The World According to Bertie - Alexander Hanchett Smith [68]
Matthew found himself drawn to the Duke of Johannesburg, with his easy-going conviviality and his cheerful demeanour. This was a man, he thought, who dared, and like most men, Matthew admired men who dared. He himself did not exactly dare, but he would like to dare, if he dared.
‘Yes,’ said the Duke, looking around the room. ‘There are a couple of other guests. And I’m ignoring my social responsibilities by not introducing you. I shouldn’t go on about these old and irrelevant matters. Nobody’s interested in any of that.’
‘Oh, but we are!’ said a man standing near the fireplace. ‘That’s where you’re mistaken, Johannesburg. We all like to hear about these things.’
‘That’s my Greek chorus over there,’ said the Duke, nodding in the direction of the man by the fireplace. ‘You must meet him.’
The Duke drew Matthew and Pat over to the other guest and made introductions.
‘Humphrey Holmes,’ said the Duke.
Matthew looked at Humphrey. He had seen him before – and heard of him – but he had never actually met him. He was a dapper man, wearing a black velvet jacket and bow tie.
‘I hear you sold Johannesburg a painting,’ said Humphrey. ‘He was telling me about it. Something very minimalist, I gather.’
Matthew laughed. ‘Very.’ He glanced around the room, at the pictures on the walls. There were several family portraits – a picture of three boys in kilts, in almost sepia tones, from a long time ago; one looked a bit like the Duke, but it was hard to tell. Then there was a powerful James Howie landscape, one of those glowing pictures that the artist scraped away at for years in order to get the light just as he wanted it to be. Matthew knew his work and sold it occasionally, when Howie, a perfectionist, could be persuaded to part with a painting.
‘I was surprised when he said he’d bought something minimalist,’ remarked Humphrey. ‘As you can see, this isn’t exactly a minimalist room.’
‘Perhaps he’ll hang it somewhere else,’ said Pat.
Humphrey turned to her and smiled politely. ‘Perhaps. Perhaps there are minimalist things here already – it’s just that we can’t see them. But, tell me, do you like minimalism in music?’
Matthew looked down at his feet. ‘Well, I’m not sure . . .’
‘You mean people like Glass and Adams?’ Pat interjected.
‘Yes,’ said Humphrey. ‘Some people are very sniffy about them. I heard somebody say the other day that it’s amazing how people like Adams make so much out of three notes. Which isn’t exactly fair. There’s quite a lot there, you know, if you start to look at Pärt and people like that.’
‘I like Pärt,’ said Pat.
‘Oh, so do I,’ said Humphrey.
‘And then there’s Max Richter,’ said Pat. ‘Do you know that he lives in Edinburgh? His music’s wonderful. Really haunting.’
‘I shall look out for him,’ said Humphrey. ‘Johannesburg wouldn’t be interested, of course. He listens to the pipes mostly. And some nineteenth-century stuff. Italian operas and so on. One of his boys is shaping up to be quite a good piper. That’s him coming in now.’
They looked in the direction of a boy who had entered the room, holding a plate of smoked salmon on small squares of bread. From behind a blonde fringe, the boy looked back at them.
‘Will you play for us, East Lothian?’ asked Humphrey.
‘Yes,’ answered the boy. ‘Later.’
‘Good boy,’ said Humphrey. ‘Johannesburg has three boys, you know. That lad’s East Lothian. Then there’s West Lothian and Midlothian. Real boys. And he’s taught them to do things that boys used to know how to do. How to make a sporran out of a badger you find run over on the road. How to repair a lobster creel. Things like that. I think—’
He was interrupted by the return of the Duke, who had gone out of the room once he had made the introductions.
‘I have my cheque book,’ said the Duke, holding up a rectangular green leather wallet.