White Rage (The Glasgow Novels) by Campbell Armstrong

Author:Campbell Armstrong [Armstrong, Campbell]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781504007139
Publisher: Open Road Media Mystery & Thriller
Published: 2015-02-17T00:00:00+00:00

28

It was sunset when Perlman parked his car in Paisley Road West, just south of the river. Ahead, he saw the entrance to La Fiorentina and he thought: I need this, how I need this time, this space. Was it so much to ask? He raised his face, eyes drawn upward to the stone angel on top of the building that housed the restaurant. Perched four storeys above street level, the angel was lit gold by the dying sun. An easy dramatic effect, he felt, a piece of theatre, but what the hell – he liked the sight of the creature and had sometimes even imagined it rising from the rooftop and gliding over Glasgow, bringing hope and joy in a whisper of wings. No more badness. An end to malice. Greed banished.

And this is where I wake up, dream over.

The human condition, that minestrone of desire and charity, hate and love, was beyond the attentions of any merciful angel. That soft flap of wings you heard was nothing more than the product of your own yearning for a kinder world.

He stepped inside the restaurant, wondering if Miriam had already arrived. Max, Perlman’s favourite waiter, a small Italianate Glaswegian with a little moustache, helped him out of his coat.

‘How come we don’t see you here so often any more? Huh? You found a better place to eat, Sergeant?’

‘Impossible,’ Perlman said.

Max hung the coat. ‘I thought, hey, maybe the Sergeant has started to patronize some of those fancy new Italian places in Sauchiehall Street or Merchant City.’

‘Fancy, I don’t like. You know me.’

Max smiled. He had a gold tooth. ‘People come, people go. Fickle.’

‘I always come back,’ Perlman said, and wondered when he’d last patronized this place. Two years? Surely not. He couldn’t keep track of time. ‘I’m expecting somebody.’

‘She’s here already. A real beauty, if I may say so. In the corner. This way.’

A real beauty: Perlman felt he’d been complimented on his taste. He followed the waiter across the room, past the fringed lampshades that muted the light, and the tangled green-black plastic foliage. He experienced a slight tension, and almost collided with one of the Roman statues lingering in the shadows.

He saw Miriam watching him from a corner table. She’d glossed her hair back flat against her scalp. It had the effect of making her forehead higher and her eyes wider, so that she resembled a woman in a painting by – what was that Dutch artist’s name? Holbein?

I’m late,’ he said. He sat facing her.

‘Ten minutes. Pardonable. I half-expected you to cancel.’

‘This is my private time. I’m out of commission. I’m at liberty. For a while anyway.’

She wore a thin blue necklace and a matching bracelet. He couldn’t name the stone, which sparkled slightly in the dim light.

‘Drink?’ he asked.

‘I’d like some white wine.’

He summoned Max, who brought menus and took the drinks order. Perlman asked for ice-cold lager. He needed something to take the drouth of nervousness out of his throat. He studied the menu quickly. He wasn’t in a fussy frame of mind.

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