Chapter Fourteen
Eddie was waiting for her. He had an assistant with him, a young woman whom Isabel had heard of but not met, a student of Byzantine history who worked odd hours to supplement her income. He took off his apron and signalled to her that she should take over.
“Calypso will handle everything,” he said.
The young woman smiled at Isabel as she took Eddie’s apron. So this is Calypso, thought Isabel, deciding immediately that the name was entirely suitable. The original Calypso, or the one who detained Odysseus for seven years during his long trip home, was reputed to have been exceptionally beautiful—and this Calypso was too, with her silky dark hair and classical profile—features sculpted in straight, descending lines—creating what Isabel would call an ancient beauty; she had a face out of time, she thought.
Calypso noticed Isabel’s glance, and smiled at her again. Isabel looked away, almost guiltily, as one may do when an appreciative glance is intercepted and, as may happen, is misinterpreted. Those who attracted such glances, of course, tended to be used to them, and took them in their stride—and as no less than their due. Jamie, she knew, experienced that virtually every day of his life, and was now, she suspected, largely impervious to the turning of heads. Once again Auden whispered in her ear: “The blessed will not care what angle they are regarded from, having nothing to hide…” That was from “In Praise of Limestone,” a poem that she considered his most sublime achievement. It was true, of course: Most of us have something to hide, if we are honest with ourselves, which, of course, we are not always: some blemish; a side of our profile that makes us look a bit forbidding, perhaps, or possibly sinister—even Count Dracula might have believed one side of his face seemed kinder than the other; a cheek or a forehead on which wrinkles have chosen to concentrate their campaign against youth with particular energy—these are the things we are concerned to conceal. But then there are people like Calypso who, she imagined, would never worry about the lighting under which she would have her photograph taken.
Isabel glanced at Eddie. She wondered what he made of his workmate. She was not sure that Eddie paid particular attention to female beauty, but then she was equally unsure as to whether she really understood this young man. She knew that he had not had an easy start in life, and that something dark and difficult had happened to him, but he had survived that and had grown in confidence. There had been girlfriends, and one of them, Diane, had been serious, although her parents had disapproved of him and the relationship had eventually foundered. He had weathered that, and other, disappointments, but Isabel felt that there was a certain vulnerability there, and she still felt anxious on his behalf. She wanted Eddie to find whatever it was that he wanted in life, but she was not entirely sure that he would.
Eddie invited Isabel to sit down at one of the coffee tables at the back of the deli.
“Would you like a latte?” he asked.
Isabel said that she would, and Eddie signalled to Calypso. She nodded and went over to the coffee machine.
“She makes a mean latte,” Eddie said, adding, proudly, “I taught her how to do designs on the milk.”
Isabel glanced in Calypso’s direction. Her figure, she saw, was well displayed by the stone-coloured leggings she was wearing under a short pinafore dress. These imparted to her body the same sculpted effect that Isabel had noticed in her features. Calypso’s a sculpture…She heard herself saying this to Jamie. He would understand, and say, Yes, that’s exactly what some people are…
“Why are you smiling?” asked Eddie. “Have I said something?”
“No, I was thinking. It was nothing.”
Eddie lowered his voice. “What’s happening down there at Cat’s place?”
Isabel replied that she knew as little as he did—perhaps even less.
“Are the police going to arrest Gordon, do you think?” Eddie asked.
Isabel said that she had no idea. She did not know Gordon very well, she told him, and she thought that there was not much point in speculating as to what the issue was. “I’m sure that Gordon will explain everything when he comes back.”
“If he comes back,” said Eddie. “I think Gordon’s disappeared, Isabel. And Cat too, maybe…”
Isabel said that she thought that highly unlikely. “Cat goes off in a huff sometimes,” she said. “It’s just the way she is. Some people are sensitive, I suppose.”
Eddie gave her a sideways look. “Very sensitive,” he said. And then continued, “But what about their shop?”
“What does Hannah say? Can she spare you?”
Eddie looked anxious. “We’re very busy here today and tomorrow. We’re expecting deliveries. Hannah’s gone to a trade show. Then she has to meet somebody in town and won’t be back until after lunch. I could ask her then.” He gave Isabel an imploring look. “Do you think you could help out here for a day or two?”
Isabel drew in her breath: This was Pelion being piled upon Ossa. “I’ve got rather a lot on my plate at the moment,” she began. “I don’t really know…”
Eddie interrupted her. “Just a couple of days. I’m sure Cat will show up. She may even return tomorrow, and then I’ll be able to come back.”
Isabel frowned. “I have a job, Eddie. You know that. I have my own job and it piles up if I ignore it.” She glanced over towards the counter, where Calypso was putting their two cups of latte onto a tray. “What about Calypso? Can’t she help Hannah?”
