44 Scotland Street - Alexander McCall Smith [26]
“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 The Boys Discuss Art
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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 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 54
A Daughter’s Dance Card
of the late afternoon