“Well!” she exclaimed with a Herculean effort of fellow feeling. “That’s very good.” Was “very good” too faint praise? She decided that it was—if she were to conceal her sudden, overwhelming despair. “That’s wonderful!”
Jamie sat back in his seat. He was beaming with pleasure.
“It was the most intimidating experience of my life. I went down just for the day, and they heard me at noon. There were about ten other players hanging around. One of them showed me his new CD, complete with his picture on the back. I almost gave up there and then.”
“What an ordeal.” She could not manage an exclamation mark. She was too dispirited.
“It was. Until I started to play.” He threw up his hands.
“Something came upon me—I don’t know what it was. But I could hardly believe the sound of my own playing.”
Isabel looked down at the table, at the knives and forks.
I have to expect this, she said to herself; it was inevitable that I would lose him, quite inevitable. And when one lost a friend, what was the right thing to do? To mourn the loss, or to take pleasure in the memories of the friendship? Of course it was the latter—she was well aware of that—but it was difficult, in the Cafe St. Honore, to behave correctly when one’s heart was a cold stone within one.
Jamie continued with his story. “They told us that they 2 2 0
A l e x a n d e r M c C a l l S m i t h would not reach a decision that day, but they called me anyway, just as I was getting on the train to come home. And they said that they had chosen me.”
“No surprise that,” said Isabel. “Of course you’ve always been a very fine player, Jamie. I’ve always known that.”
He seemed embarrassed by the praise, and waved it aside.
“Anyway, we can talk about that later on. What about you?”
“Working,” said Isabel. “At the job I’m meant to do, and . . .”
Jamie cast his eyes up in a gesture of mock impatience.
“And at what you’re not meant to be doing, too, no doubt.”
“I know,” said Isabel. “I know what you’re going to say.” And she thought of what it would be like when Jamie had gone and they could not have these discussions. Could she get involved in what she called her
Jamie reached for the glass of water that the waiter had brought him. “But I’m not going to say it,” he said. “Instead I’m going to give you a piece of information which I hope will—”
Isabel reached out and touched him on the arm. “Before you do, let me tell you something. I know you feel that I should disengage from this issue. I know you think I’ve followed totally the wrong path. I know that. But I heard today from that journalist we saw. Remember him?”
“The one you shared a bath with?”
“The very one. We were extremely small then, let me remind you. And the bath, as I recall, was quite large. Anyway, he found out from some medical contact the name of the donor.
And it’s Macleod.”
She lowered her voice to impart this information, although nobody was in a position to hear, except possibly the man F R I E N D S, L OV E R S, C H O C O L AT E
2 2 1
immersed in his book. But he did not know who Isabel was, although she knew exactly who he was, and he would never have eavesdropped.
She had expected her announcement to have a marked effect on Jamie, but his reaction was mild. In fact, he smiled and nodded his agreement. “Just so,” he said.
Isabel leant forward. “Macleod,” she repeated. “Macleod.
And that means that that woman lied to me. And it also means that Graeme, her man, could be the man whom Ian sees—if he really sees anybody, but let’s just imagine for the moment that he does.”
Again Jamie received this with equanimity. “Yes,” he acknowledged. “Macleod.”
Isabel felt her irritation grow. “You don’t seem to be in the least bit surprised,” she muttered, picking up the menu to examine it again. “I won’t burden you with this. I suggest that we change the subject.”
Jamie made a calming gesture. “Sorry, but you see, I’m not surprised. And the reason is . . . Well, I know that it’s Macleod.
But it’s not the Macleod you think it is.”
Isabel stared at him in incomprehension. “You’re losing me,”
she said.
Jamie took another sip of his water. “The other day after you left me, I decided to drop into the library on George IV
Bridge,” he said. “Like you, I went through the
“You found something else about the accident?”
