The Importance of Being Seven (21 page)

Matthew continued to press Elspeth to visit the doctor, but she was adamant. ‘I just don’t need to go,’ she said. ‘My blood pressure was checked two days ago and they said it was more or less what they would expect. I’m fine, Matthew – I really am. You can’t wrap me in cotton wool.’

That came across as criticism rather than imprecation – which was not her intention. ‘I’m sorry, my darling,’ she said quickly. ‘I very much appreciate your concern – I really do, but you mustn’t worry too much about me. I’m quite strong, you know.’

He put his arm around her shoulder. They were walking back around Moray Place after having viewed the flat and, had they been
watched from a window above – and they were – they would have seemed to all intents and purpose as the young couple in love – he with his arm about her shoulder, in perfect step with each other; such tenderness.

‘Look,’ said the watcher to her companion. ‘Look down there. That young couple we’ve seen in India Street. He has that gallery, I think. She’s got a lovely, gentle face. Rather like a Madonna.’

‘So touching,’ said the companion. ‘Do you think they’ve been looking at that flat? The one for sale?’

‘I’m not sure that a young couple could afford that,’ said the watcher.

‘We can hope.’

‘Yes, we can hope.’

‘Perhaps they might even join the Federation.’

‘That might be nice. We could pop a leaflet through their door once they move in.’

‘Yes, that’s a really good idea.’

Unaware of the eyes upon them, Matthew and Elspeth turned the corner into Darnaway Street. ‘Well?’ said Matthew. ‘What do you think?’

‘I like it,’ said Elspeth. ‘There’s something special about it. It’s so quiet. Did you notice that? Not a whisper of traffic.’

‘I heard the trees moving in the wind,’ said Matthew. ‘That’s all.’

Elspeth looked at him enquiringly. ‘Did you find out about the price? I’ve left my copy of the brochure back there. I suppose we could get another copy from that nice woman who showed us round.’

But Matthew had seen the price. ‘It’s not cheap,’ he said. ‘But then it’s Moray Place.’

Elspeth hardly dared ask. She had bought her flat in Sciennes at what seemed to her to be an exorbitant price, but it would be nothing when compared with the price of these flats in the Georgian New Town.

‘We can afford it,’ said Matthew. ‘We’d get a good price for our flat. People like India Street.’

‘You’re holding back,’ said Elspeth, in mock accusation. ‘I can take it, you know.’

‘All right,’ said Matthew. ‘They’re asking for offers over eight hundred and fifty thousand pounds.’

Elspeth stopped walking. ‘Eight hundred and fifty thousand pounds?’ she repeated slowly.

Matthew confirmed the figure with a nod. ‘So that means we’ll have to pay quite a bit more than that if we want to get it. You heard what the lawyer at McKay Norwell said. She said they had several notes of interest. That means there’s going to be competition.’

‘Maybe we shouldn’t bother,’ said Elspeth. ‘I’m not sure if I want to get into a bidding war.’

Matthew, who still had a protective arm about her, gave her a squeeze. ‘But you loved it,’ he said. ‘I could tell. You really felt at home, didn’t you?’

He knew; he had seen her expression. Yes, she did want it; she wanted it badly; but eight hundred and fifty thousand pounds? For a flat? With eight hundred and fifty thousand pounds one could buy a small farm in Ayrshire; or a slightly down-at-heel chateau in a less fashionable part of France; or … there were so many things one could do with eight hundred and fifty thousand pounds.

‘How much do you think we’d get for India Street?’ she asked.

Matthew thought for a moment. ‘I saw an advertisement for a flat like ours in Northumberland Street,’ he said. ‘And Northumberland Street is a little bit less desirable than India Street. Five hundred and twenty thousand.’

Elspeth, being a teacher – even one who had been obliged to resign – at least could do mental arithmetic. ‘A three hundred and thirty thousand pound shortfall,’ she said. It seemed such a discouragingly large sum; surely Matthew would see that.

But all he said was: ‘Yes. That’s about it.’

