44 Scotland Street Read Online Free Page B

nothing objectionable about Matthew. He had been offhand at the interview, quite casual, in fact, but he had not been rude to her. Now, as she reported for work on that first Tuesday, she noticed that when she came into the room Matthew stood up to greet her, holding out his hand in a welcoming way. The standing up was something that her mother would have noticed and approved of; if a man stands up, she had said, you know that he’s going to respect you. Watch your father – when anybody comes into the room he stands up, no matter who they are. That’s because he’s a … She had hesitated, looking at her daughter. No, she could not bring herself to say it.
    “Because he’s a what?” Pat had challenged. It was always gratifying to expose parents as hopelessly old-fashioned. She was going to say gentleman , wasn’t she? Hah!
    “Because he’s a psychiatrist,” her mother had said quickly. There! She would find out soon enough, the difference between the types of men, if she did not already know it. And I will not be patronised by her, just because she’s twenty and I’ve reached the age of … My God! Have I?
    Matthew, sitting down again, unaware of the memory he had triggered, indicated the chair in front of his desk.
    “We should talk about the job,” he said. “There are a few things to sort out.”
    Pat nodded, and sat down. Then she looked at Matthew, who looked back at her.
    “Now then,” Matthew said. “The job. This is a gallery, see, and our business is to sell paintings. That’s it. That’s the bottom line.”
    Pat smiled. “Yes.” This was surprising. But why was the sale of paintings the bottom line? She was not at all sure what bottom lines were, although everybody talked about them, but perhaps he would explain.
    Matthew sat back in his chair, propping his feet on an upturned wastepaper basket at the side of the desk.
    “I freely admit that I haven’t been in this business for very long,” he said. “I’ve just started, in fact. So we’ll have to learn together as we go along. Is that all right with you?”
    Pat smiled encouragingly. “I like paintings,” she said. “I did a Higher Art at school, at Edinburgh Academy.”
    “The Academy?” said Matthew.

    “Yes.”
    He looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he said: “I used to go there. You didn’t hear anything about me there, did you?”
    Pat was puzzled. “No,” she said hesitantly. “Not that I remember.”
    “Good,” said Matthew, with the air of one changing the subject. “Now, the job. You need to sit here when I go out. If somebody comes in and wants to buy a painting, the prices are all listed on this piece of paper over here. Don’t let a painting out of the gallery until they’ve paid and the cheque has cleared, so tell them that they can collect the painting in four or five days, or we’ll deliver it. If we know them, we can take their cheques.”
    Pat listened. Matthew was making it clear enough, but surely there must be something else to the job. He could hardly be expected to pay her just to watch the shop for him when he went out.
    “Anything else?” she asked.
    Matthew shrugged. “Some bits and pieces.”
    “Such as?”
     
     
    PEPLOE: Samuel John Peploe (1871-1935), Edinburgh-born artist much influenced by French Impressionist painters such as Cézanne. In his later years, his still-life works brought him recognition as a colourist.
    He looked about him, as if searching for ideas. He looked at the paintings and then turned his gaze back on Pat. “You could do a proper catalogue of stock,” he said, and then, warming to the idea, explained: “I had something like that, but I’m afraid that it got lost somewhere. You could go through everything and find out what we have. Then make a proper catalogue with the correct … correct …” What was the word they used? “Attributions. Yes, attribute the paintings. Find out who they’re by.”
    Pat glanced at the wall behind her. There was a painting