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“Glasgow,” he said without hesitation.
“I’m not talking only in Scotland, I mean in the world.”
He grinned at her. “The answer’s still Glasgow.”
“Well, that’s just sad.”
He burst out laughing as he placed the takeaway bag on the ornate table and pulled a chair out for her, before taking a seat facing her. “Spoken like a person who’s never seen the good parts of the city.”
“Are there good parts?” She wasn’t convinced.
“Aye.”
“Name one.”
“The art school building. Built by Charles Rennie Mackintosh at the turn of the century—twentieth,” he amended. “It’s the most beautiful building in the world.”
She was unconvinced. “Better than the Taj Mahal?”
“Way better. You’ve never been?”
“No.” Just the thought of setting foot in a building dedicated to serious artists made her break out in hives. If she actually did it, she would spend the rest of her life comparing herself and coming up short as usual.
“I’ll take you some time.” His face grew wistful. “I still remember the first day I walked into the place. Up those stone steps, the gold brick looming in front of you, with the massive studio windows either side of the entrance. You pushed through the white double doors, making sure you used the one with ‘In’ on it, and into the foyer. There were Art Nouveau details everywhere you looked. From the carved wooden staircase up to the first floor to the emblems high in the walls. But it was the atmosphere that sucked you right in. It smelled of oil paint, turps and creative obsession. There was a buzz about the place. An energy I’ve never come across anywhere else. It was as though you’d stepped into a magical world when you walked through those doors.”
Her throat felt tight as she swallowed.
“You taught there too.”
“For a time.”
“You should go back. Take them up on the offer to lecture. It would do you good.” She wanted to see him do something he loved, and for a moment, she forgot that the whole reason she’d set it up was to get him out of the way. Shame hit her and made her look away.
“That part of my life is over,” he told her, but his tone wasn’t harsh.
“I’ve seen the new paintings. I think you might be wrong.”
Uncertainty flashed in his eyes before he turned his attention to their dessert. He reached into the bag and came out with two boxes. He placed one in front of her and she opened it to find a perfect piece of tiramisu, a plastic spoon, and a napkin. It wasn’t chocolate cake, but it was still pretty damn good.
“I’ll get some drinks.” Donna made to stand, but Duncan stopped her.
“I’ll get them. Don’t go anywhere.”
“No faith,” she muttered as she eyed her dessert. If she was fast, she could eat hers and get into his before he got back.
He must have guessed what she was thinking because he swiped up his dessert box. “I’ll just take this with me for safekeeping.”
“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes at him, making him chuckle.
As soon as he disappeared into the foliage, the hordes descended.
Didn’t I tell you that this evening was a mistake? Hermione appeared beside the pot-bellied stove that was used to keep the room warm in winter. Just what do you think you’re doing?
“Having dessert.” She spooned some into her mouth and tried to ignore the figures only she could see. “And wondering if I should see a psychiatrist,” she said around her food.
Hermione rolled her eyes. You don’t need a psychiatrist. You need to listen to me.
Really, there was nothing to say to that, so she took another bite of her pudding.
