SCOTLAND STREET,
‘He has got in with a group of investors who want to make the National Monument on Calton Hill into a hotel. They want to build in between the columns and then out the back’
VOLUME 12 CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
She sat with Matthew in the dining room. It was on the cold side of the house, away from the evening sun that was now, at nine-thirty, just beginning to sink beneath the horizon.
“Our lovely summer evenings,” said Matthew, looking out of the French doors that gave onto a small section of lawn. “Geographical luck: I feel so sorry for people who have a swift nightfall and no lingering evenings in which … well, to linger.”
“Everywhere has its consolations,” said Elspeth. She sighed. “You know, I still can’t quite believe it.” She gestured, with a toss of the head, in the direction of the kitchen. “Him through there – I just can’t believe it. Am I dreaming?”
Matthew shrugged. “It’s early days yet. In fact, it’s day one.”
“Yes, but still … What did you think of that soup?”
Matthew made a gesture that conveyed his appreciation. “He made that in what? Half an hour?”
“Yes,” said Elspeth. “Including picking time. I saw him, you know. I was looking out of our window and I noticed that he was going off on that path – you know, the one that goes to the rhododendrons.”
Matthew looked interested. “What was he doing?”
“Well, that’s exactly what I thought. So I followed him?”
Matthew raised an eyebrow. “Followed?”
“Yes, I know it sounds a bit melodramatic, but I decided to follow him – keeping a discreet distance, of course.” “Of course.” Matthew was eager to hear more. “And then?”
“He went through the rhodies – you know that sort of tunnel that goes right through. He followed that, and then you get to that bit of ground where there’s that fireweed and that old shed. And you know what he was doing?” Matthew shook his head. “Picking nettles,” said Elspeth. “There’s a patch of nettles there and he was picking them. He had gloves on – I hadn’t noticed that before. He was picking nettles for this soup.” “Did he see you?” asked Matthew. “No, I turned around and came right back. I felt really rather ashamed of myself. It was as if I were some sort of voyeur.”
Matthew laughed. “Picking nettles – about as innocent an activity as one can imagine.” He glanced around the dining room. “And it looks as if he’s been gathering flowers too.”
There were several flower arrangements around the room, one on the mantelpiece, another on the sideboard. The flowers were interspersed with random sprigs of greenery – sprigs of honesty, a prickle of gorse, willowy blades of selfseeded wheat.
Matthew shook his head in astonishment. “Amazing,” he said. “And how old is he? Eighteen?” “Yes.” They lapsed into silence. Two candles, placed in the middle of the table, cast a flicker of light on their wine glasses.
Then Matthew said, “This morning – after that business with Mrs Patterson Cowie – I had a long talk with Pat. When we got back to the gallery, she really opened up. It all came out. Everything – with tears too.” “Her love life?” asked Elspeth. “Bruce.” Elspeth sighed. “Him. What’s she thinking of? He’s the worst possible news for her – or for anyone, for that matter.”
“He has this strange power over her. She’s like a rabbit caught in the headlights.” “Stupid girl.” Matthew felt that he had to defend her. “No, she’s not stupid – because she knows that he’s wrong for her. She understands the situation completely.”
“Well, then, she’s due for a lot of heartache. And tears too.”
“Was due,” said Matthew. “By the end of our conversation, I think things were sorted out. I helped her with a letter to him. I dictated part of it – I feel rather proud of myself.” “And what did it say?” “The usual thing. It told him that she thought it would be best for her never to see him again. It asked him not to phone her or e-mail her, or anything. It cut things off.” Elspeth waited for more. “She was tremendously relieved. It was as if she had confessed to a bad habit – which, I suppose he was, in a way. It was as if she had suddenly signed a pledge or whatever – as if she had given up smoking or drinking or something like that.” Matthew paused. “I felt as if I were some sort of Bruce Survivors Support Group. She clung to me – literally.”
Elspeth said nothing, but her eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly.
“She was weeping,” said Matthew. “She clung to me. I calmed her down eventually.” He hesitated. “Mrs Patterson Cowie walked down the street. She saw us through the window.”
Elspeth still did not say anything. And Matthew thought: what more can I say? It was innocent. Pat’s just Pat. I was comforting her. And then Mrs Patterson Cowie comes along and she must think that Pat and I … What else could she think? And I’d just told her during our conversation in Big Lou’s, when she was asking me all about what had happened to me since I left George Watson’s, I had told her about Elspeth and having the triplets and now …”
He decided to change the subject. “She told me about Bruce’s latest plans. I could hardly believe them.”
“I can believe anything of him,” said Elspeth. “So, what now?”
“You know the National Monument on top of Calton Hill? That version of the Parthenon – those pillars?” “Yes.” “Well, Bruce has got in tow with a group of investors who want to make it into a hotel.”
Elspeth shook her head. “Did I hear that right? A hotel?”
“Yes,” said Matthew. “They want to build in between the columns and then out the back. They say it would have a fantastic façade.”
Elspeth did not know what to say. In her mind’s eye she saw it, though, those high Grecian pillars with windows between them now and doors and lights, and taxis drawing up outside.
“I thought at first it was utterly absurd,” said Matthew. “But then I realised that with the way things are going these days there are plenty of people who would probably love the idea. They want hotels everywhere, after all. What use is a halffinished Parthenon? Much rather have the Edinburgh Parthenon Hotel.” “He’s just a Philistine,” said Elspeth. “Yes,” said Matthew. “I suppose he is.” They looked at the flickering candles, at their light, which was so subtle, so gentle, like the faltering light of the spirit that had once infused their city.