Read Online Alexander Mccall Smith - Isabel Dalhousie 05 by The Comforts of a Muddy Saturday - Free Book Online Page B

“It must be the most wonderful feeling, being carried like this. Warm and secure. Why would one want to grow up?”
    Jamie laughed. “Why indeed?”
    They walked on. They were now drawing level with the reservoir, which covered the flooded floor of the glen. The road they were following traced a route round the side of it before making its way up to the head of the glen, to peter out at the just-visible buildings of an isolated sheep farm. The surface of the loch was still, as there was no wind, no breeze, and the sky ahead, high and empty, was reflected on the water; no clouds, just blue. She turned to Jamie and took his hand, easily, unself-consciously. The touch of him thrilled her, and she shivered.
    â€œI met Stella Moncrieff for coffee this morning,” she said. “Remember, I said I was going to do that.”
    He was looking up, trying to make out something halfway up the hill. “And?”
    â€œWell, she wanted to see me. She’s asked me to help her with something.”
    As Isabel expected, this caught Jamie’s attention. He turned to her. “Isabel…” There was an unmistakable note of warning in his voice. Jamie did not approve of Isabel’s getting involved in matters that did not concern her and had told her as much, on numerous occasions.
    â€œYes,” she said. “Yes.” And then, after a few moments, “I could hardly refuse.”
    Jamie shook his head. “But that’s exactly what you could do,” he said. “Life consists of refusing things we shouldn’t be doing.”
    Isabel reflected on this for a moment. Perhaps for some people life did indeed consist of refusing to do things—there were those who were adept at that. But she was not one of them. Her problem, rather, was one of deciding which claims on her moral attention to respond to and which to ignore; and it seemed, for some reason, that there were always more of the former than the latter. How can we ignore a cry for help? she asked herself. By steeling our hearts? By closing them?
    She stopped and turned to Jamie, placing a hand on his forearm. Behind him, above the hill, a bird of prey circled watchfully; the evening sun, still with a touch of summer warmth in it, touched the heather with gold. At this time of year in Scotland it would be light until eleven at night; farther north, in the Shetlands, it would never get dark at all; at midnight the
simmer din
would make it possible to read a newspaper outside without strain to the eyes.
    â€œDon’t you want to know what she asked me to do?” He could hardly say no, she thought.
    He sighed. “All right.” They began to walk again, and he added, “But I don’t approve. You know that, don’t you?”
    She held his arm lightly, and began to tell him about her conversation with Stella. Marcus, Stella’s husband, was a doctor.
    â€œWhat sort?” asked Jamie. “Everybody’s a doctor in Edinburgh. Or a lawyer.”
    â€œAn infectious diseases specialist—a very highly regarded one, apparently. Or he used to be highly regarded.” She went on to explain what Stella had told her. Marcus, she said, had been at the forefront of work on MRSA, the so-called superbug, which had been the cause of a growing number of deaths in hospitals.
    â€œApparently quite a few people are carriers of this,” said Isabel. “You or I might quite innocently have it. In our noses, I’m sorry to say. Our systems keep it under control, but we can pass it on to others, who can’t cope with it.”
    Jamie looked down at Charlie, at his tiny nose. “And?”
    â€œAnd he was doing a trial on a new antibiotic,” Isabel continued. “One that can knock this MRSA on the head. A drug company has come up with a pretty good candidate and has been given a licence to produce it in this country. Marcus had been involved in the clinical trials and was monitoring its use