‘Does he need the money? I thought professors were quite well paid.’
‘He just said he was shaking off the past. I don’t know if that’s true or if he needs the money. I don’t know him very well, but I think he’s rather unworldly.’
‘What is he? I mean, what’s his subject?’
‘Philosophy and Theology. The Joint School thereof. He’s supposed to be brilliant when it comes to all those philosophy questions – logic and perception and free will and all the rest. He’s Czechoslovakian or Polish, I’m not sure which, and he’s been at Oriel since anyone can remember.’
‘I suppose he came here after the war?’ Nell spooned chilli con carne on to the plates, and accepted the glass of wine Michael had poured.
‘No idea. He’s well into his seventies, I should think, but he never talks about his childhood or his family. Actually, he doesn’t seem to have any family. If he comes into the shop, you’ll do what you can for him, won’t you?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘He’s a nice old boy,’ said Michael, rather absently.
Nell looked at him. ‘There’s something worrying you, though. Is it to do with Professor Rosendale and the old memory? Or is the chilli too hot?’
‘The chilli’s fine.’
Nell was usually hesitant to press Michael – he was unfailingly courteous, but he had a way of occasionally putting up a barrier which it was difficult to penetrate. But she said, ‘Are you worried by the prospect of grappling with an eerie old house? Yet again.’
‘Since I met you,’ said Michael, ‘I think I’ve encountered more eerie old houses than Wilberforce has caught mice.’
The barrier appeared to have come down slightly. Nell said, ‘How will you get in?’
‘There’s a firm of builders working on it. Apparently they’re perfectly used to people wandering in at random to look at the flats.’
‘Would you like me to come with you? Oh wait, I’ve got that Italian couple coming to look at the rosewood table tomorrow.’
‘Then I’ll have to ghost-hunt alone,’ said Michael.
Nell spent the first half of the following morning applying Danish oil to the rosewood table, then setting it in the shop where it would display to the best advantage. She had bought it quite cheaply because it had been in a very neglected state, and had spent hours restoring it. If the Italian customers bought it, she would probably buy Beth the piano she wanted from the proceeds. It was nice that Beth was enjoying her music lessons so much; Beth’s father had loved music, and Nell was trying to encourage Beth without overkill. Enthusiasms at the age of ten did not necessarily last, of course, but there was room in the little house for a cottage piano at least.
She was just putting away the oil and the cloths when the shop door opened somewhat tentatively, and a tallish, rather elderly gentleman came in. He was wearing a long overcoat, and he had dark eyes and strongly marked cheekbones. Professor Rosendale, thought Nell. Or if it isn’t, I’ll drink the rest of the Danish oil.
But it was the professor, of course. He introduced himself with careful courtesy, and although he did not quite have an accent, there was something about the phrasing of his speech that was not quite English. Nell found this rather attractive.
He explained that Michael had suggested she might take care of the selling of something for him.
‘Of course I will. Michael said you might look in. I’ll be very happy to help if I can.’