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THINKING AHEAD. We believe that the best narratives intrigue and surprise us, challenge our expectations, bridge the gap between cultures, philosophies and ages. They enrich our under-standing of the world. This document tells our story in words and pictures. A reflection of who we are, what makes us different and how we can help you.

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Thinking ahead is what we do. It allows us to anticipate challenges, mitigate risk, predict trends and solve problems. It is in our DNA to remain permanently engaged and informed within a dynamic environment where certainties shift minute by minute. Our experience tells us the best way to deal with our clients’ affairs is through forward-thinking; addressing potential issues long before they arise.

Thinking ahead requires expertise, integrity and depth of knowledge. It requires both tradition of service and genuine understanding of the contemporary world in equal measure. At Tods Murray, we embrace the future and it informs everything we do.

The way we tell our story here is different. Partly through our long standing support of the arts, and partly through our desire to reflect how the law touches people’s lives, we commissioned six leading Scottish fiction writers to collaborate with six partners across our business.

The results are fascinating. A series of short stories woven throughout this brochure which provide real insight into the way we influence our clients’ lives and businesses for the better.

Visually, we engaged photojournalist David Gillanders to capture the essence of our office in a moment in time. David immersed himself in our environment for a week, and his reportage imagery depicts our working lives. We’re more than artifice, we’re real people.

These stories and images integrate together within these pages to tell you our story, show why we are different and demonstrate how we can work together.

This is the story of Tods Murray and what makes us different.

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What do we stand for?A relationship with you

Nurturing and developing constructive, productive relationships with our many clients, our own colleagues, and with the wider social, cultural and business communities in which we work, is at the heart of what we stand for.

The better we know you and your business, the easier we can anticipate future challenges, and take dynamic steps to resolve them before they arise. We’ve been fine-tuning our own business approach since the late 18th century, so we’re confident that our own focus on developing meaningful relationships with our clients works.

With city centre offices in both Glasgow and Edinburgh, we see ourselves as a full service law firm based in Scotland. We offer an extensive selection of legal solutions and guidance, carefully crafted to meet the needs of the many companies, organisations, charities, families and individuals that we count among our clients – across Scotland, the UK and beyond.

Whether you come to us for advice in relation to your business or your own personal affairs, our pragmatic understanding of your needs gives us the insight to offer support that’s inventive and forward-looking yet grounded in decades of experience and our enduring legacy of legal expertise. Although our focus is predominantly on Scots law, we have also developed successful partnerships with top legal firms in London and Europe, and regularly engage with non-legal professionals to ensure that you get the well-rounded support you need and expect.

Our emphasis on cultivating relationships with the wider community is evident in our varied work with, and support of, Scotland’s voluntary and creative sectors. For many years we have been a proud sponsor of cultural organisations and events, and we continue to look for innovative and inventive ways in which to share our expertise and support for Scotland’s creative community.

Positive relationships matter to us not just because they enable us to do our job properly; we know that our expertise and understanding is greatest when we are fully engaged with the wider communities outside our doors.

Relationships matter to us.

Tods Murray LLP displays ‘outstanding capability on complicated matters of fact and law’. Legal 500

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Don’t Take This The Wrong Way ButAnneliese Mackintosh

‘DoN’T TAKE THIs the wrong way,’ she said, puncturing the air with her fork, ‘but if you don’t punish people, how will they ever learn?’

‘But Sharon,’ responded Mark, ‘if you pun-ish someone by lopping off their head, they won’t learn anything, will they? They’ll be dead. That’s how capital punishment works.’

‘Plus you’ve got to be absolutely sure they’re guilty,’ piped up Tina; the first thing she’d said in ten minutes.

Sharon gave her a dirty look. ‘Whatever.’The host, Nigel, coughed. ‘Why don’t we

talk about the food? This is a cooking competi-tion, after all.’ Everyone looked at their plates.

‘I’m not being funny,’ Sharon said even-tually, ‘but soufflé is a bit – well – pretentious, isn’t it?’

‘It’s a bit flat,’ added Mark.Nigel scowled. ‘It’s meant to be like that.

This is a family recipe that’s…’A clatter by the window made them jump.

The cameraman had just backed into Nigel’s mock-Ming vase. ‘Sorry!’ he called. ‘Can we do that bit again?’

‘Which bit?’ ‘The bit about the soufflé being rubbish.’‘Not rubbish. Flat,’ insisted Mark.

‘Who wants more wine?’ Nigel asked. ‘There’s Argentinian Malbec and Californian Grenache in the kitchen.’ He scooted off before waiting for an answer.

Sharon pushed up the end of her nose, like a pig’s snout.

‘I think you might be an inverted snob, Sharon,’ said Mark.

‘And I think you might be an inverted idiot,’ she replied. ‘I just reckon Nigel’s trying a bit too hard.’

‘Says the woman that served us fish fingers.’ ‘I bet he scored me a zero last night,’ she

hissed, taking a swig of wine. ‘I mean, it’s not like Nigel needs the cash.’

‘What would you do with the money, then?’ asked Tina, leaning forwards.

‘Me? I’d go to Blackpool and spend it on the slots.’

‘I’d put it in the bank,’ said Tina.Sharon snorted.‘More wine?’ Nigel waved two bottles high

in the air. Dark patches loomed under the arms of his shirt.

‘Personally,’ began Mark, ‘I believe that in times of recession…’

‘Grenache, anyone?’ ‘…eating in is the new eating out.’‘Oh, let’s not talk about the blinking reces-

sion!’ protested Sharon, casting Nigel a dark look. ‘We all know who caused it anyway.’

