The Sunday Philosophy Club (29 page)

“But we have last night,” said Jamie. “At least we have something more concrete on him.”

Isabel shook her head. “Last night proves nothing,” she said. “He has his story about why he came in. He’ll stick to that and the police would probably just accept that. They won’t want to get involved in some private spat.”

“But we could point out the link with the allegations of insider trading,” said Jamie. “We could tell them about what Neil told you and about the paintings. There’s enough here to give rise to a reasonable suspicion.”

Isabel was doubtful. “I don’t think there is. The police can’t demand that you explain where you get your money from. They don’t work that way.”

“And Neil?” Jamie persisted. “What about the information that Mark Fraser was frightened of something?”

“He has already declined to go to the police about that,” said Isabel. “He would probably deny that he’d ever spoken to me. If he changed his story, then the police could accuse him of misleading them. He’s not going to say anything, if you ask me.”

Jamie turned to Grace, wondering whether she would support him in his suggestion. “What do you think?” he asked. “Do you agree with me?”

“No,” she said. “No, I don’t.”

Jamie looked at Isabel, who raised an eyebrow. There was an idea forming in her mind. “Set a thief to catch a thief,” she said. “As you say, we’re out of our depth here. We can’t prove anything about these financial goings-on. We certainly can’t prove anything about a link between all that and Mark Fraser’s death. In fact, it looks as if that probably isn’t the issue—there simply isn’t any link. So what we need to do is get the message to Johnny Sanderson that we’re no longer involved in any way. That should keep him from me.”

“Do you really think he might … might try to harm you?” Jamie asked.

“I felt pretty frightened last night,” said Isabel. “He could. But then it’s occurred to me that we could get Minty to tell him that she’s fully aware of his visit here. If she gets the message to him that she knows that he’s been leaning on me, then he would presumably not try anything further. If I came to any harm, he would have at least one archenemy who would point the finger at him.”

Jamie sounded doubtful. “So we should talk to Minty?”

Isabel nodded. “Frankly, I can’t face it. I wondered if you …”

Grace rose to her feet. “No,” she said. “I’ll do this. You tell me where this Minty woman is to be found and I’ll go and have a word with her. Then, just in case there’s any doubt, I’ll go and have a word with this Sanderson person. I’ll leave him in no doubt that he’s not to come round here again.”

Isabel glanced at Jamie, who nodded. “Grace can be very firm,” he said, adding quickly, “Of course, I mean that in the nicest possible way.”

Isabel smiled. “Of course,” she said. She was silent for a few moments, and then went on. “You know, I feel that I’m showing an appalling lack of moral courage. I’ve looked into a very unpleasant world and have simply drawn back in fright. I’m throwing in every towel in sight.”

“What more can you do?” said Jamie crossly. “You’ve already interfered. Now you can’t do anything more. You’re fully entitled to look after yourself. Be reasonable for once.”

“I’m walking away from it all,” said Isabel quietly. “I’m walking away because somebody has given me a bad fright. It’s exactly what they want me to do.”

Jamie’s frustration was now palpable. “All right, then,” he said. “Tell us what you can do instead. Tell us where we go from here. You can’t, can you? That’s because there’s nothing else for you to do.”

“Exactly,” said Grace. And then she went on, “Jamie here is right. You’re wrong. You’re not a moral coward. You’re the least cowardly person I know. The least.”

“I agree,” said Jamie. “You’re brave, Isabel. And we love you for it. You’re brave and good and you don’t even know it.”

ISABEL WENT THROUGH
to her study to deal with the mail, leaving Jamie and Grace in the kitchen. After a few minutes,
Jamie looked at his watch. “I have a pupil at eleven,” he said. “But I could come back this evening.”

Grace thought this a good idea, and accepted on Isabel’s behalf. “Just for a few more days,” she said. “If you don’t mind …”

“I don’t,” said Jamie. “I wouldn’t leave her by herself in the middle of all this.”

As he left the house, Grace followed him out onto the path, catching him by the arm. Glancing behind her towards the house, she lowered her voice as she spoke to him.

“You’re wonderful, you know. You really are. Most young men wouldn’t bother. But you do.”

He was embarrassed. “I don’t mind. I really don’t.”

“Yes, well, maybe. But here’s another thing. Cat’s got rid of that fellow with the red breeks. She wrote to Isabel about it.”

Jamie said nothing, but blinked once or twice.

Grace tightened the pressure on his forearm. “Isabel told her,” she whispered. “She told her about how Toby is carrying on with another girl.”

“She told her that?”

“Yes, and she was mighty upset. She ran out, sobbing her eyes out. I tried to speak to her, but she wouldn’t listen to me.”

Jamie began to laugh, but checked himself quickly. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at Cat’s being upset. I was just so pleased that now maybe she knows what he’s like. I …”

Grace nodded. “If she had any sense she’d get back to you.”

“Thank you. I’d like that, but I don’t know if it’s going to happen.”

Grace looked into his eyes. “May I say something really personal? Would you mind?”

“Of course I wouldn’t. Fire away.” He had been instantly buoyed by the news which Grace had imparted and now he was ready for anything.

“Your trousers,” whispered Grace. “They’re very dull. You’ve got a great body … sorry to be so direct, you know, I wouldn’t normally talk like this to a man. And your face is tremendous. Tremendous. But you have to … you have to be a bit more sexy. That girl is, well, she’s
interested
in that sort of thing.”

Jamie stared at her. Nobody had spoken to him like that before. She undoubtedly meant it well, but what exactly was wrong with his trousers? He looked down at his legs, at his trousers, and then he looked at Grace.

She was shaking her head; not in disapproval, but in sorrow, as at missed opportunities, potential unfulfilled.

