Espresso Tales - Alexander Hanchett Smith [136]
“Certainly not,” said Domenica. “We know that the government itself drinks, but on this issue it has to be hypocritical.”
Angus Lordie, who had stopped painting when Domenica arrived, moved to the window. Picking up a rag, he wiped a small spot of oil paint off his hands. “I’ve never understood the objection to hypocrisy,” he said. “There must be some circumstances in which it’s permissible to be hypocritical.”
“Such as?”
“Let me think,” said Angus. “Yes. On the receipt of a present that one doesn’t like. Do you really think that one should say how much one likes it?”
Domenica thought about this. “I suppose so. But is that being hypocritical, or is it something different?”
“Hypocrisy is saying one thing and doing another,” said Angus. “If you say that you like the gift and say how much you’re looking forward to using it or looking at it, or whatever, then surely you’re being a hypocrite.” He paused for a moment. “So, should a politician tell other people not to drink or not to eat sausages, and all the while he drinks and eats sausages himself, then he’s being hypocritical. But it may be the right thing for him to do.”
“But would you yourself choose to be hypocritical?”
Angus replaced the oily rag on a table. He smiled. “I’m as Domenica Takes Food to Angus
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weak as anybody else,” he said. “I suppose I’ve told my share of lies. I’ve been hypocritical on occasions.”
Domenica laughed. “Tell me, then. You don’t like sausages.”
“No, I don’t,” said Angus.
Domenica saw that he meant it. “You should have told me,”
she said.
“But I didn’t want to offend you. And I can’t stand apple pie either.”
Domenica frowned. “But why not tell me? You would just have wasted them. I would have gone away thinking that you would be enjoying my little offerings and all the time you’d be putting them out in the bin.”
Angus shook his head. “I would not,” he said defensively. “I would have given the sausages to Cyril, and I would have put the apple pie out in the gardens for the squirrels.”
“I will not have you giving my Crombie sausages to that dog of yours,” said Domenica. “You presume on my friendship, Angus!”
“I didn’t ask you to bring me sausages,” said Angus peevishly.
“And I certainly shall not bring you any sausages in the future,” said Domenica stoutly.
“Good,” said Angus. “So, no sausages then.”
They looked at one another reproachfully. Then Angus shrugged. “What are we to do about these sausages?” he said, gesturing to the package on the table. “I suppose you’d better take them back and eat them in Scotland Street.”
“But I don’t like sausages myself,” said Domenica. “I can’t stand them, in fact.”
For a few moments they stared mutely at the package of sausages.
“Do you know anybody who would like them?” asked Domenica. “Any of your neighbours?”
“My neighbours would find it very strange if I started offering them sausages,” said Angus. “We don’t have that sort of relationship.”
“I wasn’t aware that there was a category of relationship which permitted the giving and taking of sausages,” said Domenica. 288 Bruce Reflects
“Well, there is,” said Angus. “You have to know people quite well before you start giving them sausages.”
Domenica said nothing. She knew that Angus occasionally became argumentative, and there was no point in engaging with him when he was in such a mood. “Well, let’s . . .”
Angus cut her short. “Before we abandon the subject of sausages,” he said, “I must tell you about an occasion on which I was obliged to eat sausages – and with every visible sign of enjoyment. It was at a terribly grand house in Sutherland. I went there for lunch one day and there were ten people round the table. We were looking forward to a good meal, but we certainly didn’t get that. We had sausages with boiled potatoes. And that was it. But what I remember about that meal was that the subject of flying boats came up. I don’t know how it did, but somebody must have raised it.
“And I said to our hostess: ‘You know, Your Grace, you should get yourself a flying boat. You’ve got that great stretch