‘And who’s that?’ he asked.‘Rich people,’ she spat.‘It’s really not that simple,’ said Mark.

‘If it hadn’t been for the situation with the mortgages…’

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‘ Graham and I had a long conversation about banking and finance. While he explained things carefully and succinctly for me, he admitted there is a lot of jargon involved. This gave me the inspiration for my story: I wrote about how difficult it is for laypeople to understand the finer points of the financial crisis without help, even though we have all been affected by it. As they try to discuss what went wrong, the characters in this story have differing levels of expertise on the subject.’

Anneliese Mackintosh collaborated with Graham Burnside, Partner in the Banking and Finance Team

‘Oh, here we go.’ Nigel rolled his eyes, secretly pleased that his guests were trying to engage in civilised conversation.

‘Right,’ said Mark, angling his face a lit-tle further towards the cameras, sucking in his cheekbones, ‘imagine this potato dauphinoise is Iceland, yes?’

‘That’s from my local greengrocer!’‘Not from Iceland,’ sighed Mark. ‘Is Iceland.’‘The country, not the supermarket,’ giggled

Tina. She licked her lips and pouted, and the oth-ers finally believed that she could be a burlesque dancer in her spare time, as she had professed during her sixth glass of Soave last night.

‘So, the soufflé represents a big pot of money, right?’ continued Mark. ‘Which is ever-inflating.’

‘Like your ego,’ grunted Sharon.‘Now, if I was to borrow some of your sea-

sonal vegetables…’ Mark stole one of Tina’s baby carrots. ‘And then you said you wanted them back at a rate of… No, wait.’

‘I’m going to have some more wine,’ said Nigel.

‘What’s wrong with my vegetables?’ asked Sharon.

Tina shook her head. ‘Mark, you’re mak-ing this very complicated. What we need to do is imagine each of the different types of seasonal vegetable is in a bundle, okay?’

‘I tried,’ insisted Nigel, ‘but the spring onions snapped every time I went to tie them. Don’t think I blanched them long enough.’

‘Anyway, these bundles,’ said Tina, ‘are full of debt.’ She’d seen someone talking about this on TV.

‘I’m telling you, we need to start with Iceland.’ Mark waved his knife in exasperation, and a dollop of garlicky dauphinoise dropped onto the tablecloth. For a moment, all four con-testants let their eyes rest on that one glistening drop, as if it held the answer of who would be walking away with the one thousand pounds.

‘I don’t know about you lot,’ Nigel slurred, ‘but I’m feeling tipsy.’ He beheld the unfinished food on his guests’ plates with a look of defeat. His fine dining experience had been wasted on this lot.

‘Hang on,’ blurted Tina, ‘have we been talk-ing about how the crisis started or how to fix it?’

‘What we’ve been talking about,’ said Mark, stealing another carrot from her plate, ‘is securitisation.’

‘Securi-what?’ She took the carrot back.‘Hey guys!’ shouted Sharon. ‘I’ve just fig-

ured it out!’ Everyone put down their knives and forks

and turned to her. They waited. ‘Mark fancies Tina,’ she said.Mark went redder than the seasonal beet-

root. The cameraman zoomed in on his face. Mark became aware of everything he’d consumed that week, sloshing about in his stomach: car-rots, fish fingers, mortgage brokers, egg, debt bundles, and fennel seeds. He decided to ask Tina out. After all, he had nothing to lose.

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We offer quality legal advice that you can trust, delivered by advisors who genuinely have your best interests at heart. In short, we offer a relationship you can depend on.

Every day we work with a host of different clients: public sector organisations, private sector companies, third sector voluntary bodies, families, and individuals – each with their own distinct story. We can do this thanks to our colleagues’ wide experience and knowledge – together we make up one incomparable team.

We recognise that clients demand more and better value from us and we are responding to these needs through delivering new ways of working: smarter tools, better development and deployment of our skills and services. We aim to integrate with you, such as through our annual programme of briefings and events and online resources which are specifically designed and offered with your priorities in mind.

Over time, we have developed a reputation for excellence in several key areas. We are recognised as experts by the independent directories of legal firms, Legal 500 and Chambers & Partners.

We pride ourselves on being at the cutting edge of emerging industries and responding to new developments in business, society and technology. But what makes us different from other legal firms is that we regard ourselves as more than legal advisors.

By getting to know you properly, we can provide an independent perspective on your business or personal affairs. Thanks to many years of working with a wide range of companies and individuals, the advice we offer is grounded in our extensive experience. We have a reputation for collaboration and a considered approach to problem-solving that’s second to none; just ask some of our clients.

Does all this come at a price? Well, yes, but we are confident that we offer all our clients genuine value for money – and the kind of timely, relevant advice that gets noticeable results. Our depth of service makes the real difference to our clients’ bottom line. And that’s, ultimately, what matters.

