Free Chance Developments by Alexander McCall Smith Page B

it.
    “I’m sorry. Perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
    He reached out and laid a hand on the other man’s forearm. The cousin looked down with surprise at the hand on his arm. Harry withdrew it.
    “No, I’m glad you did. I’m very ashamed, you see…” He broke off.
    The cousin lowered his voice. “Don’t be embarrassed,” he said. “Look, both of us have seen enough in the last two months to teach us not to be awkward about things. Enough death, I mean. I’ve had my men roasted before my eyes, their tanks an oven. My God, if you’ve seen that, then you’re not going to worry about something like this. A small thing. A very small thing.”
    He felt his eyes begin to fill with tears.
I can’t cry. Not here, in Shepheard’s Hotel. I can’t cry.
    The cousin saw what was happening. “Look, she’s fine. She’s absolutely fine. She had the baby…”
    “What was it?”
    The cousin smiled. “It was a girl.”
    He almost asked about the adoption, but thought there was no point. “And Jenny herself?”
    “You didn’t hear about her marriage?”
    He felt himself reeling. “I was forbidden to try to contact her. Her father and mine agreed. I was not to see her.”
    The cousin managed a weak smile. “I think she knew that. I don’t think she thought you were deliberately cold-shouldering her. She was told the same thing, I understand. Her mother came down on her like a ton of bricks. You were to be off-limits.”
    He wanted to know about the marriage.
    “A fellow from Glasgow,” said the cousin. “They’re a shipbuilding family. He’s a naval architect and so they’ve left him where he is. They’ve recently built a corvette. I saw pictures of the launch. They’re doing well, of course, with the need for shipping.”
    He nodded.
    The cousin continued. “He’s a perfectly decent type. He’s a bit older than she is—thirty-five, thirty-six.”
    “And children? Do they have children?”
    “None since…” He tailed off.
    Harry looked down at his drink. “Are you in touch with her?”
    “Yes, of course. I haven’t seen her for a long time, of course, but I had a letter the other day. We occasionally write to one another. In fact, she was the one who told me that I might bump into you. I don’t know where she’d heard you were here, but she seemed to know.”
    Harry hesitated. “Will you pass on a message from me?”
    A shadow passed over the cousin’s face. “She’s happily married, you know…”
    “Of course, of course.”
    “So I’m not sure that you should write to her.”
    “Which is precisely why I’m asking you to pass on a message.”
    “Yes, all right.”
    But now he was unsure what to say. He heard the words of the song, the words that everyone knew.
Will you please say hello to the folks that I know…They’ll be happy to know that as you saw me go, I was singing this song…
    People took comfort in that; in the folksy optimism of it. But he did not want to pass on a cliché. So he said, “Tell her that I’m terribly sorry.”
    The cousin inclined his head. “I’ll write to her,” he said. “I’ll say that.” He paused. “We all have something to be sorry about. Every one of us. And we often don’t have the chance to say anything about it because we’re…because we’re ashamed. Then it’s too late. Your tank gets it. You tread on a mine. A sniper lines you up in his sights, and it’s too late.”
    “Oh well…”
    The cousin seemed to want to continue. There were many conversations like this in wartime, thought Harry. Things that had not been said, were said; people felt liberated, released from their normal inhibitions, by the possibility of imminent death.
    “It’s not a girl with me,” said the cousin. “It’s a boy.”
    Harry said nothing.
    “And now it’s too late.”
    “The War?”
    “Yes.”
    Harry met his eyes. “I’m very sorry.”
    “Thank you. Nobody knows.”
    “I can understand that,” said Harry. “But you don’t have to