Read Online At the Reunion Buffet by Alexander McCall Smith - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Alexander McCall Smith
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if you do, you must recognize that this is serious.”
He made a show of sitting up straight, and chastened.
“Barbara Grant had bullied a girl called Jenny Maxwell. Jenny died—it was suicide, but that happened some years later. It was more to do with a man behaving badly than with Barbara’s persecution of her. Anyway, she came to the reunion to apologize to Jenny.”
Jamie had stopped smiling. “Too late.”
“I had to tell her that.”
His face fell. “Oh, Isabel, what a…”
“Yes,” she said. “It wasn’t pleasant. But then…”
“I don’t see how this story can end happily.”
“Well it does,” said Isabel. “I spoke to Eleanor and told her that when Barbara came to her she had to accept her apology.”
“And what did she think of that?”
“She laughed at me. To begin with. Then I told her what Barbara had told me about herself. At first she didn’t want me to reveal it, but then she said I could—just before we went to see Eleanor.”
“What happened?”
“I promised Barbara I wouldn’t tell anybody else.”
“But you told Eleanor?”
“I persuaded Barbara to let me tell her.”
“And that changed Eleanor’s attitude?”
“It did.”
Jamie asked what had happened then. Isabel thought for a moment, remembering her surprise and her subsequent relief. “Something rather unusual,” she said.“I think that when she heard about Barbara’s situation—about what had happened to her—she felt a very simple human thing, the prompting of mercy. People don’t talk about mercy very much these days—it has a rather old-fashioned ring to it. But it exists and its power is quite extraordinary.”
“Yes?”
“Yes. Mercy comes before actual forgiveness. You feel sorry for somebody. You understand the other’s suffering and you forego anything that will make that worse. Mercy means saying: you shall not suffer the thing you fear—I will not make you do that.”
“I see.”
“And it’s the most wonderful thing to witness, Jamie—the actual showing of mercy. It makes me want to cry when I see it.”
She studied Jamie’s face. He would always be merciful, she thought; it was not in him to be vengeful.
“And then,” she continued, “something quite extraordinary happened. You want to know what it was? Forgiveness broke out. I think that’s the way I’d put it: it broke out. It was like stepping into the sun—you could actually feel it.”
For a few moments she and Jamie stared at one another.
“So a reunion,” he said at last, “can have a point.”
“This one has,” said Isabel.
He nodded. “I can see that. And I’m glad.”
“So am I.”
He raised an eyebrow. “All sorted?”
“Mostly,” she said. “Barbara must feel relieved, and Eleanor must feel, well, she must feel quite a bit better too. Forgiving somebody—which she has done—improves everything.”
He looked thoughtful. “What music goes with what you’ve told me? You know how I like to link things with music.”
She did know that. “You tell me,” she said.
“Mozart?” he said. “
Soave
?”
She smiled. He knew.
“I can play a version on the piano and you can think of the words,” he said. “One person can’t sing a trio.”
“No, one person can’t,” said Isabel.
They went into the music room.
He fills a room with his lovely presence
, thought Isabel—as does love, and forgiveness, and friendship.
“
Soave sia il vento
,” said Jamie, as he took his seat at the piano. “
May the breeze that carries you on your journey be a gentle one
.”
After he finished playing, he closed the lid of the piano, stood up and stretched his arms. And it was at this point that Isabel remembered something that Claire Sutherland had said at lunch. She had not been paying particular attention, but now it came back to her. Claire had made a remark about Barbara’s younger sister. “She became an actress,” she said. “Apparently she’s quite a good actress.”
Isabel had not
He made a show of sitting up straight, and chastened.
“Barbara Grant had bullied a girl called Jenny Maxwell. Jenny died—it was suicide, but that happened some years later. It was more to do with a man behaving badly than with Barbara’s persecution of her. Anyway, she came to the reunion to apologize to Jenny.”
Jamie had stopped smiling. “Too late.”
“I had to tell her that.”
His face fell. “Oh, Isabel, what a…”
“Yes,” she said. “It wasn’t pleasant. But then…”
“I don’t see how this story can end happily.”
“Well it does,” said Isabel. “I spoke to Eleanor and told her that when Barbara came to her she had to accept her apology.”
“And what did she think of that?”
“She laughed at me. To begin with. Then I told her what Barbara had told me about herself. At first she didn’t want me to reveal it, but then she said I could—just before we went to see Eleanor.”
“What happened?”
“I promised Barbara I wouldn’t tell anybody else.”
“But you told Eleanor?”
“I persuaded Barbara to let me tell her.”
“And that changed Eleanor’s attitude?”
“It did.”
Jamie asked what had happened then. Isabel thought for a moment, remembering her surprise and her subsequent relief. “Something rather unusual,” she said.“I think that when she heard about Barbara’s situation—about what had happened to her—she felt a very simple human thing, the prompting of mercy. People don’t talk about mercy very much these days—it has a rather old-fashioned ring to it. But it exists and its power is quite extraordinary.”
“Yes?”
“Yes. Mercy comes before actual forgiveness. You feel sorry for somebody. You understand the other’s suffering and you forego anything that will make that worse. Mercy means saying: you shall not suffer the thing you fear—I will not make you do that.”
“I see.”
“And it’s the most wonderful thing to witness, Jamie—the actual showing of mercy. It makes me want to cry when I see it.”
She studied Jamie’s face. He would always be merciful, she thought; it was not in him to be vengeful.
“And then,” she continued, “something quite extraordinary happened. You want to know what it was? Forgiveness broke out. I think that’s the way I’d put it: it broke out. It was like stepping into the sun—you could actually feel it.”
For a few moments she and Jamie stared at one another.
“So a reunion,” he said at last, “can have a point.”
“This one has,” said Isabel.
He nodded. “I can see that. And I’m glad.”
“So am I.”
He raised an eyebrow. “All sorted?”
“Mostly,” she said. “Barbara must feel relieved, and Eleanor must feel, well, she must feel quite a bit better too. Forgiving somebody—which she has done—improves everything.”
He looked thoughtful. “What music goes with what you’ve told me? You know how I like to link things with music.”
She did know that. “You tell me,” she said.
“Mozart?” he said. “
Soave
?”
She smiled. He knew.
“I can play a version on the piano and you can think of the words,” he said. “One person can’t sing a trio.”
“No, one person can’t,” said Isabel.
They went into the music room.
He fills a room with his lovely presence
, thought Isabel—as does love, and forgiveness, and friendship.
“
Soave sia il vento
,” said Jamie, as he took his seat at the piano. “
May the breeze that carries you on your journey be a gentle one
.”
After he finished playing, he closed the lid of the piano, stood up and stretched his arms. And it was at this point that Isabel remembered something that Claire Sutherland had said at lunch. She had not been paying particular attention, but now it came back to her. Claire had made a remark about Barbara’s younger sister. “She became an actress,” she said. “Apparently she’s quite a good actress.”
Isabel had not
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