Espresso Tales - Alexander Hanchett Smith [139]
Bruce opened the door to his guest and ushered him into the flat. He had been preparing coffee and it was into the kitchen that they now went and took a seat at the large, scrubbed pine table.
“I see that you have the original flagstones,” said Will, pointing at the fine stone floor.
“For the time being,” said Bruce. “I haven’t got round to fixing that up yet.”
“Fixing it up?” asked Will. “It looks in quite good condition to me.”
“Modernising it,” said Bruce. “I want an oak-look effect. There’s a new sort of flooring that looks just like oak. I’d challenge anybody to tell the difference. It’s a bit pricey, though.”
Will kept his counsel. His eye had been caught by a bottle standing on a nearby shelf. Could it be? Was it possible?
“Yes,” said Bruce jauntily, noticing the direction of his host’s gaze. “Petrus. Would you like to take a look?”
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“It’s a very fine wine,” said Will. “Many people would say that it’s the finest wine there is, you know.”
“Oh, I know that,” said Bruce. “That’s why I got in a supply.”
“A supply?”
Bruce affected nonchalance. “Actually, I bought three cases for that new business of mine. I thought that Edinburgh being the sort of place that it is, there might be demand for it. There are a lot of wealthy people who live here, you know – people who will be prepared to fork out for this sort of stuff.”
“Oh, I know that,” said Will. He peered at the bottle on its shelf. “Would you mind if I took a look?”
“Of course not,” said Bruce. “In fact, how about a glass?”
Will raised an eyebrow. “That’s very generous of you,” he said. “I wasn’t . . .”
“Of course not,” said Bruce, rising to his feet. “I’ve been looking forward to trying it myself and who better to share it with?”
He crossed the room to take the bottle from the shelf. Then he handed it to Will, who examined it closely.
“Lovely year,” said Will. “I take it that you know that this is pretty valuable?” He hesitated. “I suppose that you must know that, if you bought three cases of it.”
Bruce was not giving anything away. “Yes,” he said, smiling.
“This wine isn’t cheap, by any means. But what’s the use of having the stuff if you aren’t prepared to have the occasional glass?”
He reached for a corkscrew and passed it to Will. “Care to do the honours?”
Will carefully exposed the cork and looked at the top of it. Then, as Bruce fetched the glasses from the cupboard, Will gently twisted the screw into the cork and drew it up the neck of the bottle. It emerged with a satisfactory pop and he immediately sniffed at it and smiled.
“So far, so good,” he said. “Now if you pass me the glasses, we’ll see what we have here.”
Bruce’s expression was anxious as he passed over the glasses. This, he thought bitterly, is the moment of humiliation – the crowning humiliation, in fact, coming on top of everything that had gone wrong for him in recent months – that business over 294 Self-assertiveness Training for Civil Servants that stuck-up American girl, the loss of his job at that pathetic firm of Macauley Holmes Richardson Black, and finally that terrible betrayal by George and his haggis-like fiancée. He closed his eyes briefly, hardly daring to look at the dark red liquid which Will was now sniffing at and swirling round his glass. He watched in fascination as Will took a sip of the wine and moved it about his mouth, drawing in air through the lips. Nervously, he raised his own glass and sipped at the wine. It tasted all right to him – rather good, in fact – but then, in a rare moment of honesty, he said to himself: what do I know about this?
Will looked at Bruce. “What a stunner!” he said. Bruce looked startled. “Stunner?”
“A beautiful wine,” went on Will. “So supple and ripe – yet it has elegance and length. One can understand why this is seen as such a great wine. One really can.”
Afterwards, when Will had left the flat, Bruce went into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. His face was lit with triumph, and in his ears rang Will’s parting words. His visitor had explained that he thought