‘Should you so wish, you may of course continue to attend my lectures,’ Ugo continued. ‘Under the rules and regulations of the University of Bologna, you are also entitled to sit your final exams and present a thesis, but to avoid wasting everyone’s time I feel obliged to tell you now that I very much doubt whether this would result in your receiving a degree. Besides, the only career possibilities open to a graduate in semiotics are in the academic field. I would naturally be contacted as a referee and I should find it impossible, as a matter of professional principle, to recommend you. I further doubt whether you would prove suited to such a career, in the unlikely event that one were offered you. There are so many talented and excellently qualified applicants these days, and so few vacancies. Quite often the decision comes down to a question of whom the other members of the faculty care to have to meet and deal with on a daily basis, and prickly, rebarbative individuals who like to show off their supposed wit and spirit of independence by making mock of their superiors are, to be honest, rarely anyone’s first choice. In short, I suggest that you look into the possibility of an alternative line of study more adapted to your temperament and mentality. Engineering, perhaps. Or dentistry.’

With which he walked out, leaving the young man sitting there in silence. On Via de’Castagnoli Ugo called a taxi, which he directed to his country retreat. His original intention had been to cycle back to the nearby townhouse that he used as a place of refuge during the day and an occasional overnight bolthole, but now he felt an urge to get out of the city. Why this feeling of unease? His decision had been correct and correctly executed, excepting perhaps those last two phrases. But Mattioli had had it coming for some time. The little bastard had been provocative from the very start.