‘We’ve all got that rent rise, you know. Well. We will all be so very pleased he’s making a go of it.’
Once again, Carmen reflected on what a community the street was, and wondered why Mr McCredie wasn’t a part of it.
‘My feet are not getting notably drier,’ observed Blair.
The man shook his head. ‘Bad business there.’
‘With Mr McCredie? Why? How?’
The big man turned and went back into his shop.
‘I’m Crawford,’ he said back over his shoulder. ‘Crawford Finnieston.’
‘Got any wellingtons, Crawford?’ said Blair.
‘So, hang on, what bad business?’
Crawford blinked rheumy blue eyes.
‘He hasn’t told you?’
‘No!’ said Carmen.
Blair found a shelf full of green wellingtons.
‘What is it?’ asked Carmen.
Crawford shrugged. ‘Oh, I won’t tell tales out of school, young lady. Nothing, nothing, just town gossip.’
Carmen looked around. It was an extraordinary shop: flowered wallpaper, antique dressers and mirrors, as well as stuffed animals – not for sale, it appeared, just there because Crawford liked them – and bodywarmers and hunting clothes.
‘This is the poshest shop I’ve ever been in,’ said Carmen.
‘I can well believe that,’ said Crawford. Then, slightly more gently: ‘Where did you work before?’
She told him.
‘Ah, a sad day,’ he said. ‘I knew it well. Although rather good for me. The little girls of the west coast have to come get their jodhpurs from me these days.’
‘I like these,’ said Blair, pointing at a large pair of waders hanging up.
‘They’re for fishing,’ said Crawford.
‘Well, surely they’ll work in the snow too?’
Crawford and Carmen shared a look.
‘No’ here,’ said Crawford, bringing up the wellies.
‘They’re ￡300!’ said Carmen before she could help herself.
‘I’m going to bill the publishers,’ said Blair airily. ‘They’re the ones who left me in this mess.’
‘They sent the thundersnow?’
He tried on a pair with a tartan fold-over at the top, and looked at himself in the mirror, obviously liking what he saw.
Crawford nodded. ‘Although … ’ he said.
‘I know,’ said Blair. And in a twinkling of an eye he was in a changing room, trying on a pair of navy cords with a tweed shirt, a mustard waistcoat and a wildly expensive waxed overcoat. He’d texted the number of the airline to Carmen, but she was studiously ignoring it.
‘Ta-dah!’ he said, emerging as a full country gentleman. Carmen burst out laughing, but the smile faded as she saw the disappointment on his face.
Actually, he looked rather nice, if ready for a costume party. The waistcoat suited him wonderfully, showing off his broad shoulders; the cords balanced his slim bottom half.
‘Do you have a personal trainer?’ said Carmen.
‘Who doesn’t?’
Carmen rolled her eyes.
‘What time are we going to kill some foxes?’
‘Want to try the flat cap, sir?’