Double Danger (3 page)

Suddenly he put out a hand to hail a passing taxi.

‘Let’s go into the centre – George Square, perhaps. Time for a seat and a coffee.’

‘Great. There’s lots I can tell you about George Square. There’s a hotel there with a tea area and a whole wall of windows that look out directly on to the square.’

Within minutes, the taxi had dropped them off at the hotel next to Queen Street railway station. They went into the hotel and found a seat in the glass-fronted area where there was a tea and coffee bar.

Again Jessica trembled at Brian’s gaze. He seemed to be staring into her soul, searching out everything about her.

‘You’re making me blush,’ she laughed, ‘staring at me like that.’

‘I want to find out everything about you. Really get to know you before I have to go back to Saudi. There’s so little time.’

‘Oh!’ She felt suddenly miserable. ‘I keep forgetting. You’re just here for a wee while.’

The waiter came with their coffee and for a few minutes they both sipped the steaming liquid in silence. Then Jessica rushed into reckless speech.

‘The City Chambers over on your left is a magnificent building, outside and inside. It’s got the most beautiful Italian marble floors and staircase. The view from the first landing is truly magnificent. We must go on one of the tours.’ She paused for breath before rattling on under his steady gaze. ‘There’s tier upon tier of pillars and arches and there’s a vast conical ceiling in richly ornamented plasterwork and a cupola filled with tinted glass, to mention but a few things!’

‘Sounds beautiful.’

‘Oh it is. It really is. All of the rooms are. But the most beautiful room is the huge banqueting hall with its arched ceiling and paintings all round depicting scenes from the history of the city. And gosh, you should see the chandeliers.’

‘We’ll perhaps have time for a tour another day. In the meantime, drink up your coffee.’

‘I’m talking too much,’ she said.

‘I’ve asked you to tell me all about the city and I’m interested. I feel ashamed that I’ve lived so long in Dundee and now abroad and completely lost touch with Glasgow. You’re doing me a favour, Jessica, and I appreciate it.’ He sipped his coffee before adding, ‘And I admire your knowledge of the city.’

‘I love the place,’ she admitted. ‘Always have.’

‘You could easily get a job as a tourist guide.’

‘Och no, I’m too happy at the Barras working for Mrs Mellors. I love that place best of all and my lovely flat looking down on it – it’s part of the market, really.’

‘You wouldn’t want to live anywhere else?’

‘Oh no, definitely not.’

She wondered if she’d said something wrong.

He sighed and a sad expression clouded his eyes. Then he shrugged. ‘Right. Where to next, my excellent tour guide?’

‘Buchanan Street perhaps, but before we leave here, have a look at the statues – eleven of them, with Sir Walter Scott the highest. That always annoys me. Why should he be the highest and look the important one above Robert Burns? The citizens of Glasgow had to donate enough money to have the one of Burns erected, otherwise there would have been nothing to him at all.’

‘You’re a fan of Robert Burns then?’

‘Oh yes, definitely. I can recite lots of his poems. I’ve a great memory.’

He smiled. ‘Yes, I’ve gathered that.’

They finished their coffee and made their way first of all along to the Gallery of Modern Art, outside of which, high on a plinth, was a statue of the Duke of Wellington seated on his horse. No matter how often officials removed the red traffic cone perched rakishly on his head, some witty and agile Glaswegian climbed up and put it back again.

Jessica was used to seeing it and didn’t remark on it but Brian burst into hearty laughter.

‘Isn’t that so typical of the true Glaswegian.’

She wasn’t quite sure what he meant but she enjoyed the affectionate hug he gave her. Indeed, she felt light-headed with passion. She could hardly wait for night to come.

‘Can I be completely honest with you, Jessica?’ Brian asked.

‘Sure.’

‘I don’t know why you prefer to live in the Calton rather than in a better area. You do have a lovely flat. Is it really the flat that keeps you here?’

‘No, I told you before. I love the place. Everything about it, and I especially love working in the Barras. Mrs Mellors has often tried to get me to give up this flat – rent it out maybe – and get a cottage near her in Vale of Lennox.’

‘And you refused to go and live in such a lovely place? I remember going for walks and hill-climbing in the Campsies while I was at school in Bearsden.’

