profound thoughts.
You look dreamy.”
Isabel smiled. “I was thinking about Italy, and evil, and topics of that nature.”
Cat wiped her hands on a cloth. “I was thinking of cheese,”
she said. “That woman sampled eight Italian cheeses and then bought a small block of farmhouse cheddar.”
“Simple tastes,” said Isabel. “You mustn’t blame her.”
“I’ve decided that I’m not too keen on the public,” said Cat.
“I’d like to have a private shop. People would have to apply for membership before they could come in. I’d have to approve them. Rather like the members of your philosophy club or whatever it is.”
“The Sunday Philosophy Club is not exactly very active,” she said to Cat. “But we’ll have a meeting one of these days.”
“It’s such a good idea,” said Cat. “I’d come, but Sunday’s a bad day for me. I can never get myself organised to do anything.
You know how it is. You know, don’t you?”
Isabel did know. This, presumably, was what afflicted the members of the club.
Cat looked at her. “Is everything all right? You look a bit low.
I can always tell, you know.”
Isabel was silent for a moment. She looked down at the pat-2 2
A l e x a n d e r M c C a l l S m i t h tern on the tablecloth, and then looked back up at her niece. “No.
I suppose I’m not feeling all that cheerful. Something happened last night. I saw something terrible.”
Cat frowned, and reached across the table to place a hand on Isabel’s arm. “What happened?”
“Have you seen the paper this morning?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see that item about the young man at the Usher Hall?”
“Yes,” said Cat. “I did.”
“I was there,” said Isabel simply. “I saw him fall from the gods, right past my eyes.”
Cat gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It must have been terrible.” She paused. “I know who it was, by the way. Somebody came in this morning and told me. I knew him, vaguely.”
For a moment Isabel said nothing. She had expected no more than to tell Cat about what had happened; she had not imagined that she would know him, that poor, falling boy.
“He lived near here,” Cat went on to explain. “In Marchmont.
One of those flats right on the edge of the Meadows, I think. He came in here from time to time, but I really saw a bit more of his flatmates.”
“Who was he?” Isabel asked.
“Mark somebody or other,” Cat replied. “I was told his sur-name, but I can’t remember it. Somebody was in this morning—
she knew them better—and she told me that it had happened. I was pretty shocked—like you.”
“Them?” asked Isabel. “Was he married or . . .” She paused.
People often did not bother to marry, she had to remind herself, and yet it amounted to the same thing in many cases. But how T H E S U N D A Y P H I L O S O P H Y C L U B
2 3
did you put that particular question? Did he have a partner? But partners could be anyone, from the most temporary or recent to the wife or husband of fifty years. Perhaps one should just say: Was there somebody else? Which was sufficiently vague to cover everything.
Cat shook her head. “I don’t think so. There were two flatmates. Three of them shared. A girl and another boy. The girl’s from the west, Glasgow or somewhere, and she’s the one who comes in here. The other one I’m not sure about. Neil, I think, but I may be mixing him up.”
Cat’s assistant, a silent young man called Eddie, who always avoided eye contact, now brought them each a cup of hot milky coffee. Isabel thanked him and smiled, but he looked away and retreated to the back of the counter.
“What’s wrong with Eddie?” whispered Isabel. “He never looks at me. I’m not all that frightening, am I?”
Cat smiled. “He’s a hard worker,” she replied. “And he’s honest.”
“But he never looks at anyone.”
“There may be a reason for that,” said Cat. “I came across him the other evening, sitting in the back room, his feet on the desk. He had his head in his hands and I didn’t realise it at first, but he was in tears.”
“Why?” asked Isabel. “Did he tell you?”
