Skios

22

Nikki scarcely had time to think about Dr. Wilfred more than twenty times in the course of the morning. She was running between the waterfront and the helipad, the helipad and the airport. There were the usual last-minute problems — a dead cat in the yogurt vat in the kitchens, the lighting and sound truck stuck on a hairpin bend somewhere on the way from the ferry — and the usual last-minute cancellations and changes. His Excellency Sheikh Abdul hilal bin-Taimour bin-Hamud bin-Ali al-Said had decided to bring two more wives than he had previously said. The bishop of the Hesperides Archipelago and Parts of Kronikae and Topikos was threatening to walk out if he found himself at the same table as the president of the Panhellenic Rationalist Association. It didn’t matter too much that the minister of prisons had scratched because of a mass escape of convicts in Patras, but it would if the governor and the chief of police of the Hesperides Periphery felt they had to cancel as well, because Mr. Papadopoulou greatly valued the seal of approval that their presence gave to the occasion, and the assurance against any misunderstandings or overzealousness on the part of the local police force.

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.”