woman; it was a question of what people called alpha behaviour. Isabel was never sure exactly what alpha qualities were, but they seemed to have something to do with the desire—and ability—to dominate others. People usually spoke of alpha males, but there was no reason, surely, that there should not be alpha women. And if such people existed, then Cynthia was certainly one.
Cynthia had not been looking at Isabel as she spoke, but now she did, and Isabel felt the other woman’s rather large 1 5 6
A l e x a n d e r M c C a l l S m i t h brown eyes on her. “It’s difficult these days,” she said. “It’s so competitive. Even for people like Patrick, who are . . . well, who are on top of things. They have to work all hours of the day. All those transactions, those deals that they get involved in.”
She paused and Isabel felt that her agreement was required and that it would be all right now to say something trite. “Of course,” she said. “How they do it—”
“Patrick was talking to me the other day,” interrupted Cynthia. “He was telling me that they were involved in something or other which required them to sleep in the office! They were working until three in the morning and then had to get back to work at seven. They have fold-out beds and the lawyers sleep on those.”
How ridiculous, thought Isabel. Firemen might do that, and doctors perhaps. But why should lawyers? She knew, though, that it was true. The whole culture of work had become so intrusive and demanding that people had to do it. And the result was that they were left with little time for simply living their lives, for going for a walk, for sitting in a bar, for reading a book.
It was all work.
“Why do people have to work so hard?” she asked. “Do you think it’s natural to work ten hours a day, every day? Were we made to do that, do you think?”
Cynthia frowned. She looked rather displeased by this remark, as if Isabel had interrupted the flow of her thought with some specious question. “That’s how it is,” she said. “It’s China and India, isn’t it? They are prepared to work for next to nothing, which means that our people have to run to keep still.
Nobody can compete with the sweatshops.”
Isabel thought that was probably right. If we believed that T H E R I G H T AT T I T U D E T O R A I N
1 5 7
we could survive on our wits without actually making anything, then we were living in a fool’s paradise. But she was not sure that this applied to lawyers. So she simply said, “No.”
“No,” echoed Cynthia. “Anyway, Patrick does all this very cheerfully, I must say. And he’s doing very well, as I said.” She paused. “His career is very important to him, you know.”
“I don’t doubt it,” said Isabel.
Cynthia reached out and picked a piece of fluff off a cushion and twisted it between her fingers. “I’m not sure that it’s a terribly good idea for him to get too emotionally involved with anybody at this stage,” she said quietly. “These next few years will be pretty important for him, job-wise. I imagine that he might be offered a partnership before too long. If he applies himself, that is.”
Isabel tried not to grin. The approach had come, and she marvelled at Cynthia’s effrontery. It amazed her that anybody would think this way, but it was even more astonishing that Cynthia felt that she could raise the issue like this. She was about to invite her, Isabel thought, to interfere.
“Emotional involvement is what people do,” said Isabel. “All of us.”
Cynthia drew in her breath. “I don’t think they’re suited,”
she said. “Sorry to have to say it. But I don’t.”
“It’s difficult to say,” said Isabel evenly. “Very different people, or people who strike others as being very different from each other, can get on very well. It’s chemistry, don’t you think?”
Cynthia’s eyes were upon her again. “I know my own son,”
she said. “I know what he’s like.”
“I’m sure you do. But when it comes to these things, to . . .
well, sex, it’s a very private matter, isn’t it? And can we ever tell 1 5 8
A l e x a n d e r M c C a l l S m i t h who’s going to get on well sexually with whom? I can’t. I’ve never been able to.”
Cynthia stiffened. “I don’t know about that,” she said. “I don’t imagine that sex lies behind it.”
Isabel was silent. Patrick’s mother obviously did not know Cat. Isabel remembered telling Cat that she thought she sexu-alised the world too much. And Cat had laughed and said, “But, Isabel, the world is sexual. It is.”
Cynthia looked at her, but when Isabel said nothing, she continued, “I don’t know you well. But I’m sure that we both have the interests of Patrick and Kate—”
“Cat,” corrected Isabel.
“Cat. We both have their best interests at heart. A word from you, perhaps, to your niece might help her see that this is not necessarily the best thing for them. Do you think so?”
“No,” said Isabel. “I’m afraid I don’t.”
Cynthia suddenly got to her feet. “I’m sorry that I raised this,” she said. “I thought that we might see things in the same way. We obviously don’t.”
Isabel rose to stand beside her. “Don’t you think that we should keep out of it?” she said. “It’s their business, after all.”
She wanted to add, “And it’s time to let go of your son,” but she did not, because she felt that it would be cruel
