“Well, now that you mention it,” she said, “yes. Yes. I do happen to think that it’s your fault. Sorry about that. But I really do. You insisted that he should be included. You really did. But he was far too young. That’s all there is to it.”
Matthew had seen Stuart several times in the Cumberland Bar.
They had exchanged a few words on occasion, but neither had really worked out exactly who the other was. Matthew knew that Stuart lived in Scotland Street and had a vague idea that he might have lived on the same stair as Pat. He also thought that he had seen him with that impossible woman – the one whom Cyril had once bitten in the ankle – and that strange little boy.
Somebody had said, too, that he worked in the Scottish Executive somewhere; but that was all that Matthew knew. And for his part, Stuart knew that Matthew had something to do with one of the galleries in Dundas Street, or that he was an antique dealer or something of the sort.
On that evening, though, when Matthew went into the Cumberland, Stuart was standing at the bar ordering a drink, and the circumstances were right for a longer conversation. And this was particularly so when Angus Lordie came in and suggested that they all sit at one of the tables, under which Cyril could drink his dish of beer undisturbed.
The conversation ranged widely. Matthew had seen a picture in an auction catalogue which he was thinking of buying and he wanted advice from Angus. It was a Hornel – a picture of three girls sitting in a field of flowers.
“I don’t really like it,” he said. “Flowers all over the place.”
Angus agreed. “I never put flowers in a painting,” he observed.
“Not that I’m disrespectful of flowers. Far from it. I have no wish to upset them.”
Matthew laughed. “Are you one of these people who talk to plants?”
Angus shook his head. “I have nothing to say to plants,” he replied. “Although you may be aware of Lin Yutang’s lovely essay on conditions that upset flowers.”
Stuart stared at Angus. One did not come across people like this when one worked in the Scottish Executive.
“I have a lot of time for Lin Yutang,” Angus went on. “People don’t write essays any more, or not many of them do. He wrote
beautifully about tea and flowers and subjects like that. He said that flowers were offended by loud conversations. One should talk softly in the presence of flowers.”
“Very nice,” said Matthew. “I’ll remember that.”
“And then there’s Michael von Poser’s essay, ‘Flowers and Ducks’,” Angus continued. “Another lovely bit of whimsy. But back to Hornel, Matthew. People like him, and I’d buy it. Look at how art has out-performed other investments. Imagine if one had a few Peploes about the house. Or Blackadders. She’ll be the next one.”
“I had a Vettriano,” said Matthew, thoughtfully.
Angus looked down at the floor. That had been an incident in which he had unfortunately put a rather excessive amount of paint-stripper on Matthew’s painting, obliterating all the umbrellas and people dancing on the beach. It had been most regrettable, and it was inconsiderate of Matthew – to say the least – to bring the subject up again.
The conversation drifted on in this vein, and then Angus mentioned his discussion with Big Lou that morning.
“Big Lou is pretty miserable,” he said. “I saw her this morning.”
Matthew, who had been unable to go for coffee that day, frowned. “Miserable? Why?”
“That man of hers,” said Angus. “That Eddie character.”
“Not my favourite person,” said Matthew.
“Nor mine,” said Angus. “I never liked the cut of his jib.
From the moment I met him. Well, we were right. You and I were absolutely right.”
“He’s left her?” asked Matthew.
He thought that this would be sad for Big Lou, but only in the short term.
“Not as far as I know,” said Angus. “But the penny’s dropped anyway. She realises that he’s no good. I didn’t ask her how it happened, but I suspect that she found out about the girls he gets mixed up with. You know what he’s like in that department.
But that’s not the point. The point is money.”
“This club of his?” asked Matthew.
Angus nodded. “He’s taken her for thirty-four thousand pounds.”
284
Matthew whistled. Turning to Stuart, he explained the background. “Eddie wants to set up a club. Lou has a bit of money.
It was left to her by some old farmer in Aberdeenshire or somewhere. It’s the answer to this character’s dreams.”
“I wonder if it was a loan,” asked Stuart. “Would she have any way of getting it back?”
“Fat chance!” snorted Angus. “She can kiss that money goodbye.”
Stuart was silent. He was a very fair man, and it caused him great distress to hear of dishonesty or exploitation. That this should happen under his nose, round the corner, to somebody who sounded like a good woman, angered him. It was awful, this lack of justice in the world. We believed that the state would protect us,