What do we offer?Knowledge, expertise and results for you

Commercial, friendly and efficient and provides excellent service with a high level of partner attention. Legal 500

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Banking and Finance

Bribery Consultancy Service

Charity Law

Construction

Corporate

Employment

Environment and Climate Change

Families in Business

Family Law

Hospitality and Leisure

IT/IP/Media

Litigation and Dispute Resolution

Planning and Development

Private Client

Projects

Real Estate

Recovery and Insolvency

Renewable Energy

Residential Property

Rural Property and Business

Social Housing

Sports Law

Tax

Our teamsBreadth and depth

Our practice areas and sector-based teams cover the following areas:

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Banking and Finance

Bribery Consultancy Service

Charity Law

Construction

Corporate

Employment

Environment and Climate Change

Families in Business

Family Law

Hospitality and Leisure

IT/IP/Media

Litigation and Dispute Resolution

Planning and Development

Private Client

Projects

Real Estate

Recovery and Insolvency

Renewable Energy

Residential Property

Rural Property and Business

Social Housing

Sports Law

Tax

todsmurray.com

The ‘second-to-none’ team at Tods Murray LLP is a big hit with clients, in terms of

‘ quality of work, client engagement and delivery to challenging time frames’. Legal 500

Larger firms concede that this outfit gets involved in a surprising amount of work for its size. Chambers and Partners

The overall service is excellent – to the point I would not want to use another law firm. Tods Murray make us feel like we are their only client. Client quote

Sources commend this team’s pragmatic approach. Chambers and Partners

The firm offers a partner-led service and ‘prompt, professional standards’. Chambers and Partners

Appreciative clients describe the group as ‘very highly recommended and it is incredibly supportive’. Chambers and Partners

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sHE cHosE HIm at random. She simply hadn’t the heart to shop around. Strange because, in the beginning, she’d cared too much. Shed tears almost continually. In the queue at Tesco, in the middle of conversations, even in her sleep. Now, no more crying, but no laughing either. Her chil-dren had become preternaturally well behaved; her new placidity accomplished what her old sternness could not. And now she was on her way to the randomly-chosen lawyer to make a will. Her chest felt hollow, her mind sluggish. Make a will had been on her to-do list for nearly six months now.

She arrived early, and took a seat. Only one other person in the waiting room, a man in a Hawaiian shirt. He gave her an unsmiling nod. She nodded back, then looked away. Reviewed what she needed to tell this lawyer. It still hurt to even think the words, but she rehearsed them anyway.

My husband is gone. Not dead, just disappeared with… someone. I’m not divorced. I need to make a will that excludes him. In case something happens to me. To protect our, my, children’s inheritance. Make sure it all goes to them. Not him. No, this is not how I thought it would turn

out. No, it’s not easy, but I’m doing the best I can. I won’t be bitter soon. I don’t want to be bitter.

Then she told herself: No, no, too personal. Just tell him I want it all to go to the kids, and no one else.

The man in the Hawaiian shirt thought she looked pretty. Interesting, and also very sad. Was she here to make a will too? She looked too healthy to be worried about mortality. And husbands and wives normally made a joint will. Something about her said mother, and he imag-ined her fretting about her children – even to the extent of fretting about them in a future which did not contain her. His mother had been like that. Long after he and his siblings had needed her stews, clean socks, her fussing when they were ill, she carried on wanting to wrap them up safe from the world’s dangers. It seemed she couldn’t turn off that instinct, so she kept working and saving. And long after she’d died, that money had acted like a buffer for them all. Not only easing their way materialistically, but reminding them they’d been loved. Been fretted over. Was this pretty woman with sad empty eyes like that?

Again, she glanced at him, and he at her, then both, still unsmiling, looked at the door to the inner office. She blushed a little. He cleared his throat. That hurt of course, and reminded him why he was here. The lump grew, but which lump was it right now? There was the normal pre-tears lump, and there was the nasty bad lump. Everyone dies. There you go! It shouldn’t shock anyone, but to know the rough time of your own extinction… well, it was hard not to feel sorry for

The Waiting RoomCynthia Rogerson

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yourself. Like he was beginning to right now. Damn! But here he was, about to set his house in order, and that made the pre-tears lump diminish. A bit. A sizable bit, actually. This was something he had control over. He reviewed the words he wanted to say:

I have a son. He looks very like me, actu-ally. In fact, he’s like me in every way, poor sod. We’ve been… alienated? Yes, that’s a good word. He doesn’t wish to communicate with me, but I want to leave it all to him. I’m quite ill, you see. He doesn’t know. It’s all I can think about. Hardly slept, thinking about today. If my money helps him get it right, helps his children thrive, and their kiddies too, well, then it’s almost like a kind of immortality for me, isn’t it? Isn’t it?

Then he scolded himself: No need to tell him anything but the bare bones. Just give him the name and address. Simple.

The lawyer finished his coffee, checked his watch. Two more clients, then home. He hoped they were prompt. So far today, all his clients had been prompt. Such a relief, when appointments ran smoothly. He liked his job. It was never bor-ing, but it wasn’t exciting either. Making wills was not like the movies, thank goodness. No dramatic reading out of wills before expect-ant heirs. And extremely rare, the disinheriting of naughty offspring or spouse. Oddly upset-ting when that happened. Luckily most wills were straightforward, and mostly people had no issues to speak of. They just wanted to tick that box. Not a fun box, but not as morbid as, for instance, ticking the arrange-own-funeral box. Perhaps more along the sensible lines of life

insurance. Of course, he suddenly thought, one could forget that buying life insurance was tak-ing a bet on your own death date… death date… everyone knew their birth date, but no one knew their death date. How many folk wake up, look at the paper, and say: Well, will you look at that! March 1st already! This time tomorrow, no more me. Last dinner ever, tonight.

Then the lawyer, who was a kind, day-dreamy soul, gave himself a little shake. Closed his eyes a second, composed himself. Reminded himself that a new client was about to walk through his door. He’ll keep his voice low, listen seriously, respond respectfully. Be self-effacing, tactful. Making a will was an important moment for people, but he hoped no one remembered his face, or his voice. He wanted to be their instru-ment, to have no existence for them otherwise. The conduit through which their last wishes could be set down. Solemnly, and with dignity. He knew it sounded corny, but he wanted people to feel better after seeing him.

