It had rained the previous day, and although the grass had dried out in the morning sun, the earth was still wet. Jamie decided that he would replant the bulbs that Brother Fox had dug up again. And there were several shrubs that Isabel had ordered from a horticultural catalogue and were waiting to be planted.
She sat on the blanket, a book beside her, but she did not read. She played with Charlie. He had a small stuffed fox that Jamie had bought him. He loved it.
Jamie worked in the garden for an hour or so and then rejoined them on the rug. Charlie was drowsy now, and had been put, with a feeding cup, on an infant deck chair that rocked gently backwards and forwards. He would drop off to sleep, the beak of the feeding cup still in his mouth.
Isabel looked at Jamie. “You’re covered in mud,” she said. “Look, stand up, and I’ll brush it off you.”
She stood beside him. There was mud upon the knees of his trousers, where he had been kneeling. She brushed it off. “Mud and Saturdays go well together,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “They do.”
She examined his shirt; there were small patches of mud on the sleeves. She brushed these off too, gently, with love.
Brother Fox, unseen, watched them from the shadows of a rhododendron bush. There were the red flowers of the bush above him, and below him the muddy earth in which he made his burrow, his sanctuary. When Isabel and Jamie went inside, briefly, to get the things for lunch, he padded out across the grass and sniffed gently at the sleeping child. Then he turned away and pressed his wet black nose against the stuffed fox. It smelt of milk. Brother Fox took it in his jaws and began to carry it across the lawn. But then, when a sound came from within the house, he dropped the soft toy in the middle of the lawn and slunk back into the shadows.
“How did that happen?” asked Jamie.
Isabel put a tray down on the ground and looked at Charlie, still asleep. She did not answer the question because she was not in any mood to solve the problems of others, and all she wanted to say was “I am so very happy.” Which she did; and she was.
PERMISSIONS ACKNOWLEDGEMENTSGrateful acknowledgement is made to the following for permission to reprint previously published material:
The Estate of W. H. Auden and Random House, Inc.: Excerpt from “If I Could Tell You,” copyright © 1945 by W. H. Auden, and “In Praise of Limestone,” copyright © 1951 by W. H. Auden, from
Faber and Faber Ltd.: Excerpt from “The Waste Land” from
Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company and Faber and Faber Ltd.: Excerpt from “Journey of the Magi” from
ABOUT THE AUTHORAlexander McCall Smith is the author of the international phenomenon The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series, the Isabel Dalhousie series, the Portuguese Irregular Verbs series, and the 44 Scotland Street series. He is professor emeritus of medical law at the University of Edinburgh in Scotland and has served on many national and international bodies concerned with bioethics.
BOOKS BY ALEXANDER McCALL SMITH
IN THE ISABEL DALHOUSIE SERIES
The Sunday Philosophy Club
Friends, Lovers, Chocolate
The Right Attitude to Rain
The Careful Use of Compliments
The Comforts of a Muddy Saturday
IN THE NO. 1 LADIES’ DETECTIVE AGENCY SERIES
The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency
Tears of the Giraffe
Morality for Beautiful Girls
The Kalahari Typing School for Men
The Full Cupboard of Life
In the Company of Cheerful Ladies
Blue Shoes and Happiness
The Good Husband of Zebra Drive
The Miracle at Speedy Motors
