At the Villa of Reduced Circumstances Read Online Free PDF Page B

room with a message and would never have dreamed of so much as sitting down, even if he were to be invited to do so. And yet here was the College Porter, breaking his bread roll on to his plate and engaging in earnest conversation with Dr C. A. D. Wood.
    Von Igelfeld turned discreetly to the Senior Tutor. ‘That person on Dr C. A. D. Wood’s right,’ he said. ‘I have seen him somewhere before, I believe. Could you refresh my memory and tell me who he is?’
    The Senior Tutor peered myopically over the table and then turned back to von Igelfeld. ‘That’s Dr Porter,’ he said. ‘A considerable historian. He works mainly on early Greek communities in the Levant. He wrote a wonderful book on the subject. Never read it myself, but I shall one day.’
    ‘Dr Porter?’ said von Igelfeld, aghast. It occurred to him that he had completely misread the situation and now, with a terrible pang of embarrassment, he remembered that he had tipped Dr Porter for showing him his rooms. The money had been courteously received, but, oh, what a solecism on his part.
    ‘I thought he was
the
Porter,’ said von Igelfeld weakly. ‘He showed me to my rooms. I thought . . . ’
    ‘Oh, he does that from time to time,’ said the Senior Tutor, laughing. ‘It’s his idea of a joke. He gets terribly bored with his Greek communities and he pretends to be the College Porter. He shows tourists round sometimes and gives the tips to the poorer undergraduates to spend on beer. He never pockets them himself.’
    This explanation relieved von Igelfeld of his embarrassment, but embarrassment was now replaced by astonishment and a certain measure of alarm. The English were obviously every bit as eccentric as they were reputed to be, and this meant that further surprises were undoubtedly in store. He would have to be doubly vigilant if he were to avoid either humiliation or, what would be even worse, the commission of some resounding social mistake.
    There was not a great deal of conversation over dinner itself. The Senior Tutor made the occasional remark, and von Igelfeld answered him, but this was hardly a conversational flow. Professor Prentice said a little bit more, but he confined himself to questions about German politicians, of whom von Igelfeld was largely ignorant. Then, shortly after the second course was served, he made a remark about the wine.
    ‘Disgusting wine,’ he said, sniffing ostentatiously at his glass. ‘Ghastly stuff. You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to, Professor von Igelfeld.’
    The Senior Tutor pretended not to hear this remark, but it was clear to von Igelfeld that he had. He bit his lip, almost imperceptibly, and then raised his own glass.
    ‘Carefully chosen wine, you know, von Igelfeld,’ he said, mainly for the benefit of Professor Prentice. ‘Not a wine that would be appreciated by the ignorant – quite the opposite, in fact. When I chose it – and I chose it personally, you know – I had in mind the slightly more
tutored
palate. Not a wine for undergraduates or
ouvriers
, you know. More for people who know what they’re talking about, although, good heavens, there are precious few of those around these days.’
    Von Igelfeld looked down at his glass, at a loss what to do.
    ‘I am looking forward to drinking it,’ he said at last, judging this to be the most tactful remark in the circumstances.
    So the dinner continued, until at last the time came to return to the upstairs common room for coffee and port. There, with the Fellows and guests all seated in a circle, in ladder-backed chairs, the Junior Fellow circulated the port and conversation was resumed.
    ‘Another visitor arrives tomorrow,’ announced the Senior Tutor cheerfully. ‘Our annual lecture on opera – an open lecture funded by the late Count Augusta, an immensely rich Italian who owned a helicopter factory. He studied here briefly as a young man and he left us a great deal of money, which he stipulated should be spent on opera