‘Well, we can’t afford that,’ she said. ‘So we need to find somewhere else.’

Matthew shook his head. ‘No, we don’t. I can get hold of that. Have you forgotten …’

He did not complete his question. He felt embarrassed about his situation, even with Elspeth.

‘Have you got that much?’ she asked.

Matthew was taken aback. Had he never told her? Perhaps not.

‘Elspeth,’ he whispered. ‘I’m not short of cash.’

She looked away. ‘I didn’t suppose you might be. But that’s a very large sum.’

‘But we can easily afford it,’ said Matthew. ‘If you want it.’ He paused. ‘And as far as I’m concerned, I’d really love to live there.’

‘Then let’s go for it,’ said Elspeth.

‘All right,’ said Matthew. ‘I’ll phone our lawyers the moment we get back to the flat.’

Our lawyers: it was not a phrase that Elspeth had ever had occasion to use. It sounded immensely grand to be able to say our lawyers, but it seemed entirely natural for Matthew.

‘I didn’t know that we had lawyers,’ said Elspeth.

‘Well, we do. And I’m going to phone them and ask them to put in an immediate offer.’

They had now reached India Street and were beginning to make their way down it to their doorway. After Moray Place, India Street seemed rather modest, and yet it was comfortable and on a human scale. Did they really want to move somewhere more formal? Elspeth was not sure. And yet, the thought of all those steps, even now, in early pregnancy, was beginning to daunt her.

‘How much will we offer?’ Elspeth asked.

‘I’ll see what the solicitor says. But it’s likely to be nine hundred and fifty. Nine hundred and sixty, maybe.’

She said nothing. That was almost a million pounds, and when stamp duty and lawyers’ fees and all the rest were added, it probably would end up being at least that much. Is this what she wanted? To be living in what the popular press would describe as ‘a million-pound flat’? Is that what she wanted, when there were so many people who made do with such small and cramped space; people for whom a million pounds was an impossible, distant dream? Did she want to be part of that world; the world of elegant Georgian interiors and the quiet ticking of clocks? Had she made a mistake in marrying Matthew, and was she now simply confirming that mistake by going along with something that seemed to be so alien,
so far away from all that she had ever been, as to be about somebody else, some other Elspeth Harmony who had nothing to do with the real Elspeth Harmony – whoever that was?

As soon as they reached their flat in India Street, Matthew went into the room he used as a study and looked up the telephone number of Turcan Connell, the lawyers who looked after his affairs. They had bought the gallery for him; they had advised him – rather perspicaciously and effectively – on the disposition of the funds that his father had so generously, and unexpectedly, showered upon him. They were a comforting presence in his life, rather like a godfather or a trusted uncle, who would stand between him and a world that contained so many potential snares and disasters.

The partner with whom he dealt listened to what he had to say about India Street. She had not heard about the triplets. ‘Congratulations,’ she said. ‘You must create a trust.’

Matthew thanked her. ‘And move,’ he said.

‘Ah.’

Matthew explained about the flat in Moray Place. She approved. ‘That side in particular has wonderful views. And it has a garden?’

‘It does,’ said Matthew.

‘You’ll need to get it surveyed.’

Matthew was silent for a moment. ‘I want to buy it,’ he said. ‘There’s going to be stiff competition. I want to put in one of those quick offers.’

The lawyer frowned. Matthew could hear the frown. ‘A timed offer?’

‘Yes. They’re asking for offers over eight hundred and fifty thousand. I thought that if we put in nine hundred and fifty they might take it straight away.’

The lawyer cleared her throat. ‘Well, they might, but they
might want to give the other people a chance – the ones who have noted an interest.’ She hesitated. ‘And although we can make it subject to survey, I would advise rather strongly against going in with an offer when you haven’t checked up on some pretty basic things.’

Matthew tried to sound firm. ‘I want it,’ he said. ‘Elspeth loves it. I want to get it for her.’

The lawyer understood. ‘I have to advise you of the dangers,’ she said. ‘But ultimately it’s your decision. Are you sure?’

