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their butlers; she had never seen this happen, of course, but it was always possible. Just.
She reached for the list which Matthew kept in the top drawer.
Running her eye down the figures, she came to the appropriate entry. Scottish school – Unknown: initials SP – Some Person? One hundred and fifty pounds.
“One hundred and fifty pounds,” said Pat.
The man stood back and stroked his chin. “One hundred and fifty? A bit steep, isn’t it? But . . . but, maybe. It would be a nice little gift for my friend.” Then, turning to Pat, he said decisively:
“I’ll take it. Wrap it up please. I’ll pay in cash.”
Pat hesitated. “On the other hand,” she said. “If it’s a Peploe, then one hundred and fifty might be a little bit low. Perhaps forty thousand would be more appropriate.”
The man, who had been crossing the floor towards the desk, stopped.
“Peploe? Don’t be ridiculous! Would that it were! But it isn’t.
Out of the question.”
Pat watched him as he spoke. She saw the slight flush of colour to his brow and the movement of his eyes, which darted sideways, and then returned to stare at her. She was convinced now that she had taken the right decision. The painting was no longer for sale.
20. The Boys Discuss Art
Matthew arrived in the gallery just before it was time for him to cross the road for morning coffee at Big Lou’s. Pat started to tell him of the two visits of the would-be purchaser of the Mull/Iona painting, but he stopped her.
“This is big,” he said. “Come and tell me about it over coffee.
The boys will want to hear about this. We’ll close the shop for an hour. This is really, really big.”
They made their way over the road to Big Lou’s, crossing the 52
The Boys Discuss Art
cobbled street down which the tall buses lumbered. At the bottom of the street, beyond the rooftops of Canonmills, lay Fife, like a Gillies watercolour of sky and hills. Matthew saw Pat pause and look down the road, and he smiled at her.
“Yes,” he said. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
She nodded. She had not thought that he would notice something like that, but then she knew very little about him.
Matthew was not like Bruce, who would never notice a view.
There was something more to Matthew, a gentle quality that made her feel almost protective towards him.
They turned away from Fife and made their way down Big Lou’s dangerous stairs. Ronnie and Pete were already in the coffee bar, sitting in their accustomed booth. Matthew introduced Pat to his friends.
“This young lady has just made a major discovery,” he said.
“There’s a very important painting in the gallery. I missed it. I would have sold it for one hundred and fifty and it’s worth . . .?”
He turned to Pat. “Ten thousand?”
“Forty, maybe.”
Ronnie whistled. “Forty grand!”
Big Lou came over with coffee and set mugs in front of them.
“I’m reading Calvocoressi’s book about Cowie at the moment,” she said. “Very interesting.”
“Yes,” said Pete. “You bet. But this painting, how do you know that it’s whatever you think it is? How can you tell?”
Pat shrugged. “I can’t tell,” she said. “I don’t know very much about all this. I did Higher Art, I suppose, and we learned a little bit about Scottish painters. We learned about Peploe, and I think this looks like a Peploe.”
Ronnie said: “Lots of things look like something else. Lou looks like the Mona Lisa, don’t you, Lou? But you aren’t. You have to know about these things.” He turned to Matthew. “Sorry, pal, but you may be jumping the gun a bit.”
This remark seemed to worry Matthew, and he turned to Pat anxiously. “Well, Pat, how can you be sure?”
“I can’t,” said Pat. “I’ve just said that. But I’m pretty sure that this man who came in had recognised it as being something The Boys Discuss Art
53
valuable. He was pretending – I could tell. He was pretending not to be too interested in it, and when I said that it might be a Peploe he almost jumped. I could tell that he was . . . well, he was annoyed. He thought he had a bargain.”
“Sounds good,” said Pete. “Remember when we bought that table, Ronnie, and that dealer pretended not to be interested in it? We saw him looking underneath it before he came to us and offered us twice what we’d paid. We could tell.”
“Yes,” said Ronnie. “You can tell.” He paused. “But how are you going to be sure? You can’t put it in the window as a Peploe or whatever unless you know what you’re talking about.”
“I’ll get an opinion,” said Matthew. “I’ll take it to somebody who knows what they’re talking about.”
“Unlike you?” said Pete.
“I’ve never said that I know anything about art,” said Matthew.
“I’ve never made any claims.”
Ronnie looked down at his coffee. “So who do we ask? Lou?”
“I know more than you do,” said Lou from behind the counter.
“You know nothing. Both of you. You and your friend, Pete, you know nothing. You’re just afa feels. ”
“Let’s not fight over this,” said Matthew quietly. “Even in the Doric. I think that what we need to do is to take this to somebody else on the street here – another dealer. And we’ll ask what they think.”
“Good idea,” said Ronnie. “Just take it down to that what’s his name – that one on the corner there. Ask him.”
“I can’t do that,” said Matthew. “He’d laugh at me. And he’d tell everybody else that I don’t know what I have. No, we need to get somebody else to do it.” He looked at Pat. “Pat? What about you? You take the painting down to him and say that it’s yours. Ask him for an opinion. Is that all right with you? Do it tomorrow?”
“I suppose so,” said Pat. This involved her telling a lie, even if it was a small one. But she was truthful by inclination, and the thought of telling any untruth made her feel uncomfortable. And she did not feel easy in the company of Ronnie and Pete. There was something unsettling about them, something 54
A Daughter’s Dance Card
of the late afternoon perhaps, even if not quite something of the night.
21. A Daughter’s Dance Card
It was not a particularly busy day at the offices of Macaulay Holmes Richardson Black, Chartered Surveyors and Factors.
The senior partner, Gordon, had gone to London to look at a commercial property in Fulham which a client of the firm had just inherited from a relative. The client wanted to sell the building, but distrusted London agents, a view with which Todd had readily agreed.
In Gordon’s absence on this inspection trip, the firm was run by his younger brother, Raeburn Todd, who was spending the day going through the files in his brother’s filing cabinet. Bruce pretended not to notice. It was information which he could perhaps use one day, if it were necessary. One never knew when one might be in a tight corner, and it was useful to have some cover.
Bruce had very little to do that day and he was bored. After twenty minutes of the newspaper, he rose to his feet and went to look out of the window. It had turned into a wet day outside, although the showers were light and sporadic. From their offices, on the fourth floor of a building in Queen Street, they could look out over the roofs of Heriot Row and Great King Street, down to the distant greens of Trinity, and beyond. Although he was a relatively junior member of staff, Bruce had a room with this view, and he was staring at it absently when the telephone rang and he was summoned to Todd’s room. He’s finished snooping, thought Bruce. Now he wants to interfere with my work.