Bertie looked out of the window. There was much about Glasgow that he still had to find out. “Everybody says that they’re very good,” he said. “They say that they’re the best football team in the country.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” said Lard, catching Gerry’s eye in the rear mirror. “There’s a team called Celtic. Have you heard of them?”
“Yes,” said Bertie. “But I’ve heard they’re not so good.”
Lard O’Connor said nothing. Then he began to smile. “You know, Bertie, you’re a clever wee boy. Very good sense of humour. Very good. You and I have got a brilliant future together
– I can tell.” Then he tapped Stuart on the shoulder. “What do you think, Stewie? What say you that we get together a bit more regularly. You. Me. Bertie. What do you think?”
181
They drew into the grounds of Pollok House, and drove up the drive towards the building that housed the Burrell Collection.
Lard O’Connor, sitting in the back of his green Mercedes-Benz, with Bertie at his side, was impressed by the sylvan setting.
“Crivvens!” he exclaimed. “Who would have guessed that we had this in Glasgow! Right under our noses! You’d think we were in Edinburgh, wouldn’t you?”
“You have some fine museums over here,” said Stuart. “Very fine.”
Lard listened carefully. “Fine museums, you say, Stewie? Well, that’s good to hear.”
Gerry parked the car and they walked over to the entrance to the Burrell. Guidebooks were bought – Stuart insisted on paying, as a thank-you for the finding of his car – and Lard and Gerry graciously accepted. Then they made their way into the first of the exhibition halls. There, hung on a wall, was a giant Flemish tapestry depicting a hunting scene, complete with dogs.
“Jeez,” said Lard. “Look at those dugs on that carpet.”
“It’s a tapestry, actually,” said Stuart.
Lard looked at him. “That’s what I said,” he muttered. “You trying to show me up, Stewie?”
Stuart paled. “Certainly not. I was just . . .”
“Because some people think,” Lard continued, “that just because you haven’t had much formal education, then you don’t know anything. You wouldn’t be one of those, would you, Stewie?”
“Of course not,” said Stuart. “There are a lot of educated people who know very little about the world.”
“You hear that, Gerry?” asked Lard. “Stewie here says that there lots of folk in Edinburgh who don’t know anything about anything. That’s what he said.”
Stuart laughed. “I wouldn’t go that far,” he said.
“Well, I would,” said Lard.
They moved on to look at a small series of bronze figures in 182
a glass display case. Lard signalled to Gerry and the two of them bent down to look at the display. As they did so, Lard ran his fingers over the lock which prevented the glass doors from being opened. He threw an inquiring glance at Gerry, who smiled.
“Easy,” he said. “Dead easy.”
Lard nodded and straightened up. “A very interesting little collection of . . . of . . .” he said. “Very nice taste this Wally Burrell had. Shipping man, you said he was, Stewie?”
Stuart nodded. “He was a great collector,” he said. “He kept very good records of what he bought. And he searched all over the world for objects for his collection.”
Bertie was studying his guidebook closely, checking each object they saw against its entry. They moved into the Hutton Castle Drawing Room, the room which Burrell had used as his principal place of display and which had been re-created in the gallery. They stopped in front of a French stained-glass Annunciation scene. Lard nodded to Gerry and the two men crossed themselves quickly.
“I’m glad to see that Wally Burrell was a Celtic supporter,”
said Lard.
Stuart smiled. “Sometimes the fact that one has a stained-glass representation of the Virgin does not necessarily mean . . .”
He tailed off, having intercepted a warning glance from Lard, who now moved over to a small window and appeared to be taking a close interest in the catch. “Bertie,” he called. “Come over here a wee minute.”
Bertie joined Lard at the window and looked outside. “This is a nice wee window, Bertie,” said Lard. “I wonder whether a boy your size, you even, would be able to squeeze through it?
Not now, of course. Just wondering.”
Bertie studied the window. “I think so, Mr O’Connor,” he said.
Lard smiled. “That’s good to know. Mebbe some time we could come in and have a look at this place in the evening when there are no crowds. It would be more fun that, don’t you think?
We could take a better look at Wally Burrell’s things. What do you think, Bertie?”
