44 Scotland Street by Alexander McCall Smith

discuss work,” he said. “This is a personal matter. I hope you won’t mind if I raise it.”
    Bruce was intrigued. “I don’t mind at all. Fire away.”
    “You know that Mrs Todd and I enjoy quite a full social life.” There was a note of pride in Todd’s voice.
    “Yes. I saw your picture in Scottish Field . A party somewhere.”
    “Indeed,” said Todd. “A party. Max Maitland-Weir’s fiftieth. But that wasn’t the only one we’ve been to. We go out a great deal.”
    Bruce nodded politely. He was not sure where this conversation was going, but it seemed to him that a proposition was about to be made.
    “We’ve got tickets to a ball,” said Todd. “I’m not so wild about it, but my wife is dead set on getting a party together. My

    elder daughter’s keen, too, but the problem is, well, we don’t exactly have anybody to partner her. And so I wondered whether you would be good enough to join us and perhaps have the odd dance with my daughter.” He paused, and for a moment Bruce felt a surge of sympathy for him. Poor man! That awful wife of his and that dreadful daughter of his. They were very heavy going – Bruce was well aware of that – but it seemed as if he would have to accept the invitation. It would not be easy to say no.
    “I’d be honoured,” said Bruce. “What ball is it?”
    “The South Edinburgh Conservative Association,” said Todd. “I’m convener of the ball committee, and we’re having a bit of a battle getting enough people to come to it. We’ve hired the hotel, so it’s going to have to go ahead, but we’re a bit thin on the ground. In fact, it’s only going to be the four of us so far.”
    Bruce stared at him mutely. Was this a social problem, he wondered, or was it a political one?

 
     
     
     
    22. Bruce Comes Under Consideration
     
    After Bruce had left his office, Todd sat back in his seat and stared at the ceiling. For a few minutes he did nothing, but then he reached for the telephone, pushed a memory button labelled domestic bliss and called his wife.
    Todd had married Sasha when they were both in their midtwenties. She had just completed her training as a physiotherapist and had been one of the most popular and sociable students at Queen Margaret College. At their first meeting, Todd had decided that this was the woman whom he wished to marry, and, as he said to his brother, he had never regretted the decision for one moment.
    “Really?” Gordon had said. “Are you sure?”
    The question had not been intended as a slight, even if it had sounded like it. It had made Todd think, though. Was his wife as attractive and compelling a personality to others as she was to him? People had different tastes, and it might be that there were those who found her too … well, what could they possibly object to in her? Sasha had opinions, of course, but that was far better than being a passive, reflective sort.
    Of course there was jealousy to be taken into account. Sasha was undoubtedly attractive, with her blonde hair in bouffant style and her trouser suits. She never looked anything but well turned-out, and this could attract envy. That is the problem with this country, thought Todd. We sneer at people who do well, and who want to make something of their lives. Look at the remarks which a certain sort of person makes about Bearsden. What is wrong with living in Bearsden, or, indeed, with having the sort of attitudes that go with living in Bearsden? Nothing.
    The people who ridicule people like us, thought Todd, are making up for their own failure. And there are plenty of people – Labour politicians, for example – who want people to remain thirled to poverty, who do not want them to have any spirit or independence. These are the sort of people who think that there’s something good about having a limited life.
    As he pondered these matters of political philosophy, Sasha picked up the telephone at the other end.
    “Honey bunch?” she asked.
    “Sugar,” replied