Espresso Tales - Alexander Hanchett Smith [122]
78. Old Business
“You gave me your word,” said Bruce, chiselling out the sentence. “You gave me your word, George. You told me that you would come in on this business with me. It was in the Cumberland Bar.”
The words the Cumberland Bar were uttered with all the solemnity with which one might invoke the name of a place in which commercial promises are scrupulously observed – the words the floor at Lloyds, for example, might be spoken in the same tone. But on this occasion, even the mention of the locus of the conversation failed to have the desired effect.
“Actually, Bruce,” said George, “actually, I didn’t promise. I said that I was interested, but we didn’t make any firm arrangements, did we? We agreed that we would draw up a partnership agreement, but you never showed that to me and I never signed it. We were talking about the prospect of going into business, not the actual mechanics. We didn’t do a proper deal, you know.”
“There’s no proper deal,” chipped in Sharon. “No contract. No deal.”
Bruce turned round and glared at her. “Do you mind keeping out of things that don’t concern you? This is between me and my friend, George. So please don’t interfere.”
Old Business
257
“Oh!” exclaimed Sharon. “So what my fiancé does is no business of mine? Is that what you’re saying? Well, I’ve got news for you: it’s very much my business!”
Bruce bit his lip. He looked at George, but George was looking down at the floor, staring at his shoes. It was typical. A woman came in and tried to take over. And now this ghastly girl had taken control of this useless man and was twisting him around her pudgy little finger.
Bruce looked at her. “So you’re calling the shots now,” he said. “Little Sharon McClung has at last got hold of a man and is calling the shots big time! Pleased with yourself, Sharon? Pity you couldn’t do any better.”
George looked up from his shoes. “What do you mean by that, Bruce?” he asked. His voice was strained and his eyes were misty, as if he was about to cry.
Bruce sighed. “No criticism of you, George,” he said. “It’s just that you’re letting Sharon push you around a bit, aren’t you?”
“But you said: ‘It’s a pity you couldn’t do any better,’” George insisted. “What did you mean by that, Bruce? What did you mean?”
“Yes,” said Sharon. “What exactly did you mean by that, Bruce? Did you mean that George isn’t much of a catch? Well, if you did, I can tell you what I think of that. I think that he’s ten times, twenty times nicer than you. Nobody – nobody in her right mind – would look at you, you know. You do know that, don’t you?”
Bruce sneered. “Don’t make me laugh,” he said. “Just don’t make me laugh. You were happy enough to look at me back then in Crieff. Oh yes, don’t think that I didn’t notice you sitting there staring at me, along with all the other girls, mentally undressing me. I noticed those things, you know.”
Sharon shrieked with indignation. “What? What did you say?
Mentally undressing you? Are you mad?”
“Listen,” said George mildly. “I don’t think there’s much point in talking like this . . .”
“Yes, there is,” snapped Sharon. “I’m not going to stand here 258 Old Business
and listen to this self-satisfied creep saying things like that. I’ve got some more news for you, Bruce. The girls back in Crieff hated you, you know. They hated you. They really did. You should have heard the sort of things they said about you! You would have died of embarrassment if you had heard half of them. Did you know that there was something about you written on the wall of the girls’ toilets for two years? Two years. And every time the cleaners rubbed it out, somebody wrote it back, and in the end they just left it there. And do you know what it was?
You would hate what it said, I promise you. You’d just hate it. But I can’t tell you – I’m too embarrassed.”
“Was it written with one of those marker pens?” asked George. “Those can be quite difficult to rub off.”
Both Bruce and Sharon looked at him. Sharon did not answer.
“You’re a liar,” said Bruce. “I would have heard about it. I never heard