Espresso Tales 4ss-2

by Alexander McCall Smith

  Lighthouses, but I was never invited. That’s the problem with Edinburgh: to be a member of anything really worthwhile and important – such as the Royal Company of Archers or the Northern Lighthouse Board (not to mention the Knights of the Thistle!) – one has to be invited. Why can one not apply? I ask.

  Of course they would get all sorts of applications from un-desirables, but these could be weeded out by the civil servants who, in my experience, have a pretty good idea of who’s desirable and who isn’t!

  “There was also the Gardyloo, of course. That was the vessel that took the sewage sludge out from Edinburgh and dumped it in the Firth. It went out every day and came back a few hours later, somewhat lighter. Once, many years later – in the late nineteen-seventies, I think it was, we were back down walking at Cramond and we saw this ship. Betty pointed it out to me and asked me one day what I thought that strange boat was carrying. I replied that I thought that it brought in gravel from a quarry down near North Berwick. I knew that this was not true, but I could not tell her what was really going on. That is the only occasion on which I lied to Betty, and I later admitted it to her. She said that I had done the right thing, as it would undoubtedly have spoiled the romance of our walk if she had known what the real business of the Gardyloo was.

  “Our romance blossomed, as I knew it would, and eventually Betty invited me to accompany her to Broughty Ferry, where her parents lived. We agreed to motor up there on a Sunday, have lunch with them and then travel back in time for dinner.

  “I shall never forget that first meeting with Betty’s parents.

  It was daunting for any young man, of course, to have to meet the parents of his intended, and I felt pretty nervous as we went up to the front door of their house. Betty must have sensed my nervousness, because she patted me on the forearm and assured me that I was bound to like them. ‘Everybody likes them,’ she said. ‘They are very kind people.’

  “And she was absolutely right. They made me feel immediately at home and seemed to know all about me and my career.

  126 The Ramsey Dunbarton Story: Part 2 – Courting Days Her father said that he liked lawyers and that he would have become a lawyer himself if he had not been required to take over the family business. This was a marmalade factory in Dundee – a business which his own father had set up on his return from Calcutta, where he had been an agent for a cousin’s jute firm.

  “After lunch, the ladies withdrew and left Betty’s father and me in the dining room. We had talked about all sorts of things over the meal, but now the conversation seemed to dry up. I looked out of the window, hoping to see something on which I could pass comment, but there was nothing unusual to be seen. It was a large garden, full of rhododendra, but I could not think of anything to say about rhododendra. So I remained silent.

  “Eventually, Betty’s father spoke. He looked at me for a moment, as if assessing me, and then he said: ‘What are your views on marmalade?’

  “At first I was not sure how to reply. I liked marmalade, but I was not sure whether that was the nature of the question I had been asked.

  “He must have sensed my confusion, as he fairly quickly explained his question. ‘What I mean,’ he said, ‘is this. Do you think that you could work in the marmalade business? That is, if anybody were to offer you a post in such a business.’

  “I had not been prepared for this question. It seemed to me that he was sounding me out about my willingness to commit myself to their family business; this seemed a little bit prema-ture, as I had not yet announced my intention of proposing to Betty. But I supposed that it was a wise move on his part. If he wanted to marry Betty off, then perhaps he thought that an early offer of a partnership in the business would prompt me to make a proposal. The more I thought of it, in fact, the more convinced I became that this is what he had in mind.

  “Of course I had to be honest. I had nothing against the marmalade business, but I did not think I would wish to make my life in it. It is undoubtedly the sort of business that suits many people very well, but I liked the law and had worked hard

  The Ramsey Dunbarton Story: Part 3 – Further Highlights 127

  to become a solicitor. I did not want to throw that all away just for the sake of marmalade.

  “I explained to him that I thought that I would continue to practise law. He nodded, rather sadly, I thought, and told me that this was the answer he had expected. ‘We’re not the most exciting business in the world,’ he said. ‘But, you know something? I love it. I love every moment of it. Marmalade has been my life. It really has.’ ”

  39. The Ramsey Dunbarton Story:

  Part 3 – Further Highlights

  “Betty and I were married in St Giles’, where my father was an elder. We then moved into our first matrimonial home, which was a terraced house at the end of Craiglea Drive, in Morningside. It was not a large house, but it suited us very well, as we were on the sunny side of the street and got the morning sunlight through our drawing-room windows. That meant, of course, that the garden, which was on the other side, did not 128 The Ramsey Dunbarton Story: Part 3 – Further Highlights get quite as much sun as I would have wished, and I think that is the real reason why we were to move six years later. I know that some people have suggested that it was because we thought that that end of Craiglea Drive was not quite ‘grand’ enough for us, but that really was not the case and I’m happy to have this opportunity to scotch those rumours.

  “One of the main attractions of that house was the many pleasant walks which one could have in the vicinity. If one went to the end of the road and then turned right, and then left after that, one came quite quickly to the gates of Craig House.

