Free 44 Scotland Street by Alexander McCall Smith Page A

as he spoke. She saw the slight flush of colour to his brow and the movement of his eyes, which darted sideways, and then returned to stare at her. She was convinced now that she had taken the right decision. The painting was no longer for sale.

 
     
     
     
    20. The Boys Discuss Art
     
    Matthew arrived in the gallery just before it was time for him to cross the road for morning coffee at Big Lou’s. Pat started to tell him of the two visits of the would-be purchaser of the Mull/Iona painting, but he stopped her.
    “This is big,” he said. “Come and tell me about it over coffee. The boys will want to hear about this. We’ll close the shop for an hour. This is really, really big.”
    They made their way over the road to Big Lou’s, crossing the cobbled street down which the tall buses lumbered. At the bottom of the street, beyond the rooftops of Canonmills, lay Fife, like a Gillies watercolour of sky and hills. Matthew saw Pat pause and look down the road, and he smiled at her.
    “Yes,” he said. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
    She nodded. She had not thought that he would notice something like that, but then she knew very little about him. Matthew was not like Bruce, who would never notice a view. There was something more to Matthew, a gentle quality that made her feel almost protective towards him.
    They turned away from Fife and made their way down Big Lou’s dangerous stairs. Ronnie and Pete were already in the coffee bar, sitting in their accustomed booth. Matthew introduced Pat to his friends.
    “This young lady has just made a major discovery,” he said. “There’s a very important painting in the gallery. I missed it. I would have sold it for one hundred and fifty and it’s worth …?” He turned to Pat. “Ten thousand?”
    “Forty, maybe.”
    Ronnie whistled. “Forty grand!”
    Big Lou came over with coffee and set mugs in front of them.
    “I’m reading Calvocoressi’s book about Cowie at the moment,” she said. “Very interesting.”
    “Yes,” said Pete. “You bet. But this painting, how do you know that it’s whatever you think it is? How can you tell?”
    Pat shrugged. “I can’t tell,” she said. “I don’t know very much about all this. I did Higher Art, I suppose, and we learned a little bit about Scottish painters. We learned about Peploe, and I think this looks like a Peploe.”
    Ronnie said: “Lots of things look like something else. Lou looks like the Mona Lisa, don’t you, Lou? But you aren’t. You have to know about these things.” He turned to Matthew. “Sorry, pal, but you may be jumping the gun a bit.”
    This remark seemed to worry Matthew, and he turned to Pat anxiously. “Well, Pat, how can you be sure?”
    “I can’t,” said Pat. “I’ve just said that. But I’m pretty sure that this man who came in had recognised it as being something valuable. He was pretending – I could tell. He was pretending not to be too interested in it, and when I said that it might be a Peploe he almost jumped. I could tell that he was … well, he was annoyed. He thought he had a bargain.”
    “Sounds good,” said Pete. “Remember when we bought that table, Ronnie, and that dealer pretended not to be interested in it? We saw him looking underneath it before he came to us and offered us twice what we’d paid. We could tell.”
    “Yes,” said Ronnie. “You can tell.” He paused. “But how are you going to be sure? You can’t put it in the window as a Peploe or whatever unless you know what you’re talking about.”
    “I’ll get an opinion,” said Matthew. “I’ll take it to somebody who knows what they’re talking about.”
    “Unlike you?” said Pete.
    “I’ve never said that I know anything about art,” said Matthew. “I’ve never made any claims.”
    Ronnie looked down at his coffee. “So who do we ask? Lou?”
    “I know more than you do,” said Lou from behind the counter. “You know nothing. Both of you. You and your friend, Pete, you know