Domenica had just opened her mouth to speak when the door-bell sounded. She looked towards the door with evident irritation. She had been on the point of responding to the extraordinary disclosure that Pat had made of her invitation to a nudist picnic in Moray Place Gardens, and now, with a visitor, her comments on that would have to be delayed.
“Nobody is expected,” she muttered, as she rose to go to the door. “Please stay. We must discuss that invitation.”
As she approached the door a loud bark could be heard outside. “Angus,” Domenica said. “Announced by Cyril.”
She opened the door. Angus Lordie, wearing a white linen jacket and with a red bandana tied round his neck, was standing on the doorstep, his dog Cyril sitting at his feet. Cyril looked up at Domenica and smiled, exposing the single gold tooth in his lower jaw.
“Well,” said Domenica. “This is a rare pleasure. Is this a visit from Cyril, with you in attendance, Angus, or a visit by you, with Cyril in attendance?”
“The latter,” said Angus. “At least from my point of view. It’s possible, of course, that the canine point of view on the matter is different.”
He came in and was led through to Domenica’s study, where he greeted Pat warmly. Cyril licked Pat’s hand and then lay down at her feet, watching her through half-closed eyes. She thought that he winked at her, but she could not be sure. There was something deeply disconcerting about Cyril, but it was difficult to say exactly what it was. While Domenica fetched Angus a drink, Angus engaged Pat in conversation.
“The reason why I’m here,” he said, “is artistic frustration.
I’ve just been working on a portrait of an Edinburgh financier. I mustn’t give you his name, but suffice it to say that his expression speaks of one thing, and one thing alone – money.
But that, oddly enough, is a difficult thing for me to get across on canvas. You see it in the flesh, but how to capture it in oils?” He paused. “Can you tell when somebody is rich, Pat?
Can you tell it just by looking at them?”
“I can,” said Domenica, as she came back into the room. “I find it easy enough. The signals are usually there.”
“Such as?” asked Angus.
“Self-assurance,” said Domenica, handing him a glass of wine.
“People with money carry themselves in a different way from the rest of us. They have a certain confidence that comes with having money in the bank. A certain languor, perhaps.”
192
“And their clothes?” suggested Pat.
“Look at their shoes,” said Domenica. “The expression well-heeled says it all. Expensive shoes have that look about them.”
She turned to Angus and smiled. “Speaking of clothing, Angus,”
she said. “Pat has had a very interesting invitation. Do tell our visitor about it, Pat.”
Pat was not sure whether she wanted to discuss Peter’s invitation with Angus, but could hardly refuse now. “I’ve been invited to a nudist picnic,” she said quietly.
Angus stared at her. “And are you going to go?” he asked.
Pat shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. I’m not sure whether . . .”
Domenica interrupted. “It’s not just any nudist picnic, Angus,” she said. “It’s to be held in Moray Place Gardens.
Would you believe that, Angus? Isn’t that rich? Can you believe it?”
Angus did not appear to be surprised. “Of course I can,” he said. “Moray Place has quite a few of them.”
“Who?” Domenica demanded.
“Nudists,” said Angus. “Moray Place may think itself very grand. It may be a frightfully smart address. But there are more nudists living there than any other part of the New Town! It’s always been like that. They meet in Lord Moray’s Pleasure Grounds.”
Domenica gave a snort of disbelief. “I find that very difficult to swallow, Angus. Nudists in Moray Place? All those Georgian drawing rooms and grand dinner parties. Nudists? Certainly not!”
Angus raised an eyebrow. “Of course I’m not saying that everybody in Moray Place goes in for naturism, but there are some of them who do. I believe they have some sort of association, the Moray Place Nudists’ Association. It doesn’t advertise, of course, but that’s because it’s Moray Place and advertising would be a bit, well, a bit beneath them.”
For a moment there was silence. Then Domenica turned to Pat. “You do know, don’t you, to take whatever Angus says
Pat said nothing. It seemed unlikely that there would be any nudists at all in Edinburgh, given the temperature for most of the year, but perhaps there might be in summer, when it could get reasonably warm, sometimes. Perhaps that brought them out. And, of course, Peter had declared himself to be one, and he had seemed to be serious when he issued the invitation.
Angus frowned. “You may not believe me, my dear Pat, but this old trout here,” and at this he gestured
