“Perhaps he thought that you looked a bit . . .” offered Leonie.
Babs leaned forward and pointed a finger at Matthew’s chest.
It was an aggressive gesture, but she was smiling as she spoke.
“It’s because I fix cars. Is that it? Well, you work in a gallery, don’t you? That’s a job for a sensitive man. And you don’t get many sensitive men playing rugby, do you?” She laughed, and was quickly echoed by Leonie.
“No,” said Leonie. “Can you imagine it?”
Matthew bit his lip. “Plenty of sensitive men play rugby,” he said wildly. “Plenty.”
“Oh yes?” challenged Babs. “Name one.”
Matthew thought. He could not think of any sensitive men who played rugby – not a single one. “Oh well,” he said. “I don’t think we should speak about stereotypes. Men who work in the arts are just the same as anybody else. Some play rugby, some don’t.”
“None play rugby,” said Leonie. “I’m telling you.”
“Does it matter?” interrupted Pat. “Does anybody really care any more at all who plays rugby and who doesn’t?”
“Is rugby some sort of metaphor?” asked Babs.
Matthew shook his head. “It’s a game.”
“Which is not played frequently by sensitive men,” interjected Leonie.
There was a silence. Then: “Let’s not argue,” said Babs pleasantly. “It’s been such a nice evening and it would be a pity to
ruin it with an argument, wouldn’t it? I suppose that I am a bit of a direct speaker. And I know that these days you can’t speak freely about anything. I’ll try to be a little bit more politically correct, I really will.”
“Good girl!” said Leonie, putting an arm around her friend’s shoulder.
They sat together for a few moments, with nobody saying anything. Then Matthew signalled to the waitress for the bill and the party began to break up.
“You don’t have to pay just because you’re a man,” said Babs.
“Leo and I can pay our share.”
“Well . . . .” Matthew began.
“But thanks anyway,” said Leonie hurriedly. “Thanks very much for the evening, Matthew.”
Afterwards, when Babs and Leonie had disappeared together in a taxi, Matthew and Pat walked over the road to the pub on the opposite side of the road. Sandy Bells Bar was known for its folk music, and as they made their way to the broad mahogany bar they saw a fiddler at the other end of the bar rise to his feet.
Matthew stopped where he stood. “Listen,” he said.
“ ‘Lochaber No More’.”
The long, drawn-out passages of the heart-rending lament largely silenced the drinkers present. An elderly man, seated by the window, clutching a small glass of whisky in both hands, started to sway gently in time with the music. The fiddler, glancing up, saw him and smiled.
“I love that tune,” Matthew whispered to Pat. “It makes me so sad.”
Pat stole a glance at Matthew. It had been a confusing evening.
She had not known how to take their fellow-guests over dinner; things were not as they seemed, she realised, but then, it still seemed a bit strange.
“Leonie and Babs,” she said quietly to Matthew. “Do you think that . . .”
“That they’re an item?” whispered Matthew. “No, I don’t.
And anyway, it doesn’t matter.”
258
He looked at Pat, and suddenly, with complete clarity of understanding, he realised that he was in love with her and that he had to tell her that. He had not been in love with her half an hour ago. He had liked her then. He felt a bit jealous of her.
But now he loved her. He simply loved her.
He moved very slightly towards Pat, who was standing a few inches away from him. Now they were touching one another, his right leg against hers. She did not move away. Emboldened, he reached out and took her hand in his, squeezing it gently.
She returned the pressure. “Let’s sit down,” she said. “Over at the table. Over there. I want to talk to you, Matthew.”
Matthew followed Pat to the table. He felt that he had misjudged the situation, and now his fears were to be confirmed.
She would tell him that she thought of him as a brother; he had heard that sort of thing before. Or, worse, she might say that she thought of him as an employer.
“Matthew,” she said. “We’re friends, aren’t we? No, don’t look so down-in-the-mouth. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” said Matthew, flatly. “We’re friends.”
