snakeskin, or so he told himself as he watched her arranging herself demurely on the chair opposite him. He tried not to make his stare too obvious – he was, after all, striving for an effect of coolness and distance – but he took in the details nonetheless.
Gordon glanced at his son, but only briefly. He was smiling at Janis in a way which Matthew thought revealed just how smitten he was. This was not his guarded, cautious father; this was a man in thrall to another.
Janis commented on the view of the Castle. “That castle has so many moods,” she said. “But it’s always there, isn’t it?”
Matthew looked at her, resisting the sudden temptation to laugh. What an absurd thing to say. Of course the Castle was always there. What did she expect?
“Yes,” he said. “It would be odd to wake up one morning and discover that the Castle wasn’t there any more. I wonder how long it would take before people noticed.”
Gordon turned slightly and looked at his son, as if he had heard something slightly disagreeable. Then he turned back to
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face Janis. “Yes, it’s a marvellous view, isn’t it? Edinburgh at its best.”
No, thought Matthew. Edinburgh is far more than that. The Castle was the cliche; nothing more.
“I don’t really like the Castle,” he said airily. “I wouldn’t mind if they replaced it.”
Gordon made a sound which might have been a laugh.
“Replaced it with what?”
“Oh, one of these large stores,” said Matthew. “The sort that you get in Princes Street. A chain store of some sort. People could park on the Esplanade and then go shopping inside.”
Janis was watching Matthew as he spoke. “I’m not sure . . .”
“You’d approve of that, Dad,” Matthew interrupted. “You could invest in it.”
Gordon drummed his fingers on the low table in front of him. “Matthew runs a gallery,” he said to Janis. “You should drop in and see it sometime.”
Janis looked at Matthew and smiled, as if waiting for the invitation.
“Of course,” said Matthew. “Sometime.”
“Thank you,” said Janis. “I like art.”
“Oh?” said Matthew. “Any particular painters? Jack Vettriano?”
Gordon turned to his son. “Why do you say that?” he asked.
“Why do you mention Vettriano?”
Matthew eye’s did not meet his father’s gaze. He continued to look at Janis. “Vettriano’s very popular. Lots of people like his work.”
“But you don’t?” asked his father. “I take it you don’t?”
Matthew looked up at the ceiling, but said nothing.
Gordon addressed Janis. “You see, there’s an awful lot of snob-bery in the art world. Look at the people who win that prize, what’s it called – the Turner. Pretentious rubbish. Empty rooms.
Piles of rocks. That sort of thing. And then along comes a man who can actually paint and, oh dear me, they don’t like that.
That’s what’s happened to Vettriano. I certainly like him.”
Janis nodded politely. “I’m sure he’s very good,” she said.
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“Anyway,” said Gordon, “it’s time for dinner.” He shot a glance at Matthew, who had risen to his feet with alacrity.
They made their way into the dining room and took their seats under a picture of a highly-plumaged Victorian worthy.
“Such beautiful portraits,” said Janis brightly, as she unfolded her table napkin.
“In their own grim way, perhaps,” said Matthew. “They don’t look terribly light-hearted, do they?”
“Maybe they weren’t,” said Gordon. “The Victorians were serious people.”
“Undoubtedly,” said Matthew. “But I wouldn’t care to sit underneath one of these scowling old horrors for too long.”
Gordon ignored this remark. “Busy today?” he asked Janis.
“Yes,” she said. “We ran out of roses by midday. A good sign.”
“Oh?” said Matthew. “Of what?”
Janis took a sip of water. “Oh, that romance is in the air.”
Matthew saw his father react to this. He saw him look down and finger the edge of his plate, as if slightly embarrassed, but pleased, by what Janis had said. And she had looked at him as she spoke, Matthew noted. How corny! How . . . well, there was a certain distastefulness to the whole performance – late-flowering love, so inappropriate for these two middle-aged people, although she was far younger than he was, hardly middle-aged. What was she? Late thirties? Who did she think she was? A coquettish twenty-year-old on a first date? And did his
