56. From Scotland With Love

Of course the long conversation that Irene enjoyed with Dr St Clair took most of Bertie’s therapeutic hour. In fact, by the time that Dr St Clair had finished his reminiscences – having been encouraged by Irene at regular intervals – there was not much more than five minutes left for his real patient. This suited Bertie, who much preferred to sit in the waiting room than to field the often impenetrable questions which his psychotherapists, both Dr Fairbairn and Dr St Clair, threw at him. Of the two, Bertie had a slight preference for Dr St Clair, who appeared less disturbed, he thought, than Dr Fairbairn, but it certainly suited him very well if his mother diverted the psychotherapist’s attention for virtually the whole hour.

‘Well, Bertie,’ said Irene as they left the consulting rooms and began to walk back along Queen Street, ‘that wasn’t a very long session for you, I’m afraid. Mummy needed to talk to Dr St Clair about one or two little matters.’

‘That’s quite all right, Mummy,’ said Bertie cheerfully. ‘I don’t mind sharing Dr St Clair. You can take as long as you like, you know.’

Irene smiled, and bent down to give her son’s cheek a playful pinch. ‘That’s very kind, darlingissimo,’ she said. ‘But next week you must have the lion’s share. Mummy doesn’t need help.’

Bertie looked at his mother doubtfully. He thought that she probably did need help, but he was a polite little boy and did not like to say that.

‘And you had a good read of Scottish Field?’ asked Irene.

‘Yes,’ said Bertie. ‘I read an article about Mr Darnley.’

‘Mr Darnley?’

Bertie explained. The article had been fascinating, and he had read it three times, as he often did with things that really interested him. ‘Mr Darnley married Mary, Queen of Scots, you see. He was a tall man with very long legs …’

‘Oh, that Darnley,’ said Irene. ‘Henry Darnley. Soi-disant king of Scotland. Yes, I see.’

‘And they blew him up,’ went on Bertie. ‘When he was walking along Chambers Street, near where the Museum is. They blew him right up and he died.’

‘I don’t think it was Chambers Street in those days,’ said Irene. ‘Edinburgh was terribly small then, Bertie. That would have been fields with cows and other bucolic creatures. Even Scotland Street was just a hillside, you know.’

Bertie absorbed this. ‘It was very sad,’ he said. ‘Do you think he came to bits when they blew him up, Mummy?’

Irene smiled. ‘He undoubtedly would have felt somewhat disjointed,’ she replied. ‘But you must remember, Bertie, that they were all pretty shocking people in those days. Scotland was full of warring factions. That’s what they were like.’

‘And is it any different now?’ asked Bertie.