He was sure.

‘Then I’ll phone their solicitors and have a word with them. Who is it?’

‘McKay Norwell. They’re in Rutland Square. I spoke to their property person, Lesley Kerr, I think it was.’

‘I know her,’ said the lawyer. ‘And they’re a good firm. I’ll have a word.’

Matthew put down the phone and went into the kitchen, where Elspeth was boiling an egg. ‘I suddenly felt hungry,’ she said. ‘I know it’s odd to be sitting down eating a boiled egg on impulse, but …’ She shrugged.

‘You can have a boiled egg whenever you want,’ said Matthew. ‘You can have anything – anything.’

She looked at him fondly. Dear Matthew – he was so generous. And yet she did not want anything. She wanted only those things that she deserved, and she was not sure that she deserved all this attention, all this solicitude. She was not sure that she deserved a flat in Moray Place just because she had walked past it and decided that she might like to live there. Would it be different, she wondered, if Matthew had actually earned all this money? Would her feelings of guilt be any different then? Or should she not feel guilty about good fortune – whatever its source? Was it a peculiar Scottish trait to feel guilty about what you had in this life; was this all down to the Reformation and to the stern doctrines of individual effort and merit that had sprung from all that? Such an effect did exist – she was sure of it; she had had an uncle who had felt like that. Anything good, anything positive, was seen by him
as a dubious privilege that would be paid for dearly; even a fine day – in Scotland a rare gift of those most fickle local weather gods – would be paid for by cold and damp later on. The bill for a warm spring was a miserable, rain-sodden summer; the bill for happiness was subsequent anxiety about the loss of exactly that happiness – it was a bleak system of double-entry book-keeping, but one that had a firm root in the Scottish psyche. And was that what she was like, she asked herself.

The egg boiled, and Elspeth sat down to eat it. Matthew sat at the table opposite her. He was jumpy – she could tell that. And this nervousness increased until the telephone rang and he shot up from his chair to answer it.

It was his lawyer. ‘I’ve spoken to Lesley Kerr,’ she said. ‘And she’s drawn my attention – quite properly – to an issue with that place. She’s worried that the sellers have done something to the flat.’

‘But of course they have,’ said Matthew. ‘They’ve decorated it really well. And the kitchen was beautifully done up. That Clive Christian person – really very swish.’

‘Not that,’ said the lawyer. ‘She said that they had removed a wall.’

Matthew was silent.

‘Are you still there?’ asked the lawyer.

‘Yes. But people remove walls, don’t they?’

‘They do. But you have to remember something: Moray Place is listed. It’s an important piece of architecture and you have to get permission to do anything to a listed building. The people who owned that flat didn’t. They just took a wall out.’

‘Oh. But why are they telling us this?’

‘Because it’ll come up in the transaction. Her clients know that they must reveal it. She says quite rightly that everybody needs to be aware of the problem.’

Matthew thought for a moment. ‘So which wall are we talking about?’ he asked.

‘One in the middle,’ said the lawyer. ‘Apparently.’

Matthew sighed. Across the room he saw Elspeth looking at him. He loved her so much. He wanted her to have that flat. He wanted them to be in that bedroom with the Chinese-themed
wallpaper. He could see her in the garden, sitting near that lead statue of the young girl with the skirts.

‘Look,’ he said. ‘I really want to go ahead with this. Please put in that offer. We can deal with bureaucratic difficulties later on.’

‘I’m not at all sure that removing a wall from a listed building is a mere bureaucratic difficulty,’ said the lawyer. ‘And I don’t think you’d get a letter of comfort from the council for this sort of thing.’

‘A letter of comfort?’

‘It’s a letter that says that even if something has been done, it’s all right and you can go ahead. But I don’t think that you can get them for infringements of listed building requirements.’

A letter of comfort, thought Matthew. What a marvellous term! And wouldn’t we all like to get letters of comfort from time to time? Even one letter of comfort a year would be enough. My dear, such a letter would say. Don’t worry! Everything will work out for the best.