The inner door opened, and the receptionist popped her head through.

The man and the woman looked at her, and for a second they both looked hopeful in an iden-tical way. As if they were related. As if they shared a secret.

‘ I spoke to Gordon one afternoon while we were both at our work places. Gordon was tactful about his clients and understated about his work. I wanted to describe a specific situation with credible individuals, not spout fictional generalities, so I created a man and a woman sitting in the waiting room of a solicitor’s office. The character of the solicitor is also fictional, and how I imagine I might feel if I was a solicitor.’

Cynthia Rogerson collaborated with Gordon Cunningham, Partner in the Private Client Team

‘ Knowledgeable’ finance team, which ‘ works to a high standard at all levels of the transaction’. Legal 500

Clients note the ‘excellent and prompt level of service’ at Tods Murray LLP, which has developed expertise in healthcare infrastructure, particularly PPP projects. Legal 500

The Commercial Property team at Tods Murray is ‘happy to crack on with the deal and go above and beyond a brief to cover our position,’ enthuses one highly satisfied client.

Chambers and Partners

The Corporate team provides a level of service that clients consider ‘exceptional’, and has ‘an ability to meet deadlines with an unexpectedly cheerful attitude, and a level of expertise that is respected by its counterparts in the negotiation process’.

Legal 500

The Litigation and Dispute Resolution team is praised for its ‘great attention to detail and thoroughness’ and ‘their client-relation skills are great’.

Chambers and Partners

The Private Client team has a loyal client following for its personal and responsive approach.

Chambers and Partners

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We believe in exceeding expectations. You might be forgiven for thinking that, as a feature of the Scottish legal landscape for more than 200 years, we might be a tad ‘old-school’? Far from it. Nearly two thirds of our team are women, and three in five of our staff are under 45. This youth and diversity brings fresh ideas and a willingness to think ‘outside the box’. Sitting alongside our senior members, we’re sure we have the right balance of youth and experience to obtain the results you’re looking for.

Our size is one of our advantages as we can put the appropriate people and resources at your disposal. At the same time, we pride ourselves in being able to offer you a level of personal support and attention. Our senior staff ‘do’ as well as ‘manage’ and are easily contactable. Although we operate in many different areas of the law, we’re all part of the same team. Inter-departmental cooperation ensures that where our solution demands expertise from multiple areas of law, we work closely with one another to share knowledge and ideas.

Our people are our true strength, which is why we invest the same time and energy in our own staff as we do with our clients. We take very seriously our responsibility to help shape the future of the legal profession and the next generation of legal experts. Many of our current senior solicitors and partners began their careers here, a testament to the in-depth and dedicated training we provide to talented individuals.

We are a genuinely social firm, with all levels of staff actively participating in the company’s extra-curricular sport and leisure activities and our corporate responsibilities. As a result, our staff are valued and supported in what they do; and that, in turn, gives them a confidence in their abilities that ensures they are equally valued by you, our clients.

We understand the world in which you live and work, because we live and work there too. Our colleagues go on secondment to our clients’ businesses to learn from the ground up what they do, and we have great contacts within market-leading institutions, in sectors right across Scotland, and this too is of great value to our clients.

Our work is service driven and focused on providing value for money, regardless of the scale of your activities – large or small, we give you the same, appropriate level of support, tailor-designed to meet your particular needs and to ensure that what we do adds genuine value.

As a business, we know that any successful relationship requires constant preservation and that there’s no room for complacency. That’s why we’re not just interested in today – we plan for every tomorrow. When it comes to supporting you, our aim is to offer a range of solutions and then help you select the most appropriate choice for your needs. Though we say so ourselves: ‘We’re good at the tricky stuff.’

What are we like?Diverse, vigorous and dedicated to you

‘ Tods Murray met all of our deadlines, with a firm commitment to help us reach our objectives.’ Client quote

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IT wAsN’T jusT about the money. Of course not. It was about a breach of trust, a broken agreement. About making a promise to some-one and not honouring that promise and how can a struggling artist be able to survive on bro-ken agreements when he can barely make ends meet on honoured agreements? Yes, he should have got the contract in writing, with half the fee upfront and the other half on delivery but at the time, late at night in an upmarket hotel bar, there had seemed no need for that: the commis-sion had come out of the blue, from a chance meeting. It had all happened so quickly, so eas-ily: none of the usual waiting and hoping that folks would put their money where their mouths were; none of the grovelling, the standing around while would-be patrons poked about the studio, humming and hawing over portraits of friends and family and a couple of well-known figures done on spec – and offering some artistic advice into the bargain – no, none of that. The guy, a high-flying financier, didn’t even ask to visit the studio ahead of the sittings; the guy took him on trust, on his ever so slightly massaged reputation, and when a man takes you on trust it’s only fair to reciprocate. Under subdued, flattering light-ing, over a fine malt, with piano glissandos in the

background, they’d shaken on what, at the time, had seemed a very good deal indeed.

The agreed fee had been generous, too good for the painter to turn down. And one commis-sion in the world of high finance could well lead to others. If he played his cards right, he might soon have been making a tidy income from people with money to burn and vanity enough to commission a portrait in oils. But he hadn’t played his cards right because when, in the board room, against a glittering backdrop of the expanding financial section of the city, the painter unveiled the finished canvas, the financier clicked his well-maintained teeth.

