Alexander McCall Smith by unknow

Alexander McCall Smith by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Contemporary Women, Mystery & Detective, Dalhousie; Isabel (Fictitious Character), General, Edinburgh (Scotland), Women Philosophers, Women Sleuths, Traditional British, Mystery Fiction, Fiction
ISBN: 9780307907516
Publisher: Pantheon
Published: 2011-10-25T05:00:00+00:00


Partly in response to Jamie’s advice, and partly because she could not think of any other way of dealing with the situation, Isabel did nothing. Occasionally she reflected on the injustice of having unfounded allegations standing against her, but she tried not to brood, and largely succeeded. It was a busy time, with a new issue of the Review of Applied Ethics about to go to press, and her mind had plenty of other things to occupy it. But ten days or so later, when Isabel was in the supermarket in Morningside, a woman approached her and introduced herself as Roz MacLeod.

Isabel tried to smile. “Oh …”

“It’s not every day,” Roz said quietly, “that one gets to look one’s enemy in the face.”

Isabel felt her heart hammering within her. “Enemy? I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you mean.” She noticed that Roz was neither pushing a shopping trolley nor holding a basket. Had she followed her into the supermarket? Was this an entirely coincidental meeting?

“You know exactly what I mean,” said Roz. “My husband.”

Isabel struggled to master her fear. “Listen, Mrs. MacLeod, I assure you I have absolutely no contact with your husband. I’ve met him once. Once. That’s all. And we talked about professional matters. That’s the extent of our contact.” As she spoke, she noticed that Roz had a slight facial tic—an eyelid that seemed to move on its own.

“And the letter?”

“What letter?” Even as she answered, Isabel remembered. “Oh, that? It was about a book review that he’s doing for a journal I edit.”

“But you said that you had no other contact, didn’t you? That wasn’t true, was it?”

She felt a mounting irritation. “I forgot about it. And it was professional. Why don’t you read it? Or maybe you have.”

The suggestion that Roz read her husband’s mail had a marked effect, and Isabel was encouraged. Roz seemed to shrink, to draw back; as any bully does, thought Isabel.

“I haven’t …”

Isabel pressed home her advantage. “Then how did you know about it? And anyway, I don’t have to answer to you, or anybody else, about my purely professional dealings. And you have no right to make totally unfounded—”

She did not finish. The other woman suddenly raised her hands to cover her face. She began to sob.

Isabel looked about her. Nearby, an elderly woman, reaching out for a can of beans from her shelf, caught her eye. It was a look of sympathy. Beyond the woman, standing in front of a trolley laden with cans, a teenage shelf-stacker glanced at Roz and then continued to shift the cans onto the shelves. Isabel thought: He finds it strange that we people—we adults—have scenes like this in supermarkets. What have we got to cry about?

Isabel moved forward to put an arm about Roz’s shoulder. Her gesture was not repelled but welcomed, it seemed, as Roz reached for Isabel’s blouse and held on to it. It was a curious, almost childlike gesture, but a reassuring one.

“I’m sorry,” said Isabel. “I can understand how you must feel if you think your husband is having an affair.



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