I nearly walked past Jimmy Keith, just coming out of his front door, no doubt on his way to his daily lunch at the St Olaf Hotel.
‘Aye-aye,’ was his cheerful greeting. ‘Foo are ye the day?’
I didn’t know exactly how I was, but I told him, ‘Fine, thank you,’ and we passed a bit of small talk back and forth about the weather, which was grey and dismal.
‘Ye’ll be needing yer electric meter emptied. I’ve nae done it yet this week.’
I had forgotten. ‘Yes, I’m nearly out of coins.’
‘I’ll come along and dee it noo. Ye dinna wish tae find yersel on such a day as this, athoot the lichts.’
I glanced at him from time to time as we walked up Ward Hill, and tried to think which of his sons was most like him. Stuart, I thought, had his straight nose and effortless charm, whereas Graham had more of the roughness, the strength of his build and the roll of his walk. Strange, I thought, how genetics worked—how one man could pass on such diverse traits to his children.
It was clear, though, that neither one of them had taught their father how to make the meter over my door run without the key. Inside, he emptied out the coins and gave them back to me, and I in turn fished out a ten pound note and thanked him.
‘Ach, nae bother.’ He looked round. ‘Ye’re getting on a’richt, are ye?’
‘Yes, thanks.’ Past him, through the window of my front room, I could see the sprawl of Slains towards the north. I pulled my gaze away, deliberately avoiding it. It wasn’t that I wanted to escape the book, exactly, but the things that had been happening these past few days had left me feeling overwhelmed, and desperately in need of a diversion. On impulse I said, ‘Jimmy?’
‘Aye?’
‘I might be away for a few days.’
‘Oh, aye? Far would ye be awa til?’
Where would I be away to? Good question. ‘To Edinburgh, maybe. There’s some research for the book I need to do.’
‘Ye’ll be hame at the wikkend, then, will ye?’
I thought of the driving tour I had been promised on Saturday, and answered with certainty, ‘Yes.’
‘Because Graham, my ither loon, said he’d be up at the wikkend, and I thocht ye’d want tae meet him. He’s a lecturer in history, like I telt ye, and I doot that he’ll ken somethin aboot Slains that’ll be o’ use tae ye.’
My first reaction was surprise that Graham hadn’t mentioned that he’d met me, but I tried my best to hide that. He’d doubtless had his reasons.
Jimmy, unaware, said, ‘I was thinking ye micht want tae come fer lunch on Sunday. Nothing fancy, mind ye. I can roast a bit o’ beef fin I’m in luck, but I’ll nae promise mair than that.’
It was impossible to say no to his smile. I said, ‘I’ll be there.’
Truth was, I wouldn’t have been likely, anyway, to say no to a chance to spend a bit more time with Graham. But I didn’t tell his father that.
‘Aweel,’ said Jimmy, pleased, ‘g’awa tae Edinburgh finever ye like, quine, and nivver fash. I’ll keep the cottage snod, and yer lum rikkin.’ Then he caught himself, as though he’d just remembered I was not a local, and started to rephrase that, but I stopped him.
‘No, it’s all right, I got all of that. I understand.’
‘Oh aye? Fit did I tell ye, noo?’
‘You told me not to worry, that you’d keep the cottage in good order and my chimney smoking.’
Jimmy grinned. ‘Michty, ye’ve a rare grasp o’ the Doric fer a quine fa’s nivver heard it afore.’
I’d never given it much thought, but I supposed that he was right. And come to think of it, a few of my own characters—the servants up at Slains—spoke in the Doric in my mind, and though I modified their speech when I was writing so my readers wouldn’t curse me, I still understood what they had said originally. Just as I understood everything Jimmy Keith said.
It was almost as if I had heard it before. Heard it spoken so often that I had remembered…
My gaze was pulled back to the window, and Slains.
Jimmy cheerfully said, ‘Weel, that’s me awa hame. Best o luck wi’ yer research, my quine.’
And I thanked him.
But part of me wasn’t so sure that I wanted good luck, at the moment. It was one thing, I thought, to ask questions, and look for the answers. It might be another to actually find them.
In the end, I decided the Duke of Hamilton would be the safest subject for my research. I did need to learn more about the man, since it appeared he was going to play a key role, whether onstage or off, in my novel. And I knew I’d have no trouble finding information on him down in Edinburgh.