Unusual Uses for Olive Oil by Alexander McCall Smith Page A

again. Some other day perhaps.’
    ‘No, please don’t do that,’ said Prinzel. ‘Come into the salon while Ophelia finishes with her preparations. Our other guest is yet to arrive. I expect she’ll be here in about ten minutes or so.’
    ‘About then,’ said Ophelia. ‘That would be normal.’
    Prinzel led the way through a corridor to the salon. In this corridor, opposite a coat rack, was a long, ebony-framed mirror, hung on the wall. It was positioned in such a way as to allow one to adjust one’s clothing before setting out, and von Igelfeld could not resist giving his blue-fleck Scottish suit an admiring glance as he walked past. He froze. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the back of his jacket had a hole in it, and through this hole could be seen not only the shirt he was wearing but also the braces that he was using to keep his trousers up. And worse than that – a quick, discreet movement to the jacket revealed that the seat of the trousers was similarly afflicted. Moths, he thought.
    ‘Everything all right?’ asked Prinzel from the end of the corridor.
    Von Igelfeld dragged himself away from the mirror and walked briskly down to where his host was standing. ‘Perfectly all right,’ he said, adding, to cover his dismay, ‘I must say, Herr Prinzel, that you have made a very fine home of this house.’
    Prinzel beamed with pleasure. ‘Ophelia has a very good eye for decoration,’ he said. ‘She tells me that when she was a little girl she used to spend many hours decorating and redecorating a large doll’s house that she had. Perhaps her ability stems from those days.’
    Von Igelfeld nodded. He was thinking of what he could possibly do to deal with the embarrassing holes that he had discovered. He wondered if he should simply confide in his hosts and ask Ophelia whether she had needle and thread to pull the gaping fabric together. But if he did that, he would have to remove his trousers and hand them over to her to carry out the emergency repairs. And what if Frau Benz arrived and discovered that the other guest had already removed his trousers? She would wonder, surely, what sort of dinner party she had been invited to and, as a respectable widow, would surely leave immediately; unless, of course, Ophelia drew her aside and explained to her the real reason for the removal of the trousers. But then she would think, no doubt, that it was very odd that a guest should come to a dinner party in such a state in the first place. She moved in circles, no doubt, where people did not have holes in their clothes, at least not in Germany; British gentry, of course, regarded it as entirely appropriate and indeed a mark of distinction to have shabby clothing, but then the British were very notably odd about this and most other matters.
    ‘You’ll have an aperitif, Herr von Igelfeld?’ Prinzel asked. ‘A vermouth perhaps? Or should I offer you a choice between French or German wine? Both are available.’
    ‘Then I shall have German,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘Rhenish, if you have it. The French need no encouragement.’
    ‘Indeed not,’ agreed Prinzel. ‘There are many people who need no encouragement, and the French are certainly among them.’
    Prinzel left the room to fetch the glasses, leaving his guest alone. Looking about him, von Igelfeld searched the room for a possible solution to the problem of the holes in his clothes. He could not expect to find a needle and thread – not in a salon – and anyway, if he did, he had no idea how to use them. Perhaps there would be some sort of paper clip that would do the trick; there was a writing bureau in one corner of the room and that would be an obvious place for such a thing. Moving quickly, he crossed the room, opened the top drawer of the bureau, and rifled through the contents. There were envelopes, letters, a stick of sealing wax – the typical paraphernalia of a writing bureau drawer. There were no paper clips.
    ‘Are you looking for