‘I know it might sound crazy.’

‘It does. Mrs Mellors could have given you a lift to and from work in the Barras, if you still wanted to work there.’

‘I know. But I love being part of the place. I often open my back window and lean out and I can see the market and feel a real part of it – the noise, the dirt, the smell, as it says in the song. It’s all so exciting. And all my memories are here. I was working at my mum and dad’s stall when I was only a primary school kid. I was even toddling around the stall before that. It’s in my blood, I suppose. It’s me.’

He sighed.

‘I can see it excites you, right enough.’

‘It has such an interesting history too. Remember the Saracen’s Head Inn I showed you yesterday? On display inside is a blunderbuss carried for protection on the London coach. And a skull found during digging operations on the site. The spot the inn was built on, you see, was once the Kirkyard of Little St Mungo’s Chapel, where lepers were buried.’

‘God, they built a pub and a hotel on top of a lepers’ burial place? I suppose the graves were converted into wine cellars and kitchens.’

‘Yes,’ she giggled. ‘Could be.’

Brian rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t think I’ll be going there for a meal.’

‘Och, there won’t be any danger of catching leprosy after all this time.’

‘All the same, the mere idea of what’s down there would be enough to put me off my food.’

They were sitting having afternoon tea in the Willow Tearoom above a jeweller’s shop in Sauchiehall Street. The tearoom was to a design by Charles Rennie Mackintosh, the world-famous Glasgow architect.

‘Anyway, the chairs in the Saracen’s Head are more comfortable than these high-backed things,’ Jessica said. ‘OK, they look different from any other chairs and are elegant too, but I don’t think he ever thought of comfort when he designed all his furniture. Did you like his design of the Glasgow School of Art?’ she asked.

‘Yes, but I was surprised at how scruffy and dirty it looked. Tourists must come from all over the world to look at that. As you say, he is world-famous.’

‘But it’s a working place. Students work there every day and go in and out all the time.’

‘Yes, that would explain it. But I still think they ought to employ more cleaners.’

‘Must be lack of cash.’

He smiled. ‘You won’t tolerate even the slightest criticism of your native city, will you?’

‘Oh, I don’t think that’s true. Well, maybe not of the Calton, right enough.’

He shook his head in disbelief. ‘The Calton’s perfect as it is?’

‘To me it is.’

‘Can I stay with you in your perfect flat tonight?’

‘OK, great!’

It had been great every night they had spent together so far. Despite Mrs Mellors’ warnings, she had continued to have a truly wonderful time and no matter what happened, no matter that any day now he’d be leaving for a far-off country, she’d still feel everything had been worth it. She had not, and was sure she would never have, any regrets.

After leaving the Willow Tearoom, they walked up Sauchiehall Street, past Charing Cross to the huge Mitchell Library. She’d heard that this building held the biggest collection of archives and reference books in Europe. Certainly the Burns Room and the Glasgow Room had been favourite haunts of hers for years. They spent some time in both rooms before returning to Sauchiehall Street. Off Sauchiehall Street in Elmbank Street was the King’s Theatre, and Brian went and booked a couple of seats for the next evening’s musical.

‘If it’s all right with you, we can have dinner, then go to the show to celebrate my last evening of my leave here. I’ve promised to stay for a few days with an Arab friend in his flat in Dubai before going back to Saudi. Have you ever seen pictures of Dubai?’

She wasn’t in the slightest interested in Dubai. She felt suddenly and completely shattered at his imminent departure. No doubt he’d told her at some previous time of the departure date. She hadn’t wanted to think about it and so had refused to think about it.

Now it was almost upon her. She felt so wrecked that she was beyond weeping.

‘Well, have you?’

‘Have I what?’ she managed quite cheekily.

‘Dubai. Have you seen pictures of it or any programmes on television?’

‘No.’

‘What a place! Built by Arab millionaires.’

She might have known that he would admire and be interested in Arabs. He even worked for Arabs in Saudi Arabia, didn’t he? Or was it
with
Arabs? What did it matter? Soon he would be back with all these hospitable and friendly Arabs that he admired so much. Friendly and hospitable, he kept calling them. She didn’t like the sound of them at all. What kind of men were they that walked hand-in-hand with one another and even kissed each other’s cheeks apparently? And women were treated like inferior creatures, by the sound of it, and had to keep covered up from head to toe. She hated the people and the place that was taking Brian away from her.

