“Unless you’ve got any better plans.”
Pat accepted his invitation and followed him into the kitchen.
She asked him if he had started his new business.
“Today,” said Bruce. “I collected the keys of the shop. And I bought some wine.” He paused. The thought had suddenly occurred to him that he might need some help from time to time. Pat might well be interested. He would not have to pay her too much and she was at least a known quantity. “You wouldn’t by any chance like a part-time job, Patty-girl?”
Pat was taken by surprise. She could imagine nothing worse than working for Bruce. “That’s kind of you,” she said. “But I think that I’m all right where I am. Matthew needs me.”
Bruce’s face took on a sneering expression. “He can’t cope, can he? What a disaster area that guy is. If it weren’t for his old man he’d go to the wall. Believe me.”
Pat remained calm. “Actually, he made a profit in the first part of the year. Eleven thousand pounds.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Eleven grand? How did he do that?”
“Buying and selling,” said Pat. “That’s what galleries do, you know.”
Bruce shrugged. “Running a gallery must be child’s play – if Matthew can make a profit. Mind you, eleven grand is not all that much these days.”
“You’ll make much more?” asked Pat.
“Sure,” said Bruce, spooning coffee into the cafetiere.
“Much more.” He turned to Pat. “You want to hear what I bought today? Well, I’ll tell you. Three cases of Chateau Petrus at just over fifty quid a bottle. Can you believe that?”
“Fifty?” exclaimed Pat.
“Yes,” said Bruce, smirking. “Remember that this is not the 228
The mention of Moray Place reminded Pat of her invitation.
Should she tell Bruce about it? Would he merely laugh at her, or would he be able to give her advice?
“Moray Place?” said Pat.
“Yes,” said Bruce. “That’s what I said. Moray Place. It’s a posh part of the New Town. Posh people live there. Toffs, you know.
They like Chateau Petrus in Moray Place.”
Pat decided to tell him about the invitation. “I’ve been invited to a nudist picnic in Moray Place Gardens,” she said. “I’m not sure whether I should go.”
Bruce stared at her in astonishment. “A nudist picnic in Moray Place Gardens? Oh, Patsy girl, that’s really rich! Classic!”
Pat looked down at the floor. She might have known that he would not take it seriously. Now he started to let out strange whoops and began to take his shirt off, as if engaged in a strip-tease. “Moray Place!” he crooned. “Nickety, nackety, naked!
Moray Place!” Dropping his shirt, he began to gyrate around the room, pausing to admire the reflection of his bare chest in the glass screen of the microwave.
Pat looked at him in disgust. “You’re ridiculous,” she said.
“You’re . . . very immature, you know.”
“
Pat left the kitchen and stormed back into her room, slamming the door behind her. Bruce completed a few more steps of his dance and then completed his coffee preparations.
Cradling his cup in his left hand, he sat down by the telephone and dialled his friend George.
“I’ve got the shop,” he said. “And it’s great. You must come and see it.”
At the other end of the line, George sounded cautious. “And the rent?” Bruce told him the figure.
“That sounds a bit steep,” said George. “For that size of place.”
“Steep, George?” exclaimed Bruce. “Do you know what
Edinburgh commercial rents are like? Because I do, and I’m telling you that’s nothing – nothing, compared with what some people have to pay. We’re quids-in with that rent, I’m telling you.”
George listened.
“And here’s another thing, George,” Bruce went on. “I’ve already got a very good deal on some stock. Have you heard of Chateau Petrus?”
“As it happens, I have,” said George. “It’s a very good French wine, isn’t it? It sells for fancy prices.”
“It certainly does,” Bruce replied. “You can pay several thousand pounds for a bottle, if the vintage is right.”
“And you’ve found some?” asked George.
