Free 44 Scotland Street by Alexander McCall Smith Page B

nothing. You’re just afa feels . “
    “Let’s not fight over this,” said Matthew quietly. “Even in the Doric. I think that what we need to do is to take this to somebody else on the street here – another dealer. And we’ll ask what they think.”
    “Good idea,” said Ronnie. “Just take it down to that what’s his name – that one on the corner there. Ask him.”
    “I can’t do that,” said Matthew. “He’d laugh at me. And he’d tell everybody else that I don’t know what I have. No, we need to get somebody else to do it.” He looked at Pat. “Pat? What about you? You take the painting down to him and say that it’s yours. Ask him for an opinion. Is that all right with you? Do it tomorrow?”
    “I suppose so,” said Pat. This involved her telling a lie, even if it was a small one. But she was truthful by inclination, and the thought of telling any untruth made her feel uncomfortable. And she did not feel easy in the company of Ronnie and Pete. There was something unsettling about them, something of the late afternoon perhaps, even if not quite something of the night.

 
     
     
     
    21. A Daughter’s Dance Card
     
    It was not a particularly busy day at the offices of Macaulay Holmes Richardson Black, Chartered Surveyors and Factors. The senior partner, Gordon, had gone to London to look at a commercial property in Fulham which a client of the firm had just inherited from a relative. The client wanted to sell the building, but distrusted London agents, a view with which Todd had readily agreed.
    In Gordon’s absence on this inspection trip, the firm was run by his younger brother, Raeburn Todd, who was spending the day going through the files in his brother’s filing cabinet. Bruce pretended not to notice. It was information which he could perhaps use one day, if it were necessary. One never knew when one might be in a tight corner, and it was useful to have some cover .
    Bruce had very little to do that day and he was bored. After twenty minutes of the newspaper, he rose to his feet and went to look out of the window. It had turned into a wet day outside, although the showers were light and sporadic. From their offices, on the fourth floor of a building in Queen Street, they could look out over the roofs of Heriot Row and Great King Street, down to the distant greens of Trinity, and beyond. Although he was a relatively junior member of staff, Bruce had a room with this view, and he was staring at it absently when the telephone rang and he was summoned to Todd’s room. He’s finished snooping, thought Bruce. Now he wants to interfere with my work.
    He picked up a file on a Lanarkshire fencing project and walked through.
    “How is Gordon getting on in London, Todd?” asked Bruce.
    “Fine, as far as I know,” said Todd. “He’ll probably phone me at lunchtime. He’ll have taken a look at that Fulham place by then. Three thousand square feet in a good part of London, just off a main shopping street. Do you know what that’s worth?”
    Bruce shrugged. “I haven’t looked at the recent tables,” he said. “I don’t deal with anything in London. I can tell you what that would be in Edinburgh or Glasgow. But not London. Lots of boodle, though. Lots.”
    Todd frowned. “You should keep an eye on things, Bruce. You should read the trade press. You should keep an eye on London.”
    Bruce thought: he’s brought me here for a lecture, and his eyes glazed over.
    “Yes,” said Todd. “It’s important to keep abreast of changing values in London, because that affects us. Business relocation is all about comparing prices. You know that, don’t you?”
    “Yes,” said Bruce, patiently, and then: “Have you been busy yourself, Todd? Catching up on paperwork?”
    Todd looked at him warily. “A bit of reading,” he said. “Keeping current, you know.”
    Bruce smiled. “Good policy,” he said.
    Todd stared at him for a moment, and then continued: “But I didn’t ask you in here to