Alexander McCall Smith: Corduroy Mansions

‘James,’ she said. ‘This is Tom. I don’t think you’ve met.’ She was certain that they had not encountered one another before this; what she was less certain about was whether James would remember who Tom was.

Tom stepped forward and the two men shook hands. She noticed James flinch at Tom’s grip. The two had completely different handshakes, James’s being artistic and Tom’s being somewhat firmer. She almost smiled at the sight; the handshakes, she thought, said it all.

‘So,’ said Tom. ‘Busy?’

‘How about coffee?’ said Caroline. ‘James and I were about to—’

‘About to what?’ Tom interjected.

‘About to have coffee. Would you like some?’

He nodded. ‘All right. Thanks.’

He and James sat down while Caroline moved off to the kitchen. This is not good, she said to herself. And once in the kitchen, which gave off the living room, she stood near the door while the kettle boiled, listening to what was being said.

‘So you’re doing the same course? You and Caroline.’

‘Yes,’ James replied. ‘It’s a great course.’

‘Mostly women?’

There was a brief silence. ‘Mostly, I suppose. Mind you, look at most courses these days. I know somebody who’s a medical student and she says that most of the people in her year are women.’

‘Oh. Well.’

The silence returned. Then Tom spoke again. ‘Known Caroline long?’

‘Just this year. On the course.’

‘I see.’

Silence.

Tom cleared his throat with the air of one about to announce something portentous. ‘You know that she and I are quite close? You know that?’

In the kitchen, Caroline froze.

James sounded quite calm. ‘Yes, I did actually. Or used to be. I thought that you and she . . .’

‘What?’

‘I was about to say that I thought that you and she were . . . were drifting apart.’

‘Who told you that? Caroline?’

James began to flounder. ‘Well . . .’

‘Well, whatever Caroline may have told you, the fact is that she and I have been seeing one another for ages. Get it?’

‘Listen, this has got nothing to do with me. Caroline just said that she—’

Tom cut him short. ‘Actually, I shouldn’t really be worried. It doesn’t seem to me that she’s your type. Know what I mean?’

For a few moments nothing was said. Then, ‘No, I don’t know what you mean. Maybe you could explain.’

‘I mean you don’t look the type to me . . . to be all that interested. Sorry, I don’t want to get personal, but you just don’t.’

Caroline decided that this was the point at which she would have to intervene. With the kettle almost boiling, she came out of the kitchen and caught Tom’s eye. ‘Tom, could I have a word in the kitchen, if you don’t mind?’

Tom got up, smirking. He crossed the room and went into the kitchen, closing the door behind him. ‘Yes?’

Caroline spoke through clenched teeth. ‘Give me one reason, just one, why I shouldn’t throw you out right now.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Oh don’t you? Well, I’ll tell you then. What did you say to James just now?’

Tom shrugged. ‘This and that. Small talk.’

Caroline came up to him and stood up close. ‘Oh yes? Well, I want you to go right now. If it wasn’t quite over between us before, it is now.’

He didn’t flinch. ‘Are you saying that you prefer him through there to me?’ He gestured with a motion of the thumb in the direction of the living room. ‘That . . .’

‘Don’t you dare!’ shouted Caroline.

‘There’s no accounting for taste, I suppose.’

‘Get out!’

He turned and made to leave. ‘So,’ he said. ‘This is how it ends.’

She hesitated. She had not ended it properly before this because she dreaded upset of any sort. And now, because she had failed to act, it was ending wretchedly.

She reached out to him. ‘I’m sorry, Tom. I really am. I meant to talk to you and I . . . Well, I just let it drift. I like you. But it’s not working any more. Sorry.’

He said nothing for a moment. It was clear to Caroline that there was some sort of internal struggle going on; she would let it. Then, after a while, he looked at her and said, ‘I’m going to go through and apologise to him.’

He turned away and walked back into the living room. James had picked up the magazine again but had obviously not been concentrating on it.

‘Listen,’ Tom began. ‘I’m sorry about what I said. I was upset. Jealous, I suppose. What I said was unkind and . . . Well, it was just stupid.’

James stood up. ‘I don’t mind,’ he said. ‘Thank you for apologising, anyway.’

Caroline watched as the two men shook hands. This time Tom tried to avoid crushing James’s hand, and James made an effort to be firmer.

Later, when Tom had left, James said to Caroline, ‘You know, Caroline, your hair does smell terrific.’

‘Did you overhear that?’

‘Yes. And tell me: is that what real men say? Is it really?’

‘You’re going to have to carry on telling me about Colombia over supper,’ Barbara said to Hugh. ‘I can’t wait to hear, but I’m absolutely starving. It’s been that sort of day.’

‘Of course,’ said Hugh. ‘How selfish of me. I’ve been nibbling at things while preparing them. And you’ve been working hard all day.’

She smiled at this. He berated himself for selfishness but he was, in fact, as far as she could make out, completely unselfish. Ever since she had met him - although, admittedly, it was not all that long ago - she had been struck by the fact that what appeared to give him pleasure was doing things for her. He had insisted on carrying her luggage from the car; he had bought her flowers; he had cooked meals. Oedipus had done none of this. He had never even bought her a birthday present.

She looked at Hugh fondly. ‘How did this happen?’ she asked.

‘What? The Colombian thing? I was telling you . . .’

‘No. Not that. This thing between us. How did it happen?’

Hugh shrugged. ‘We met. And . . .’

‘And what?’

‘We hit it off. I thought: here’s the most interesting woman I’ve ever met. And then I thought: she won’t even look at me.’

Barbara was astonished. ‘ You thought that I wouldn’t look at you?’ She laughed at the very notion. ‘Do you know that I was thinking exactly the same thing?’

Hugh reached for her hand. ‘We were both wrong. Fortunately. The planets were in alignment.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘You don’t believe in all that, surely?’

He shook his head. ‘Of course not. Who does?’

‘Nobody I know. But I suppose there are some who do. And I suppose it’s rather reassuring. All sorts of beliefs that we can’t justify or prove may be reassuring.’ She paused. ‘I used to be so arrogant, so sure of myself, that I laughed at people who had what I wrote off as irrational beliefs. Then I realised that we all need something to cling on to. And that it’s not necessarily a bad thing to have beliefs as long, of course, as they aren’t positively harmful.’

He thought about this. ‘I saw an advertisement on a bus yesterday,’ he said. ‘It was an advertisement for atheism. It said, “There’s probably no God.” It made me think.’

Barbara had read about these advertisements but had not herself seen one. ‘I suppose everybody has the right to advertise a viewpoint. Atheists. Religious people. It’s the same right they’re exercising.’