I don’t like it, he said. A man who knows his own mind! The

painter replied with a short laugh. Lots of people don’t like their portraits. But why should anybody like their portrait? Isn’t the point to see ourselves as others see us?

It doesn’t give the impression I want to convey. Can you alter it?

I’m a painter, not a bespoke tailor.So you can’t alter it?Why should I? It’s a good painting. Honest.

Shows your complexity. Shrewd, steely but still with some flexibility.

I don’t want it.A benefactor of the arts should embrace

artistic freedom. I don’t pay for what I don’t want.What d’you mean you don’t want it? You

asked me to make it. What am I supposed to do with it if you don’t want it? If we’d been talking about a rock star or even a minor TV celebrity, I might have found another buyer but who in their

VanitasDilys Rose

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right mind would want a picture of you on their living room wall?

That’s not my concern, said the financier, and before things became too heated, summoned a security officer who escorted the painter off the premises.

The painter had boasted about this commis-sion. It had been a while since he’d had anything to boast about and had arranged to celebrate with a bunch of fellow artists. Now what would he tell them? It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. He’d been cheated and he couldn’t afford to be cheated. He was a struggling artist, unlike some who were doing very well for themselves. He had spent money on materials and several months of his life on a painting – for what? He hadn’t even enjoyed the process. All the guy talked about during the sittings was golf and the deals he’d cut in St Andrews and Carnoustie. He’d got the likeness all right: cold and calculating, just what you’d expect of someone who’d made an obscene amount of money. He’d considered softening the mouth to offset the gimlet eyes but that, he reck-oned, would have been cheating.

He dumped the painting in his studio and made for the bar.

The painter was too angry to keep his bad news to himself. Some of his mates related simi-lar tales of woe; of commissions that had fallen through; of galleries which had let them down. Others urged him to sue, to strike a blow for badly treated artists everywhere. He should con-sider not just actual loss but potential loss. How many future commissions might have rested on the back of that one, that foot in the door, that lucky break? How many days had he worked for

nothing? And what of the psychological damage? How long might it take him to regain his self-con-fidence? Considered in this light, the amount of damage which the painter felt he had suffered was increasing exponentially.

The junior partner in the firm of solicitors agreed that it was an unfortunate situation but advised against litigation. The painter’s adversary was a seasoned player in legal matters. Without a written contract, the risk was considerable. But wasn’t it a risk worth taking? Wouldn’t the case get publicity and wasn’t all publicity good publicity? The solicitor’s job was to act on his cli-ent’s behalf and surely he had a genuine grievance? A case might be made, the junior partner agreed, but the outcome could not be guaranteed. How much in damages did he wish to claim?

It’s not just about the money, it’s about fair play – and my reputation, said the painter, then named a figure which would either make him a rich man, or, if proceedings dragged on (which they did), if he refused a generous, out of court settlement (which he did, and then increased his claim), and legal fees mounted steadily (which they did), would undoubtedly ruin him.

‘ I met up with Elaine shortly before Christmas. She was generous with her time. I came away feeling that the driving force for many litigants, along with the possibility of financial gain, is a sense of being wronged, which over time can develop into an obsession – always interesting to a writer. Then there was the difference between something being fair and being legally sound. Then there was greed. Then there was the story.’

Dilys Rose collaborated with Elaine Brailsford, Partner in the Litigation and Dispute Resolution Team.

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From up HErE I can see the world, the actual tilt of it as it topples over on the rim. In the night, it is navy-banded dark and the studs of distant diamond, and the wail of the city below. Flickered light casts on empty streets, illuminating the way, and sparking off gutters full of swirling rain. Humped rags on the cobbles create an island, causing the rain to divert either side. I can see the gush and gurgle of the water as it creeps round the rags, finds the drain, sinks beneath concrete. Channelled and discreet. Underneath this dark-ness are filaments finer than these points of rain, which bloom in webs of electric thread, keeping me connected. Keeping me warm. It is cold up here, but I plant my legs firmly, set the brace of my back to stalwart Scottish. Made fae girders. And I watch.

Daylight brings substance into shape: that scratch becomes a seagull, the black glisten of water turns thickly brown. Soft gleams shoot over, under. Above. All is movement, is fume. It never stops thrilling me. Windows glitter behind veils of muck, are wiped clean by men in slings with arrows of bright water that mimic last night’s rain. Inside, bodies toil at desks, their shoulders braced like mine. I think they have worked through the night. Discarded pizza

boxes, the damp sweat-patches and surreptitious rinsing of mouths at the water-cooler are my only evidence, but I think it nonetheless. They have that weary satisfaction of all night-workers. One hand raises to another in salutation. We have made it. They each nod; the waving woman dons her jacket. Outside, bodies ebb and flow. They are wrapped against the weather. Most march with purpose; some get washed into the cracks and gaps, where they struggle. Sometimes they set. Often these ones are unwrapped.

Wrappers. Little yellow buggies skirt the edges of the roads, sweeping, sweeping them up. They will do this this evening too, and then tomorrow morning, and then again. And then, after that, again. Knots of creative schoolchil-dren help to feed the yellow buggies, littering and wending their weary way from newsagent’s to baker’s then, finally the bus stop. Stolen fags are lit, boys are pushed. Painted orange girls with ironed hair tug skirts. Giggle. But they all wear the ties that bind them. And a very nice tie it is too, designed to incorporate the colours of their freshly amalgamated schools. Attention to detail. I like that. Two buses bowl along, jockeying for position – well, they always come at once. I can see the waving woman in her jacket, in the street now, running for them both. Missing them. Both. A crimson fire engine speeds past her, swerves up, up until it is almost as high as me. Blue light bathes the roadway as the engine cranks its arc, and people turn, childishly impressed. I shrug it off. I’ve seen it all before.

