The World According to Bertie

“It’s not beige,” said Matthew sharply. “It’s distressed oatmeal.”

“Distressed oatmeal!” Pat countered. “Distressed beige. That’s your trouble, Matthew. I’m sorry, but your clothes . . .” she paused, seeming to search for the right term. “Your clothes, Matthew, are tragic, really tragic.”

Matthew looked away. “You think I’m tragic, do you?”

276 A Clean Break – Not Without an Argument Pat did not think about what she was saying. But she was smarting over the question of presents. “Yes, I do. And she must be really tragic, this Elspeth Meissen.”

“She’s not called Meissen,” he said. “The figure was Meissen.

And if I’m tragic, then what does that make you? The girlfriend of a tragedy?”

“That’s really childish!”

Neither said anything. Both were surprised by the sudden exchange of insults. And both regretted it. Suddenly, Pat reached out and put her hand on Matthew’s arm. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“We’re being really silly about this. It’s my fault.”

Matthew turned and gave her hand an affectionate squeeze.

“No, it’s mine. And I’m sorry too.”

Pat smiled. “I’ll never say anything like that to you again. I promise.”

“Me too,” Matthew responded. “And I’d like to give you something to . . . to make up for my insensitivity.”

He rose to his feet and looked about the gallery. On the wall opposite him was a painting that Pat had admired. He walked across the room and took it off the wall. He gave it to her.

She said, “This is far too expensive. You can’t give this to me.”

He shook his head. “Yes I can. I want you to have it.”

She took the painting from him. It was heavier than she had imagined it would be – heavy in its expansive gilt frame. Guilt frame, she thought, his – or mine?

82. A Shopping Trip for a Special Dinner Date When Matthew locked up the gallery and went out onto Dundas Street that evening, he felt almost light-headed with relief. He had dreaded the break-up with Pat. He had imagined that there would be recriminations, threats, tears, and there had been none of that, unless, of course, one counted the brief and really rather silly exchange over beige and distressed oatmeal. And one should not really make much of such an adolescent flare-up, in which nothing really hurtful was said, and which led, anyway, to immediate apologies.

After Matthew had given Pat the painting – which was a rather nice little Stanley Spencer watercolour, a generous present by any standards – they had finished their conversation with what Matthew described as housekeeping matters.

Pat should not feel that she should give up her part-time job at the gallery; that position had nothing to do with their relationship, and he did not think it would be at all difficult for them to continue to see one another as colleagues and friends.

Pat agreed, but thought that she would consider it anyway. Her university work was becoming more pressing, and she was not sure how much time she could devote to working in the gallery.

But if she did find that she had to give the job up, or do fewer hours, she had a friend in the same degree course who was currently doing bar work and who would love to have a change.

Matthew thanked her for this. “You’ve never let me down,” he said. “Never.”

With that disposed of, the rest of the morning had passed in amicable companionship, with only the occasional reference to their new situation.

“You’ll find somebody else,” said Matthew at one point.

“There are plenty of boys. Plenty.”

“Not all of them are nice,” said Pat. “In fact, some of them are really awful.”

Matthew nodded. “Wolf, for example.”

278 A Shopping Trip for a Special Dinner Date Pat said nothing.

“And others,” said Matthew quickly. “But there are some nice ones. And you’ll meet them, I’m sure.”

“I don’t know if I want to,” said Pat. “I think I might have a boy-free time for a while. It’s nice to be single, you know. It’s

. . . it’s uncluttered.”

Matthew was not so certain about that. He had endured long periods of being uncluttered, and, on balance, he preferred to be cluttered. He thought of Elspeth Harmony. He would see her that night – he had asked her to have dinner with him and she had agreed. He would cook something special – he had a new risotto recipe that he had mastered and he would give her that.

And champagne? Or would that be a little bit too much? Yes, it would. Perhaps they would have a New Zealand white instead.

Or something from Western Australia. Margaret River, perhaps.

And what would he wear? That was more difficult, as he obviously could not wear his distressed-oatmeal sweater – not after those remarks that Pat had made. It was not beige! It was not!

But there was no point in going over that – it was obvious that distressed oatmeal was not a colour of which every woman approved, and in that case he would wear . . .

“Pat,” he said. “What should I wear? I mean, what should I wear for special occasions?”