while the rest of the world went to work. And if this was an expensive arrangement – for Gordon – then it was an expense which he could easily afford to bear.
Matthew had accepted his father’s offer simply because it was the only one on hand. He understood that he was not a good businessman, but one had to do something, and running the gallery had proved rather more interesting than he had anticipated. This interest had made up for the discomfort that he felt over his father’s writing him off. It is not easy to accept another’s low opinion of oneself, and there were times when Matthew longed to show his father that he was made of sterner and more successful stuff. The problem, though, was that if 148
he tried to do this, he thought it highly likely that he would fail.
Now Matthew was preparing for an evening with his father.
Gordon had called in at the gallery unannounced and invited his son to dinner to meet his new friend, Janis, who owned a flower shop. As he stood before the mirror and tied his tie, Matthew thought of what he might say to this woman, whose motives were, in his view, perfectly clear. It would be good to indicate to her that he understood exactly what was going on, and that no gold-digger could fool him. But how to do this?
One could not say anything direct, especially since the dinner was taking place at the New Club – where one could hardly speak directly about anything – and it would be necessary then to give a mere indication – to allow her to read between the lines. But would a woman like that – a “challenged blonde” as Matthew imagined her – be able to read between these lines?
Some such people had difficulty enough in reading the lines themselves, let alone what lay between them. “She’ll move her lips when she reads the menu,” Matthew thought, and smiled at himself in the mirror. Like this, he thought, and he mouthed the word
Matthew stared into the mirror at the tie he had chosen. It had linked red squares on a blue background. It was wrong. He reached for another one, a blue one with a slight jagged pattern in the background. These jagged lines looked vaguely like lightning, Matthew thought. That would be appropriate. If Janis looked at his tie she would receive a subliminal message: back off. Yes, he thought; that would be just the right note to strike.
He would be distant and cool, which would send to her exactly the message he wanted to convey:
Satisfied with his appearance, he moved away from the mirror and fetched his coat from the hall. Matthew lived in India Street, in a flat bought for him by his father, and the walk up to Princes Street and the New Club would take no more than fifteen minutes. As he left the front door and made his way up the hill, he realised that it was not going to be easy to be distant and
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cool. Indeed, he already felt hot and edgy. It was not going to be simple: this woman is taking my father away from me, he thought. It’s as simple as that. She’s taking him away from me
– and he’s mine.
He stopped at a corner and composed himself, telling himself that it did not mean that much to him. How often did he see his father? Less than once a month, and yet here he was persuading himself that he felt possessive. I shall be mature about this, he told himself. I shall see the whole thing in perspective.
Janis is a passing phase – an entertainment. She was no more than that. And as a passing phase she could be tolerated.
He arrived at the New Club, making his way up the sombre, cavernous staircase that led into the lobby. Everything was very quiet and measured – a world away from the bustle outside, and the chewing-gum-encrusted mess that had been made of Princes Street. As Matthew stood at the window of the drawing room, looking out across the dark of the gardens to the illuminated rock of the Castle, he thought for a moment of how his father would be feeling about this meeting. He would be feeling anxious, no doubt, because it was always awkward for a parent to introduce a lover to a child. It was all wrong. Parents did not have lovers as far as their children were concerned.
Matthew turned round. His father was approaching him from the doorway, walking round the imposing leather sofas that stood between his son and himself. They shook hands.
“Janis will be through in a moment,” said Gordon. He dabbed at his nose. “Powdering . . . you know.”
It was intended to be a moment of shared understanding between men, but it did not set Matthew at his ease. He did not smile.
Gordon looked at his son, and frowned. “This is important to me, Matthew,” he said, his voice lowered. “I’m . . . I’m very fond of Janis, you know. Very fond.”
Matthew closed his eyes, and swallowed.
“You’re going to be all right about this?” his father continued.
“Of course,” said Matthew, quietly. “Why should I not be all right about this?”
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Gordon tried to hold his son’s gaze, but Matthew looked away, down to the floor.
“You’re all tensed up,” said Gordon. “Look at yourself. All tensed up. She’s not going to bite you, you know.”
“I never said . . .”
Gordon raised a hand. “Here she is.”
Matthew felt the satisfaction that comes with knowing that one has been right about somebody, at least in anticipating appearance. He had imagined Janis to be blonde, and she was certainly that. He had thought of her as petite, and again he was right.
It was true that he had not envisaged her mock endangered-species shoes, but that was simply because when picturing her he had not got as far as the feet. Had he done so, then he would perhaps have thought of faux
