And yet Nikki and her pale gold hair remained as calm and collected as ever, and her expression as pleasantly open to the world. In her present mood she could cope more effortlessly than ever with any problems that could possibly arise.
When she arrived at Alcmaeon’s Walk to collect Dr. Wilfred for his noon engagement all she could see was a circle of backs, two and three deep, leaning intently forward in complete silence. One of the backs, she noticed at once, was topped by the blond mop she was looking for, and beyond it were his hands — so delicate, so careful — holding something up in the air … A coffee pot … Slowly, slowly they lowered it until it was resting on something else. Which seemed to be a sugar bowl. A sugar bowl floating in the air a foot or two above the table beneath. As she craned farther forward over the watching backs, though, she saw that there was something supporting the sugar bowl. Coffee cups? Yes — four of them, arranged to make a platform. And beneath those four more. And beneath those four another four. And beneath them …
But already Dr. Wilfred’s hands were slowly detaching themselves from the coffee pot. His back was gradually straightening. So were all the backs around him, with a kind of soft collective sigh.
Nikki couldn’t bring herself to break the hush round the delicately teetering tower of chinaware. In any case Mrs. Morton Rinkleman was already making a little speech.
“It’s so inspiring,” she said, “to find someone who knows about science — and who can explain it in a way that we can all understand! No figures, no equations, no funny business about extra dimensions or time going backwards! Just a few coffee cups, a coffee pot, and a bowl of sugar!”
There was a murmur of agreement, and a certain amount of clapping.
“But I still don’t see,” said the same dogged pair of spectacles as before, “what any of this has to do with Wexler’s equation or Theobald’s constant.”
“No,” said Dr. Wilfred, “because we haven’t finished yet. And for the next part of the explanation we need your help. Here — take hold of the edge of the tablecloth.”
“Wait a moment,” said Professor Ditmuss.
“No, don’t wait! Never wait! Just do it! That’s the first rule for getting anything achieved in life. Now, take a good firm grip on the tablecloth. All right? I’ll count up to three, and on ‘three’ you whip the cloth out from underneath it all. Ready? Here we go. One…”
“But…”
“Two…”
“Listen!”
They listened, as Dr. Wilfred’s “Three” was followed by a brief crescendo of breaking china. Nikki and the backs in front of her sprang outwards from the flying white fragments and dark splashes of coffee dregs. Something struck Nikki on her upper arm, then fell at her feet. It was the spout of the coffee pot.
“Exactly!” said Dr. Wilfred. “And that, Professor, is the answer to your question.”
Professor Ditmuss was still holding the tablecloth. He wiped the coffee off his shirt with it. He seemed dazed. He also seemed as if there was something more he wanted to say.
“I’m so sorry!” said Nikki, as he opened his mouth. “Me again! I’m afraid I’m carrying Dr. Wilfred off for his next engagement.”
* * *
“Brilliant,” said Nikki as she led Dr. Wilfred towards Democritus. “Though I arrived a bit too late to really understand what was going on.”
“So,” said Dr. Wilfred, “what’s the next challenge?”
“Drinks with Mrs. Fred Toppler.”
“Shall I do my demonstration with the coffee cups? Or just get into bed with her again?”
“Simply be your normal brilliant self. And remember that my future in this institution does rather depend upon you. Also her friend Mr. Papadopoulou has something of a reputation in this country.”
“A reputation? Does he? For what?”
“In modern Greek philosophy one of the rules for a happy life is: never ask questions about Vassilis Papadopoulou.”
23
I might have guessed, thought Georgie, as Dr. Wilfred appeared round the corner of the house yet again. She turned over onto her stomach and covered herself with the towel, but he vanished into the villa without a word or a glance. She kept the towel over her. He had seemed to be in a state of collapse. But you never knew, in her experience, with even the shakiest old gent.
After a while he emerged with water running off his head once again, and sank slowly down onto the edge of the other lounger, at some distance from her. She kept her head turned warily towards him, her left cheek pressed against the towel she was lying on, her eyes open.
“They’re sending a buggy for me,” he said. “It’s too far to walk. I have to wait for the buggy. I am giving a lecture. This evening. At the foundation. The Fred Toppler Lecture.”
He dragged a scruffy binder out of the flight bag that he was still clutching and held it up for her to see.
“At least I still have the lecture. Everything else has gone. It was all in my suitcase. Someone took my suitcase.” He loosened the damp shirt around his neck. “Clean clothes, toilet bag. I shall have to borrow things from the foundation.”
He wiped his hands on his torn trousers and extracted a phone from his sweaty shirt pocket. He wiped more sweat off his hands.
“So where’s this buggy they’re sending?” he said. “It should be here by now.”
She watched him as he waited with the phone to his ear.
“Or have they forgotten about me?” he said. “Do I actually exist? Or have I somehow vanished like my suitcase?”
For a moment he remained completely still and silent, listening.
“Engaged,” he said. He pressed a button to redial. Another patient pause. Then he let out a sudden howl of fury that made Georgie jump.
“Not in service!” He hurled the phone away from him to the other end of the lounger. It skidded over the edge and disappeared into the pool.
For a moment he sat there, watching the blue reflections of the sky in the water, which lapped gently back and forth, as serene and unconcerned as a lizard that has just swallowed a fly. Then he put his head into his hands and gazed for some minutes at his dusty shoes.
“I’m sorry,” said Georgie. “You’re having a bad time.”
Eventually he lifted his head, and sat gazing at something else. Her beach bag, she realized, and the things that had spilled out of it. One of them was her phone.
“I might be able to remember my PA’s number,” he said humbly.
She switched on the phone and held it up to show him the blankness of the screen. “Battery,” she said.
“Charger?” he said.
“But no adapter.”
He sprang to his feet, energized and reborn.
“I’ve got an adapter!” he said.
“In your suitcase?” she said.
He sank back onto the lounger and looked at his shoes again for a long time. Then he raised his head once more. “The buggy’s going to the guest quarters,” he said. He had become a different person, calm and quiet, like someone recovered from a fever. He looked at the house. “This isn’t the guest quarters,” he said. “It’s nothing to do with the foundation. It’s somebody’s villa. What — yours?”
She nodded. He bowed his head. “I do apologize for my misunderstanding.”
He had become a normal human being. An abnormally quiet one, perhaps. She knew what particular aspect of his trespass he was thinking about, but was too embarrassed to specify: how he had taken possession of not only her house but her bed, and how close he had come to taking possession of her as well. Well, everyone made mistakes. She had made a slight mistake herself. She decided to forgive him, and to put him out of his misery.