The Right Attitude to Rain

And her mind was made up. She would not be an object of pity.

She would not. “We are actually,” she said.

The lawyer did not understand. “You’re . . .”

“We are in a relationship,” said Isabel.

The lawyer blushed. “Oh . . . I didn’t mean to . . .”

“It’s all right. It’s at an early stage. But we’re not going to live there. That flat will be for someone else altogether. I have a . . .

a lady who helps me. I’m buying it for her.” To say that it was at an early stage was not enough. She should have said that they were close friends, and that was all. But suddenly she was tired of being by herself, tired of being seen by others as being in 1 0 6

A l e x a n d e r M c C a l l S m i t h some way disadvantaged because she was single, or as incapable of getting herself a man. She was not. She was not. But she knew at the same time she should not make what amounted to a childish boast of a relationship with a younger man. She had no reason to wish to make this other woman feel envious, and yet it had slipped out and now it was difficult to retract it without looking foolish. Leave it, she thought. It’s not important.

Leave it.

The lawyer seemed flustered, but after a moment or two she regained her composure. “But don’t you think that Miss Macreadie’s offer might still stand? I’ll have to ask her, of course, but it seems to me that she might still wish to help you by selling you the flat, even if it’s for your . . . your lady. The way she put it to me was that she wanted to do something for you because she liked the idea of your being with that young man—and she did describe him as a bit younger than you. Not of course that . . .

But the point is, I think she wants you to have it.”

Isabel sat back in her chair. She had not expected this. She had stretched the truth. Jamie was not her lover— yet—and now it seemed as if she might be offered the flat nonetheless. And that would mean that a potential advantage secured on the basis of a misunderstanding would become a potential advantage secured on the basis of a clear lie. So she had made the situation worse.

The lawyer stood up. “Let me speak to her,” she said. “Then I’ll get back to Simon Mackintosh to confirm things. That’s what I’ll do.”

Isabel could not bring herself to object. She knew that she should, but she thought that she might do so later, when she had the time to think of a reasonable way out of a ridiculous misunderstanding. So she said nothing, and was shown out cor-T H E R I G H T AT T I T U D E T O R A I N

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dially by the lawyer. As she left through the front door she saw the receptionist glancing at her. There was disapproval in the glance but it was well concealed; disapproval of one who tore pictures from the magazines of others, which would have been compounded, surely, had she known that this magazine-mutilator was one of those people who boasted of romantic exploits that they simply had not had. Those are the worst sort of people in every way. Inadequate lovers. Inadequate people.

C H A P T E R T E N

E

JAMIE ARRIVED EARLY for dinner, as he often did, since he enjoyed talking to Isabel while she prepared the meal. He would sit at the kitchen table, glass in hand, listening to her; he liked to listen to her. But this was not possible this evening, as it was Mimi’s dinner and she had forbidden Isabel to enter the kitchen.

“Unless I can’t find anything,” she said. “Then you can come in and get it for me. Otherwise, this is my show. You’re off duty.”

As Joe was busy with correspondence in the study, Isabel took Jamie through to the music room and they sat in front of the high Victorian fireplace. During the summer Grace filled the fire basket with dried hibiscus from the garden, and the faded blue-grey petals of the flower heads were covered with little fragments of masonry that had fallen down the flue.

“Somebody told me that my chimneys were crumbling inside,” Isabel said. “And every so often a good chunk of masonry falls down to make the point. But I can’t be bothered to do anything about it. I really can’t. They can reline them, but it’s another expense.”

“But you’re not short of money,” said Jamie. “You can have T H E R I G H T AT T I T U D E T O R A I N

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lined chimneys if you want. You can have anything you want.

Anything.”

Isabel looked at him. She did not like discussing her finances with anybody, even with Jamie, but now she considered what he had said. You can have anything you want. And anyone too? she wondered. The idea was offensive, and she tried to put it out of her mind, but the question was insistent: Could money really get you people, if that was what you wanted? Was it a crude transaction, or were there people who were simply drawn to those with money and therefore prepared to take up with them, even if they would never have done so otherwise? She thought of an aged magnate who had married one of the world’s most glam-orous women. Would she have married him if he had no money?

It was difficult to imagine, but then she thought: I know nothing about that woman, and what she wanted, or saw in him. How do I know that she didn’t love him?

“It’s not that simple,” she said to Jamie. “In the first place, I don’t have that much. And in the second place, I don’t like to waste it.” She did not intend to sound peevish, but she did.

Jamie looked apologetic. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“I know,” said Isabel, melting.