-Titulo Original : The Geometry Of Holding Hands An Isabel Dalhousie Novel (13) (isabel Dalhousie Series)
-Fabricante :
Anchor
-Descripcion Original:
Isabel finds herself entangled in some tricky familial and financial situations that will require all of her kindness, charm, and philosophical expertise to navigate. Just when Isabel and Jamie finally seem to have some time to connect and unwind, a wealthy Edinburgh resident comes to Isabel with an unusual request-he would like her to become the executor of his large Highland estate. He has only a short time to live and, without any direct heirs, is struggling to determine which of his three cousins would be the best caretaker. Should the estate go to the bohemian artist, the savvy city property developer, or the quiet, unassuming bachelor? And all the while, Isabel is also busy helping her niece, Cat, who, though perennially unlucky in love, appears to have finally found her match in the leonine Leo. But Isabel is beginning to suspect that Leo might be interested in more than Cat’s charms-namely, her access to the family trust. Isabel will need to rely upon her remarkable reserves of intelligence and compassion in order to give all parties exactly what they want and deserve-no more and no less. About the Author ALEXANDER McCALL SMITH is the author of The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency novels and of a number of other series and stand-alone books. His works have been translated into more than forty languages and have been best sellers throughout the world. He lives in Scotland. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Chapter OneWe deserve it, don’t we?” said Isabel Dalhousie, half in jest-but only half.On the other side of the kitchen table, her husband, Jamie- whom she still thought of as her lover, as he thought of her too-was engaged in feeding their younger son, Magnus, a mixture of boiled egg and yoghurt. It was an unlikely dish, not one to be found in any cookbook of children’s food, but one that Magnus clearly enjoyed, at least judging by the way he waved his arms with delight whenever it was offered to him. Magnus had developed a habit of waving his arms that Jamie, in particular, found endearing. “He’s destined to be a conductor,” he announced proudly. “That’s the first sign. Daniel Barenboim must have waved his arms exactly like that when he was a baby.”“Be careful what you wish for,” Isabel had cautioned. “Would you want Magnus to grow into Toscanini?”Jamie laughed. As a professional musician, he had experienced his fair share of difficult and irascible conductors. Conductors could be bullies and fly into rages. “Perhaps not,” he said. “Unless that’s what he wanted.” He looked intently at Magnus, who stared back at him. “Would you like to be like Arturo Toscanini, my wee darling?”Magnus transferred his gaze to the bowl from which his father had been feeding him.“I read that as a no,” he said.“Grub first, then music,” said Isabel. “To parody Brecht.”Jamie picked up a spoon. He had stumbled upon the combination by mistake, when he had inadvertently emptied a carton of yoghurt into a bowl already containing chopped-up boiled egg. “I discovered it in the same way in which Sir Alexander Fleming discovered penicillin,” he said. “He left a Petri dish on a windowsill, didn’t he? And in floated the mould. Serendipity, I think they call it.”Now, as the last remnants of œuf au yaourt, as he called it, was scraped off the side of the bowl and offered to Magnus, Jamie thought about Isabel’s question. They had been talking about their planned evening out, and Isabel, who tended to engage in moral self-examination in circumstances in which others would not bother, was now wondering about how they might justify a night out at an expensive restaurant.Jamie looked across the table and grinned. “Are you worried about spending the money?” he asked. “This place . . . what’s it called?”“Casa Trimalchio . . . I think.” She hesitated. “It made me think of Trimalchio’s Feast, of course. Petronius, the Satyricon. Remember?”Jamie shook his head. His classical education had s
-Fabricante :
Anchor
-Descripcion Original:
Isabel finds herself entangled in some tricky familial and financial situations that will require all of her kindness, charm, and philosophical expertise to navigate. Just when Isabel and Jamie finally seem to have some time to connect and unwind, a wealthy Edinburgh resident comes to Isabel with an unusual request-he would like her to become the executor of his large Highland estate. He has only a short time to live and, without any direct heirs, is struggling to determine which of his three cousins would be the best caretaker. Should the estate go to the bohemian artist, the savvy city property developer, or the quiet, unassuming bachelor? And all the while, Isabel is also busy helping her niece, Cat, who, though perennially unlucky in love, appears to have finally found her match in the leonine Leo. But Isabel is beginning to suspect that Leo might be interested in more than Cat’s charms-namely, her access to the family trust. Isabel will need to rely upon her remarkable reserves of intelligence and compassion in order to give all parties exactly what they want and deserve-no more and no less. About the Author ALEXANDER McCALL SMITH is the author of The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency novels and of a number of other series and stand-alone books. His works have been translated into more than forty languages and have been best sellers throughout the world. He lives in Scotland. Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Chapter OneWe deserve it, don’t we?” said Isabel Dalhousie, half in jest-but only half.On the other side of the kitchen table, her husband, Jamie- whom she still thought of as her lover, as he thought of her too-was engaged in feeding their younger son, Magnus, a mixture of boiled egg and yoghurt. It was an unlikely dish, not one to be found in any cookbook of children’s food, but one that Magnus clearly enjoyed, at least judging by the way he waved his arms with delight whenever it was offered to him. Magnus had developed a habit of waving his arms that Jamie, in particular, found endearing. “He’s destined to be a conductor,” he announced proudly. “That’s the first sign. Daniel Barenboim must have waved his arms exactly like that when he was a baby.”“Be careful what you wish for,” Isabel had cautioned. “Would you want Magnus to grow into Toscanini?”Jamie laughed. As a professional musician, he had experienced his fair share of difficult and irascible conductors. Conductors could be bullies and fly into rages. “Perhaps not,” he said. “Unless that’s what he wanted.” He looked intently at Magnus, who stared back at him. “Would you like to be like Arturo Toscanini, my wee darling?”Magnus transferred his gaze to the bowl from which his father had been feeding him.“I read that as a no,” he said.“Grub first, then music,” said Isabel. “To parody Brecht.”Jamie picked up a spoon. He had stumbled upon the combination by mistake, when he had inadvertently emptied a carton of yoghurt into a bowl already containing chopped-up boiled egg. “I discovered it in the same way in which Sir Alexander Fleming discovered penicillin,” he said. “He left a Petri dish on a windowsill, didn’t he? And in floated the mould. Serendipity, I think they call it.”Now, as the last remnants of œuf au yaourt, as he called it, was scraped off the side of the bowl and offered to Magnus, Jamie thought about Isabel’s question. They had been talking about their planned evening out, and Isabel, who tended to engage in moral self-examination in circumstances in which others would not bother, was now wondering about how they might justify a night out at an expensive restaurant.Jamie looked across the table and grinned. “Are you worried about spending the money?” he asked. “This place . . . what’s it called?”“Casa Trimalchio . . . I think.” She hesitated. “It made me think of Trimalchio’s Feast, of course. Petronius, the Satyricon. Remember?”Jamie shook his head. His classical education had s
