too.
It appeared to work. There was a metallic sound in the hall on the other side, and then the door was opened entirely. Lard stood there, a great Munro of a man, wearing a collarless shirt, a pair of shapeless black trousers and scuffed leather slippers. In spite of his efforts not to stare, Matthew could not help but gaze
in wonderment at the substantial Glaswegian, his stomach hanging over the leather belt that struggled to hold up his trousers.
“Now then, Stewie,” said Lard, as he led them through to the sitting room at the back of the house. “How’s my friend, wee Bertie? He’s a great wee fellow that one, sure he is. Wasted over in Edinburgh. You should send him over here to get a good education. Hutchie’s, or somewhere like that. I could have a word with them and make sure they found a place for him.”
“That’s very kind of you, Lard,” said Stuart. “But he’s very happy where he is.”
“Pity,” said Lard. “The problem with Edinburgh is attitude, know what I mean? All those airs and graces like. You don’t want wee Bertie growing up to be like you fellows, Stewie, do you?”
“Hah!” said Stuart. “That’s very funny, Lard!”
Lard turned round. “It wisnae meant to be funny, Stewie.”
“Well, maybe not,” said Stuart. “But the whole point of our visit, Lard, is to ask your help. To ask for a favour.”
“Aye, that’s what everybody wants,” sighed Lard. “But you tell me what you have in mind.”
So Matthew explained about Big Lou and her predicament, and at the end of his explanation Stuart wondered whether Lard might perhaps be prepared to have a word with Eddie about returning the money and tearing up the business agreement.
Lard thought for a moment. “She sounds like a good wummin, this Big Lou. I don’t like to hear about ungentlemanly behaviour towards good wummin.”
“So you think you might be able to help?” asked Matthew eagerly.
“I’ll go over and have a word with this Eddie,” said Lard.
“Me and my boys might just give him a wee warning. Just threaten to rain on his parade. It usually works, particularly with characters like this Eddie, who sounds a wee bit sketchy to me, know what I mean?”
“But you won’t do anything actually illegal, will you?” asked Stuart.
316
Lard smiled. “I never do anything didgy-dodgy, Stewie. You know me better than that.”
On the way back on the train, Matthew turned to Stuart and said: “What a charming man Mr O’Connor is.”
To which Stuart replied: “Helpful, too.”
Angus Lordie did not like to prevaricate, but he had certainly been putting off the visit that he knew he must make to 44 Scotland Street and, in particular, to Antonia Collie, Domenica’s tenant during her absence in the Far East. Now he could put it off no longer, and he knew that he must go and present an apology in person. A letter would not be enough, particularly now that a good week had elapsed since Antonia had come to dinner in his flat.
To say that the evening had not been a success would be to put it mildly. We all have our memories of awkward social evenings – occasions when the conversation has faltered, when the guests have disliked one another with cordial intensity, when the souffles have collapsed or, worse still, congealed. Angus remembered one occasion on which the host had become so drunk that he had fallen off his chair halfway through the meal, and another where the hostess, under the influence of medica-tion, had gone to sleep in the middle of the second course and could only be roused by physical shaking. These were but nothing, though, to his intimate dinner party with Antonia, at which . . . well, he preferred not to dwell too much on what had happened. Human memory, if not reminded of the details, has a useful way of obliterating such events, and Angus did not wish to compromise it in this task.
But he knew that an apology was required, and he would give it. So he brushed Cyril and made him chew one of the canine personal freshness pills which he had acquired on his last visit to the vet. These pills helped; he was sure of it. And just to be on the safe side, Angus popped one into his own mouth and
chewed it himself. It did not taste unpleasant; rather like parsley, he thought.
They walked slowly round Drummond Place, with Cyril sniffing conscientiously at the railings every few yards and keeping a good look-out for the cats which prowled around the neighbourhood. It was Cyril’s ambition to kill one of these cats, if he could get hold of it, even though he knew that this would result in the most intense fuss and several blows with a rolled-up copy of
They reached the top of Scotland Street and began the stroll down the sharply descending street towards the door to No 44.
Cyril had been used to being tied up to the railings while Angus went in, but after the unfortunate incident in which he had been stolen from the railings outside Valvona & Crolla, Angus now insisted on taking Cyril inside and would never leave him un-attended on the street.
They walked upstairs together, and with heavy heart Angus ran Domenica’s bell. One part of him hoped that Antonia would be out and there would be no answer – if that happened, then at least he could tell himself that he had made the effort. But another, more responsible part told him that if he did not see her this evening, he would have to see her tomorrow, or the day after that. And with every passing day the apology would become more difficult.
The door opened.