“She’s not working tomorrow,” said Eddie. “She has her university work, you see. She can’t be here all the time.”
Isabel thought that surely Byzantine history could wait; after all, Constantinople fell a long time ago. “I see,” she said.
Calypso brought them their coffee, handing Isabel her cup first. In the thick, milky foam she had traced a picture of a thistle. It was skilfully executed. Then she passed Eddie his cup; Isabel noticed that she had decorated it with a heart pierced by one of Cupid’s arrows. Calypso smiled as she handed it to Eddie. “And this is yours, Eddie,” she said. “Specially for you.”
Eddie looked up at her and grinned. Then he glanced at Isabel, to see if she had noticed the design on his latte. Isabel met his gaze briefly, and then looked at Calypso, who was still smiling at Eddie. She’s flirting, she thought. Calypso was flirting with Eddie.
Isabel took a sip of her coffee. She considered what she had just seen. She might be wrong, she thought, but she did not think so. And she was puzzled: What could this extremely attractive, rather sophisticated young Byzantine historian see in Eddie, who had not had much education—not that that was in any way his fault—but who was just so…well, so unlikely a match for her.
Calypso returned to the counter.
“She’s really nice,” Eddie confided in Isabel, his voice lowered to a whisper.
Isabel tried not to show her concern. “Do you get on well with her?” she asked.
“Oh yes,” said Eddie. “And I think she likes me.”
Isabel hesitated, but then she asked, “Would you like to get to know her better?”
She felt immediately embarrassed by her question. It sounded so coy. Get to know her better: Nobody spoke that way any longer.
But Eddie knew what she meant. “Oh yes,” he said. “Do you think she wants me to ask her for a date? Is that why she put that heart on my latte? Do you think that’s why?”
Isabel spoke with caution. “I don’t know, Eddie. It’s hard to tell.” People were far too ready to throw heart symbols and kisses about. Isabel’s hairdresser ended every email, even business ones, with a line of xs. Did she really want to blow kisses to her bank manager or accountant? Not that they might not deserve it, thought Isabel; they might even be touched by the gesture, but there were considerations of emotional continence to bear in mind. When we kiss everyone, then our kisses are devalued. And actors, she thought, might bear that in mind when they addressed everyone, even complete strangers, as darling, as some did.
“But I think perhaps you should be careful,” she continued. “Sometimes people say or do things that they don’t really mean. You need to be careful about jumping to conclusions.”
“I like her a lot,” said Eddie. “She’s really cool.”
Yes, thought Isabel, Calypso was undoubtedly really cool. But Eddie, she thought, was not. No, that was unkind, and she reproached herself silently. There was nothing wrong with Eddie—it was just that there was far too great a disparity, it seemed to her, between where Eddie was in life and where she assumed Calypso was. She had that feel about her of the assured young woman from a monied background: the sort whose parent could easily afford to support a master’s degree in Byzantine history. Calypso had probably already had a gap year in which she had made an expensive, parent-funded trip to work overseas on a conservation project or on the painting of a school that might already have been redecorated a few years back by a group of privileged young people from far away. There were many such over-painted schools in the gap-year latitudes.
She could imagine what Calypso’s life was like. She would be sharing a flat in the New Town somewhere with fellow students, and they were likely to be of the same background. There was nothing wrong with them, but they would have had little experience of Eddie’s world. Eddie’s Edinburgh was not their Edinburgh: He came from a street where options were fewer—and bleaker. It was all just a bit unlikely, and yet…Isabel stopped herself. Why should feeling for another person be affected by social and economic disparities? It was perfectly possible to fall for one whose experience was very different from one’s own; that was because the attraction of one for another was, after all, a simple human attraction that did not have to be dependent on shared experience. It was the basis of uncountable romantic stories: a relationship across a divide created by parents or by wider society. It was a story of caste, and the cruelties that accompanied that sort of dividing up of society; a story that we all hoped would end in victory for the lovers, which sometimes happened, but more often did not.
But was Calypso serious about Eddie? Isabel realised that she was getting ahead of herself. All she had seen was a mild flirtatiousness; all she had heard were some wistful remarks from Eddie. And at the back of her mind was Jamie’s advice about not concerning herself with matters that were none of her business. People made unwise decisions in their private lives—that was their affair and it was not for her to give them unasked-for advice. But then she thought: Eddie asked me what I thought. He involved me.
“So,” said Eddie. “Can you?”
Isabel put down her cup. “It doesn’t look as if I have much choice.”
