Chapter 3

On Monday Vicky breezed into Aidan’s office.

“Aidan,” she said. “After all that trouble when I was ill, you never got a holiday. Then you’ve been working all hours to get the new kids sorted. You’re looking very tired and everything is running well now. Why don’t you take a break? August is a slack month in any case. Go somewhere exotic; take as long as you like. Go somewhere out of all this damned rain. Get yourself better, more rested, ready for September when life will get demented again with all the tax returns!”

Aidan knew she was right. He needed a change, something to give him a fresh start. Somewhere exotic? He didn’t think so: he was not one for lying in the sun. He knew exactly where he wanted to go. The Edinburgh Festival.

He booked a good hotel in the City in the Bruntsfield area, an easy walk to the centre across the Meadows, and on Monday 12th August in the morning he set off for two weeks of culture, comedy and music.

After a drive through heavy showers and hot sunny spells, the hotel proved very comfortable with superb food, the weather picked up and was warmish, dry and sunny, and the events of the festival were fun. He had the time of his life.

It had been five years since he had been on a holiday by himself, and he relished every moment: theatres, music, comedy clubs and fringe events. Sampling good restaurants. All this without any inclination to pick up a woman! As he neared the end of his fortnight, he felt almost reluctant to go home. He had found a wonderful pub called Cloisters, a short walk from the hotel, where people were easy to talk to and there was a vast selection of beers. There was always good conversation once you got used to the accents, not all of which were Scottish.

It was the last Sunday of his stay, and Ian (Aidan had forgotten his surname) after a protracted conversation about rare whiskies, told him of a small hotel with a malt that he wouldn’t be able to find anywhere else.

Aidan would be going home on the Tuesday, so this was his last chance. The next day just after lunch he walked over to that hotel, and into a drama that would change things significantly for him.

He was passing the reception area on his way to the bar when he was distracted from his spiritual goal.

It was an urgent sounding voice with a soft American accent, and it issued from a woman. She was leaning on the receptionist’s desk. He ran his eyes over her from behind; in fact, he ran his eyes over her behind. It was without doubt the best shaped and sized behind he had ever seen, and it was shown off to its best in her fitted trouser suit. On it was resting a wonderfully sculptured waist, curved back and above that a long sinuous neck. Blond hair – golden blond – natural. His knees felt vaguely weak.

This vision was concerned about something and was making it known to the receptionist. The receptionist, no more than a girl really, behind the desk was not being sympathetic enough.

“It’s all gone,” the apparition was saying, “money, passport, pocket book, purse, air tickets, everything.”

“I can’t see we can do anything.” said the girl.

“I don’t need you to do anything, honey,” the woman said. “I’m trying to tell you that my pocket book has been stolen, and it had my credit cards in it. I can’t pay the bill and I don’t know what to do about that.”

The girl behind the desk not surprisingly became very interested at that point, but still did not seem to be ready to offer any solution.

Aidan stopped. Was it fellow feeling for another human being in trouble, or was it lust for the pert bottom, wonderful back, long neck and lustrous blond hair? He always professed not to know.

Of course he did!

He changed direction and approached the desk.

“There seems to be a problem,” he said as he arrived by the angel’s side. “Perhaps I can help?”

She turned to him.

He was not in the habit of blaspheming, but the epithet O My God (not the abbreviation) arose in his mind. That face. It was a face beyond words. Perfect in symmetry, startlingly deep blue eyes, high cheek bones, perfect teeth, delightful chin with an adorable cleft. How could anyone be that beautiful? Her worried frown did not mar her beauty in the slightest. Her very existence was unfair to the rest of womankind. She was exactly the same height as he was, though she was wearing medium heels.

“The lady can’t pay her bill,” said the stony-faced girl behind the desk. Aidan thought her broad clipped accent more Glasgow than softer Edinburgh.

“I put my purse down in a shop and someone stole it. I’ve got nothing. It’s all gone!” and though she was not on the verge of tears she looked hopeless.

The girl said, “You did what? No one puts their purse down in a shop or anywhere.”

“The lady means she put her handbag down,” Aidan explained with exaggerated patience, “In the States they call handbags purses and purses are called pocket books.”

The girl now looked very confused, said nothing but shook her head as if in despair at such differences in folk who profess to use the same language.

“Did this lady reserve with a credit card?” he asked the girl.

She consulted her screen. “Aye,” she replied. “I have the details.”

“Then I suggest you debit that card very quickly with her bill, because it will be cancelled in a few minutes.”

He turned again to the goddess. “Did you talk to the police?”

She nodded. “They didn’t seem to think they’d find it.”

“Neither do I,” he said. “If it is found, it will be empty. Would you come through to the bar?” he suggested, “I think you may have some work to do. Perhaps you would allow me to help?”

She looked puzzled at this, but nodded and did as he asked. They went to the bar.

“You need a drink, what’ll it be?”

“I’ve no money,” she replied.

“I gathered as much,” he said with a smile that he hoped was engaging, “What would you like?”

“Whisky over ice please.”

He shuddered visibly at the thought, but, against everything he held holy, got her a standard Bell’s whisky poured into a glass full of ice, a double. He ordered that special single malt, the one he had come for, again a double with a little water. They sat at a table.

She took a sip. Aidan watched her lips embrace the glass and wanted to be that glass. To prevent him making a complete fool of himself he exercised monumental self control. It was worth it. He was still almost completely distracted from the job in hand.

“Now,” he said with an supreme effort of concentration, “Do you have the numbers of your cards anywhere? You’ll need to ring the the issuers in the States. You can use my phone.”

“Canada,” she corrected him, but nodded as she did so, extracting a piece of paper from a wallet.

“This only has a few Canadian dollars in it, and the numbers,” she said, noting his enquiring look at the object.

“Your cell phone?” he asked using her vernacular.

“In my purse -- I mean handbag.”

He smiled at her correction and she smiled at his smile. Her eyes twinkled. Oh! he could feel his legs turning to jelly.

The next half hour was spent on his phone, sometimes using text, and finally phoning. It was very hard work but they managed to cancel all the cards and cease her phone.

When all was done, she sat back.

“Thank you,” she said. “I nearly lost it back then. I’m better now.”

Then she started, and her worries returned. “My Passport!” her face filled with worry. “And the plane tickets.”

“You were leaving Edinburgh today?” he asked.

“I was due to travel to Manchester today by train, and get a flight to Vancouver tomorrow. I can’t somehow see that happening!” She laughed nervously flashing an unnerving look at him.

“Ok,” he said. “We can cancel the hotel and the plane tickets.”

Which they did.

“Now,” he said, “your passport. You need a replacement.”

They phoned the Canadian High Commission in London, and were told she would need to attend there since she had no documentation. The lady started to tear up. The first time she’d weakened since he’d first noticed her.

“Big deal,” she said disconsolately, her eyes brimming, “How will I get there without money? I don’t have enough for a train.”