Graeme nodded appreciatively. “Always a good idea.”
There was silence for a moment. Then Bruce spoke. “You’re in commercial property yourself, Julia tells me.”
“Yes,” said Graeme. “Mostly here in Edinburgh. Shops. I prefer them to offices, you know. I felt that you’re more at the mercy of the economy if you have office space on your hands. But if you have retail property in a good area, then there’s always somebody prepared to take on a lease. Or that’s what I’ve found. The triumph of hope over commercial experience.”
Bruce laughed. “George Street?” he asked. “Julia said something about George Street.”
Graeme nodded. “I have a wine bar there,” he said. “You may know it.”
Bruce did know it. It was one of the more fashionable wine bars. He and Julia had been there together and she had
said something about her father, but he had paid no attention.
“A great bar,” said Bruce. “It must do very well.”
“It could do better,” said Graeme. “I need to get somebody to take it in hand. Somebody who . . .” He trailed off. He was watching Bruce, and he saw the slight movement of the brows.
I can see what she sees in him, Graeme thought. And what a relief, with all that riff-raff around these days; at long last she’s come up with a young man about whom I can be enthusiastic; somebody who shares my values. Bit dim, I suspect, but obviously capable of producing grandchildren, and nothing in the least artistic about him, thank heavens, unlike the last one: talk about barking up the wrong tree with him! No, she’s quite right; this is more like it.
He looked at Bruce. “Would you mind if I had a frank talk with you?” he asked suddenly. “I’ve never been one to beat about the bush – I don’t see the point. Man to man. Much better.”
Bruce froze. She’s told him, he thought. She’s gone and told him.
“You see,” said Graeme, “we’re not a big family. I lost my wife, as you may know, some time ago.”
Bruce thought of Julia’s mother, lost at the Iguazu Falls. He nodded.
“And so I’m very close to Julia,” Graeme went on. “And the one thing I want is her happiness. That means more to me than anything. Can you understand that?”
Bruce nodded. This was going to be very embarrassing.
“So if there’s a young man who’s keen to marry her,” said Graeme, “then that young man . . .” he paused for a moment, fixing him with a direct stare, “whoever he might turn out to be, will find himself very . . . how should I put it? . . . very well provided for. In fact, he would find himself in the business, as a director. And Julia, of course, would end up with a very nice share of the business, too – the whole lot, eventually. For instance, that wine bar in George Street. The young man would probably rather like being the . . . being the owner of that. And 272
For a few moments, there was complete silence, at least in the drawing room. In the kitchen, there was the sound of a mixer whirring and then a metal spoon scraping against the side of a pot.
Bruce had been taken aback by the directness of the approach, but at least Graeme had made his position clear. And why shouldn’t he? Bruce asked himself. He was making an offer, and what point was there in making the offer less than clear?
Bruce did a rapid calculation. A wine bar in George Street would be worth well over a million. And that was without the other things that Graeme had hinted at. Life was a battle, Bruce thought, and here was he with nothing very much to show for the last six years. Look at Neil in that flat in Comely Bank, stuck there for the foreseeable future, struggling to make ends meet on what was probably a perfectly good salary. How long would that mortgage be? Twenty-five years? Anything would be better than that, anything.
He looked at Graeme, who was smiling at him nervously.
“You . . . you’ve spelled it out,” said Bruce. “Nobody could excuse you of . . .”
“Being oversubtle?” supplied Graeme.
“Well . . .” said Bruce.
Graeme raised a hand. “Julia seems very fond of you.”
“And I’m fond of her,” Bruce said, which he was, in a way.
He was reasonably fond of her, for all her . . . all her empty-headedness. No. Time to call it quits. Every bachelor has to face it, he thought. And this was, after all, a magnificent landing.
“All right, if I have your permission,” said Bruce, “I’d like to ask Julia to marry me.”
“You have it,” said Graeme quickly. He reached out for Bruce’s hand and shook it. “I think she’ll be very pleased.”
“Good,” said Bruce. “I’ll . . .”
“Go through now,” said Graeme. “Go and speak to her. I’ll stay here. But you go and pop the question.” He paused, rubbing his hands together. “And tell me, when’s the happy day to be?”
“The wedding? Well, I don’t know . . .”
“No, not that,” said Graeme. “You know what I mean.”
