The Careful Use of Compliments

reproach—just surprise. “What you asked me to do was, how 1 8 8

A l e x a n d e r M c C a l l S m i t h shall I put it? Fairly unusual. At least it’s unusual to do something like this so quickly. In fact, the whole thing . . . well, I suppose it’s just a case of doing something in record time.”

She shrugged. “Sometimes . . .”

He smiled. “Yes, sometimes there are things that one feels one has to do. And lawyers should always assume that their clients know what they want, even if sometimes, on rare occasions, it may not seem that way. But I’ve never thought that of you.”

Isabel laughed. “I did think about this, you know. It didn’t come totally out of the blue. I thought about it for at least”—she blushed—“an hour or so.”

Simon wagged a finger playfully. “Well, I did what you asked me. And thank heavens we were dealing with a small private company. They proved very easy to negotiate with. And very quick. Of course we still have to do various things before the contract is finally signed—warranties, indemnities, that sort of thing—but we’ve got agreement in principle.”

“They’re nice people.”

Simon agreed. His conversation with the chairman had been brisk and to the point, and there had certainly been an air of civility about it. “When I asked them what sum they had in mind, I must say that I was pleasantly surprised. It was considerably less than the limit you had suggested. Sixty thousand pounds for the title and the goodwill.” He paused and consulted a printed sheet in the file. “And I suppose we have to accept that, even if last year the Review made a profit of a grand total of four hundred pounds . . . and eight pence.”

“They wanted rid of it,” said Isabel. “I thought they might hold out for more.”

“Not when they knew I was offering on your behalf,”

said Simon. “They think very highly of you. And so there we T H E C A R E F U L U S E O F C O M P L I M E N T S

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are, you’re the new owner of the Review of Applied Ethics.

Congratulations!”

Isabel looked at her teacup. She had shamelessly used her superior financial position to deal with Christopher Dove and his machinations. Did she deserve congratulations for that? She thought she did not, but if she were to try to explain her feelings to Simon, she was not sure whether she would be able to convey to him the guilt that she felt. She had done nothing wrong.

Things were for sale or they were not, and the Review, as she had suspected, was for sale if one were to pay enough. Money, she realised, was an instrument of crude power; a conclusion that she had always sought to avoid, but which was demonstra-bly and uncomfortably true.

Simon was studying her with a slightly bemused expression.

“I know you can well afford this, Isabel,” he began. “But do you mind my asking, why do you want to own it? Wasn’t it enough just to be the editor?”

For a moment, Isabel did not reply. Now she looked up and met Simon’s gaze. “To set right an injustice,” she said simply.

Simon slipped the piece of paper back into the file. “Ah,” he said. He thought for a moment, fingering the edge of the blue file. “That’s a very good reason for doing anything. Well done.”

She reached forward and poured him a fresh cup of tea.

Nothing more needed to be said about the transaction and so they spent a few minutes discussing the weather, which was perfect, and the world, which was not quite.

Just before she rose to leave, though, it occurred to her that it might be easier for Simon to write a letter that needed to be written. “There’s one thing more,” she said. “There’s a letter that needs to be written to the chairman of the editorial board.

Could you do that for me? As my lawyer?”

“Of course.”

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A l e x a n d e r M c C a l l S m i t h She explained that the letter needed to go to Professor Lettuce. “A ridiculous name, I know, but that is his burden in life.

I’ll write down the address here. Please tell him that you are acting for the new owner of the Review of Applied Ethics and that she—and please remember the she—is very grateful to him for all his services to the Review. However, it will be necessary to appoint a new editorial board, and this will be done shortly.”

Simon made a few notes and then looked at Isabel. “Should I mention your name at this stage?”

Isabel hesitated. One part of her wanted the satisfaction of letting them work it out; she could imagine their anxious discussions. But another saw the pettiness of this, the wrong-ness. Plato’s white horse and dark horse. She closed her eyes.

Revenge was sweet, but it was wrong, and she should not repay them in the coin they had used on her. No, she should not.

“Tell them who I am right at the beginning,” she said. “That would be better.”

Simon, who sensed that he had just witnessed a great moral struggle, nodded his assent. “I’m sure that you’ve made the right decision,” he said.

Perhaps, thought Isabel. But then she went on to think, Oh, Lettuce and Dove—you did ask for this, you really did.