  This was a splendid building which had been built as a hospital but which was more like a large country house. It had a splendid hall in which the patients could take formal meals on occasion, and very extensive grounds. Like many of the neighbours, I enjoyed the privilege of walking in those grounds, admiring the fine views. Betty and I spent many happy hours walking in those grounds when we lived in Craiglea Drive and when I drive past it today and reflect on those days I cannot help but feel a little bit sad. I think of those poor people who stayed there, and of all their unhappiness, and of how we used to look after people with rather greater dignity than we do today. In those days, if you were ill you were welcomed in the hospitals. You were made to feel comfortable and you were addressed by your full name. Today, the first thing they think of is how quickly they can get you out of there and then they put you in a ward with men and women all mixed up together, as if privacy did not matter. I sometimes reflect on what we have lost in our society and how it all happened. But then if I speak about this, people simply sneer and call me old-fashioned and conservative. Well, they are welcome to do that, but at least I can console myself with the knowledge that I always, always called people Mr so-and-so or Miss so-and-so and never presumed a familiarity with them to which they had not admitted me.

  “When we left Craiglea Drive we came to the Braids, to the house in which we were to remain for many years, and where we still live. I am not a rolling stone; I like to gather moss. It The Ramsey Dunbarton Story: Part 3 – Further Highlights 129

  suited us very well to live up here, with its good air and its fine views, and over the years we have established a remarkable garden. In fact, we once considered volunteering our garden for public admission under Scotland’s Gardens Scheme, but I hesitated to do something which some people around here might consider pushy, or pretentious. Most of the gardens opened to the public are fairly large ones, attached to substantial country houses, but there is still a place for the small, intimate garden which can be a real jewel if planned and tended with care and good taste.

  “Betty was keen enough to open the garden to the public, but I eventually decided that it would not be wise. ‘One has to keep one’s head below the parapet,’ I said to her. ‘Put it above the parapet and people will take a pot shot at you.’

  “She seemed surprised at t
his, and suggested that I was rather exaggerating the situation. Her nature is so sweet, I suppose, that she couldn’t imagine people behaving in a nasty way. But I had seen a lot of human nature and knew very well that there were people in the street who would be only too happy to have some excuse to pass hostile comments on me. I had already encountered it when I had proposed myself for membership of the local amenity association and had suggested that my legal expertise might be useful in dealing with any controversial planning applications that came up. It came back to me that one or two neighbours were saying that this offer on my part meant that I thought I knew more about bureaucratic procedures than they did. This was very unfair. I would never have implied that, and I had only put myself forward in order to be of use to the community.

  “But some people are not interested in the public good; they are consumed by envy of anybody who might be just a little bit more enterprising than they are. I don’t wish to point any fingers politically, but I think that there might be one or two Scottish politicians who are perhaps a tiny bit guilty of harbouring such sentiments in their otherwise generous bosoms. But political sniping is not to my taste, and I shall say no more about that!

  130 Bertie’s Plan Is Launched

  “Time passed remarkably quickly. Betty and I had no family, which was a disappointment to us, I know, and I would wish that it could have been otherwise. But we have been blessed in so many other ways that I do not wish to dwell on what we might have missed. We have had a fortunate life, Betty and I, and it has been packed with more than its fair share of excitement. I should like to share some of that with you, and tell you, in particular, of some of my exciting legal cases, of how I played the Duke of Plaza-Toro in The Gondoliers at the Church Hill Theatre, of my racy friend Johnny Auchtermuchty, and of the occasion that I played bridge with no less a person than Angus, late Duke of Atholl.”

  40. Bertie’s Plan Is Launched

  As he made his way back to Scotland Street after his unfortunate experience in Dundas Street – unfortunate in the sense of having been stranded so ignominiously and terrifyingly in the middle of the traffic, yet fortunate in the sense of having been rescued by a well-known politician who happened to be walking up the hill at the time – Bertie felt utterly despondent. He had not hatched many plans in his brief life – his mother did his planning for him – and this scheme, with which he had been so pleased, had not even got off the ground. As he walked home, fingering the piece of chalk which he had in his pocket and which he had planned to use to leave a message for his proposed collaborator, Paddy, he decided that perhaps it was useless to rebel. It seemed to him that his mother would always outsmart him, whatever he tried to do, and she also had that powerful ally in the person of Dr Fairbairn. It was hopeless, thought Bertie, to attempt to take control of his life in the face of two such calculating opponents. Like a prisoner-of-war, he should perhaps just keep his head down and wait for the moment of liberation to come. That would be when he was eighteen, when Bertie understood that one became an adult and could leave Bertie’s Plan Is Launched

  131

  home and behave as one wished. Once one was eighteen, then one could abandon crushed strawberry–coloured dungarees if one wished and wear whatever one liked. Bertie could hardly wait, and there were only twelve years to go.

  Bertie was thinking along these lines when he turned the corner into Drummond Place. As he did so, he heard a sound coming from his right, from the gardens in the middle of the square. It was a strange sound, something between a whistle and a hoot, and he wondered for a moment if it was some unusual bird that had lost its way and had settled in one of the trees.

  Bertie stopped, and stared into the bushes. Again the sound came, and this time it was followed by a parting of the undergrowth. Revealed within, half crouching, half standing, was Paddy, the boy whom Bertie had hoped to see in Fettes Row.