You should get out more. Why? From up here, I can see the smooth running of this city. Of com-merce, of industry. Of light and order. Buildings

Bright Like OilKaren Campbell

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stand and fall. Are built again, with brushed steel abstracts in place of statuary. Stone people in the sky; there, there is one still: it bears scales, has breasts. Is blind. Has grace. A pigeon flurries, wheels down, down, after a discarded bag. Chips. The city’s built on them. Silicone ones, casino ones, twinkle-chips of mica, lardy spuds and disgruntled shoulders. Chips are what happen before the cracks form. Cracks mean fissures, mean crumbling damp and starting over. Starting over is good. Over. People think it is final, but it’s not. It excites me. The word has a shimmering quality; it is poised in air.

The waving woman nips into the bank. Its plate-glass brilliance sits across the road from the council offices, a grand Victorian affair of cupolas and granite. The council chambers have been having a facelift: BLAST OFF! for a century of grime. A team of waiting workies huddle under scaffolding, not yet ready to begin their day. It is the overture; they are an orchestra flexing bows and muscles. Yellow hard-hats gleaming, the steam rising from their hot pies and rolls.

I can see a man in camel coat passing coins to the humped rags on the cobbles, which is another man. He walks quickly, the camel-man, coming to the river and crossing on the slanted steel. A gateway to our brand new hos-pital – look, you can still see the Nissan huts where they carried out the operations. No, seri-ously. Not the planning for the project. The actual operations. On people. With knives. Camel-man glides inside; he has the swift importance of a doctor, surely. His coat is very yellow, I can see him clearly as he moves through the open-plan atrium. Up one stair, up two stairs and in a wee

housie… He is in a neat, two-bedded room, where he sits by the one occupied bed and smoothes the hair of a little boy. Outside, the rain begins again, pours like oil to lubricate the windows, lubricate the sky, my joints, the space between these build-ings. Running rainbows into all the gaps.

And I bridge this gap. I run my spine from east to west and west to east. A finger of sun-light joins the river to the rain as the wind sings through my skin, and I am glad.

From up here I can see the world.

Karen Campbell collaborated withStephen Colliston, Partner in the Projects Team

‘ I needed to find some way of showing the scope of the projects Stephen’s team are involved in, and also the impact these initiatives have on our communities. I was struck by how Stephen described his work, and two clear images started to form: that of oil lubricating the various wheels, and also the idea of a bridge between public and private – which then led me to the literal perspective of ‘being’ that overseeing bridge.’

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So, what’S new in town?To discover, first you have to meet Victoria.No, start again. First of all you have to hear

about Ailsa. When Ailsa Wallace set up her own busi-

ness, then opened the shop, she felt all her dreams had been answered.

She held on to her business manuals, but the important things she had to go on and learn for herself.

A – Give your customers what makes them feel just a little better for having walked into your premises than they were before they pushed on the door.

B – That material ‘what’ which pleases them (along with superior service) may stay the same (in principle) but it will also need to change (in detail). You can’t afford to stand still. INNOVATE.

For a while Ailsa Wallace’s speciality at The Carnbeg Cake Company was angel food. The sign on the pavement outside the shop said Don’t Panic! Come in and treat yourself to a Cup Cake. Cup cakes galore, take your pick: chocolate peanut butter, or lime buttercream, or chiffon mocha coconut. Etcetera.

They had a lot of footfall. That was last year,

when cup cakes were the rage. The vivid hues of the icing brightened people up. But there was some murmuring about artificial colourings, about E-numbers, and might you end up hyper?

Stuff and nonsense, Ailsa Wallace said. She knew exactly what went into her baking.

Perhaps it was the American-sounding name which grated? (‘Fairy cakes’ some custom-ers insisted on calling them.)

But there’s always a next new thing.Sometimes it’s not such a new thing, and

people suddenly discovered big round English-sounding cakes.

Ailsa Wallace plundered her recipe books. She spent days and evenings and weekends experimenting.

The cup cakes got sidelined. Now it was – Victoria Sponge Sandwich (top of the list,

and Ailsa’s trademark), Saffron, Lardy, Simnel, Devonshire apple, Dundee (Scottish, strictly). Bakewell tart, Eccles cakes, Grasmere ginger-bread, Bath and Chelsea buns, Shrewsbury biscuits, Devon splits, Cornish Fairings. Madeira (Victoria-mix plus lemon) and Coburg and Battenburg were appropriated as British-Bake.

Ailsa’s customers had seen them on a pop-ular TV show, being whisked up by the aproned competitors in white marquees on sunny summer days, then baked in nice pristine factory-fresh ovens. Of course they were also a lot of work – too much work for most folk with busy lives – but the cakes did look delicious. Home baking was probably even more difficult than it looked, with-out experts to hand, and the timing was always hard to get right.

But Ailsa Wallace was ready.

Piece of CakeRonald Frame

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After she’d found the right site and her law-yer had negotiated a favourable lease, a new sign went up outside. Hassle-free cakes! Come in and meet All Butter Victoria.

The invitation has worked. Victoria has been much in demand.

