Johnny shrugged. “Decent enough. A bit earnest for my taste, but good at his job. He’s typical of the type that used to work there. Some of the new appointments are a bit different. Paul’s old-style Edinburgh finance. Straight down the middle.”
Isabel passed him the plate of smoked salmon, and he helped himself to a further slice. She lifted her glass and sipped at the wine, which was of a far better quality than the wine which was normally served at such events. That was Peter’s doing, she thought.
Something he had said had interested her. If Paul Hogg was typical of the type that used to work at McDowell’s, and if he was straight down the middle, as Johnny had put it, then what were the new people like? “So McDowell’s is changing?” she said.
“Of course,” said Johnny. “Just like the rest of the world.
Everything. Banks, finance houses, brokers—everybody. There’s a new spirit of toughness. Corners are cut. It’s the same everywhere, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so,” said Isabel. He was right, of course; the old moral certainties were disappearing everywhere and were being replaced by self-interest and ruthlessness.
Johnny swallowed his brown bread and salmon and licked at the tip of a finger. “Paul Hogg,” he mused. “Paul Hogg. Mmm. I thought that he was a bit of a mummy’s boy, frankly, and then he went and produced this eighty- four-horsepower bitch of a fiancee, Minty something or other. Auchtermuchty. Auchendinny.”
1 8 4
A l e x a n d e r M c C a l l S m i t h
“Auchterlonie,” prompted Isabel.
“Not a cousin of yours, I hope,” said Johnny. “I hope I haven’t trodden on any toes.”
Isabel smiled. “What you said about her was roughly my own estimation, but perhaps a bit more charitable.”
“I see that we understand each other. She’s as hard as nails.
She works for that setup in North Charlotte Street, Ecosse Bank.
She’s an absolute tart, if you ask me. She runs round with a couple of young men from Paul’s office. I’ve seen her when Paul has been out of town. I saw her down in London once, in a bar in the City when they thought that nobody else from Edinburgh was around. Well, I was there and I saw her. Hanging all over a rising star from Aberdeen who got his knees under the table at McDowell’s because he’s good at juggling figures and taking risks that paid off. Ian Cameron, he’s called. Plays rugby for some team or other. Physical type, but clever nonetheless.”
“Hanging all over him?”
Johnny gestured. “Like this. All over him. Nonplatonic body language.”
“But she’s engaged to Paul Hogg.”
“Exactly.”
“And Paul, does he know about this?”
Johnny shook his head. “Paul’s an innocent. He’s an innocent who’s taken up with a woman who’s probably a bit too ambitious for him. It happens.”
Isabel took another sip at her wine. “But what does she see in Paul? Why would she bother?”
“Respectability,” said Johnny firmly. “He’s good cover if you want to get on in the Edinburgh financial world. His father was a founding partner of Scottish Montreal and the Gullane Fund. If you were nobody, so to speak, and you wanted to become someT H E S U N D A Y P H I L O S O P H Y C L U B
1 8 5
body, no better choice than poor Paul. Perfect. All the right connections. Dull Fettesian dinners. Corporate seats at the Festival Theatre, with opera supper. Perfect!”
“And in the meantime she gets on with her own career?”
“Absolutely. She’s interested in money, I would say, and probably not much else. Well, I correct myself. Men friends. A bit of rough like Ian Cameron.”
Isabel was silent. Faithlessness, it seemed, was nothing unusual; the discovery of Toby’s conduct had surprised her, but now that she had heard this story about Minty, perhaps this was exactly what she should expect. Perhaps one should be surprised by constancy, which is what the sociobiologists were hinting at anyway. Men had a strong urge to have as many partners as possible in order to ensure the survival of their genes, we were told.
But women? Perhaps they were subconsciously attracted to the men who were subconsciously ensuring the maximum chance of gene perpetuation, which meant that Minty and Ian were perfect partners.
Isabel felt confused, but not so confused as not to be able to ask her next question in such a way as to make it sound innocent.
“And I suppose Ian and Minty can engage in pillow talk about deals and money and things like that. Can’t you picture it?”
“No,” said Johnny. “Because if they did it would be insider trading and I would personally take the very greatest pleasure in catching them at it and nailing their ears to the New Club door.”
Isabel imagined the picture. It was almost as good as imagining Toby caught in his avalanche. But she stopped herself, and said, instead, “I think that is exactly what has been happening.”
Johnny stood quite still, his glass halfway to his lips, but halted. He stared at Isabel. “Are you serious?”
She nodded. “I can’t tell you exactly why I think this, but I 1 8 6
A l e x a n d e r M c C a l l S m i t h can assure you that I have good reason to believe it.
