The World According to Bertie - Alexander Hanchett Smith [55]
She had continued to stare at him. ‘I really have no idea what you’re going on about, Bruce,’ she had said. ‘And, by the way, do you mind not moving my conditioner bottles from the shower? You know that little shelf in there? That’s where I like them to be. That’s where I put them.’
Bruce smiled. ‘Come and show me,’ he said. ‘Show me when I’m in the shower.’
She did not appreciate that, he decided, which was typical of somebody like her. There was a sense-of-humour failure there, he thought. A serious one. And she did not take well either to his next remark, which took the form of a good-natured question.
‘Are you interested in other women, Caroline?’ he asked. ‘I just want to know.’
‘What do you mean?’
Bruce sighed. ‘I’m really having to spell it out,’ he said. ‘I mean: are you, you know, interested in other women? Don’t look so cross. Lots of people are a little bit that way, you know, now and then. It’s perfectly understandable, you know . . .’
‘How dare you!’ Caroline screamed. ‘I’m going to tell Neil when he comes back. I just can’t believe it. I can’t believe that I’m being talked to like this in my own kitchen.’
‘Temper! Temper!’ said Bruce. ‘Most people these days don’t get all uptight about these things. We live in a very enlightened age, you know. I mean, hello!’
Now, standing in the shower, Bruce poured on a bit of Caroline’s conditioner and rubbed it into his hair. His conversation with his hostess had not been an edifying one, and it was probably just as well that he was going out for dinner with Julia Donald that evening. He might even move out that very evening, which would give Caroline something to think about, but any decision could wait. For the moment, he had the sheer pleasure of the shower ahead of him; a shower first, then decisions, said Bruce to himself. That’s a good one, he thought. Just like Bertolt Brecht with his Grub first, then ethics.
He turned his head slightly and caught sight of his reflection in the glass wall of the shower cubicle. His profile, he thought, was the real strength of his face; that straight nose, in perfect proportion to the rest of the features – spot-on. It was amazing, he thought, how nature gets it just right. And the cleft in his chin – how many women had put the tip of their little finger in there? – it was almost as if they could not resist it; a Venus flytrap, perhaps.
He pouted. ‘Drop-dead gorgeous,’ he whispered, through the sound of the shower.
37. Eye Toffee
Bruce had suggested to Julia that they should meet in the Tower Restaurant, above the museum. He had been there once before when a client of Macaulay Holmes Richardson Black had invited him to discuss over lunch the purchase of a piece of land near Peebles. Bruce had made a mental note to return for a more leisurely meal, but then he had become occupied with his wine business – a ‘semi-success’ as he called it – and that had been followed by his removal to London. Eating out in London, of course, was ruinously expensive and, unless invited, he had avoided it as far as possible. Now, back in Edinburgh, he contemplated, with pleasure, the variety of restaurants he would be able to explore with Julia. She was the sort of girl who would pay the bill without complaint, although he would reach into his own pocket from time to time if pressed; Bruce was not mean.
The Tower Restaurant was above the new part of the National Museum of Scotland. As a boy, Bruce had been taken to the museum on several occasions, on school trips from Crieff, and had enjoyed pressing the buttons of the machines kept on display in great, ancient cases. The cavernous hall of the museum, with its vast glass roof, had been etched into the memory of those days, and could still impress him; but now it was the business of dinner that needed to be attended to.
He was early. Perched on one of the bar stools, he nursed a martini in front of him while waiting for Julia. Bruce did not normally drink martinis, but tonight’s date justified one, he thought; and the effect, he noted, was as intended – the gin,