The World According to Bertie by Alexander McCall Smith Page B

well, and they made their arrangements to meet. Bruce then left and went out into the street. He smiled. This was perfect, just perfect. He had found himself somewhere to stay–somewhere where he would not have Neil and Caroline cooing away in the background. Really, what a pair of lovebirds–gazing into one another’s eyes for hours on end and going to bed early, pretending to be tired. Sickening, really, and if that was what marriage was like, then he counted himself lucky still to be single. Of course, if he wanted to get married, then he could do so–any day. All he would have to do would be to click his fingers–like that–and the girls would be lining up. But there would be plenty of time for that.
    He walked down Northumberland Street and turned into Dundas Street. It was good, he thought, to be back in this familiar part of town, amongst his old haunts. A few blocks down the hill was the Cumberland Bar, where he had spent so many good evenings, and just beyond that Scotland Street itself. When he went down to London, he imagined that he had put all that behind him; it was almost as if he had wanted to forget it all. But now that he was back in Edinburgh, his memories of that period of his life were flooding back, and it had not been a bad time in his life, not at all. He thought of the girls he had known–that American girl, the one he met in the Cumberland; she was a stunner, but then she had proved rather unreliable in the long run. He frowned. And of course there was Pat herself, his little flatmate as he called her. She fell for me in a big way, he thought, poor girl. But she would have been inexperienced and emotionally demanding, and she would have clung to me if I had started anything. Nothing worse than that–a girl who clings. That can get difficult.
    He continued to walk down Dundas Street. He realised that he was close to the gallery that she worked in, the gallery owned by the rather wet Matthew. He was one person he could do without seeing again, and yet he would probably still be hanging about the Cumberland Bar hoping for something to turn up. Sad.
    He glanced towards the gallery window, and at that moment Pat looked out. Bruce stopped. She was staring at him and he could hardly just ignore her. He could wave and continue down the street, which would give her a very clear message, or he could go in and have a word with the poor girl.
    He looked at his watch. There was no point in going back to Comely Bank and sitting in Neil and Caroline’s kitchen until it was time to go out to dinner. So why not?
    He pushed open the gallery door and went in.

19. Bruce Enjoys Telling His London Story
    â€œLondon,” said Pat. Bruce winked at her. “Fantastic place. London’s just great. You should go there some time, Pat. Move on.”
    Pat looked at Bruce. He had not changed at all, she decided. There was the same slightly superior look–a knowing expression, one might call it–and the hair…yes, it was the same gel, giving forth the same faint smell of cloves.
    â€œHow was the job down there?” she asked. “What did you do?”
    Bruce ran a hand through his hair; cloves released. “Two jobs, actually. I left the first one after a week. The second one was more…how should I put it? More to my taste.”
    She was interested in this. Bruce would never admit to being fired, but if he left the job after a week, then that must have been what happened. “Oh. What went wrong?” she asked.
    Bruce began to smile. “You really want to know?”
    Pat nodded. She did want to know.
    â€œAll right,” said Bruce. “I went for an interview for a job handling the commissioning of a portfolio of service flats. Not just any service flats–these were high-end places, Bayswater and so on. Diplomats–ones from serious countries, not Tonga, you know. Saudi, Brunei, places like that. Big Arabs. Fancy Japs. Eurotrash. Serious