“I’d be really grateful. And I’ll pay you back somehow—promise.” He grinned at her, and she noticed that one of his teeth, a top molar, was slightly crooked. But that, she felt, was only human: Isabel had never been entirely sure of the justification for cosmetic dentistry, not being convinced that physical perfection did anything to enhance character—or appearance. Features could be too regular; smiles could be too unflawed. Vanity, she thought, was in the list of the major vices, but perhaps that was an outdated view in the Age of Identity. People saw no reason why they should accept the flesh to which they were heir if the creation of a different physical person was a possibility. And was there anything inherently wrong in that? It would make, she thought, a good topic for a special issue of the journal: The Ethics of Cosmetic Surgery, with a leading contribution from Christopher Dove, no less, who was notoriously vain.
Looking now at Eddie, Isabel relented. She did not wish to be grudging. “You don’t have to pay me back,” she said. “I’m perfectly happy to help out.”
Eddie leaned forward. “You’ll have the chance to work with Calypso this afternoon,” he said. “You’ll like that.”
She wanted to smile, but restrained herself. “Will I?”
“Yes, of course. Calypso’s great, Isabel. She’s…she’s…” He frowned as he searched for the right words. “She’s seriously smart. She knows everything. Ask her…ask her anything. She’ll blow your mind.”
Isabel raised an eyebrow. “Blow my mind?”
“Big time,” said Eddie.
“Well, that’s a thought,” said Isabel, imagining her brain expanding suddenly into a Roy Lichtenstein flash of red and yellow. Did Eddie see the world that way: a place in which WOW, in large, jagged letters, hung above moments of emotional intensity.
Eddie looked at her with the bright eyes of his age. “I’m telling you, Isabel: She’s cosmic.”
“Cosmic?”
“Yes. Slay.”
Isabel had no idea what slay meant. She might have asked him, but the context, it occurred to her, shone a light on its meaning. Of course Calypso was slay—one only had to look at her to realise that slay was exactly what she was. She suddenly found herself wanting to put her arm around Eddie—this rather unprepossessing young man, with all his uncertainty, his puppy-like manner, and his innocent resort to the shifting argot of youth. She wanted to protect him from the harm that the world seemed to be so determined to cook up for people like him. And some of that harm, in the case of somebody as vulnerable as Eddie, could include being led on by more worldly-wise women who were more or less certainly thinking of no more than a brief affair.
She told Eddie that she would return at lunchtime to release him so that he could go down the road to open Cat’s shop for the afternoon. Now she walked back to the house, lost in thought. She felt angry with Cat for absenting herself so abruptly; she felt angry, too, with Gordon for doing much the same thing. There were other possible targets for her antipathy and frustration: Professor Lettuce and Marcus Grant; the squabbling members of the book group; Calypso; Dawn, for her ill manners; the list was a growing one. But then she pulled herself short: Negative feelings towards others were corrosive—it was as simple as that. Forgiveness and reconciliation, tolerance and acceptance were the notes to which one should tune. If she had learned anything from her years of doing philosophy, surely it was that—a simple, home-spun truth that you did not have to be a philosopher to realise. She would not allow distaste to corrupt her, and that meant that she would make an effort to like Calypso when she worked with her that afternoon: That was her moral duty, for agape, as the Greeks called that pure love of others, Isabel had often told herself, is what we should both profess and practise, whatever the temptations might be in the other direction.
And suddenly it occurred to her that here was the solution to the challenges which this chapter of complications had foisted upon her: love—and, in particular, that disinterested and unselfish love of others, agape—unconditional love, as it tended to be—that was the answer to everything from the unhappy book group to the machinations of Robert Lettuce and his cousin Marcus Grant; from the enigma of Dawn to the trying unreasonableness of Cat and her disappearing lover, Gordon—agape was the solution, and its implementation was down to her, as it is, she suddenly thought, to all of us.
The deli was busy that afternoon, just as Eddie had predicted. Hannah called to say that she would be unable to be back until the following day—would Isabel and Calypso be able to manage? Isabel assured her that they would.
“You’re a star, Isabel.”
Isabel demurred. “You’d do the same for me.”
There was a brief hesitation at the other end of the line before Hannah said, “I hope I would.”
“And anyway,” Isabel continued, “I have a certain responsibility…”
She left the sentence unfinished. Neither of them wanted to be more specific: Isabel had rescued the deli financially after Cat and Leo had gone off to live on the other side of the country, putting Hannah in charge and saving Eddie’s job, but she never mentioned this. Good works, she felt, were not to be openly discussed—at least by those who performed them. And those who benefitted, of course, were often also silent, sometimes from resentment. Beneficence sometimes shames us, Isabel had heard one of her philosophy lecturers say, and she had remembered it. It was true: Some would prefer to manage without the kindness of others.
They worked independently, although Calypso occasionally asked for advice on the contents of various salamis and the provenance of the more obscure cheeses. She was squeamish in the use of a knife and refused to use the ham-slicer, shuddering at the sight of the gleaming, spinning blade.
