44 Scotland Street - Alexander McCall Smith [99]
The thought pleased her. She wanted him to be there – as in a sense that meant that he was with her. And that was what she wanted; she wanted it against all the promptings of the rational part of her being.
She stood still for a moment, in the darkness of the hall, debating with herself what to do. She and Bruce had parted on awkward terms that evening. She had been angered by his failure to apologise for giving away her painting, and she had stormed out of the kitchen. Now she felt that she wanted to make it up with him; she should tell him that she was not holding it against him and that all she wanted was for him to give her the telephone number of the people who had won the picture. Getting it back from them might not be easy, and Bruce’s support might be needed in that, but in the meantime she could do all that was necessary.
She decided to knock on his door and speak to him. Perhaps he would suggest that they have coffee together or that . . . What do I really want? she asked herself.
She now stood before his door and knocked gently. There was silence inside, and then, hesitantly, Bruce’s voice called out.
“Pat?”
There was something in the tone, in the way he answered, that made her realise immediately that he was not alone in the room. And the realisation filled her with embarrassment, that she had disturbed them, and with intense, searing jealousy. Horrified, she moved away from Bruce’s door and ran over the hall to her own room, slamming the door behind her. She thought she heard Bruce’s door open, but she was not sure, and she wanted to shut out all sound from that quarter. She threw herself down on the bed, her hands over her eyes. A Man’s Dressing-gown
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She lay there for over half an hour, doing nothing, her eyes closed. She felt as if she was paralysed by misery, and that even the effort of lifting the telephone and keying in her parents’
number would be too much. But somehow she managed that, and heard her father answer at the other end.
“Are you all right?”
She took a moment to answer; then, “Yes. I’m all right. I suppose.”
“You don’t sound very convinced.”
She made an effort to sound more cheerful. “I’ve lost something at work – something that was entrusted to me.”
“Tell him,” said her father simply. He had the ability to diagnose problems even before they were explained. “Tell your boss about it. Own up.”
“I was going to do that,” she said. “But that doesn’t make it any easier.”
Her father paused before answering. “There is nothing – and I mean nothing – that doesn’t look less serious if confessed, or shared. Try it. Tell your boss tomorrow what has happened. Tell the truth, and you’ll see how the world carries on. Just try it.”
She spoke to her father for a few minutes longer before ringing off. She felt slightly better just for having spoken to him, and now she got off the bed and walked towards the door. She did not want to go out of her room but she would have to cross the hall to get to the bathroom. She could not bear the thought of seeing Bruce – not just now – but she thought that he would be unlikely to come out.
She crossed the hall to the bathroom. The light still showed under Bruce’s door – At least they aren’t in there together in the dark, she thought – but no sound came from the room. And what does that mean? she asked herself.
Inside the bathroom, she stood in front of the mirror and brushed her teeth. Then she washed her face, splashing it with cold water afterwards.
“Hallo.”
She spun round. A tall young woman, with streaky blonde 208
News of a Loss
hair, was standing in the door. She was wearing Bruce’s dressing gown and her hair was dishevelled.
Pat stared at the young woman.
“What do you want?” she asked. She did not intend to sound as brutally rude, but that was how the question emerged. The other girl was taken aback, but recovered quickly.
“Nothing,” she said. “At least, nothing