Free The Sunday Philosophy Club by Alexander McCall Smith Page B

bought it from us, which was probably true. I don’t know how it happened. And then they went on about complaining to the hygiene people. You know what that involves. They make the most enormous fuss.”
    Isabel was sympathetic. She knew that Cat would never deliberately take risks. “Did you sort it out?”
    “A free bottle of champagne helped,” said Cat. “And an apology.”
    Cat picked up the menu, glanced at it, and then replaced itin its stand. She had little appetite at lunch, and would be happy with a minimalist salad. Isabel thought that this might have something to do with working with food all the time.
    They exchanged a few scraps of news. Toby was away on a wine-buying trip with his father, but had telephoned the previous evening from Bordeaux. He would be back in a few days’ time, and they would be going to Perth for the weekend, where he had friends. Isabel listened politely, but could not feel enthusiastic. What would they do on their weekend in Perth, she wondered, or was that a naïve question? It was hard to put yourself back to your early twenties.
    Cat was watching her. “You should give him a chance,” she said quietly. “He’s a nice person. He really is.”
    “Of course he is,” said Isabel quickly. “Of course he is. I’ve got nothing against Toby.”
    Cat smiled. “You’re very unconvincing when you’re telling lies,” she said. “It’s quite apparent you don’t like him. You can’t help showing it.”
    Isabel felt trapped, and thought:
I’m an unconvincing hypocrite.
There was silence now at the table of students, and she was aware of the fact that they were listening to the conversation. She stared at them, noticing that one of the boys had a small pin in his ear. People who had metal piercing in their heads were asking for trouble, Grace had once said. Isabel had asked why this should be so. Hadn’t people always worn earrings, and got away with it? Grace had replied that metal piercings attracted lightning, and that she had read of a heavily pierced man who had been struck dead in an electric storm while those around him, unpierced, had survived.
    The students exchanged glances, and Isabel turned away. “This is not the place to discuss it, Cat,” she said, her voice lowered.
    “Maybe not. But it does upset me. I only want you to try with him. Try to get beyond your initial reaction.”
    “My initial reaction was not entirely negative,” whispered Isabel. “I may not have felt particularly warm towards him, but that’s just because he’s not really my type. That’s all.”
    “Why isn’t he your type?” asked Cat defensively, her voice raised. “What’s wrong with him?”
    Isabel glanced at the students, who were now smiling. She deserved to be eavesdropped upon, she reflected;
your acts will be returned to you, faithfully, every one.
    “I wouldn’t say there’s anything wrong with him,” she began. “It’s just that, are you sure that he’s quite … quite your intellectual equal? That can matter a lot, you know.”
    Cat frowned, and Isabel wondered whether she had gone too far. “He’s not stupid,” Cat said indignantly. “He has a degree from St. Andrews, remember. And he’s seen a bit of the world.”
    St. Andrews! Isabel was just about to say, “Well, there you are: St. Andrews,” but thought better of it. St. Andrews had a reputation of attracting well-off young people who came from the upper echelons of society and who wanted to find somewhere congenial to spend a few years while they attended parties. The Americans called such places party schools. In this case, it was an unfair reputation, as many reputations were, but there was at least a modicum of truth in it. Toby would have fitted very well into that social vision of St. Andrews, but it would have been unkind to point that out, and, anyway, now she wanted the conversation to stop. It had not been her intention to become embroiled in an argument about Toby; she did not think it right