The World According to Bertie by Alexander McCall Smith

do?”
    â€œJust about everything,” said Antonia. “Those doors over there. The plywood will come off. Panels back. I’ll free the shutters. Free the shutters–that’s a rallying call in these parts, you know.”
    Domenica looked at her friend. But her own shutters had indeed been freed, she had to admit.
    â€œAnd then I’m going to take all the light fittings out,” Antonia went on. “All this…this stuff.” She pointed up at the spiky, angular light that was hanging from the ceiling. “And the fireplaces, of course. I shall go to the architectural salvage yard and see what they have.”
    â€œYou’ll need a builder,” said Domenica, adding, with a smile, “We are mere women, you know.”
    â€œOh, I’m ready for that. You know, people are so worried about builders. They seem to have such bad experiences with them.”
    â€œPerhaps it’s that problem that builders have with their trousers,” Domenica mused. “You know that issue of…”
    Antonia was dismissive of that. “Low trousers have never been a problem for me,” she said. “
Nihil humanum alienum mihi est
. *1 Although it is interesting–isn’t it?–how trousers are getting lower each year. Or is it our age?”
    Domenica thought for a moment. “You mean on young men? Young men’s trousers?”
    â€œYes,” said Antonia. “It’s now mandatory for them to show the top of their underpants above the trouser waist. And the trousers get lower and lower.”
    As an anthropologist, there was little for Domenica to puzzle about in this. Male adornment occurred in all societies, although it took different forms. It was perfectly natural, she thought, for young men to display; the only question of interest was what limits society would put on it. And could one talk about society anymore when it came to clothing? T-shirts proclaimed the most intimate messages and nobody batted an eyelid. There were, she reflected, simply no arbiters.
    Domenica decided that the issue of trousers had been explored enough. “And these builders,” she said. “Where will you get them?”
    â€œMy friend Clifford Reed is a builder,” Antonia said. “And a very good one, too. He’ll help me out. He said he will. He has a Pole he’s going to send over to take a look at what needs to be done, and then to do it. There are lots of Poles in Edinburgh now. All these builders and hotel porters and the like. All very hardworking. Staunch Catholics. Very reliable people.”
    Domenica thought for a moment. “You’ll have to get a large mug to serve your Pole his tea in,” she said. “None of this Spode for him. He’ll want something more substantial.”
    She watched Antonia as she spoke. It was a somewhat obvious thing for her to say, she thought, a bit unsubtle, in fact. But she watched to see its effect on Antonia. Of course the true psychopath would be unmoved; such people were quite capable of telling the coldest of lies, of remaining cool in the face of the most damning accusations. That was why they were psychopaths–they simply did not care; they were untouched.
    â€œOf course not,” said Antonia flatly. “I keep my Spode for special occasions.”
    Domenica was completely taken aback by this remark and was not sure how to take it. I keep my Spode for special occasions. This could mean that she kept her Spode (as opposed to stolen Spode) for such occasions, or that her own visit was such an occasion and merited the bringing out of the Spode. It must be the latter, she told herself. It must be.
    Their conversation continued in a desultory fashion for a further half hour. There was some talk of the early Scottish saints–Antonia’s novel on the subject was not progressing well, Domenica was told–and there was a brief exchange of views about the latest special exhibition at