105. Farewell
They stood around the fireplace in Domenica’s drawing room, glasses of wine in their hands, the guests of Domenica. They were her friends, and here and there the friend of a friend. Angus Lordie was there, wearing a frayed cravat and a jacket patched with leather at the elbows and cuffs; without Cyril, now, who was tied to a railing below and who was happy, nonetheless, with the smells of Scotland Street in his nostrils and the occasional glimpse of a furtive cat on the other side of the street. And standing next to Angus, smiling at a remark which the painter had made, James Holloway, Domenica’s friend of many years, and Judy Steel too, perched on the arm of a chair and talking to one who was sunk within the chair, Willy Dalrymple, who had been the only one to recognise the Chateau Petrus and had complimented Domenica on it. And then there was Olivia Dalrymple and Pat herself, and Matthew, who had come as her guest, and who stood on the other side of the fireplace, curiously remote in his attitude towards her, Pat thought–but Matthew had his moody periods, and this must be one.
The conversation had ranged widely. They had considered the question of the Reverend Robert Walker skating on Duddingston Loch and had been equally divided. Some believed that it was beyond doubt by Raeburn; others were convinced by the Danloux hypothesis. The summer: some believed that it had confirmed that global warming had arrived; others felt that the summer had been indistinguishable from any other summer of recent memory. And so the areas of potential agreement and disagreement had revealed themselves, to be dissected and discussed and passed over for the next topic.
At nine o’clock, Domenica led her guests through to the dining room, where they sat about her large mahogany table while she and Pat went through to the kitchen to collect the first course.
“That wine is quite delicious,” said Domenica. “Willy seemed to imply that it was something special.”
Pat felt a momentary pang of doubt. Bruce had told her that she could help herself; she clearly remembered his saying so, and he had himself taken two bottles of her Chilean Merlot on one occasion. So she had nothing to worry about, and she put the thought out of her mind.
The risotto was perfect, acclaimed by all, and after the plates had been cleared away, Angus Lordie tapped his glass with a spoon. The glass, which was empty, the Chateau Petrus having been consumed to the last drop, rang out clear across several conversations and brought them to silence.
“Dear friends,” he said, “we are coming to the end of something here. When I was a little boy I hated things to end, as all children do, except their childhood–no child, of course, wants his childhood to go on forever. And when I became a young man, I found that I still hated things to end, though now, of course, I was learning how quickly and hard upon each other’s heels do the endings come.
“Today, our dear friend, Domenica, told us that she was proposing to go away for some time. She is a scholar, and she obeys the tides of scholarship. These tides, she told us, now take her to the distant Malacca Straits, to a particularly demanding piece of fieldwork. I have my own views on that project, but I respect Domenica for her bravery in going to live amongst those whom she intends to study.
“We who are left behind in Edinburgh can only imagine the dangers which she will face. But tonight we can assure her that she goes with our love, which is what we would wish, I’m sure, to any friend about to undertake a journey. You go off clad in the clothes of our love. For that, surely, is what friendship is all about–about the giving of love and the assurance of love.”
Angus stopped, and there was silence. He looked at Domenica, across the table, and she smiled at him.
“Dear Angus,” she said. “A poem is called for.”
“It is,” said James Holloway.
Angus looked down at his plate, at the crumbs that lay upon it; all that was left.
“Very well,” he said. “A poem about small things, I think.”
He stood up, closed his eyes briefly, and then opened them as he began to speak.
Dear one, how many years is it–I forget–
Since that luminous evening when you joined us
In the celebration of whatever it was that we were celebrating–I forget–
It is a mark of a successful celebration
That one should have little recollection of the cause;
As long as the happiness itself remains a memory.
Our tiny planet, viewed from afar, is a place of swirling clouds
And dimmish blue; Scotland, though lodged large in all our hearts
Is invisible at that distance, not much perhaps,
But to us it is our all, our place, the opposite of nowhere;
Nowhere can be seen by looking up
And realising, with shock, that we really are very small;
You would say, yes, we are, but never overcompensate,
Be content with small places, the local, the short story
Rather than the saga; take pleasure in private jokes,
In expressions that cannot be translated,
In references that can be understood by only two or three,
But which speak with such eloquence for small places
And the fellowship of those whom you know so well
And whose sayings and moods are as familiar
As the weather; these mean everything,
They mean the world, they mean the world.
