44 Scotland Street - Alexander McCall Smith [68]
As he peered into the Todds’ drying room, Bruce felt more than the normal curiosity (mild in the case of most) which we feel 142
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when we look into the drying rooms of others. After all, a drying room is hardly Chapman’s Homer . . . nor is it a peak in Darien. This drying room, in fact, was of little interest, apart from the fact that there were at least four pairs of underpants on the clothes-horse and Bruce was conscious of the fact that social embarrassment might await him at the ball in his current state of incomplete dress. A simple solution would be to borrow – and it would just be borrowing – a pair of these underpants, obviously Todd’s, slip into them when some suitable opportunity presented itself at the ball, and then return them, laundered, a few days later. This would not be theft; it would be borrowing of an entirely understandable and justifiable sort. Of course the means of return would have to be considered. Borrowed items could normally be returned openly, but those that were borrowed informally, or borrowed with implicit consent, might have to be returned in a more discreet way. The clothing could be put into the post, perhaps, with an anonymous thankyou note – or with one signed in an illegible hand – or it might just be slipped into Todd’s in-tray in the office when nobody was looking.
Bruce looked over his shoulder. The corridor was quite empty and he could hear the murmur of conversation coming from the drawing room. It was highly unlikely, he thought, that anybody would come this way: they were waiting for him to return before setting off for the Braid Hills Hotel. He could take as long as he liked, and be quite safe.
He stepped forward into the drying room and reached for a pair of underpants from the clothes-horse. As he did so, he saw that the pair which he had chosen had a large hole in the seat; how mean of Todd! It was typical of him – he was mean with stationery supplies in the office and he was always going on about keeping costs down. So he applied that philosophy to his clothing as well!
Bruce replaced the rejected pair of underpants on the clotheshorse and reached for another pair. This was better. Although the garment was certainly too large, the elastic would hold it in place. So he quickly folded the pants, stuffed them into his sporran and turned to go back out into the corridor.
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He stopped. There, standing in the doorway, was Todd, an empty whisky glass in his hand.
Bruce swallowed. “Todd,” he said, in strangled tones.
“Todd.”
Todd was staring at him, and Bruce noticed, for the first time, how the whites of his eyes were unnaturally large.
“Yes,” he said.
Bruce swallowed again. “Well, I’m more or less ready to go,”
he said. “We don’t want to keep people.”
Todd blinked. “The bathroom is further along,” he said. “This is the drying room.”
Bruce laughed. “Oh, I found the bathroom all right,” he said airily. “I took a wrong turning on the way back and ended up . . .” He paused, and then gestured around the drying room,
“here. I ended up in here.”
Todd moved back from the doorway in order to allow Bruce to come out into the corridor. “A rather odd mistake to make,”
he said. “After all, this is not a particularly confusing house. The corridor runs fairly straight, wouldn’t you say? It goes up there, and then comes back. Frankly, I don’t see how one can get lost in this house.”
Bruce smiled. “I have a very bad sense of direction,” he said quickly.