Unusual Uses for Olive Oil by Alexander McCall Smith Page B

anything in particular, Herr von Igelfeld?’
    Von Igelfeld froze. Then slowly he turned round to see Prinzel standing in the doorway, a glass of wine in each hand. His eyes were fixed on the open drawer.
    ‘I was looking for a piece of paper,’ said von Igelfeld, slamming the drawer shut as he spoke.
    It was clear that Prinzel did not believe him. ‘Butwhy would you need paper, Herr von Igelfeld? Were you thinking of beginning an article for the
Zeitschrift
perhaps?’
    Von Igelfeld laughed nervously. ‘That would be very unusual!’ he joked. ‘One does not normally write an article at a social occasion!’
    ‘Exactly,’ said Prinzel. ‘So why would one need paper?’
    ‘I wanted to make a few notes,’ said von Igelfeld. He tried to sound careless, as if taking notes in such circumstances was a matter of the slightest consequence.
    Prinzel approached him with his glass of wine. ‘On what?’ he asked.
    ‘A few lines occurred to me,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘One does not want to let these things escape. Pascal must have had a similar approach with his
Pensées
, don’t you think? He must have jotted down the
pensées
as they occurred to him, otherwise he would have forgotten.’
    Prinzel passed von Igelfeld his glass. ‘Very commendable,’ he said. ‘So please allow me to find you some paper myself. It’s easier, I think, for me to do it, as I know my way around my own bureau. And I would not want to put you to the trouble of searching through my private papers.’
    Von Igelfeld felt himself blushing. ‘I would never wish to read anything private,’ he said. ‘I hope that you didn’t imagine that I …’
    ‘Of course not,’ said Prinzel. ‘Look, here’s a piece of paper. Please note down your thoughts before our other guest arrives.’
    With a certain stiffness, von Igelfeld took the piece of paper that Prinzel offered him.
    ‘And here’s something to write with,’ added Prinzel, passing a silver propelling pencil to his guest. ‘Please go ahead. We can resume our conversation when you have finished … unless you’re planning to write a whole chapter of notes, that is.’
    ‘A few lines,’ said von Igelfeld, scribbling casually on the piece of paper. ‘There, that I think will suffice. I find that so many useful thoughts can be lost if one doesn’t jot them down almost immediately.’
    ‘Or if one is interrupted,’ said Prinzel. ‘Was there not an English poet who was composing an important poem when somebody knocked on the door? Did he not lose his train of thought?’
    Von Igelfeld nodded. ‘I believe that was Coleridge. I cannot imagine that the poem was of much value, of course – it would have been a different matter if somebody had knocked on Goethe’s door. Then the world would truly have lost something.’
    Prinzel agreed with this sentiment. ‘Indeed, and now is that not the door bell? How fortunate that it should ring only after you have finished writing down your thoughts.’
    Von Igelfeld smiled weakly. ‘Indeed. Very fortunate, and fortuitous.’
    Left alone for a moment while Prinzel went to join his wife in greeting Frau Benz, von Igelfeld folded the piece of paper and put it in his jacket pocket. Then, after nervously touching the hole in his trousers – it was not all that large, he decided – he chose a position near the fireplace where he could greet Frau Benz without sartorial compromise. It was a good place to stand because if invited to sit, he would be able to walk sideways to a nearby chair and lower himself on to it without displaying either of the holes.
    A few minutes later, the new guest was ushered into the salon. Introductions were made, and von Igelfeld bowed formally to Frau Benz.
    ‘I am most delighted to meet you, Herr von Igelfeld,’ she said. ‘I have heard so much about you from so many people.’
    Von Igelfeld smiled. It was no great surprise, of course, that people should know about him; after all, he was the author of
Portuguese