She was never going to appeal to the purists in Carnbeg who go to the Zen Tea House and nib-ble at their rice cakes. The regulars will continue to occupy their favourite tables at the Shieling, where the baking is trad Scots and can sometimes sit a little heavy in the stomach. Those who opt for Rockafellas are the blueberry muffin types (sometimes they’ll splurge out on the bought-in Mississippi Mud Pie), the Girnel is wholemeal all the way (flapjacks, brownies, and date or prune or apricot slices), and Papagena’s offers only pas-tries vaguely classed as Danish. The new Italian coffee bar is fiercely nationalist, which means panettone and those brittle little biscotti you could break a tooth on.

So Victoria really has the field to herself. With some help, of course, from Ginger (Parkin) and Cherry (Whirl).

Two-tin Victoria is the real deal. Melt-in-the-mouth, but to be so light and airy requires generous use of the baker’s heavyweights: but-ter (no marg), eggs, caster sugar, as well as the self-raising and the baking powder. Ailsa doesn’t spare on the raspberry jam (home-made) or the vanilla cream filling, nor on the icing sugar for the topping, which comes snowing down through the sifter (plus another shake, like a sec-ond thought, just for luck).

The sponge cake of that name was named after Queen Victoria, who was said to have it served on the tea table of an afternoon.

Was it ever presented to her on her journeys north through the Highlands to Balmoral, when – several times – she stopped off in Carnbeg?

In the winter garden of the town’s Hydro the cake was once inadvisedly offered to Mrs Keppel, mistress to Victoria’s son Eddy. Knowing guests at other tables gasped at the faux-pas, but the courtesan – here in the spa town without her most famous conquest – didn’t bat an eyelid as she dug into a slice with her pastry fork, as efficiently and matter-of-factly as she had cut a swathe for herself through London high society.

The next big thing, in cake terms, will be here before too long, even if it’s just a past favourite on the rebound. In the meantime Ailsa Wallace at the Carnbeg Cake Company – so to speak – wipes the floor tiles with the opposition.

Come as soon as you can – the signboard is out on the pavement, half-way along Mercat Street – come AsAp, while All Butter Victoria is undisputed queen of the cakewalk.

‘ One particular remark of Susie’s echoed in my mind after we spoke. She had mentioned that it is one of the most rewarding aspects of her job to be able to help those new to retailing to both define and site their business. The phrase which kept returning to me was ‘the shop of their dreams’. It strikes me that Susie’s mix of sound commercial expertise and natural exuberance offers a winning package for those ready to make that exciting journey with her.’

Ronald Frame collaborated with Susie Thornton, Partner in the Real Estate Team.

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‘jusT sIGN IT, Dad.’Malcolm looked at the paperwork in front of

him. Eighteen pages of legal gibberish. Norma dealt with the lawyers, he was hopeless at all this stuff. It was her business after all. Or at least, it had been.

He couldn’t get used to that change in tense. Norma had always been present to him but now, inexplicably, she was in the past. Fifty-seven years together. He’d presumed he would die first. The whisky, the salt, the red meat. He’d hoped he would die first, anyway. But hopes don’t neces-sarily come true, he knew that now.

He looked across the kitchen table at the boys. Funny, he still thought of them as boys. They were forty-four and forty-one years old now. Grown men with wives and children of their own.

They had both inherited his stockiness, two big bruisers. Although Malcolm was losing that weight fast, turning fragile in a way he could never have imagined when he was young.

The boys had gone a little fat, more than he’d ever done. Their bellies stretched the mate-rial of their expensive shirts. He supposed that was the price for an easy upbringing, unlike him and Norma. Raised in the aftermath of the war, they had to fight for survival, which had given

them the work ethic that made the family busi-ness so successful.

Blair and Hugh didn’t have the gumption to get a catering company off the ground from scratch, build it slowly over the years and turn it into a solid, reputable operation, with fifty-five employees and a host of happy clients and customers.

And yet here they were wanting him to sign it over, just like that.

He lifted his whisky glass and took a sip. He looked beyond the boys. Large window with that perfect view over the Tay. Some haar down there on the water, creeping east, the rail bridge disap-pearing into it, no sign of Fife.

He felt heartburn. The whisky was supposed to be for after the big signing, a toast to the future of McBride’s Catering, in the hands of the next generation. Twenty-year-old Highland Park, a tidy wee dram. Not that he could take much of the stuff these days.

His life was diminishing along with his body. He was shrinking, able to do less, drink less, eat less, sleep less. Especially that, since Norma died. Peacefully in the night, thank God. But he remembered the terrifying coldness of her skin in the morning when he touched her. A touch he revisited every night in his dreams, despite the pills the doctor gave him.

He had those pills in his pocket now. Had counted them. He didn’t know if twelve was enough, but he hoped so. As soon as this was done.

The boys were getting twitchy across the table, waiting for him to sign. He enjoyed their discomfort. He hardly recognised his boisterous

Just Sign ItDoug Johnstone

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teenage sons in these paunchy, balding men. He’d looked after them at home while Norma built up the business. Taken a slagging for that, not the done thing back then. Husbands were supposed to provide, all that macho rubbish.

But he’d done it out of love. And respect. And admiration for the woman who meant every-thing to him. With her gone, why would he want a controlling share of her life’s work? Like every-thing else now, it was meaningless without her to share it.

But then again, hand it over to these two? Really?

He looked out the window. A small biplane was coming in to land at the airstrip by the water. Lucky to make it before the haar spread too far, wing lights blinking as it disappeared out of sight.

This kitchen was too big for him now, without Norma to cook for. That always amused him, she ran the catering company, he cooked at home. The house was too big for him on his own. The world was too big now.

He turned to the contract. Flicked through the pages like it was one of those trashy mag-azines they had in the waiting room of the oncology clinic. He hadn’t told Blair and Hugh about that. About the bad cells in his pancreas devouring the good ones. No need for them to know.