  “Bertie!” Paddy called. “Quick! Over here!”

  Barely waiting to see if any cars were coming, but nonetheless being careful not to tread on any lines, Bertie ran across the pavement and over the road. In a moment he was through the half-open gate to the gardens. Paddy called out again, and held back the branches of the large bush under which he was hiding.

  “Hello,” said Paddy, as Bertie joined him under the bush.

  “This is my special observation post. You can come here any time you like. You can see everything that’s going on. And nobody can see you!”

  “Great,” said Bertie. “Magnifico . . .” And then, correcting himself very quickly, he said: “Magnificent!”

  “Yes,” said Paddy. “But don’t tell anybody. I don’t want anyone else coming in here.”

  “Of course not,” said Bertie. “Just you and me. Like one of those Masonic lodges.”

  Paddy looked puzzled. “Masonic lodges?”

  “Yes,” explained Bertie. “That’s where men go – grown-up men. They get dressed up and go to these secret club houses.”

  “How strange,” said Paddy. “What do they do there?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Bertie. “They don’t let anybody else have a look. And there are no girls allowed.”

  132 Bertie’s Plan Is Launched

  “Good,” said Paddy. “Girls spoil things.”

  Bertie thought about this for a moment. He did not know many girls – in fact the only girl he knew was that girl called Olive at school. She was rather nice, he thought, and he was not at all sure that she spoiled things. It was Olive who had helped him up after Tofu had pushed him over, and it was she who had comforted him with the thought that Tofu would eventually fade away through enforced veganism.

  “There are some nice girls,” said Bertie. “There’s a girl called Olive . . .”

  “Never heard of her,” said Paddy. “Anyway, let’s not talk about girls. Let’s talk about something else.”

  Bertie saw his opportunity. “I’ve had a very good idea,” he said quickly. “I need your help for a plan that I’ve made. Are you allowed to go wherever you like?”

  “Yes,” said Paddy. “I’m allowed to go anywhere, as long as I’m back by six. I’m completely free.”

  “And what about your . . . your mother? Doesn’t she . . . ?”

  It was so difficult for Bertie to say this, but it seemed so extraordinary to him, so impossible, that a boy could be free of his mother, that he needed to seek confirmation.

  “My mother’s cool,” said Paddy, with a shrug. “She says that boys need to have fun. She likes to have fun herself. Everybody says that she’s full of fun.”

  Bertie’s eyes widened. “And your dad? What about him?”

  “He’s cool too,” said Paddy. “He takes me fishing in the Pentlands. I told you that, didn’t I? And he likes to drink too.

  He has lots of fun.”

  Bertie looked at Paddy with admiration, and envy. This is what it must be like to be eighteen, he thought. But there was no point wallowing in regret for what was not; there was a plan to be explained to Paddy, and over the next few minutes he told him exactly what he wanted him to do. Paddy listened intently and then nodded enthusiastically. “Piece of cake,” he said. “I’ll get the money for you and I’ll buy the blazer – and the tie. Then I’ll bring it down here and leave it under the bushes – in our place. You can pick it up any time. Easy.”

  Irene’s Plan for Bertie

  133

  “I’ll give you a present for doing all this,” said Bertie. “You can keep ten pounds.”

  “How about twenty?” said Paddy.

  Bertie thought for a moment. Twenty pounds was a great deal of money, but he was sure that Paddy would do everything he said he would, and this was an important plan after all. “All right,” Bertie said. “You can keep twenty pounds.”

  “Good,” said Paddy. “Give me the card then, and tell me your number.”

  Bertie reached into his pocket and took out his bank card.

  “You’ll be able to remember the number easily,” Bertie said. �
�It’s the date of Mozart’s birth.”

  Paddy stared at Bertie. “Who?”

  “Mozart.”

  Paddy continued to stare. “Who did he play for?” he asked.

  Bertie laughed. That was very funny. Then he stopped.

  Perhaps Paddy did not get the joke.

  41. Irene’s Plan for Bertie

  Paddy was as good as his word. The day after the fortuitous encounter of the two boys in their newly-established meeting place in Drummond Place Gardens, Bertie found a neatly-wrapped parcel in Aitken and Niven livery waiting for him under the appointed bush. He had obtained leave from Irene to go out and play in the gardens for fifteen minutes or so prior to his yoga class in Stockbridge, and had used the time to locate the parcel. Fumbling with the string which Paddy had tied about the package, he tore it open and gazed in wonder at the contents.

  There before him was a pristine, plum-coloured Watson’s blazer, complete with tie and, tucked neatly into the top pocket of the blazer, his now somewhat depleted junior saver bank card.

  Since it was going to be very important to ensure that Irene did not see the blazer, Bertie had to be careful in smuggling it 134 Irene’s Plan for Bertie

  back into the flat. This proved to be easier than he had expected; Irene was on the telephone when he let himself in and he was able to slip along the corridor, into his room, and bundle the blazer under the bed. It was easy, but it was dangerous nonetheless, and he felt his heart beating loud within him as he stood at his door and listened for a few moments to his mother’s conversation. No, she had not heard; she suspected nothing.