I’m a portrait painter myself.
And I’ve done my time in galleries too.”
Pat found herself listening to him very carefully. His voice was rich and plummy, deeper than that which one might have expected from an ascetic-looking man. It had, too, a quality which she found fascinating – a tone of sincerity, as if every word uttered was felt at some deep level.
She asked him about his work. Did he paint just portraits, or did he do other things too?
“Just portraits,” he said, the gold teeth flashing as he spoke.
“I suspect that I’ve forgotten how to paint mere things. So it’s just portraits. I’ll do anybody.”
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“How do you choose?” she asked.
Angus Lordie smiled. “I don’t choose,” he replied. “That’s not the way it works. They choose me. People who want their children painted, or their wives or husbands, or chairmen for that matter. And I sit there and do my best to make my subjects look impressive or even vaguely presentable. I try to discern the sitter’s character, and then see if I can get that down on canvas.”
“Who do you like doing best?” Pat enquired.
Angus Lordie took a sip of his wine before he answered.
“I can tell you who I don’t particularly like doing,” he said.
“Politicians. They’re so tremendously pushy and self-important for the most part. With some exceptions, of course. I’d like to do John Swinney, because he strikes me as a nice enough man.
And David Steel too. I like him. But nobody has asked me to do either of these yet. Mind you, why don’t you ask me who I like doing absolutely least of all?”
“Well?” said Pat. “Who is that?”
“Moderators of the obscure Wee Free churches,” said Angus Lordie, shuddering slightly as he spoke. “They are not my favourite subjects. Oh no!”
“Why?” asked Pat. “What’s wrong with them?”
Angus Lordie cast his eyes up to the ceiling. “Those particular churches take a very, how shall we put it? – a very restricted view of the world. Religion can be full of joy and affirmation, but these characters . . .” He shuddered. “There used to be a wonderful Afrikaans word to describe the position of rigid ideologues in the Dutch Reformed Church –
Frowns. Disapproval.”
“But why do you paint them, then?” asked Pat.
“Well, I don’t make a habit of painting them,” answered Angus Lordie. “I’ve just finished painting my first one now. I’d love to paint a resolved Buddhist face or a flashy Catholic monsignor with a taste for the pleasures of the table, but no. These people – the Portrait Gallery people – are having an exhibition later in the year of portraits of religious figures. It’s called Figures of
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Faith, or something like that. And I’ve drawn the short straw. I’ve got the Wee Free Reformed Presbyterian Church (Discontinued).”
Pat laughed. “What a name!”
“Yes,” said Angus Lordie. “These Free Presbyterians are always having rows and schisms. Well, this
