“Look,” he said to Big Lou. “See.”
Lou took the cup from Matthew and looked at its base. “But that’s what it is,” she said.
That evening, Matthew went to the Cumberland Bar. He was due to meet Pat at eight and had promised to take her somewhere exciting for dinner. That promise was beginning to worry him – not because he was unwilling to take her out, rather it was the difficulty of choosing somewhere which she would consider exciting. In one interpretation, exciting was synonymous with plush and expensive; in which case they could go to the Witchery or even Prestonfield House. But that, he thought, was not what Pat had in mind. An exciting restaurant for her probably meant a place where both the decor and the people were unusual, the sort of place where celebrities went. But where were these places, and were there any celebrities in Edinburgh anyway? And if there were, then who were they? The Lord Provost? Sir Timothy Clifford? Ian Rankin? Possibly. But where did these people go for dinner?
Ian Rankin went to the Oxford Bar, of course, but you wouldn’t get much to eat there. And the Lord Provost had her own dining room in the City Chambers. She probably had dinner there, looking out over the top of Princes Street, reading council minutes, wondering which streets could be dug up next.
Angus Lordie was in the bar, sitting morosely at his table, the place at his feet where Cyril normally sat deserted now.
Matthew joined him.
“Where’s your young friend?” Angus asked.
“She’s got a name,” said Matthew. “Pat.”
“That’s the one. Where is she?”
Matthew took a sip of his beer. “I’m meeting her later on.
We’re going out for dinner.”
Angus nodded at this information. He did not seem particularly interested, and indeed it was very uninteresting information, Matthew thought. That’s my trouble, he said to himself – I’m not exciting.
“I haven’t decided where to take her yet,” said Matthew. He 96
looked at Angus quizzically. “Tell me, Angus, do you know any exciting restaurants?”
Angus shook his head. “Exciting restaurants? Not me, I’m afraid. I never go out for a meal, except for lunch at the Scottish Arts Club. Of course, I had a meal down in Canonmills once, but that place closed. And there’s a nice Italian place round the corner, but the proprietor went back to Italy. Lucca, I think.”
He paused. “Has that been any help?”
“Not really,” said Matthew. “Although I suppose it closes off certain possibilities.”
“Mind you,” said Angus, “there used to be some exciting restaurants in Edinburgh. There was the Armenian Restaurant, of course, which used to be down in that old steamie opposite the Academy. You won’t remember it, but I used to go there from time to time. Then he moved up to that old place near Holyrood. He may still be there – I don’t know. Very exotic place that – exciting too, if the proprietor got on to the subject of Armenian history.”
Angus looked down at Cyril’s empty place. It was at this very table that, some time ago, he had been reunited with Cyril after he had escaped his captors. He looked up at the door through which Cyril had been led by his rescuer, the man who worked for the Royal Bank of Scotland. If only he would come back through that door again, with Cyril on a lead; idle thought, impossible thought; the state was a much more efficient kidnapper of dogs, and Cyril would be firmly under lock and key, conditions that would require a Houdini Terrier – if there was such a breed – to enable escape.
He looked up. “Why not make her dinner at your place?
Candlelight. A nice bottle of something. That’s what I would do if . . .” He broke off, his attention suddenly attracted by something he had seen on the other side of the room. “Interesting.”
“What?”
“That chap over there,” said Angus, inclining his head to the far side of the bar. “That one, with the grey jacket. Yes, him.
You know who that is?”
97
Matthew looked at the person indicated by Angus. He was a man somewhere in his late thirties or early forties, neatly dressed, with dark hair. He was engaged in conversation with a couple of other men seated at his table. One of them was leaning forward to listen to him, while the other sat back and looked up at the ceiling, as if weighing up what was being said.
Matthew turned back to Angus. “Never seen him,” he said.
“Who is he?”
Angus leant forward conspiratorially. “That, Matthew my friend, is Rabbie Cromach – Big Lou’s new friend. That’s who he is!”
Matthew turned back to stare at the man. “I see,” he said.
“Well, that’s interesting.”
“Yes,” said Angus. “But what’s more interesting is the company he’s in.”
Matthew’s heart sank. It seemed that Big Lou was destined to choose unsuitable men – men who bordered on the criminal.
