The Nationalist by Campbell Hart Read Free Book Online Page B

from the living room. She had been back for about an hour. It was the first thing she had said.
    “Norrie Smith.”
    “Oh. What did he want?”
    “He wanted to know what Graeme Donald said to you.”
    This was met with silence. He heard the leather of the sofa crackle as Rosalind stood up. He expected her to appear at the doorway but she must have stopped to think. Her hand appeared at the doorway, gripping the frame from inside before she pulled herself into full view.
    “Why would Norrie know anything about that?”
    The mood had changed and Arbogast knew he was being accused. A sudden sharp anger welled up in him. Here we go again. “I didn’t say anything to him.” He heard his voice was shriller than he had intended. It made him sound defensive.
    “Certainly sounds like it, John.” Rose walked forward. Arbogast could see her body was rigid. She pointed at him, walking forward and jabbing at him with her index finger. “It certainly sounds like you’ve been talking to someone.” Her voice was a hiss. John tried to think.
    “Why would I say anything to anyone? I don’t even know what you talked about.”
    “That’s right you don’t. You never listen to me do you?”
    The situation was tense. The anger and distrust between them had been growing for some time. Neither really wanted to confront the reality but right now they were faced with little choice. Between the lines the truth was starting to emerge.
    “This is fucking ridiculous.” Arbogast walked away from her, heading nowhere, anywhere, away from Rose.
    “Where do you think you’re going?”
    “Out.”
    “Aye well, walk away. Don’t think this is over.”
    Arbogast spun round. At that moment he hated her. With every sinew in his body he wanted to lash out. His knuckles were white as he fought to retain control.
    Rose noticed. “Getting all riled up now are we? Look at the big man on the war path. What you going to do John? Feel like hitting me do you? Why don’t you?” Her voice was insistent. She was goading him now and he was scared.      
    “Listen, Rose.”
    “I’m not your Rose, John. There’s nothing left here.”
    “Don’t say that.” His anger was gone. He knew he was in danger of blowing the relationship. He replaced flight with fight. “Look, I’m sorry. I just don’t know what’s happening. We can work this out.”
    “You can’t work anything out John.” Rose turned her back on him and went to the kitchen. She went straight to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine. John watched by the door. He knew he wouldn’t be able to speak to her now. They were both too angry, but he wanted to try.
    “Listen, Rose.”
    “No you listen to me. Just fuck off.”
    She slammed the door on his face. His anger had returned and he knew he had to leave. Picking up his leather jacket he left the house and started to walk.
     
    It was late; about 11 o’clock. Arbogast didn’t know where to go but he knew he wanted a drink. It was Monday night and the town was dead, many of the late night bars were closed after a busy weekend. In truth Arbogast didn’t know where to start looking. In the last couple of years he and Rose had kept their own counsel. Pubs had been replaced by nights in and dinner parties. All day sessions had given way to trips to Ikea and soft furnishings. Bachelor days had given way to being part of a couple. For a while it had worked, but something had changed. He didn’t love her anymore. Norrie Smith had been the last straw. Walking up Sauchiehall Street he saw the outline of an ominous figure standing by the door of the Brunswick Cellar. The bouncer scanned him robotically, looking for a sign of weakness which could be exploited; something to liven his night up.
    Arbogast blinked first.
    “You open?”
    The figure eyed him and nodded down the steep stairs. Arbogast made his way down into the gloom. The basement bar was sliced up by supporting pillars and walls. The lighting was so dim you couldn’t