The World According to Bertie by Alexander McCall Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

which meant that she had been tempted. Of course she was tempted–they all were; they simply could not help themselves.
    The next flat was in Abercromby Place, a basement flat that described itself as lower ground-floor. Bruce smiled to himself as he walked along Forth Street. He remembered writing the particulars of flats when he had worked as a surveyor in Edinburgh; he had referred to lower-ground-floor flats before, and had once even described a sub-basement as a pre-lower-ground flat, well-protected from excessive sun exposure. The lighting in that flat, which had to be kept on all day if the occupants were to see anything at all, had been described as imaginative and helpful. And the atmosphere of damp he had described as cool.
    The Abercromby Place flat did not take long.
    â€œYou’re not seeing it at its best,” said the owner. “It’s not a very bright day today.”
    Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Oh? I thought the sun was shining when I came in.”
    The owner looked down at the floor. “All the wiring has been renewed,” he said. “And everything in the kitchen’s new, or next to new.”
    â€œHard to see that,” said Bruce.
    â€œWell, I assure you it is.”
    Bruce pointed to a door leading into gloom. “Is that a dark room?” he asked. “Do you do photography?”
    â€œIt’s the dining room.”
    The owner now became silent, and he remained silent as Bruce made a cursory inspection of the remaining rooms. Then they moved back to the entrance hall and Bruce thanked him for showing him round.
    â€œYou didn’t like it,” said the owner miserably. “You didn’t, did you?”
    Bruce reached out and patted him on the arm. “You’ll find somebody,” he said. “Just lower your price far enough and you’ll get a buyer. I’m a surveyor. I shifted dumps like this. It’s just a question of getting a buyer who’s desperate enough.”
    â€œThat’s very reassuring,” said the owner.
    Outside in the street, in the light, Bruce took out the scrap of paper on which he had noted the address of the third flat he was to look at. This was in Howe Street, a street which went sharply down the hill from the end of Frederick Street and then curved round into Circus Place. It was one of Bruce’s favourite streets in the Georgian New Town, and he had a good feeling about the flat that he was about to see.
    It was not only a question of the address, but the name of the owner. It was a woman called Julia Donald, and if Bruce was not mistaken that was the name of somebody he had known when he had first come to Edinburgh. She had, he thought, been rather keen on him, but he had had his hands full at the time with…it was difficult to remember who exactly it was, but it was some other girl; there had been so many.
    Bruce hummed a tune as he walked towards Howe Street. It was grand to be back in Edinburgh, grand to be back on the scene, utterly in control, the world at his feet. And what feet! he thought. Just look at them!

12. An Old Flame Flickers: as Well It May
    â€œBrucie! So it was you!” exclaimed Julia Donald. “My God, what a surprise! I thought, you know, when the lawyers phoned and said that a Mr Bruce Anderson would be coming to look the place over, I thought: Can it be the one and only? And here you are!”
    â€œAnd I thought just the same,” said Bruce. “I thought, there’s only one Julia D. in Howe Street that I want to see again, and here you are, it’s you!”
    He leaned forward and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Long time no kiss,” he said. “And here’s another one.”
    â€œBrucie! You haven’t changed!”
    â€œWhy should I? No point changing when you’ve got things just right, is there?” He paused. “But you’ve changed, Julia.”
    A shadow passed over her face. “Oh? Have I?”
    Bruce