“I’m so useless,” she said to Isabel.
“I don’t think you are,” Isabel replied.
“But I am. All I can do is Byzantine history.”
Isabel laughed. She was warming to Calypso, and when, in a quiet moment, they managed to snatch a cup of coffee together, she began to ask her about her life in Edinburgh. As she had imagined, Calypso shared a flat with other students, and it was, as she’d suspected, in the New Town. But those, she reminded herself, were externals.
“And why Byzantine history?” she asked.
“We went to Istanbul when I was fifteen,” she said. “I fell in love with it. The great souk. Hagia Sophia. The ships going through the Bosphorus. It was a heady mixture.” She paused. “And my name, of course. I know your name shouldn’t make a difference, but mine did. I had a Greek grandmother, you see. That’s why I’m called Calypso.”
Isabel hesitated. “Eddie,” she said.
A broad smile spread across Calypso’s face. “He’s a sweetie, isn’t he.”
Isabel was cautious. “Yes. He is.”
There was a silence. After a few moments, Isabel continued, “I’ve known him for some time, of course.”
Calypso nodded. “He told me. He has nothing but praise for you.”
“Perhaps he hasn’t noticed my shortcomings.” Isabel paused. “It hasn’t been easy for him, you know.”
Calypso looked concerned. “What hasn’t?”
“Life. Everything.”
Calypso waited.
“He’s very vulnerable,” Isabel continued, wondering whether to leave it at that. But she decided to continue, “I must admit I was a bit concerned that…” She stopped herself, uncertain as to whether to go any further. But she was committed now, and so she went on, “I was a bit concerned that Eddie might, well, might be falling for you.”
Calypso’s expression was one of complete surprise. “For me?” she exclaimed. “Eddie falling for me?”
It was obvious now to Isabel that she had misread the situation more or less completely. What had struck her as flirtatious behaviour was probably no more than platonic affection. Eddie was precisely the sort of young man whom women might want to mother. There was nothing more than that in Calypso’s gesture with the heart in the coffee.
She wanted to back-pedal. “I may be wrong,” she said hurriedly. “And I’m not suggesting you were encouraging him.”
“I wasn’t,” Calypso blurted out.
“It’s just that a young man like Eddie might misunderstand,” Isabel continued. “In fact, I think that’s exactly what he’s done.”
Calypso looked aghast. “I didn’t intend that to happen.”
“I’m sure you didn’t.”
Calypso gave Isabel a searching look. “So, what can I do? Should I speak to him?”
Isabel took a final sip of her coffee. Sooner or later, customers would come into the deli and their coffee break would have to come to an end. She considered what Calypso had said. Verbalisation precedes resolution…Yes, but verbalisation here would have only one result, she thought: Eddie’s confidence would be dented. Any rebuff by Calypso, however gently put, would dent his fragile confidence; Isabel was sure of that. Eddie would be hurt.
Calypso now answered her own question. “I need to disappear.”
Isabel waited for her to explain.
“I don’t want to hurt him,” Calypso continued. “That’s the last thing I want. So I have to come up with something. I have to go away.”
Isabel opened her mouth to say something, but Calypso had more to say. “I don’t need this job,” she said. “I’ve been offered something on the other side of town—a part-time job in Valvona & Crolla. You know that deli off Leith Walk? I can pick up a few shifts a week with them. It would be easier to get to, anyway.”
“But what would you tell Eddie?”
“I’d just say I was taking a break. He’d forget about me if we weren’t seeing one another regularly. It would die a natural death. Finished.”
Isabel was not sure about that. “What if he calls you?”
“Calls don’t have to be returned. Not always.” She looked away guiltily. “Does that make me sound heartless? I suppose it does. But what can I do? It’s just that I think it would be gentler to do it this way.”
Isabel was silent. Then she said, “No, you don’t sound heartless. Not at all.” Calypso was not to blame here, but that did not stop her wondering whether her own intervention, well-intentioned though it was, had simply made matters worse. What if Eddie found out that she had spoken to Calypso about him and had triggered this radical response, would he not blame her for derailing his incipient affair? And how would Hannah react to the news that Calypso would suddenly no longer be available to work in the deli? There were plenty of students in Edinburgh, and some of them might welcome a part-time job in a deli, but a new member of staff would have to be trained and might, as was sometimes the case with students, be an unreliable timekeeper.
They closed the deli shortly before six, a few minutes earlier than usual. Isabel walked back to the house slowly. Earlier on in the day she had felt optimistic that her difficulties were surmountable. Now she looked, and felt, disconsolate as she opened the door and went inside, observed, although she had not even noticed him, by Brother Fox in the fastness of his rhododendron bush.