He picked up the pen. He knew he should get his solicitor to look over the contract, but he didn’t care anymore. The boys were likely screw-ing him, but what did it matter? Nothing would matter soon enough.

His hand trembled as he wrote his name.

Despite the tremor, his writing was neat. He’d won awards for it at school. That seemed an impossibly long time ago. He remembered sit-ting beside Norma in class, gazing at her pleats, soaking up the smell of her, sharing a smile.

He put the pen down.A huge tension left the room. The boys

slapped each other on the back and lifted their glasses. They clinked them together then held them out towards Malcolm. He lifted his, clinked, then took a sip. Lovely smooth malt, but it triggered another flash of heartburn. Couldn’t handle it anymore.

‘Thanks, Dad, you won’t regret this.’ The boys got up, eager to be away.Malcolm took another sip despite the pain

in his chest. He looked out the window. The haar was thickening down on the river, crawling up the hill towards the house, spreading a damp cloak over the city.

He placed his glass carefully on the table, put his hand in his pocket and ran his finger round the lid of the pill bottle, all the while think-ing of Norma’s pleats, her scent, her sly smile.

‘ A compelling story usually centres on some kind of conflict, so when I was talking to Jack, that’s what I was after. My ears pricked up when he said there can sometimes be difficulties in handing over the family business to the next generation. What’s more compelling than a family at odds with each other? From there I came up with a grieving widower facing a tough decision. Hopefully the man’s situation makes for an intriguing character study and a decent wee story.’

Doug Johnstone collaborated with Jack Gardiner, Partner in the Corporate Team

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Tods MurrayThinking ahead

Want to speak to us? We want to speak to you.

Building, nurturing and celebrating positive relationships with you and the wider world is what we’re all about. Getting to know your business – who you are, what you want to achieve, and what you need to achieve it – has been the foundation of our success for the last 200 years. But we want to do more.

We’re on your side, a positive and determined team player ready to deal with whatever everyday issues may occur, but also in a position to take a more independent, longer-term view. Thanks to our balance of experience and fresh blood, we can offer creative, tailored and progressive thinking that matches each client’s legal needs in a world where change is the only constant.

This firm maintains a strong market position, attracting clients with its

‘ prompt and practical service.’ Chambers and Partners

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Creative partners

Karen CampbellOriginally from Glasgow, Karen is now based in Galloway, where she writes full-time. She has four novels about the politics of policing published by Hodder. Her new book This is Where I Am tells the story of a Somali refugee in Glasgow. It will be published by Bloomsbury in Spring 2013.

Ronald FrameRonald’s most recent novel is Havisham (Faber, 2012). His novel The Lantern-Bearers was long-listed for the Booker Prize. Many of his short stories have been broadcast on BBC Radios 3 and 4. Several collections have been published, and stories appear regularly in newspapers and magazines here and in the USA and Australia. He also writes drama for radio.

Doug JohnstoneA writer, musician and journalist, Doug is based in Edinburgh. His third novel, Smokeheads, was published to great acclaim by Faber in March 2011. His fourth Hit and Run, set in Edinburgh, was published in March 2012. He is currently writer in residence at University of Strathclyde. Doug is also in several bands including Northern Alliance, who have released four critically acclaimed albums.

Anneliese MackintoshAnneliese has had short stories broadcast on BBC Radio 4, as well as published in various literary magazines and anthologies. A 30-minute play for BBC Radio Scotland was broadcast recently. She is currently working on her second novel. Anneliese is also editor of Scottish indie publishers Cargo Crate.

Cynthia RogersonNovelist, short story writer, closet poet, mother of four kids and two grandkids, Cynthia is also programmer at Moniack Mhor Writer’s Centre near Inverness. Her most recent novel, I Love You, Goodbye (Black and White, 2010) was a BBC Radio 4 Book of the Week.

Dilys RoseDilys has published ten books of fiction and poetry, and has received various awards and fellowships for her work. Recent collaborations include the libretto for the opera Kaspar Hauser: Child of Europe, composed by Rory Boyle. She is programme director of the new online distance learning MSc in Creative Writing at the University of Edinburgh.

David GillandersDavid’s obsession with photography developed in his early teens whilst training as a boxer in Glasgow. At the age of 16, when he got fed up of being punched in the head but still loved the atmosphere and characters involved in the boxing world, he returned to the clubs with a camera.

In the late 1990s, David won a couple of local photographic competitions with his black and white documentary street scenes of Glasgow life.

He began to secure regular commissions from several of Scotland’s leading broadsheet newspapers and magazines. David further developed as a photographer and was able to quit full time employment in 1999 and realise his dream in becoming a photojournalist. He currently undertakes social and humanitarian projects around the world, covering topical issues which he feels passionately about.

These are the people who have contributed to telling our story:

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The founding father, John Tod, established the firm with his son (hence ‘Tods’) around 1790 in George Square, Edinburgh – before the New Town was built. Thomas Graham Murray, son-in-law of the last of the Tod line, joined the firm in 1856, along with Andrew Jamieson, when the firm moved to 66 Queen Street and was reconstituted as ‘Tods, Murray & Jamieson’. And so it has remained for some 150 years (minus the ‘Jamieson’ from the mid-1980s).

Printed and hand-finished in Scotland using paper certified under the FSC system.

© Tods Murray LLP. This brochure is for general guidance only. Reliance must not be placed or decisions taken on the basis of its content without specific advice.

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Tods Murray LLP

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