Night Train to Lisbon Read Online Free PDF

“We’ve barely begun our soup. Please join us.”
    â€œI’m terribly sorry,” said the young man. His accent was English, educated, though with a subtle hint of something less fine beneath it. “You see, my friends and I, we were playing whist earlier, and I gather that I fell asleep shortly after the game. Theycame to the early seating, and they didn’t want to wake me, and so I find myself in need of food.”
    â€œIt’s perfectly fine,” said Uncle Lawrence as though he were already bored with the explanation and simply wanted to get on with the meal. Then Lawrence picked up his soup spoon and dipped it into the shallow bowl of consommé.
    â€œI’m Alec Breve,” the young man said to no one in particular. “I promise not to put my elbows on the table or try to eat my peas with a knife.”
    Carson regarded him from her seat at his side. He had a wry smile on his face: crooked again, she noticed. Throughout the remainder of the meal, Alec Breve carried on an animated conversation with Jane and Lawrence. They talked about the situation in Spain, and in Germany, and occasionally Carson put in a few words, but for the most part she felt like someone with almost nothing to say. Everyone else at this table was full of life experience and stories about themselves and their escapades in the world. Alec Breve, she quickly learned, was a physicist at Cambridge University who, with his group of friends, was traveling to an international science conference, where he was going to deliver his first formal paper before an audience.
    â€œI’m quite nervous, actually,” he admitted. “The last time I remember speaking in public was during a school-days performance of Hamlet. ”
    â€œAh,” said Aunt Jane. “Did you play the prince himself?”
    Alec Breve smiled. “Not quite,” he said. “Butthe other fellows tell me I made a simply lovely Ophelia.” He shrugged. “That’s what happens when you attend an all-boys school, as most boys in England do. You’re forced into Shakespearean roles that tend to, well, strain credulity.”
    â€œJust like back when Shakespeare wrote them,” put in Carson.
    â€œYes, that’s right,” said Alec. “No women were allowed onstage in Elizabethan England. Though I daresay, nowadays, there are some wonderful actresses portraying these roles. Even in Portugal this summer, you know, you will be able to catch a Shakespeare play.”
    â€œIs that so?” said Uncle Lawrence.
    â€œWhen I received the literature for my scientific conference,” Alec said, “I was also sent some information about local events and so forth. Seems that a Portuguese troupe will be performing Romeo and Juliet sometime next week. If you’ll be in the area, perhaps you might like to attend.”
    â€œI don’t speak Portuguese,” Carson said.
    â€œDoesn’t matter,” said Alec. “I think you can still get the gist of it. It’s a love story. That’s a fairly international theme.”
    â€œAs a scientist,” said Uncle Lawrence suddenly, lowering his glass of claret, “surely you don’t find yourself entertaining too many questions in your work about the nature of love.”
    â€œPerhaps not,” said Alec. “Though I wish I did. My work tends to be far duller than all that.”
    â€œWhat is the nature of your work?” Uncle Lawrence asked.
    â€œOh, it will only bore you,” said Alec.
    â€œTry me,” Lawrence persisted, and Carson realized she’d never seen her uncle quite so engaged with another person, quite so lively and invested in the conversation. She listened, now, as Alec Breve spoke, noticing how modest he was, how embarrassed he seemed by being the center of attention.
    â€œI’m involved in the study of thermodynamics. I conduct experiments and spend hours recording my findings into a little green