Espresso Tales - Alexander Hanchett Smith [152]
“But these were minor matters, when all is said and done. The final production was not at all bad, and a number of people said that my own performance as the Duke of Plaza-Toro was the best portrayal they had ever seen of that role. That was very kind of them. It’s so easy to be disparaging of other people’s efforts, and I must confess that there is a slight tendency in that direction in Edinburgh. But I am not one to criticise Edinburgh, in
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spite of its occasional little failing. We are very lucky to live here and I for one will never forget that, bearing in mind what so many people have to put up with when they live in other places.”
He put down his memoirs and looked at Betty. Her head was nodding in agreement, or, if one took the uncharitable view, sleep. 98. Younger Women, Older Men
Down the steps into Big Lou’s coffee bar, the very steps down which Christopher Grieve had descended when books were sold there (in the days when coffee was instant, and undrinkable); down those steps went father and son, Matthew and Gordon. Gordon had arrived at his son’s gallery without notice, had sauntered in, and indicated that he wanted to talk to his son. And Matthew, embarrassed by the memory of his churlish behaviour over dinner – behaviour which he somehow had seemed just unable to control – had said: “We must have coffee, Dad. I usually go about this time to a place over the road.”
“Anywhere, son,” Gordon replied. “You know my feelings about coffee.”
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Matthew frowned. “I don’t, actually,” he said. “I didn’t know you had views on coffee.”
“It’s a racket,” said Gordon. “All these fancy alternatives. Skinny latte with vanilla. Double espresso. Americano. So on. It’s all just coffee, isn’t it?”
Matthew thought about this. “But what about your malt whiskies?” he said. “You go on about fifteen-year-old this and twenty-year-old that. It’s all just whisky, isn’t it?”
Gordon looked at his son with pity. “That’s different, Matt,”
he said, adding: “As you well know.”
Matthew had said nothing in response to this. He had never been able to argue with his father, whose tactic of defending a position was to imply that the other side knew full well that what he, Gordon, said was right. And there was no time for argument anyway, as they were now entering the coffee bar and Matthew had to introduce his father to Big Lou. A thought occurred to him, and made him smile: Big Lou would now be able to say of him, I ken his faither. This was a useful thing to be able to say in Scotland, as it could be used with devastating effect to cut somebody down to size. And cutting others down to size, Matthew knew, was at the heart of Scottish culture. What better way of suggesting that the other person was just a jumpedup wee boy than to say that one kent his faither?
Matthew did not choose his usual table, as he was concerned that they might be joined by Angus Lordie, if he came in, or that vague woman from the flat above the coffee bar, that woman whose name he could never remember and who tried, unsuccessfully, to appear mysterious. Matthew knew that he had to talk to his father. He had to express the fears which had been preying on him since he had first met Janis and which would not go away. He was convinced that the florist was primarily interested in his father’s money, and Matthew wanted to protect him from this, but until then he had been unwilling to broach the subject with him directly. Yet it could not be put off forever. Used they not to say in marriage ceremonies: Speak now or forever hold your peace? He would have to speak now. They sat down together while Big Lou prepared the coffee. 322 Younger Women, Older Men
She had smiled at Matthew’s father and shaken his hand, and Gordon had responded warmly. “Nice woman, that,” he had whispered to Matthew. “Lots of hard work in her.”
“Yes,” said Matthew. “Lou has certainly worked hard.”
“There’s nothing like hard work,” said Gordon thoughtfully.
“That’s what makes money, you know, Matthew. Hard work.