The Peppermint Tea Chronicles by Alexander McCall Smith

Author:Alexander McCall Smith
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2019-12-02T16:00:00+00:00

38

The Aphorist

A number of Angus’s jackets and pairs of trousers had migrated from his studio and were now to be found blatantly hanging in his wardrobe. These would be thrown out in due course; in the meantime, all that Domenica required was a sample or two that could be used for sizing purposes. This was necessary as she had no idea what size Angus took in various garments. Some months ago, when she had tried—unsuccessfully—to buy him a new shirt, she had resorted to slipping a tape measure around his neck while he was eating breakfast. He had shrugged the tape off, though, and had looked at her as if demanding an explanation. And she did find it rather difficult to explain why one should suddenly place a tape measure around one’s husband’s neck. Idle curiosity might explain many things, but this was not one of them. Absent-mindedness was similarly unconvincing, and so Domenica had simply said, “Oh, nothing,” and changed the subject. Now, with a jacket, a pair of trousers, and a shirt tucked into a large shopping bag, she had all that would be needed by the experts up at Stewart Christie & Co. They could apply their own tape measures to the clothes and work out just what was required for Angus, even in his absence.

Scotland Street was deserted when Domenica shut the stair door behind her. It was a still afternoon, and the boughs of the trees in Drummond Place Garden, heavy with full summer leaf, were motionless. A cat prowled between parked cars, looked out over the setts, and then dashed out on some urgent errand of its own. A strident herring gull, having drifted up from Leith to scavenge amongst the pickings, noticed the cat and flapped up in the air ex abundanti cautela, mewing as it did so. And then another movement caught her eye, and she saw two female figures walking briskly along the pavement toward her.

Antonia Collie, Domenica’s former neighbor in Scotland Street, was in the company, as she more often than not was, of her friend and flatmate, Sister Maria-Fiore dei Fiori di Montagna. Antonia, who dressed in a way that would previously have been described as blue-stockingish, was wearing a thick gray skirt and matching top—far too warm, Domenica thought, for mid-summer—while Sister Maria-Fiore dei Fiori di Montagna, who was altogether more stylish than her companion, was wearing a lightweight blue habit that looked as if it was made of soft linen.

When the two women saw Domenica, they waved in a friendly fashion, and increased their pace to catch up with her. Domenica, who would have preferred not to be distracted from her mission, nonetheless slowed down to accommodate them.

“Well, well,” said Antonia. “Fancy seeing you.”

Domenica smiled weakly. Why should it be considered in the slightest bit extraordinary that she should be walking on Drummond Place when she lived just around the corner? It really was a very banal greeting—almost, if not quite, as trite as long time no see.

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