JAMIE RETURNED SHORTLY
before seven that evening, bringing with him an overnight case. The glaziers had been that afternoon and the stained-glass panel in the inner hall door had now been replaced with a large sheet of plain glass. Isabel was in her study when he arrived and she asked him to wait for a few minutes in the drawing room while she finished off a letter she was drafting. She seemed to be in good spirits when she let him in, he thought, but when she came through, her expression was more sombre.

“I had two calls from Minty,” she said. “Do you want to hear about them?”

“Of course I do. I was thinking about it all day.”

“Minty was really angry when Grace told her about last night. She said that she and Paul would go round immediately to have a word with Johnny Sanderson, which they did, apparently. And then she called back and said that I need not worry anymore about him, that he had been well and truly warned off. Apparently they have something else on him that they could threaten him with, and he backed down. So that’s it.”

“And Mark Fraser? Was anything said about Mark’s death?”

“No,” said Isabel. “Nothing. But if you ask me, I would say that there’s still a chance that Mark Fraser was pushed over the balcony by Johnny Sanderson, or by somebody acting on his behalf. But we shall never be able to prove it, and I assume that Johnny Sanderson knows it. So that’s the end of that. Everything has been tidied away. The financial community has tucked its dirty washing out of sight. A young man’s death has been tucked away too. And it’s business as usual, all round.”

Jamie looked at the floor. “We’re not very brilliant investigators, are we?”

Isabel smiled. “No,” she said. “We’re a couple of rather helpless amateurs. A bassoonist and a philosopher.” She paused. “But there is something to be cheerful about, I suppose, in the midst of all this moral failure.”

Jamie was curious. “And what would that be?”

Isabel rose to her feet. “I think we might just allow ourselves a glass of sherry on that one,” she said. “It would be indecent to open the champagne.” She moved over to the drinks cabinet and extracted two glasses.

“What precisely are we celebrating?” asked Jamie.

“Cat is no longer engaged,” said Isabel. “For a very brief period she was in grave danger of marriage to Toby. But she came round this afternoon and we had a good cry on each other’s shoulders. Toby is history, as you people so vividly put it.”

Jamie knew that she was right, one should not celebrate the end of a relationship with champagne. But one could go out to dinner, which is what he proposed, and what she accepted.

I
SABEL DID NOT LIKE
to leave things unfinished. She had engaged in the whole issue of Mark Fraser’s fall on the basis that she had become involved, whether she liked it or not. This moral involvement was almost over, except for one thing. She decided now to see Neil, and tell him the outcome of her enquiries. He was the one who had effectively asked her to act, and she felt that she should explain to him how matters had turned out. The knowledge that there was no connection between Mark’s apparent disquiet and the fall could help him, if he was feeling unhappy about his having done nothing himself.

But there was something more that drew her to seek out Neil. Ever since her first meeting with him, on that awkward evening when she had seen him darting across the hall, she had felt puzzled by him. The circumstances of their meeting, of course, had not been easy; she had disturbed him in bed with Hen, and that was embarrassing, but it was more than that. At that first meeting, he had been suspicious of her and his answers to her questions had been unforthcoming. Of course, she was not entitled to expect a warm welcome—he could easily, and understandably,
have resented anybody coming to ask about Mark—but it went beyond that.

She decided to see him the following day. She tried to telephone him to arrange to go round to the flat, but there was no reply from the flat number and he was unavailable at his office. So she decided to risk an unannounced visit again.

As she walked up the stairs she reflected on what had happened in the interval between her last visit and this. Only a few weeks had passed, but in that time it seemed that she had been put through a comprehensive and thoroughly efficient emotional wringer. Now here she was, back exactly where she had started. She rang the bell, and as last time, Hen let her in. This time, her welcome was warmer and she was immediately offered a glass of wine, which she accepted.

“I’ve actually come to see Neil,” she said. “I wanted to talk to him again. I hope he won’t mind.”

“I’m sure he won’t,” said Hen. “He’s not back yet, but I don’t think he’ll be long.”

Isabel found herself recalling the previous visit, when Hen had lied to her about Neil’s absence and she had seen him dash naked across the hallway. She wanted to smile, but did not.

“I’m moving out,” said Hen, conversationally. “Flitting. I’ve found a job in London and I’m going down there. Challenges. Opportunities. You know.”

“Of course,” said Isabel. “You must be very excited.”

“I’ll miss this place, though,” said Hen. “And I’m sure I’ll come back to Scotland. People always do.”

“I did,” said Isabel. “I was in Cambridge for some years, and America, and then I came back. Now I suppose I’m here for good.”

“Well, give me a few years first,” said Hen. “Then we’ll see.”

Isabel wondered about Neil. Would he stay, or was she going to take him with her? Somehow she thought that she would not. She asked.

“Neil’s staying here,” said Hen. “He has his job.”

“And the flat? He’ll keep it on?”

“I think so.” Hen paused. “I think he’s a bit upset about it, actually, but he’ll get over things. Mark’s death was very hard for him. Hard for all of us. But Neil has taken it very badly.”

“They were close?”

Hen nodded. “Yes, they got on. Most of the time. I think I told you that before.”

“Of course,” said Isabel. “Of course you did.”

Hen reached for the wine bottle which she had placed on the table and from which she now topped up her glass. “You know,” she said, “I still find myself thinking about that evening. That evening when Mark fell. I can’t help it. It gets me at odd times of the day. I think of him sitting there, in his last hour or so, his last hour ever. I think of him sitting there listening to the McCunn. I know that music. My mother used to play it at home. I think of him sitting there and listening.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Isabel. “I can imagine how hard it must be for you.” The McCunn.
Land of the Mountain and the Flood.
Such a romantic piece. And then the thought occurred to her, and for a moment her heart stood still.

“You knew what they played that night?” she asked. Her voice was small, and Hen looked at her in surprise.