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‘Nothing much, Robbie,’ said Big Lou. ‘Just cleaning up.’

Robbie crossed the room and gave Big Lou a kiss on the cheek. He looked at his watch. ‘I’ve arranged with some of the lads to meet here,’ he said. ‘Can you do us a few cups of coffee?’

‘Of course.’ Big Lou paused. ‘The lads? The usual . . .’

Robbie nodded. ‘Aye. Michael, Jimmy, Heather. That’s all. Maybe Willie will turn up, but I don’t think so.’

Big Lou moved to her counter, took four cups off the shelf, and lined them up in a row. She looked at Robbie. She did not like these friends of his – she had tried – but there was something about them that she just did not take to. Michael, she supposed, was not too bad, but that Heather woman – Heather McDowall– she was, well, away with the fairies if you asked Lou, and Jimmy, she thought, was just rather pathetic, a train-spotting type who seemed to have latched on to Michael and followed him round as if waiting for some priceless pearl of wisdom to fall from the older man’s lips.

Robbie, of course, was a different matter. He was immensely attractive in Big Lou’s eyes, and in the eyes of others too – Big Lou knew that. Women can tell when the heads of other women are turned; they see it – the heads turn, ever so slightly, but they turn, as an attractive man walks by. And he was good company, and gentle, which was something that Big Lou admired in a man, but had seen so rarely.

‘This is a meeting?’ asked Big Lou. ‘Or purely social?’

Robbie, leaning against the counter, looked about him quickly, as if searching for those who might overhear. ‘I wanted to have a word with you about that, Lou,’ he said. ‘You know how I feel about . . . about historical matters.’

Lou nodded. ‘You’ve told me, Robbie,’ she said. ‘You’re a Scottish patriot. That’s fine by me. I’m not really political myself, you know. But it’s fine by me that you should be.’

Robbie appeared pleased with this. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘But there’s a particular angle here, Lou. Some of us feel very strongly about the monarchy.’

‘I know that, Robbie,’ Big Lou said. ‘And I support the monarchy too. Look at the Queen, at all the hard work she does. And Prince Charles too – not that many people give him credit for it. They’re always sniping at him and in the meantime he’s dashing around doing these things for other people.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Robbie, a note of impatience in his voice. ‘I’m not denying any of that. They do a fine job. But there’s still a problem, Lou. We had our own line of kings in Scotland, you know, and they took the throne away from us and gave it to the Germans. The Germans! To a line of wee German lairdies! Did they ask us? Did they ask the permission of our parliament?’ Robbie was now becoming flushed. ‘They did not ask us, Lou! They did not. And we don’t accept it.’ He shook his head. ‘We just won’t accept it, Lou!’

Big Lou stood there. She said nothing.

‘So,’ said Robbie. ‘There are some of us who will not let this pass. Not while we have breath in our bodies.’

He looked at Big Lou, waiting for a response.

‘I’m not sure,’ she began. What else could she say? she wondered. Big Lou remembered something that an aunt of hers had once said: ‘A man needs a hobby, Lou – remember that and you can’t go far wrong. Always let your man have a hobby and he won’t stray.’

‘I suppose it’s all right with me, Robbie,’ she said.

Robbie relaxed. ‘Well, that’s good, Lou. I’m pleased that we can count you in on this.’

On what? thought Big Lou.

Robbie provided the answer. ‘We’re Jacobites, you see, Lou. And we like to talk about the cause. And we like to remind people from time to time who is the real king of Scotland.’

‘Oh,’ said Big Lou. ‘Where does he live, this real king?’

‘Germany,’ replied Robbie.

59. A Visitor from Belgium is Expected

Only a few minutes elapsed between Big Lou’s conversation with Robbie about the Jacobite cause and the arrival in her coffee house of the Jacobites in person. Big Lou, her back turned to the door, did not see them come in, and turned round to find Michael, Jimmy and Heather, now seated at a table with Robbie.