Espresso Tales - Alexander Hanchett Smith [94]
“Fergusson was the real thing,” Angus interrupted. “He had a real feeling for what was going on in the streets and taverns of Edinburgh. And he suffered. Brooke and his like are all too douce. That’s why their poetry is so bland.”
Domenica rose to her feet to refresh the glass which Angus was holding out to her. “I’m not sure where this is going,” she said mildly. “But then I never am with you, Angus. Your thoughts
. . . well, they do seem to drift a bit.”
196 Robert Garioch
“Along a very clear path,” said Angus. “I was speaking about Garioch and how he would have appreciated the contrast between the outward respectability of Moray Place and the desire of at least some of the inhabitants to practise nudism. That’s just the sort of thing that he liked to write about.
“He wrote a wonderful poem, you know, called ‘Glisk of the Great ’. The narrator sees a group of people coming out of the North British Grill, ‘lauchan fit to kill’. Then the party climbs into a ‘muckle big municipal Rolls Royce’ and disappears off towards the Calton Hill. The narrator thinks how grand this is, although the rest of us can’t join in. It gives the town some tone, you see.”
He paused. Pat and Domenica were looking at him expectantly. Cyril, who had raised his head, appeared to be listening too, one ear cocked towards his master. Cyril had no idea what was going on – which is the lot of dogs for most of the time. But he did know that he had been enjoying a pleasant dream before his master’s voice disturbed him. In this dream he had been biting Matthew’s ankle, something he had wanted to do for a long time. And he was getting away with it too.
“Well,” said Domenica, after a few moments, “be that as it may. Robert Garioch is not here to write about this invitation of Pat’s. We have to decide – or, rather, Pat has to decide –
whether to go. And I would say certainly not.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Angus. “They’ll all be perfectly respectable. These nudists are a very tame lot, you know. They don’t practise nudism for any lascivious reasons. It’s all very pure and aboveboard.”
“That may be so,” said Domenica. “But doesn’t it strike you as a bit strange that this young man should have invited Pat, who is not currently a practising nudist, to join them?”
“They have to recruit somehow,” said Angus. “It’s like people inviting you to come along to a church service or an amateur orchestra. They’re hoping that you’ll join. People are recruiters at heart, you know. It makes them feel more comfortable to see the ranks of their particular enthusiasm swelling.”
Pat listened to this with interest. She had been intrigued by The Ramsey Dunbarton Story: Part IV – Legal Matters 197
what Angus had to say, but felt at heart that any advice he gave was bound to be wrong. Angus was harmless enough, she thought, but his view of things was such a strange one – almost a poetical turning upside-down of the world. Domenica, by contrast, seemed to understand things as they were, and if she were to listen to anybody, she should listen to her. Of course, there were other people she could ask. There was Matthew, but she sensed that he would be jealous and resentful if she even told him about Peter’s existence, let alone his bizarre invitation. Then there was her father. He had a profound understanding of the world, but it would embarrass her to talk to him about something like this. Finally, she could make her mind up for herself; she could follow her instincts. But what were her instincts? She thought for a moment. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine the scene in the Moray Place Gardens. Then she opened them again. She wanted to go.
60. The Ramsey Dunbarton Story:
Part IV – Legal Matters
High above the city, in their house in the Braids, Ramsey Dunbarton was embarking on a second reading of excerpts from his memoirs to his wife Betty. They had finished with his account of their courtship and early years in Craiglea Drive