framed in bamboo added to the circular effect. In the exterior wall, a wide bay window and seat took up three-quarters of the
space and opened onto a balcony overlooking the garden; the Necroscope could see the gently mobile tops of trees or shrubbery out there, gleaming a lush green in the rain, and a night-dark hill in the distance (the Castle's Rock, maybe, or Arthur's Seat?) silhouetted against a lowering sky.
A light-tan leather lounger faced two matching easy chairs across the polished top of the pine table, and a pair of tall, narrow, crammed bookshelves filled the gaps between the framed prints along one wall. A television set at the foot of one of the screens that flanked the bay window could be viewed comfortably from the lounger, while a music centre on its stand occupied the space in front of the other screen. Behind all four of the screens small chests of drawers were barely visible; obviously Bonnie Jean kept her clutter in the drawers, well out of sight of visitors. She was one tidy lady.
To complete the picture, there was a rotating drinks cabinet on the open landing itself, where B.J. had paused, presumably to prepare drinks, and to inquire: 'A Courvoisier?'
Harry almost replied in the affirmative, then remembered his vow against hard liquor and shook his head. 'Thanks, no.'
'What?' she said. 'And am I supposed to sit here drinking by mahself!'
'Nothing hard,' he answered. 'I'm not one for hard liquor. Tonight was a one-off. If you hadn't suggested cognac, I probably wouldn't have thought of it. But look, since B.J. 's is a wine bar, why don't you offer me a glass of wine?'
That seemed to please her. 'Actually,' she said, 'I think I'm glad ye're no' a drinker. Hard drink will make a fool of a man - like Big Jimmy, for instance. It'll put an idiot in your head and a braggart in your mouth, to think and speak for ye!'
The Necroscope was well able to appreciate that: the idea of other people in your head, speaking and acting for you. And it wasn't too far-fetched, either, except his people were anything but idiots and usually told the truth!
'As for the difference,' B.J. went on ...
'... Eh?' he felt obliged to cut in.
'Between a pub and a wine bar,' she smiled.
'Oh!'
'It's the licence,' she explained. 'A pub's hours are controlled, and its clients often aren't! But my wine bar's a club whose opening hours are satisfactory to me ... within the law, you understand, and with clients that I can pick and choose.'
'Like Big Jimmy?' Harry sat on the lounger.
'It was Big Jimmy's first bad mistake,' she answered, 'and his last.'
'You know,' Harry said, 'that was the first Jock "Jimmy" I ever met? I know everyone calls everyone Jimmy up here, but are there really that many Jameses?'
She laughed, and explained: 'It's like "Johns" in London. Or "Bruces" in Australia. If you don't know someone's name, you call him Jimmy, that's all. But Big Jimmy really was one.'
Harry grimaced, and agreed, 'He was one, all right!'
Til tell ye something, though,' she said, sitting in one of the easy chairs opposite him. 'You'd best be careful how you use "Jock." The Scots don't much care for it.'
'Oh, I can tell you know about them,' Harry said. 'Despite that you're not one of them ...?'
B.J. turned her face away and busied herself pouring wine, generally hiding her momentary confusion.
She had brought a silver tray bearing a crystal decanter, a bottle, and glasses, from the drinks cabinet. Now she poured a glass of red wine from the decanter and a glass of liebfraumilch from the bottle. Taking up the sweet white wine, she offered a toast: 'Here's to you, Harry Keogh.' And the accent had quite disappeared.
Harry picked up his glass and looked at it. The glass was many-faceted; its contents were a light ruby red, but seemed misty. 'The red's for me?' he queried. 'But I thought red wine was supposed to give you a headache? What's this, the "house" wine?'
That headache stuffs a myth,' she told him. 'In fact I deliberately chose the red for you because it's not so strong.
But it does have more than its share of sediment, which is why I decanted it. I managed to clear most of it. But if you don't like it...' she shrugged. 'I can always make you a coffee, or something else of your choice?'
Harry took a sip. The taste wasn't unpleasant; there was a certain bite