44 Scotland Street. The Prime of Bertie Pollock, Chapter 35: A chiel amang you

“I can’t imagine it,” said Big Lou. But she thought: there were plenty of people who did not know even one person when they set off for a new life. Migrants, she thought, are people. To many they may just be numbers; to themselves, they are people.

“And he stayed for over twenty years,” Mr Lin went on. “He lived in Oxford, and in London for a while. But he was an enthusiastic traveller, and wrote books about the places he visited. His books were very popular throughout the world. People loved the watercolour paintings that illustrated his books about the various cities he visited – Paris, London. San Francisco – and Edinburgh, of course. The paintings were in a very characteristically Chinese style – which was the reason for their appeal, I think people liked to see their cities portrayed in an unexpected way.”

Big Lou found herself increasingly taken with what Mr Lin was saying. He spoke quietly, and in a way that seemed to suggest that what he said was intended exclusively for her. It was a tone of close engagement, and he spoke in complete, considered sentences, as people who speak in a language foreign to them will often do.

She wanted to know more about him, and wondered whether she could ask him to tell her more about himself. You had to be careful, she thought; you can give offence by being too inquisitive. There were some people who were open about themselves and would talk freely; others were more private.

“Do you mind telling me what you do?” she asked.

He did not reply immediately, and she thought that she might have been too direct. Cultural issues might be at play: there were cultures that required allusiveness rather than frank questioning. There were places where it was rude to say no. There were all sorts of pitfalls awaiting the uninformed, and she knew nothing of the mores of Singapore.

She need not have been concerned.

“I’m very happy to tell you,” he said, lowering his voice as if he were about to impart a confidence. “I am a humble scholar.”

She waited for him to say more, but it seemed that this was enough. He detected, though, that she expected further explanation.

“I do not have a university position,” he said. “Even at home–”

“Back in Singapore?”

“Yes, even back in Singapore I had no position. We have a very distinguished university in Singapore, but I have never looked for a job there.” He paused. “Not that I would necessarily get one, even if I applied. I prefer my independence, you see.”

Big Lou nodded. “Universities are businesses these days, aren’t they? The professors don’t run them any longer. And they’re mainly interested in making money.”

Mr Lin seemed to agree. “The old idea of a community of scholars is … well, it’s exactly that – an old idea. That’s one of the reasons why I’m glad I’m on the outside. Like the Silent Traveller.

“A chiel amang you taking notes,” mused Big Lou.

Mr Lin waited for an explanation.

“Robert Burns,” said Big Lou. “it’s from one of his poems. It’s a warning that there’s an observer watching.”

Mr Lin smiled. “Perhaps I am an observer. But I hope that I do it discreetly. There is much to observe here in Edinburgh.”

Big Lou asked him about his scholarship. “What do you study?” she asked. “People?”

Mr Lin shook his head. “Only indirectly. I am interested in the Tang Dynasty in China,” he said. “In particular, I study the poets of the period. The poets tell us a lot about their times.”

Big Lou waited.

“You may be wondering how I get by,” said Mr Lin.

It was exactly what Big Lou was wondering about.

“My father,” said Mr Lin, “had a large import-export agency in Singapore. He dealt in everything – pharmaceuticals, cosmetics, rice. He wanted me to go into the business, to take it over when he retired, but I was immersed in my scholarly interests. He understood. Now I have managers who run the company.” He paused. He looked apologetic. “I am in a privileged position. I am very fortunate.”

Big Lou shrugged. “You needn’t be embarrassed about that,” she said.

He looked at her intensely. “I was under the impression that people were hostile to people like me. I thought that in this society you don’t like people who …” His voice trailed away.

“Who are well-off?” said Big Lou.

“Yes, you could put it that way.”

Big Lou looked thoughtful. “There may be some resentment,” she said. “Yes, I suppose there is. That’s human nature. Envy is always there in the background.” It was true, she thought. Envy afflicted us in childhood, and many of us never got over it. But it was not universal – not everybody felt envious of those who had more than they did. She had never felt that way.

Mr Lin was looking at her, as if he were sizing her up. “And yet I think you are not like that,” he said. “I think you are a person who probably does not resent the success of others.”

Big Lou smiled. “I hope I don’t.”

“Because you must be a hard-working person,” Mr Lin went on. He hesitated for a moment, and then asked, “Do you own this place?”

Big Lou nodded. “I do,” she said. “And I run it by myself. There’s just me.”

Mr Lin looked about appreciatively. “You keep is very well,” he said. “I can tell that – everything is clean and neat. I admire that.” He smiled. “I am Singaporean, you see. We like things to be well-organised.”

“I was brought up on a farm in North-East Scotland,” said Big Lou. “That’s how things are in that part of the country.”

They lapsed into silence. Big Lou thought that perhaps they had exhausted the possibilities of conversation – after all, they were effectively strangers who knew very little about each other’s background – beyond the few disclosures just made. Then Mr Lin said, “May I ask you whether you are married? Or whether you have … somebody in your life?”

Big Lou was about to say, “Yes, I have Bob,” but she remembered that she did not have him any longer. So, she said, “There’s just me.”

“Like me.”

“Well, there you are.”

Mr Lin was studying his fingernails, avoiding eye contact with her. “Would you care to have dinner in my house on Dublin Street? I could prepare a typical Singaporean meal.”

She accepted without hesitation. It was just an invitation to dinner – nothing more. And there might even be other guests.

It was as if he had read her mind “There will be a few others there,” he said. “I do not know many people here, but I know enough to fill the dinner table.”

“I would like that very much,” said Big Lou.

They agreed a date.

“I am so happy,” said Mr Lin. “That is why I am smiling. My happiness is overwhelming.”

Big Lou thought: overwhelming – that’s going a bit far. But perhaps there were cultural factors at play. Why should one not say one’s happiness is overwhelming? Why not? We were all far too buttoned up, and it was time that we became more demonstrative of our feelings.

“Aye,” said Big Lou. “Nothing wrong with smiling.”

© Alexander McCall Smith 2026 'The Prime of Bertie Pollock' will be published in August by Polygon, price £17.99. The author will also be launching a podcast of short stories in the spring