and do the same things as everybody else did. Go to parties. Play sports. And he did, by and large.”
Isabel said nothing. In the background, the kettle hissed and switched itself off. Florence left it.
“He knew what the score was,” said Florence. “But he didn’t talk about it. And we respected that. I remember when he left school. I wished him good luck and I tried not to cry but, my goodness, when he walked out that door, I dissolved in tears. I remember him standing there and smiling, and I wished him the best of luck with his career. He had his plans for university, you see. I know we all tried, but I don’t think any of us was particularly good at dealing with it. Except for the chaplain.” She stopped and looked at Isabel before continuing. “I don’t know why I’m burdening you with this.”
“It’s not a burden,” said Isabel. “Really, it isn’t.”
“I came into a classroom one afternoon, to fetch something I’d left behind. I didn’t think there was anybody there. But then I saw the chaplain sitting with this boy, and he had his arm around his shoulder, to comfort him, and he was talking to him.
And I could see that the boy had been crying. I closed the door quietly. I don’t think they saw me.
“I can’t believe in God, Miss Dalhousie. I’ve tried from time to time and I just can’t. And yet, when we need them, who are 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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the people who are always there for us? Who are the people who comfort us? Whom would you like to have at your ending? What kind of person would you like to have at your deathbed? An atheist or somebody with faith?”
Isabel thought. Were there not atheists who were just as capable of giving love and support as others? And might not it be better to die in doubt, if that had been one’s condition in life?
“I know some very sympathetic non-believers,” she said. “I don’t think we should discount them.”
“Maybe,” said Florence. “But there’s nothing in the atheist’s creed that says that he must love others, is there?”
Isabel could not let this pass. “But he may have every reason! Even if you do not believe in God you may still think it very important to act towards others with generosity and consideration. That’s what morality is all about.”
Florence’s eyes lit up. “Yes,” she said, “morality—the ordinary variety—says that you shouldn’t do anything to hurt others.
But I’m not so sure that it tells you to go further, to love them.”
She thought for a moment. “And surely most people are not going to make the effort to love others on the basis of some theory, are they? I know that I wouldn’t. We have to learn these things. We have to have them drummed into us.”
“The moral habits of the heart,” mused Isabel.
“Yes,” said Florence. “And religion is rather good at doing that, don’t you think?” She turned round and began to pour the hot water into the cafetiere. “Anyway, I don’t know how we got into that! You didn’t come here to discuss theology with me, did you?”
Isabel laughed. “Not exactly, although I’m always very happy to talk about such things. I came —”
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A l e x a n d e r M c C a l l S m i t h
“About the flat.”
“Yes.”
Florence began to pour Isabel a cup of coffee. “I assume that your lawyer has been in touch about my offer?”
Isabel nodded. “He has. It is . . . it is very generous of you.”
Florence sat down at the table, opposite Isabel. She placed both hands around her mug of coffee, warming them. “I’ve had so many people looking round the flat since it went on the market. Thirty, I’d say.”
Isabel said that she could imagine the disruption.
“Of course, some of them haven’t the slightest intention of buying it,” said Florence, smiling. “Do you know that there’s a type of person who goes to look at houses for sale? They have a good poke round and it’s all sheer nosiness. They look in cupboards. They remark on the decor. And so on. I was warned about these people, and I think that I spotted one or two of them. There was one woman from Clarence Street, round the corner, who didn’t realise that I recognised her. She just wanted to see what the inside of my house was like.”
Isabel tried to imagine what it would be like to have that little to do, and to have the brass neck to nose round other people’s houses. But then she thought: What about that house at the end of the road? She had always wanted to see the inside of that. If it were to come on the market, could she resist?
“I assure you,” she said lightly, “I assure you that I was seriously interested.”
Florence laughed. “Of course you were. I didn’t think otherwise. Not for a moment. I could tell.”
Isabel cleared her throat. “I feel that I should tell you something,” she began. “When I came the other day —”
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Florence raised a hand. “Please,” she said. “It was not for me to say what I said to my lawyer. I’ve felt a little bit embarrassed about that. And now she tells me that you and . . . and that young man are not intending to live here after all.”
“No,” said Isabel. “We aren’t.”
