The World According to Bertie - Alexander Hanchett Smith [88]
‘Unless . . .’
She rose to her feet, kicking off her shoes as she did so. ‘You go,’ she said. ‘I’ll just be a sec.’
Bruce went through to his bedroom and stood for a moment in front of his window. Julia was all right, he supposed, but it was clear to him that she would keep him occupied. There were some women who were simply high maintenance, in his terms, and she, he imagined, was one of them. That could be managed, he thought, but it could become difficult if they started to cling. That was the point at which one had to make it clear to them that men were not there to be used, and that they should not be tied down too much. And that, thought Bruce, was the problem. Women get hold of a man and then they think they own him. That would not happen to him, and if Julia had ideas along those lines, then she would have to be disabused of them. He was happy to keep Julia happy, but he was not going to be tied down. That would have to be made quite clear – a little bit later.
He gazed out of the window, which overlooked Howe Street, a street that sloped down sharply to sweep round into the elegant crescents of Royal Circus. It was one of Bruce’s favourite streets in that part of Edinburgh, and he felt a wave of contentment come over him. Here I am, he thought, exactly where I want to be. I have a place to live. I have a woman who is wild keen on me. I have no rent to pay and probably no electricity bills, etc., etc. And I even have a job, financed by Julia, bless her. Perfection.
He moved away from the window. In the background, down the corridor, he could hear the shower being run. Duty calls, he said to himself.
58. Patriotism and the Jacobite Connection
While Bruce was entertaining Julia in her flat in Howe Street, Big Lou was busy with one of her periodic cleanings of the coffee house in Dundas Street. It was a Saturday, and Saturdays were always quieter than weekdays, with many of the usual customers – office people – at home in places such as Barnton or Corstorphine, contem-plating their gardens or their dirty cars and resolving to do something about both of them, but perhaps tomorrow rather than today. Dundas Street itself was reasonably busy, but for some reason many of the people in the street had things other than coffee on their minds, and this left Big Lou the time to do her cleaning.
Big Lou came from a background of cleanliness. The east coast of Scotland may at times be a cold, even a harsh place to live, but it was a well-scrubbed and self-respecting part of the world. In Arbroath, where Big Lou hailed from, kitchens were almost always spotless, and even the most modest of houses would make some attempt at a formal front room. You just did not leave things lying about, just as you did not waste things, nor spend money profligately. There was an idea of order there, forged in a tradition of stewardship and careful use of what resources the land, and the sea, provided. And what, thought Big Lou, is wrong with that? If the rest of Scotland followed the rules of places such as Arbroath or Carnoustie, then life would be better for all; of that Big Lou was quite convinced.
That Saturday, as Big Lou polished the inner windowsills of the coffee house, she saw her new boyfriend, Robbie Cromach, descending the steps that led down from the street. Big Lou straight-ened up and tucked her duster into her pocket. She liked to look her best for Robbie, who was something of a natty dresser himself, and here she was in her working clothes, hair all over the place, and no lipstick to speak of.
‘Noo den,’ said Robbie, as he came in the door. ‘What’s up with you, Lou?’
It was rather a strange greeting, but it was one which he used whenever he saw her, and she had become used to it. ‘Noo den’, she understood, was Shetlandic for now then; Robbie’s mother was from Shetland, and he liked to use the occasional bit of dialect. But noo den? Big Lou had been told that one might say, in reply: ‘Aye, aye boy, foo is du?’ but she had decided that this sounded too like ‘you’re fu’’, which was, of course, an accusation of drunkenness.