ALEXANDER MCCALL SMITH
ESPRESSO TALES
Alexander McCall Smith is the author of the huge international phenomenon, The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series, and The Sunday Philosophy Club series. He was born in what is now known as Zimbabwe, and he was a law professor at the University of Botswana and at Edinburgh University. He lives in Scotland. Visit his Web site at www.alexandermccallsmith.com.
BOOKS BY ALEXANDER MCCALL SMITH
In The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series
The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency
Tears of the Giraffe
Morality for Beautiful Girls
The Kalahari Typing School for Men
The Full Cupboard of Life
In the Company of Cheerful Ladies
Blue Shoes and Happiness
In The Sunday Philosophy Club series
The Sunday Philosophy Club
Friends, Lovers, Chocolate
In the Portuguese Irregular Verbs series
Portuguese Irregular Verbs
The Finer Points of Sausage Dogs
At the Villa of Reduced Circumstances
In the 44 Scotland Street series
44 Scotland Street
Espresso Tales
The Girl Who Married a Lion and Other Tales from Africa
Praise for Alexander McCall Smith’s
44 SCOTLAND STREET
The First Novel in the Series
“This soulful, sweet [book] will make you feel as though you live in Edinburgh, if only for a short while, and it’s a fine place to visit indeed…. Long live the folks on Scotland Street.”
—The Times-Picayune (New Orleans)
“McCall Smith’s generous writing and dry humor, his gentleness and humanity, and his ability to evoke a place and a set of characters without caricature or condescension have endeared his books…to readers.”
—The New York Times
“Entertaining and witty…. A sly send-up of society in Edinburgh.”
—The Orlando Sentinel
“A welcome addition to the McCall Smith repertoire…. Few writers are better than McCall Smith at making the telling observation…. [And] it is far more fun to read [than] Flaubert.”
—The Miami Herald
“Alexander McCall Smith is the most genial of writers and the most gentle of satirists…. [The] characters are great fun…[and] McCall Smith treats all of them with affection…. Life’s lessons are laid on in this novel with the lightest of touch.”
—Rocky Mountain News
“Pure McCall Smith…. A finely judged blend of wit and wisdom.�
�
—Arkansas Democrat-Gazette
“Amusing…. Endearing…. The possibility of romance, the ongoing ups and downs of the large, well-drawn cast of characters, the intricate plot and the way McCall Smith nimbly jumps from situation to situation work beautifully.”
—The Journal Gazette (Fort Wayne)
“Intelligent writing…. McCall Smith’s cast of characters is varied and well-drawn…. It’s a pleasure to read a novel that exercises your mind.”
—The Oakland Tribune
“[McCall Smith’s] sense of gentle but pointed humor is once again afoot in 44 Scotland Street…. The short chapters make for perfect bedtime reading.”
—The Seattle Times
“A joyous, charming portrait of city life and human foibles, which moves beyond its setting to deal with deep moral issues and love, desire and friendship. Without resorting to clichéd cliff-hangers, McCall Smith has mastered the short, episodic chapter endearingly.”
—Sunday Express
FIRST ANCHOR BOOKS EDITION, JULY 2006
Copyright © 2005 by Alexander McCall Smith
Illustrations copyright © 2005 by Iain McIntosh
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Anchor Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York. Originally published in Great Britain by Polygon, an imprint of Birlinn Ltd., Edinburgh, in 2005.
Anchor Books and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book is excerpted from a series that originally appeared in the Scotsman newspaper.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
McCall Smith, Alexander, 1948–
Espresso Tales : tales from 44 Scotland Street / Alexander McCall Smith; illustrated by Iain McIntosh.
p. cm.
1. Roommates—Fiction. 2. Apartment houses—Fiction. 3. Edinburgh (Scotland)—Social life and customs—Fiction. 4. Humorous stories, English. I. Title.
PR6063.C326E87 2006
823'.917—dc22
2005057175
www.anchorbooks.com
eISBN: 978-0-307-38639-7
v3.0
Espresso Tales Page 37
