The Lost Art of Gratitude_ An Isabel Dalhousie Novel - Alexander McCall Smith [36]
Isabel struggled to contain her irritation. She had a job to do and she began to tackle it, making her way through Dove’s footnotes and writing down the cited references. The literature on the subject was surprisingly large and Dove was not one to hide his learning under a bushel. Isabel wrote down each citation, noticing that one article, in particular, seemed to have caught Dove’s attention. “Self and Community” had been published in an American review ten years earlier and was the work of one Herbert Ponder, adjunct professor of philosophy at a Southern California university. “Ponder’s defence of the enlightened self-interest position is masterly,” wrote Dove. “Indeed, it is widely regarded as the locus classicus of the argument against pointless involvement in joint action.” It is not enlightened, she said to herself. It is the opposite of everything that the Enlightenment stood for.
Isabel wrote down the reference and returned to the stacks. Professor Ponder’s article had been published in the American Philosophical Quarterly, and she quickly located the relevant volume. Taking it back to her seat at the window, she went straight to the article. Again there were footnotes, though fewer than in Dove’s own piece—four in all, only one of which had a reference to another paper. She noted down the reference, this time to the Canadian Journal of Philosophy, and to an article by a professor from the University of Toronto. Armed with her note, she made her way back to the stacks, replacing the American Philosophical Quarterly in its place as she went past. A, B and then C: the Canadian Journal of Philosophy, special symposium on “Reasons for Action.” She opened the volume and began to read as she walked back to her table. She stopped. It met her eye, leapt from the page, the result of an absurdly long shot. But some long shots come home to roost, just as some metaphors are destined to be mixed. Dove, she thought, you shouldn’t have done this. But you have. And now it is with your own petard that you are hoist.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THERE WAS AN ISSUE that had now become pressing. She had put it off, as one postpones a difficult encounter, a confession or an apology, but she now had to confront it. How would she break the news to Cat that she and Jamie were planning to marry? In the usual run of events, that issue presents itself the other way round, and if anybody worries about announcing a potentially awkward engagement, then it is the niece who worries about the reaction of the aunt. But this was a rather unusual situation, as the aunt does not normally become engaged to the niece’s former boyfriend.
But before Cat was informed, Grace would have to be told. There was no real reason why this should be difficult, but Isabel still found herself feeling anxious about how her housekeeper would react. She had time to think about it, though, as the day following the proposal was Grace’s day off and it was not until a day later that she was able to broach the subject.
“I have something to tell you,” she said to Grace as she came into the kitchen on Tuesday morning.
Grace hung up the lightweight raincoat that she wore throughout the summer, irrespective of the weather; she appeared not to have heard Isabel. “That bus,” she said.
“What bus?”
“My bus. The one I waited twenty minutes for this morning. Twenty minutes!”
Isabel made a sympathetic sound. Grace had strong views on public transport and what she considered its egregious failings.
“I had a word with the driver as I got on,” Grace continued. “I said to him: ‘Do you know how long