Alexander Smith - Unbearable Lightness of Scones

Angus had to admit that he did. “It was in a small cupboard above the sink,” he said. “There were one or two other teacups there. Nothing very good, I’m afraid. An old chipped Minton Haddon Hall cup, I think.”

“Those can be quite nice,” said Domenica.

“Yes, they can,” said Angus. “William Crosbie had a set, as I recall. I was in his studio down south once, and we drank tea out of Minton cups. I remember, because he was painting one at the time. It was in a still life that he had set up.”

He stared at Domenica. “You could put it back in that cupboard, now that I’ve told you where it is.”

Domenica brushed the suggestion aside. “Far better for you to do it.”

Angus decided not to argue: Domenica had made up her mind, and he would be the loser in any argument. Women always win, he thought. They just always win.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll take it. Are you sure that she’s out?”

“She dropped the key in when she went,” said Domenica. “She said that she’d be out for several hours. You’re perfectly safe.”

Angus rose to his feet and took the key from Domenica. Then she passed him a plastic bag containing the blue Spode teacup.

“I feel a bit like a burglar,” he said.

Domenica was dismissive. “Burglars don’t return property,” he said. “They take it. You’re returning it.”

“But what if a person who was returning property, clandestinely, were to be caught?” asked Angus. “Wouldn’t he then look, to all intents and purposes, exactly like a burglar?”

“Appearances can be deceptive, Angus,” said Domenica. “Now let’s not waste any more time.”

Domenica opened the door of her flat and Angus slipped out. He looked about him furtively, which was ridiculous, he thought; there was nobody about and he could open Domenica’s door with complete impunity. His errand was a simple one and would take a minute at the most. And it was a just one, he reminded himself: he had nothing to reproach himself about returning to Antonia that which belonged to her.

He turned the key in the door and pushed it open. Something was hindering it, and he had to push quite firmly in order to shift the obstruction: the post. Once the door was open, he looked down and saw that a letter had become trapped under the opening door and was slightly torn. He picked it up, examined it, and then put it down again in its original position. Then he closed the door behind him and began to make his way through the hall.

He stopped. A painting had caught his eye; a small painting, a collection of objects against a bright background. Was it? He moved forward to peer at the painting and he saw the signature. Elizabeth Blackadder. Well, thought Angus, Antonia may have bad taste in men, as Domenica had reported to him, but she had good taste in painting. A Blackadder. Interesting. And what was this? A small pencil study of a boy’s head. By? He looked more closely and realised that he was looking at a sketch by James Cowie – the style was unmistakable. That was even more interesting. Cowie in his Hospitalfield days, probably. Well, well… Antonia must have a bit of money, he thought. Where would she get that from? Her estranged husband, she supposed. He was one of these Perthshire types; they often had funds.

He moved out of the hall and went into the kitchen. Taking the blue Spode teacup out of its bag, he put it down on the draining board next to the sink. Then he opened the cupboard above the sink. There was the Minton, and there was the space in which the blue Spode teacup had stood, now unoccupied. Surely Antonia would have noticed that, he thought. And when she opened the cupboard the next time, there it would be. The poor woman would think that she was hallucinating. He smiled. It was a childish pleasure, and a silly one, but it would be rather amusing to think of her confusion.

He replaced the cup, closed the cupboard, and was sticking the empty bag into his pocket when he heard the front door open. He froze. Was this the gas man coming to read the meter? No, because he had the key that Antonia had given to Domenica. So it was Antonia, coming back.

Angus did not have time to think. He looked about him wildly. There was only one door, and that led into the hall. He heard another door open and shut. The bathroom: she was going in there, and that at least gave him a few moments. He could dash out of the hall, open the door, and be gone by the time she emerged. But then, almost immediately, he heard the bathroom door opening again. The cupboard. There was a large broom cupboard at the end of the kitchen – Domenica had a very similar one in her kitchen. He would hide in that.

Fortunately the cupboard was virtually empty, and Angus had no difficulty in fitting in and closing the door behind him. He was just in time: from the darkness of his hiding place he heard Antonia enter the kitchen. He heard a tap being turned on and something – presumably a kettle – being filled with water. She’s making tea, he thought, and that means that she’ll soon make the discovery.

He heard her open the cupboard above the sink and then there was a silence. After a few moments it was broken by a muttering. In spite of his circumstances, Angus found himself grinning. That had been her making the discovery and wondering how she could possibly have missed the cup.

The kettle boiled quickly and there was the sound of water being poured. Then a further silence and a rather different noise, a clicking. The telephone: Antonia was making a telephone call. I wish she would get on with it and go back into her study, thought Angus. Then I could make my escape.

He heard Antonia’s voice quite clearly through the door of his hiding place.

“Maeve? This is me. Yes, fine. I was going out to get my hair done but my hairdresser was ill. One of the assistants offered to do me but I never trust those girls. Most of them look as if they’re straight out of school. They don’t have the experience, if you ask me.”

There was a silence as the other person spoke.

“Yes, I know that they have to get experience somehow, but not on my hair, if you don’t mind. I like my own person. He’s called James. He’s got really long fingers and he goes snip, snip with tremendous panache. Quite the lad. He comes from Lochgelly, of all places. You don’t expect hairdressers to come from Lochgelly, for some reason, but there you are. He tells me that a lot goes on in Lochgelly.

“But listen, Maeve. Listen. Have you got the stuff?”

Angus stiffened. Got the stuff? The person at the other end of the line was saying something and Antonia was silent.

“Can you get me a decent amount this time?” Antonia went on. “And good quality. I’ve got quite a few people waiting for theirs. And, tell me, is it cut the way I like it?”

Angus drew in his breath, almost unable to believe what he had just heard. But there was more to come.

“And be careful about the law,” Antonia said. “Be discreet. We don’t want to end up in prison.”

Something was said at the other end of the line, and then the receiver was put down. This was followed by footsteps leaving the kitchen and the slamming of a door in the distance. Very gingerly Angus pushed the door of the cupboard open and peered out into the kitchen. She had gone into her study, he decided, and he could safely leave.

Within a minute he was back in Domenica’s flat.

“Thank heavens you’re back,” said Domenica. “I saw her coming up the stair. Did she see you?”

Angus shook his head. “She’s a drug dealer,” he said, his voice lowered. “A big-time drug dealer.”

Feeling uncomfortable in his dark suit – the trousers were a bit tight – Angus sat back in the seat of the ten-thirty ScotRail express to Glasgow. He had never felt at ease in suits, apart from the generously built one he had inherited from his father. That suit, a voluminous green affair made of tweed woven on the hand-pedalled loom of a Harris weaver, had eventually fallen to bits from sheer old age, and was greatly regretted. The suit he was wearing now, by contrast, was sparing in its use of cloth, and felt like it.