She reassured him that she was fine, that she had only been thinking of something and had closed her eyes because of that.
“I’m perfectly all right with this. I walk a lot in town, you know.
I’m fit enough.”
“Not everyone can climb a hill,” said Tom. “We’re so used to our cars. Our legs . . . well, we’re forgetting how to use them. Or that’s the way it is in Dallas. I try to walk as much as I can. I have a place out near Tyler. A nice bit of land. I’ve never managed to get the house as I want it. It’s in the wrong place, but my hands are tied. I’d like to knock it down and build again, but it was left to me and my sister jointly. Her husband won’t let her agree.”
“And Angie? Does she do much walking?” asked Isabel.
Angie had not been mentioned, and this was a chance to bring her into the conversation.
“She mostly drives,” said Tom. “But she plays tennis from time to time. She’d like to do more of that when we’re married.”
“I see,” said Isabel. She looked up at the sky; the rain was 2 1 2
A l e x a n d e r M c C a l l S m i t h holding off, but was there in the distance, in the heavy purple clouds over East Lothian and the sea beyond. “Have you known her for long?” The question was innocent, even banal; casual conversation on a walk between two friends who wanted to get to know each other better.
“A year,” said Tom, appearing to think. Sometimes we inflate times to make things seem better for us. “Or not quite.”
“You must have a lot in common,” said Isabel.
Tom did not answer immediately. Then he said, “Some things.”
Isabel made light of this. “Well, that’s a start. You’ll develop fresh interests together, no doubt. That’s so important in marriage. Without interests in common, well, I’m not sure what the point is.” That was as far as she could go, too far perhaps. Tom just nodded. He did not say anything.
When they reached the top of the hill, the view was as Tom had said it would be. There were blue Border hills in the distance and there, in the other direction, were the Pentland Hills, with Edinburgh just beyond, Arthur’s Seat a tiny, crouching lion. They sat down to get their breath back and Isabel laid back, looking up into the empty sky. The world is in constant flux, said the Buddhists, and she thought of this as she looked into the blue void; she imagined she could see the particles in the air, the rushing, swimming movement, the passage of the winds. Nothing was empty; it only appeared to be so. And then she thought: I am in a state of bliss. I am in love. Again. Finally.
JA M I E BO U G H T Isabel a jar of honey. It had been his only purchase in Peebles; a jar of honey which he placed in her hands with a smile. “Made by bees,” he said.
T H E R I G H T AT T I T U D E T O R A I N
2 1 3
Angie was watching as he did this. Her face was impassive.
She had found an antique dealer and bought a small, marble-topped French table, which Jamie had uncomplainingly carried to the car—it had been heavy—and one of those Victorian bottles filled with coloured sand to make a striped effect.
“What’s the point of that?” Jamie had asked.
“None,” replied Angie. “It’s a bottle with sand in it.”
Tom showed a polite interest in Angie’s purchases, but Isabel could see that they meant nothing to him.
“We’re going to ship a lot of things back at the end of the summer,” he said. “Angie’s going to redecorate the house.”
Angie stared at Isabel, as if expecting her to contradict this.
“I’m sure it will be very attractive,” said Isabel. “And you’re choosing the things yourself. Some people . . .” She almost said
“I couldn’t live with that sort of thing,” said Angie. “Another person’s taste.”
Isabel wondered if she was going to get rid of all of Tom’s possessions when she moved in. And she thought that he might be thinking this, too, as he began to say something but was interrupted by Mimi, who started to talk about somebody in Dallas whom they both knew who had spent a year, and a fortune, searching for old possessions that had been mistakenly thrown out. He had tracked them down eventually and taken them back to the house. “Such loyalty,” she said. “It was like old friends being reunited.”
The conversation drifted off in other directions. They were all in the drawing room, drinking tea, which Mrs. Paterson had brought in from the kitchen and placed on a sideboard. As she 2 1 4
A l e x a n d e r M c C a l l S m i t h did so, she turned to Isabel and whispered, “May I have a quick word with you, please?” She nodded briefly in the direction of the door and then left. Isabel, standing near the sideboard, took a few sips of her tea and then put down the cup and saucer and followed Mrs. Paterson.
The hall was empty, but the door that led off down the kitchen corridor was ajar. Isabel went through it and walked down the corridor. A child’s rocking horse and a small, old-fashioned pedal car had been stored in the passageway. The rocking horse, with tangled mane, was painted off-white and was scratched with use; the pedal car was British racing green, with red leather seats. Both looked dusty, as if abandoned a long time ago by the children who had once loved them. Children, like cats, made a house into a home, and the echoes of their presence lingered.
Mrs. Paterson was standing near the large kitchen window, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She turned round when Isabel came into the room.