Love Over Scotland - Alexander Hanchett Smith [134]
“He’ll be fine,” said the volunteer. “It’s a charming hotel and they were most co-operative. We shall phone through immediately and tell them to go and check his room and make sure that he’s all right. And I’m sure that they’ll put him on the next flight back.”
Irene stared at the well-meaning woman, mute with incomprehension. Then, when the significance of what had been said was absorbed, she sat down in a state of shock.
“I’m so sorry about this,” said the volunteer. “But look, I’m getting through to them right away. I’m sure that they’ll have Bertie on the line in no time at all.”
As Irene stared dumbly at the ceiling, the volunteer spoke quickly into her mobile phone. Then she paused, smiled encouragingly at Irene, and waited for a response. When it came, her face clouded over. “I see,” she said quietly. And then, again: “I see.”
“What did they say?” said Irene. “Let me speak to Bertie.”
The volunteer put the mobile away. “They said that he’s not in his room,” she announced apologetically. “They said that he appears to have gone out.”
Irene sat back in her seat, her head sunk in her hands.
Irene Has a Shock 281
“I’m sure that he’ll turn up somewhere,” said the volunteer, looking anxiously about her. “In the meantime, I suggest that we just . . . that we wait.”
Irene stared at her. “I can’t believe I’m hearing all this,” she said, her voice rising in anger. “I can’t believe that you could take a six-year-old to Paris and leave him there. I just can’t believe it.”
“But you’re the one who insisted that he go,” said the volunteer. “It was explained to you that it was a teenage orchestra and yet you . . .”
“So now you’re blaming me?” said Irene. “Is that it?”
The volunteer sighed. She had been at the audition where Irene had insisted on Bertie being given a hearing. She had heard Irene dismiss the argument that Bertie was far too young. If he was incapable of coping with the arrangements, then it was hardly anybody’s fault but his mother’s.
“Well, now that you mention it,” she said, “yes. Yes. I do happen to think that it’s your fault. Sorry about that. But I really do. You insisted that he should be included. You really did. But he was far too young. That’s all there is to it.”
90. Stuart Lends a Hand
Matthew had seen Stuart several times in the Cumberland Bar. They had exchanged a few words on occasion, but neither had really worked out exactly who the other was. Matthew knew that Stuart lived in Scotland Street and had a vague idea that he might have lived on the same stair as Pat. He also thought that he had seen him with that impossible woman – the one whom Cyril had once bitten in the ankle – and that strange little boy. Somebody had said, too, that he worked in the Scottish Executive somewhere; but that was all that Matthew knew. And for his part, Stuart knew that Matthew had something to do with one of the galleries in Dundas Street, or that he was an antique dealer or something of the sort.
On that evening, though, when Matthew went into the Cumberland, Stuart was standing at the bar ordering a drink, and the circumstances were right for a longer conversation. And this was particularly so when Angus Lordie came in and suggested that they all sit at one of the tables, under which Cyril could drink his dish of beer undisturbed.
The conversation ranged widely. Matthew had seen a picture in an auction catalogue which he was thinking of buying and he wanted advice from Angus. It was a Hornel – a picture of three girls sitting in a field of flowers.
“I don’t really like it,” he said. “Flowers all over the place.”
Angus agreed. “I never put flowers in a painting,” he observed.
“Not that I’m disrespectful of flowers. Far from it. I have no wish to upset them.”
Matthew laughed. “Are you one of these people who talk to plants?”
Angus shook his head. “I have nothing to say to plants,” he replied. “Although you may