44 Scotland Street - Alexander McCall Smith [95]
“Is that true?” asked Pat.
Domenica looked severe. “My dear,” she said, “I never make things up. But, shh, here comes our lecturer, the excellent James Holloway. We must listen to him. He’s very good.”
Pat had been distracted by Domenica’s monologue and James Holloway was several minutes into his lecture before she began to concentrate on what he was saying. But as Domenica had predicted, it was interesting, and the time passed quickly. There was enthusiastic applause and then the audience withdrew to another room where glasses of wine and snacks were being offered.
Domenica seemed in her element. Acknowledging greetings from several people, she drew Pat over to a place near a window where a sallow, rather ascetic-looking man was standing on his own.
“Angus,” she said. “This young lady is my neighbour, which makes her a neighbour, or almost, of yours.” She turned to Pat.
“And this, my dear, is Angus Lordie, who lives in Drummond Place, just round the corner from us. You may have seen him walking his dog in the Drummond Place Gardens. Frightful dog you’ve got, Angus. Frightfully smelly.”
Angus looked at Pat and smiled warmly. “Domenica here is jealous, you see. She’d like me to take her for a walk in the Drummond Place Gardens, but I take Cyril, my dog, instead. Much better company.”
Pat stared at Angus, fascinated. He had three gold teeth, she noticed, one of which was an incisor. She had never seen this before.
Domenica noticed the direction of her gaze. “Yes,” she said loudly. “Extraordinary, isn’t it? And do you know, that dog of his has a gold tooth too!”
“Why not?” laughed Angus.
72. Angus Lordie’s Difficult Task
After a few minutes of coruscating conversation with Angus Lordie, Domenica was distracted by another guest. This left Pat standing with Angus Lordie, who looked at her with frank interest.
“You must forgive me for being so direct,” he said, “but I really feel that I have to ask you exactly who you are and what you do. It’s so much quicker if one asks these things right at the beginning, rather than finding them out with a whole series of indirect questions. Don’t you agree?”
Pat did agree. She had observed how people asked each other questions which might elicit desired information but which were ostensibly about something else. What was the point of asking somebody whether they had been busy recently when what one wanted to know was exactly what they did? And yet, now that she had been asked this herself, how should she answer? It seemed so lame, so self-indulgent, to say that one was on one’s second gap year. And to say that one worked in a gallery was almost the same thing as saying outright that one was still on the parental pay-roll. But then there was a case for truthfulness – one might always tell the truth if in an absolute corner, Bruce had once remarked.
“I work in a gallery,” she said with as much firmness as she could manage, “and I’m on my second gap year.”
She noticed that Angus Lordie did not seem surprised by either of these answers.
“How very interesting,” he said. “I’m a portrait painter myself. And I’ve done my time in galleries too.”
Pat found herself listening to him very carefully. His voice was rich and plummy, deeper than that which one might have expected from an ascetic-looking man. It had, too, a quality which she found fascinating – a tone of sincerity, as if every word uttered was felt at some deep level.
She asked him about his work. Did he paint just portraits, or did he do other things too?
“Just portraits,” he said, the gold teeth flashing as he spoke.
“I suspect that I’ve forgotten how to paint mere things. So it’s just portraits. I’ll do anybody.”
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Angus Lordie’s Difficult Task
“How do you choose?” she asked.
Angus Lordie smiled. “I don’t choose,” he replied. “That’s not the way it works. They choose me. People who want their children painted, or their wives or husbands, or chairmen for that matter. And