Love Over Scotland - Alexander Hanchett Smith [170]
They stood in Domenica’s drawing room, where the friendly evening sun came in, slanting, soft.
“Domenica,” said David Robinson. “Please reassure us that you are back for good.”
Domenica looked into her glass. “I have no immediate plans to leave Edinburgh again,” she said. “I suspect that my field work days are over, but you never know. If there were a need . . .”
“But you’ve finished with pirates?” asked James. “I really think that we’ve had enough pirates. Hunter gatherers are fine, but pirates . . .”
Domenica nodded. “My pirates proved to be rather dull at the end of the day. They were a wicked bunch, I suppose. Their attitude to intellectual property rights was pretty cavalier. But bad behaviour is ultimately rather banal, don’t you think?
There’s a terrible shallowness to it.”
356 Domenica’s Dinner Party
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Antonia. “I would have found Captain Hook a very dull companion, I suspect. Peter Pan would have been far more fun.” She looked at Angus as she spoke, but Angus, noticing her gaze upon him, looked away.
“Peter Pan needed to grow up,” said Matthew. “That was his problem.”
All eyes turned to Matthew as this remark was digested. Pat looked at his new off-green jacket and made a mental note to talk to him about it. But she knew that she would have to be careful.
And then, faintly in the background, the notes of a saxophone could be heard, the sound travelling up the walls and through the floor from the flat below. Domenica smiled. “Our downstairs neighbour,” she explained. “Little Bertie. His mother makes him practise round about this time. We get ’As Time Goes By’ a lot but this . . . what’s he playing now?”
Angus moved to a wall and cupped his ear against it. “It’s
‘The Battle Hymn of the Republic’ I believe. Yes, that’s it. ‘He is trampling out the vintage/where the grapes of wrath are stored’
– good for you, Bertie!”
The conversation resumed, but not for long. Angus now stepped forward, glass in hand, and addressed the company.
“Dear friends,” he began. “Domenica is back from a distant place. Would you mind a great deal if I were to deliver a poem on the subject of maps?”
“Not in the slightest,” said David Robinson. “Maps are exactly what we need to hear about.”
Angus stood in the centre of the room.
Domenica’s Dinner Party 357
“Although,” he began, “they are useful sources Of information we cannot do without,
Regular maps have few surprises: their contour lines Reveal where the Andes are, and are reasonably clear On the location of Australia, and the Outer Hebrides; Such maps abound; more precious, though, Are the unpublished maps we make ourselves, Of our city, our place, our daily world, our life; Those maps of our private world
We use every day; here I was happy, in that place I left my coat behind after a party,
That is where I met my love; I cried there once, I was heartsore; but felt better round the corner Once I saw the hills of Fife across the Forth, Things of that sort, our personal memories, That make the private tapestry of our lives. Old maps had personified winds,
Gusty figures from whose bulging cheeks
Trade winds would blow; now we know
That wind is simply a matter of isobars; Science has made such things mundane,
But love – that, at least, remains a mystery, Why it is, and how it comes about
That love’s transforming breath, that gentle wind, Should blow its healing way across our lives. ”
Document Outline
44 Scotland Street: The Story So Far
1. Pat Distracted on a Tedious Art Course
2. A Picture in a Magazine
3. Co-incidence in Spottiswoode Street
4. At Domenica�s Flat
5. The Judgement of Neuroaesthetics
6. Gurus as Father Substitutes
7. Angus Goes Off Antonia, in a Big Way
8. Money Management
9. The Warm Embrace of the Edinburgh Establishment
10. Does He Wear Lederhosen?
11. The Bears of Sicily
12. Quality Time with Irene
13. An Average Scottish Face
14. Distressed Oatmeal
15. No Flowers Please
16. How To Let