‘No,’ said Plank. ‘I gather that German is spelled as you pronounce it. Curious, but there we are.’
‘So how do you spell Plank?’ asked Matthew Gurewitsch.
‘Haughland,’ said Plank.
Von Igelfeld could not conceal his astonishment. ‘Haughland?’
‘Indeed,’ said Haughland (voce, Plank). ‘It’s an old family from the eastern fens somewhere. Virtually in the water.’
‘But your humour remained dry,’ observed Matthew Gurewitsch.
This remark brought silence, which was only broken when Dr C. A. D. Wood rose to her feet to leave.
‘I have to go, Plank,’ she said curtly. And then, more genially: ‘Good afternoon, Professor von Igelfeld. Good afternoon, Mr Gurewitsch. I look forward to seeing you at dinner.’
That afternoon, von Igelfeld spent several very rewarding hours with the Hughes-Davitt Bequest before returning to his rooms to write a letter to Prinzel.
‘This is an extraordinary place,’ he wrote. ‘Nothing is as it seems. However, I am immensely pleased with the Library and with the Hughes-Davitt Bequest, which has some first-rate material, wasted in this country, if you ask me; it would be far better looked after in Germany. However, at least I can put it into some sort of order and I shall eventually publish a paper on it. So my time here will be well-spent.
‘However, there is the issue of my colleagues. So far I have not met one, not one, who would survive in a proper German academic institution, apart from the other visitor at the moment, Mr Matthew Gurewitsch from New York. He is very well-informed and has a fund of information about operatic matters. I fear that he may not be properly appreciated here, but we shall see what sort of response he gets to his lecture at the beginning of next week. Poor man! The mathematicians and the like who live in the College are unlikely to understand what he has to say; for the most part their minds are taken up with mathematical disputes and with plotting against one another. This has made the Master a nervous wreck, and indeed he is close to tears most of the time.
‘How I long to be back in Germany, where everything is so solid and dependable. How I long to be back in the Institute common room, exchanging views with my colleagues. I am even missing Unterholzer, although I cannot quite bring myself to write to him yet. Perhaps next week. Please make sure, by the way, that he does not try to take my room while I am away. I know that he would like to do this, as he has done it in the past. I am counting on you to see that it does not happen.
‘In this pallid land, then, I remain, Your friend eternally, Moritz-Maria von Igelfeld.’
He posted the letter in the College post-box, and then, it being a pleasant evening, he went for a stroll through the Fellows’ Garden and out along the river. The Fellows’ Garden was peaceful, in a way that only an English garden can be peaceful, and even the thought of de Courcey’s detached skull did not disturb the feeling of rus in urbe which the garden encouraged. He found the giant wisteria bush which the Master had mentioned, and he found, too, a magnificent fuchsia hedge which ran along the southern boundary of the garden. There were benches, too, carved stone benches on which weary Fellows might sit and enjoy the flowers and shrubs, and it was on one of these that von Igelfeld was seated when he heard footsteps on the gravel behind him. He turned round, jolted out of a pleasant reverie in which he was back in Italy, in Tuscany, with the smell of lavender and rosemary on the breeze. Dr C. A. D. Wood and Dr Hall were bearing down upon him along the small path that cut through the lavender beds.
‘Ah, there you are Professor von Igelfeld,’ said Dr C. A. D. Wood. ‘Hall and I were hoping to find you. Dr Porter said that he had seen you through his binoculars – he likes to watch the garden, you know. Nothing better to do, I suppose.’
The two Fellows joined him on his bench. As they sat down, the bench tilted slightly in the direction of Dr Hall, and von Igelfeld had to move over quickly towards Dr C. A. D. Wood in order to stop the entire party being tipped over.
‘You have a beautiful garden,’ said von Igelfeld conversationally.
‘Yes,’ said Dr Hall. ‘And I find it best at this time of year – very early autumn, even if the colour is diminishing somewhat.’
‘It’s a good place to talk,’ said Dr C. A. D. Wood. ‘There’s no chance of the Master interrupting one’s conversation. He suffers from hay fever, and so this is the place where we go when we need to talk about anything important.’
‘I would not wish to prevent you,’ said von Igelfeld, beginning to rise to his feet.
Dr C. A. D. Wood pulled him back on to the bench. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Please don’t go. We actually wanted to talk to you, didn’t we, Hall?’
Dr Hall nodded. ‘That’s why we came out here. We wanted to have a quiet word with you.’
Von Igelfeld said nothing. Was this the plotting which the Master had warned him about?
‘It’s about the Augusta lecture,’ said Dr C. A. D. Wood. ‘The opera lecture.’
‘I am looking forward to it immensely,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘Mr Matthew Gurewitsch has some very interesting ideas. I suspect that he will be controversial.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Dr C. A. D. Wood quickly. ‘He was a good choice. That’s why I hope that he has the chance to deliver his lecture.’
Von Igelfeld was confused. Why should there be any question about that? Mr Matthew Gurewitsch had arrived safely from New York and was all prepared to deliver the lecture, which he had already discussed with von Igelfeld. He could not see why any difficulties should arise.
Sensing his confusion, Dr C. A. D. Wood continued. ‘The problem is that there are those who are keen to stop the lecture from taking place. There are those who are implacably opposed to opera on ideological grounds. They want the lecture to be more socially relevant. They want the money so kindly left by Count Augusta to be used for the advancement of knowledge in a quite different sphere – agricultural economics, for example. They seem to object in some way to the fact that the money was made from a helicopter factory near Bologna.’
She paused, watching von Igelfeld for his reaction.
‘But that’s outrageous,’ burst out von Igelfeld. ‘What possible difference does it make that Count Augusta had a helicopter factory? That is quite irrelevant, I would have thought.’
Dr Hall nodded vigorously. ‘Somebody has to make helicopters,’ he pointed out.
‘Exactly,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘But quite apart from that, their objection disturbs the settled intention of Count Augusta, who surely had the right to decide what his money should be used for. That is a point of principle.’
‘Principle,’ echoed Dr Hall, tapping the edge of the stone bench with a slightly fleshy finger.
‘It would also be discourteous, to say the least,’ continued von Igelfeld, ‘for the invitation to Mr Matthew Gurewitsch to be withdrawn at this late stage, or indeed at any stage, once it had been issued.’
‘Our thoughts precisely,’ said Dr Hall unctuously, smoothing his hair as he did so. ‘It’s quite unacceptable behaviour, in our view.’
‘But who can be behind it?’ asked von Igelfeld. ‘Who could possibly dream up something so base?’
‘Plank,’ said Dr C. A. D. Wood in a quiet voice.
‘Haughland (Plank),’ said Dr Hall. ‘Haughland is Chairman of the Fellows’ Committee. It’s a very influential position, and if the Fellows’ Committee decides to cancel Mr Matthew Gurewitsch’s lecture, then there’s nothing anybody can do about it.’
‘But surely the Committee would never agree to that,’ protested von Igelfeld. ‘There must be other members who would vote against such a suggestion.’
Dr Hall nodded his agreement. ‘Yes, there are other members, but they are weak. The Master, for instance, is on the Committee, but he always votes with Plank because Plank is in a position to blackmail him over something or other which happened years ago. So he would never stand up to him. Then there’s Dr Porter, who lives in a world of his own imagination and who simply can’t be predicted, either way. And Dr McGrew, who owes Plank money, and so on. So you see that even if the majority of the Fellows are against Plank, he happens to control that Committee.’