The Unbearable Lightness of Scones Read Online Free PDF Page B

malodorous and somewhat odd, with that ridiculous gold tooth of his and his habit of winking at people. No, there was something rum about Cyril; and I have to use the word rum, thought Domenica – there is no other word in the English language with that precise nuance of meaning. Cyril was rum and Angus was … well, perhaps very slightly rum – sometimes. Perhaps we need a word, she wondered, not quite as strong as rum, which might be used for people who are just a little bit … again the language failed, thereby underlining the need for the elusive word. The lexicon of drinks might be dipped into for this purpose: if not rum then gin? No. Gin already had its metaphorical burden, at least when linked with tonic. Somebody who was a bit G and T was the sort of person who hung about golf club bars, a bit flashy. Port? That was more promising perhaps.
    Angus had politely shrugged her arm off his shoulder and was now sitting at her kitchen table, looking at the kettle.
    “Coffee?”
    “You’re very kind. Thank you.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Cyril had an affair, you see.”
    Domenica looked at Angus wide-eyed. “Well, I suppose thatthese things happen. But what’s wrong with that? Don’t you approve of his choice?”
    “A very brief affair,” said Angus. “It lasted about four minutes. With a bitch he met in Drummond Place Gardens. I couldn’t stop it, really. And then she became pregnant.”
    Domenica suppressed the urge to laugh. “Well, I suppose that’s what happens. People have affairs and … well, biology takes the shine off.”
    “Well, the puppies have been delivered to me,” Angus blurted out. “In a box. Six of them.”
    Domenica, who was in the middle of filling the kettle, stopped what she was doing. “To you?” she asked. “To the flat?”
    Angus sighed. “They’re in my studio at the moment. I’ve put them in there. Cyril was delighted to meet them.”
    Domenica reached for the coffee jar and ladled several spoonfuls into the cafetière. She tried to imagine what it would be like to have seven dogs in one flat, even in a flat the size of Angus’s.
    “Well I don’t know what to say,” she said. “You’ll have to get rid of them. Obviously.”
    Angus looked up from the table. “How? How can I get rid of six puppies?”
    “Put them in
The Scotsman
. You see dogs for sale there.”
    It was clear to Angus that Domenica knew nothing about the world of dogs. “Those are pedigree dogs,” he explained patiently. “Cyril is, of course, a pedigree dog, but the mother … well, she’s multicultural. Half spaniel, I think, with a dash of schnauzer and goodness knows what else. Nobody wants funny-looking dogs any more.”
    “Well, take them to the dogs’ home then,” said Domenica briskly. “That’s why we have dogs’ homes.” She paused. “We do have a dogs’ home in Edinburgh, don’t we?”
    “We do,” answered Angus. “And I’ve already been in touch. I telephoned them straight away. They’re chock-a-block full at the moment, and they told me that I should try to find homes for them myself. So that’s not on.”
    Domenica resumed her making of the coffee. Then, suddenly she turned to him and said, “I don’t want a puppy, Angus.”
    He looked at her, wounded. “I wasn’t going to …”
    “Well, I just thought I’d make that clear from the start,” she said. “I don’t actively dislike dogs, but I would have to draw the line at owning one.”
    Well, that answers that, thought Angus. He had been planning to ask Domenica to take one, but that was not the reason he had come here. He had come here for sympathy and advice, and all he was getting was a warning and a cup of Domenica’s coffee, which never tasted very good anyway and was certainly not as good as the coffee made by … He stopped. Big Lou! Big Lou was all heart and what heart would not be melted by a puppy … or perhaps even two?

9.
Scout’s Honour
    “You just sit there in the