The Sunday Philosophy Club

disturbed except by me.”

That was tactful of Grace, thought Isabel. It was not helpful to mention Jamie too often.

“Life has been getting rather complicated,” said Isabel. “I wanted a day or two to get on with some work and decomplicate.

I’m sure you know how it feels.”

“Yes,” said Cat. “Curl-up-and-get-away-from-it-all days. I have them too.”

“Grace will bring us tea and we can have a chat,” said Isabel.

“I’ve done enough work for the day.”

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Cat smiled. “And I’m going to throw in the towel too,” she said. “Eddie can look after things until closing time. I’m going to go home and get changed. Then I . . . we’re going out.”

“Good,” said Isabel. We. Toby, of course.

“We’re going to celebrate,” said Cat, looking sideways at Isabel. “Dinner, then a club.”

Isabel caught her breath. She had not expected it, but she had dreaded it nonetheless. And now the moment had arrived. “A celebration?”

Cat nodded. She did not look at Isabel as she spoke, but was staring out over the lawn. Her tone was cautious. “Toby and I are engaged,” she said. “Yesterday evening. We’ll put it in the papers next week. I wanted you to be the first to know.” She paused. “I think that he’s told his parents now, but apart from them, nobody else knows. Only you.”

Isabel turned to her niece and reached to take her hand. “Dar-ling, well done. Congratulations.” She had mustered a supreme effort, like a singer straining for a high note, but her attempt proved inadequate. Her voice sounded flat and unenthusiastic.

Cat looked at her. “Do you mean that?”

“I only want you to be happy,” said Isabel. “If this is what makes you happy, then of course I mean that.”

Cat weighed these words for a moment. “The congratulations of a philosopher,” she said. “Can’t you say something personal?”

She did not give Isabel time to respond, although Isabel had no answer ready and would have had to battle to find one. “You don’t like him, do you? You’re simply not prepared to give him a chance—

even for my sake.”

Isabel lowered her eyes. She could not lie about this. “I haven’t warmed to him. I admit it. But I promise you: I’ll make every effort, even if it’s hard.”

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A l e x a n d e r M c C a l l S m i t h Cat seized on her words. Her voice was raised now, the indignation coming through. “Even if it’s hard? Why should it be so hard? Why do you have to say that?”

Isabel was not in control of her emotions. This news was devastating, and she forgot her intention not to mention what she had seen. Now it came out. “I don’t think that he’s faithful to you,” she said. “I’ve seen him with somebody else. That’s why. That’s why.”

She stopped, horrified by what she had said. She had not meant to say it—she knew it was wrong—and yet it had come out, as if spoken by somebody else. Immediately she felt miserable, thinking: So are wrongs committed, just like that, without thinking. The doing of wrong was not a hard thing, preceded by careful thought; it was a casual thing, done so easily. That was Hannah Arendt’s insight, was it not? The pure banality of evil.

Only good is heroic.

Cat was quite still. Then she shrugged off the hand which Isabel had lightly placed upon her shoulder. “Let me get this straight,” she said. “You say that you’ve seen him with another woman. Is that what you say?”

Isabel nodded. She could not recant now, and that left honesty as the only option. “Yes. I’m sorry. I hadn’t meant to tell you, because I really don’t think that it’s my business to interfere in your affairs. But I did see him. I saw him embracing another girl.

He was going to see her. It was in the doorway to her flat. I was . . . I was passing by. I saw it happen.”

“Where was this?” she asked quietly. “Where exactly did you see this?”

“Nelson Street,” said Isabel.

Cat was silent for a moment. Then she began to laugh, and the tension drained from her. “His sister, Fiona, lives there, you know. Poor Isabel! Of course you had it all mixed up. He often T H E S U N D A Y P H I L O S O P H Y C L U B

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goes to see Fiona. Of course he gives her a kiss. They’re very fond of one another. And it’s a touchy-feely family.”

No, thought Isabel. They’re not a touchy-feely family; not at least according to my understanding of the term.

“Actually, it was his sister’s flatmate,” said Isabel. “It wasn’t his sister.”

“Lizzie?”

“I have no idea what her name is,” said Isabel.

Cat snorted. “It’s nonsense,” she said firmly. “You’ve misinter-preted a peck on the cheek. And now you’re not