Free The Uncommon Appeal of Clouds: An Isabel Dalhousie Novel (9) by Alexander McCall Smith Page A

Jamie’s arm so that they might stop for a moment.
    “Look at those clouds,” she said. “They’re very high. Cirrus, I think.”
    Jamie looked up too. “I don’t know the names. Does it help if you know the names?”
    She shrugged. “In the same way as it helps to know the names of trees. Or flowers.
     People tend to know about trees and flowers, but not about clouds. Strange, isn’t
     it?”
    “Maybe it’s because they’re always there,” said Jamie. “We take for granted things
     that are always there.”
    As they continued on their way, Isabel felt a deep sense of contentment. There were
     other cities where, on an equally fine evening, much the same scenes as these would
     be played out. There were cities of equal or similar beauty: Venice, Vienna, St. Petersburg.
     But this place, this city, this particular sky was
hers
, the place where the accident of birth had placed her. And she knew it so well; knew
     each turn of its winding streets; each cliff-face of ascending stone; each sweep of
     skyline.
    As they made their way down Forest Road, and passed Sandy Bell’s Bar, she remembered
     how, some years ago, she had been there with that man who had had the heart transplant.
     And before that, she had been there to listen to the music, and had heard Hamish Henderson
     sing “Freedom Come All Ye” and his heartbreaking “Banks of Sicily”; and a young Irishman
     launch into “Sam Hall.” He had had such expressive eyes, and had sung as if he meant
     every word—“My name it is Sam Hall, and I
curse
you, one and all.”
    And in Candlemaker Row she remembered how she had walked down there not all that long
     ago with Jamie after a concert in Greyfriars Church, and they had talked about the
     Covenanters, or she had thought about them—she could not quite remember which. She
     slipped her hand into his.
    “Nervous?”
    He shook his head. “I like what we’re playing tonight. And it’s not very demanding
     for me—the benefits of being down on the bass line.”
    When they arrived, Jamie went into the green room with his fellow musicians, leaving
     Isabel to choose a seat in the upstairs room. The concert was part of a series organised
     by the Early Scottish Music Society, and there was to be a drinks reception afterwards,
     for which preparations were already being made. Jamie had suggested that they stay
     for this, as it was an opportunity for the performers, who otherwise would not have
     time to socialise, to get to know one another. Isabel was happy to agree; she had
     friends who had season tickets to these concerts and they might be there.
    The concert began. A couple of pieces were familiar to Isabel—the rest were new, but
     there were full programme notes that explained who the composers were and put their
     music incontext. She did not go out at the interval, but remained where she was, reading the
     notes for the second half. Jamie caught her eye and smiled; she returned the smile.
     She felt so proud of him.
    At the end of the concert, the audience went downstairs, where most stayed for the
     reception. A group of young women in black skirts and white tops circulated among
     the guests, offering glasses of wine and small, rather greasy snacks. Isabel took
     a sausage on a stick and nibbled at it: it was not at all warm and seemed to be packed
     with cold fat. She steeled herself to swallow it. The Scottish diet was famously unhealthy,
     and it seemed that the same applied to Scottish canapés.
    There was no sign of her friends, and she found herself in conversation with a couple
     she had not met before. Looking for something to talk about, she asked them where
     they lived. Their eyes lit up: they had recently moved to a new house and were full
     of the details. “It has a large conservatory,” the woman said. “With a vine—an established
     vine.”
    “And there’s a terrific garden,” said the husband.
    “Yes, terrific,” agreed his wife. “The people before us were demon