‘I’ve spent a couple of leaves in Dubai before,’ Brian was saying now. ‘In my Arab friend’s flat. You should see it. It’s about the size of a football pitch. You could get lost in it. And his yacht’s huge as well.’

She certainly could never compete with all that. A feeling of desolation swept over her as she thought of what it would be like to be without Brian. Frantically she struggled to pull herself together. She had been happy before and she would be happy again. All she had to do was to make the most of their last days together.

They walked back down Sauchiehall Street from the Mitchell and had their evening meal in an Italian restaurant. It was as if he was already halfway back to his home in Saudi Arabia. He kept talking about it. He lived very happily in a lovely little villa in a beautiful compound. He had an excellent houseboy who cleaned the place and cooked all his meals. He was a member of the golf club in the compound and there were evening concerts and dances he attended. Sometimes he’d take a drive out into the desert.

‘You wouldn’t believe the size of the roundabouts they have there.’

Roundabouts? What on earth was he talking about now?

She felt so broken-hearted she could hardly take in anything he was saying. Especially when he was saying everything so enthusiastically.

At long last, they got back to the Calton and her flat. It suddenly seemed tiny in comparison with what he’d been saying about his Arab friend’s magnificent flat in Dubai. But she didn’t care about that, she told herself stubbornly, bitterly. She loved her flat in the Barras. There was no place anywhere in the whole world like it. She didn’t care what Brian said.

But she did care about him. She didn’t know how she’d hide the strength of her caring for him, but she felt she had to try.

He mustn’t feel she was being too clingy or making too many unwelcome demands on him. She had been a good tourist guide. At least he had no doubts about that. He’d made that very clear. She also believed he had enjoyed the sex he’d had with her. She wished she could say the word ‘lovemaking’ but couldn’t, not even to herself. After all, the word ‘love’ had never been mentioned.

That night he undressed her slowly and kissed every part of her from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. The sex they had was passionate.

Sex, sex, never love. But what was the use anyway? Soon he would be gone forever as if he’d never been.

He’d gone. Jessica struggled to cope with her grief by immersing herself in the smells and sights and sounds of the Barras.

Nearby there was an Asian vendor who had two stalls separated by an old wooden crate. He was calling out to a lady in a broad Glasgow accent, ‘Madam, step into the children’s department.’

The air was thick with the smell of doughnuts, hot dogs, candyfloss, fruit stalls and home baking. There was a big queue to buy whelks. Nearby was a stall selling the old Scottish delicacy, the clootie dumpling.

There was also an element of danger or suspense in the air, with touts trying to sell cheap cigarettes and DVDs, and keeping an eye open in readiness to spring away at any sign of a policeman. The police were always in civvies and tried their best to blend in. They never managed to. They were too tall and far too clean.

At the moment, Mrs Mellors was concentrating on woollen goods. She’d made a contact in a sheltered housing complex in Vale of Lennox where she lived. A crowd of lady residents enjoyed a knitting bee in their common room and they knitted everything from scarves and gloves, hats, bedsocks and cot blankets, to beautiful jumpers and cardigans. Mrs Mellors bought them at a giveaway price but one that kept the old residents perfectly happy. She then sold them from her stall at a very much higher price. She had always made a good profit but never such a good one as this. During the week, she supplemented this by making children’s kilts, velvet jackets and white frilled shirts. Eventually, she started to knit as well and concentrated on selling woollens.

‘Listen Jessie,’ she said now. ‘You’re looking awfu’ down in the dumps. Come on, we’ll pack up right now and you’ll come out wi’ me to Vale of Lennox and I’ll make you a nice tea. You can stay overnight. In fact, you can stay as long as you like. I’ll show you around and introduce you to some nice folk. Most of them work here like me and you, but there’s other locals as well. And of course you know my son.’

Jessica hesitated for a moment. It had become quite a torment sleeping alone in her big flat and the Barras area could be a lot quieter during the week.

‘OK,’ she said eventually, and Mrs Mellors looked delighted.