44 Scotland Street - Alexander McCall Smith [116]
She was waiting for Matthew’s reply when she looked up to see a familiar figure coming towards her. For a moment she had difficulty placing him, but then she remembered: Angus Lordie, the man she had talked to at the Scottish National Portrait Gallery after the lecture. He had come into the bar, looked around him, and seen her at the table. She noticed, too, that it was not just him, but his dog as well – a black collie with a lop-sided ear and sharp eyes.
Angus Lordie had entered the Cumberland Bar in low spirits, but seeing Pat he broke into a wide smile.
“My dear!” he exclaimed, as he approached their table. “Such a perfect setting for you! Even a bar in the St Germain could do no more justice than this simple establishment! And at your side, your young gallant . . .”
“This is Matthew,” said Pat quickly. “I work with him at his gallery.”
Angus Lordie nodded in Matthew’s direction and extended a hand. “I would normally not shake hands with a dealer, sir,” he said with a smile. “But in your case, I am happy to do so. Angus Lordie.”
242
In the Cumberland Bar
Matthew rose from his seat and shook the outstretched hand. Pat noticed that he did not seem to be very enthusiastic, and for a moment she felt pity for him. Their private celebration, it would seem, was over.
“And now,” said Angus Lordie, handing his dog’s lead to Pat,
“if you wouldn’t mind holding Cyril for a moment, I’ll go and get myself a drink.”
Pat took the end of the lead and tugged gently to bring Cyril towards the table. The dog looked at her for a moment and then, to her astonishment, gave her a wink. Then he took a few steps forward and sat down next to her chair, turning to look up at her as he did so. Again he winked, and then bared his teeth in what looked like a smile. Pat noticed the glint of the gold tooth which Domenica had mentioned at the reception.
Pat leant over towards Matthew. “This is a very strange dog,”
she said. “Do you see his gold tooth?’
Matthew looked down into his Guinness. “I had hoped that we would be able to have a celebration. Just you and me. Now it looks as if . . .”
Pat reached out and touched him gently on the forearm. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t ask him to join us.”
“Well, now we’re stuck,” said Matthew sulkily. “And that dog smells.”
Pat sniffed. There was a slight smell, she had to admit, but it was not entirely unpleasant – rather like strong mushrooms. Angus Lordie returned now, a glass of whisky in one hand and a half-pint glass of darkish beer in the other. He put the whisky down on the table and then set the glass of beer on the floor next to the dog.
“Cyril drinks,” he explained. “It’s his only bad habit. That, and chasing after lady dogs, which is more of a call of nature than a bad habit. Here we are, Cyril – make it last.”
Pat and Matthew watched in astonishment as Cyril took a few sips of beer and then looked up and gave Pat a further wink.
“Your dog keeps winking at me,” said Pat.
On the Subject of Dogs
243
“Yes,” said Angus Lordie, pulling a chair across from a neighbouring table. “Mind if I join you? Thanks so much. Yes, Cyril has an eye for the ladies, don’t you, Cyril?”
86. On the Subject of Dogs
“On the subject of dogs,” said Angus Lordie, taking a sip of his whisky, “I’ve just discovered the most marvellous book. I came across it quite by chance – The Difficulty of Being a Dog. It’s by a French writer, Roger Grenier, who was a publisher apparently. He knew everybody – Camus, Sartre, Yourcenar – all of them, and he had a wonderful dog called Ulysse. The French title was Les Larmes d’Ulysse, The Tears of Ulysses, which was rather better, in my view, than the one they used in English. But there we are. You don’t know it, by any chance?”
Pat shook her head. Was it all that difficult to be a dog? Dogs had a rather pleasant existence, as far as she could make out. There were miserable dogs, of course: dogs owned by cruel and