The Long Glasgow Kiss

Devereaux stood up and put the straw trilby over his perfect, level lawn of hair. ‘Maybe we will. Thanks for your time, Lennox. Next time the drinks are on me,’ he said with his customary good-natured grin. Which was why I couldn’t work out why it sounded to me like a threat.

Ten minutes after they had left there was another knock on the door. Opening it revealed the figure of Fiona White. She was wearing a pale pink shirtwaister dress with capped sleeves. She was also wearing a disapproving look. It was an ensemble I’d become accustomed to.

‘Please, Mrs White, come in …’ I offered, knowing that she wouldn’t. She never did. Her pale green eyes glittered coldly but I noticed that she’d put on fresh lipstick before coming up.

‘Mr Lennox, I’ve told you how I feel about policemen coming to the door. After the last time you were arrested …’

I stopped her with a held-up palm, as if I were halting traffic. ‘Listen, Mrs White, you’re right that one of the gentlemen who called was indeed a policeman. But I’m sure you noticed that one of them was American. He’s in the same line of business as I am.’ I paused to let this impressive fact sink in: I was operating on the international stage. I looked at her face. It had sunk, without trace. ‘They didn’t come here to arrest me or question me, Mrs White. They came here as colleagues, to ask my opinion on a case. And as regards the last incident … I thought we were clear on that. A misunderstanding. A misunderstanding that you, yourself, were instrumental in clearing up.’

She looked at me coldly. I really, really wanted to warm her up, to find the last, faint ember of muliebrity and breathe on it until it caught fire again. And I think she knew it.

‘Well, I’d be obliged if you did not conduct business from this house.’

‘Detective Inspector Ferguson is a friend of mine, Mrs White. His visits to me are as much social as business. And, as you are aware, I don’t have a habit of having guests of any kind here.’ It was the truth. I never brought women there, and I had done all I could to keep this place separate from everything else that went on in my life. A refuge, almost. I sighed. ‘Please come in and have a seat, Mrs White. I’d like to talk to you about a couple of things.’

‘Oh?’ Something even colder and harder fell like a shutter across her eyes.

I seasoned my smile with a little impatience and indicated the sofa. Fiona White somehow managed to fill her acceptance brim full with resentment and marched past me. She didn’t sit on the sofa but in the armchair, perched on its edge in a stiff-shouldered posture that was no ease and all temporariness.

‘What is it you want to talk to me about?’

‘I’ve lived here for two years, Mrs White, and I’ve paid the rent regularly and without delay. Including the six months last year when I was out of the country. I don’t make noise; I don’t drink myself stupid and sing the ballads of ol’ Ireland into the wee small hours; I don’t bring young ladies up to look at my etchings. All in all, I consider myself to be a pretty model tenant.’

Fiona White looked at me silently with the same flinty defiance. If I had been expecting confirmation of my credentials as a tenant, it was not forthcoming.

‘It’s just that I get the impression that I somehow disappoint you as a tenant,’ I continued. ‘That you somehow wish that you hadn’t accepted me for the tenancy. If that’s the case, Mrs White, then tell me now and I’ll take it as notice to quit.’

‘It is entirely up to you whether you stay or go, Mr Lennox,’ she said, a hint of fire now behind the ice. ‘I really don’t know what you expect me to say. It sounds to me like it’s you who disapprove of me as a landlady. I apologize if my manner offends you. If that is the case, by all means you are free to leave.’

‘I don’t want to go, Mrs White, but I want to feel free to have the occasional caller, or for you to take the odd telephone message for me, without being made to feel that it is a huge imposition for you. Listen, I understand that you would not have chosen to divide your house up and let in a lodger. But you have and I’m here. And if it wasn’t me, it would be someone else. I’m not to blame for the circumstances that made this flat available.’ I stood up and went over to the sideboard. I took the same bottle of whisky and poured myself a glass. There was a bottle of Williams and Humbert Walnut Brown Sherry on the sideboard and, without asking first, I poured a glass for Mrs White and handed it to her. For a moment she looked as if she was going to shake her head. Instead she took the glass from me wordlessly.

‘If you want to stay, then stay,’ she said. ‘But don’t expect me to issue you with a merit badge just because you fulfil your contractual obligations as a tenant.’

She took a sip of the sherry. I could have been imagining it, but I thought I detected something easing in the rigid shoulders.