In the center of the western suburbs, there are some small alleys that few people know except experienced taxi drivers.Taxi drivers can navigate it with confidence and triumphantly arrive at Park Lane, Berkeley Square or South Audley Lane. If you turn off Park Avenue into an unknown road, and turn left and right a few more times, you will find yourself in a quiet street with Bertram's Hotel on your right.The Bertram Inn has a long history.During the war, the houses on the left and right of it were all destroyed, but it was unscathed. Of course, according to the real estate agent, it couldn't have been bumped and bumped, and it couldn't have been completely undamaged, but a modest repair had brought the house back to its original appearance.By 1955 it looked exactly the same as it had looked in 1939-noble, unadorned, quietly exuding its own extraordinary value.

This was Bertram's Hotel, and there were constant guests.Among them were high clergymen, widows of country nobles, and girls from expensive grooming schools who stayed here on their way home for the holidays. (“There are very few places in London these days for a single girl to live in, and Bertram’s is one of those few places. We lived there for a number of years.”) Of course, there have been many hotels of the same model as Bertram's genus, and some of them still exist.But almost all such hotels feel that reform is imperative.In order to cater to different customers, they have carried out the necessary modernization, Bertram is no exception, had to be modified, but it has been done so that there is no trace of it, and it is not obvious at a casual glance.

Standing at the foot of the steps outside the gate was a doorman who at first glance looked no less than a field marshal, with gold braid and metal medals adorning his broad, manly chest.His demeanor was absolutely impeccable.When you struggled with rheumatism to get out of a car or taxi, he greeted you with thoughtful concern, guided you carefully up the steps and through the silently turning doors. Step inside the door, and if this is your first time in Bertram, you'll be almost surprised to find yourself back in a lost world.Step back in time and you're once again in Edwardian England.

Of course there is central air conditioning, but it cannot be clearly felt.In the great central foyer, as before, the coal fires in the two fireplaces were always burning brightly.The brass coal scuttle by the fireplace shines spotlessly as if it had been wiped down by an Edwardian maid.The coals contained in it were exactly the same size as those at that time.The rest hall is covered with plush soft red velvet carpet, giving people a sense of comfort.Armchairs are not for this day and age.The seats were raised high from the floor so that rheumatic old ladies would not have to struggle indecently to stand; and unlike many expensive and fashionable chairs of today, the seats were not placed between the hips and knees, so that It will cause little pain for people with arthritis or sciatica.Moreover, these chairs are not of the same type, some have straight backs, some have reclining backs, and the chair widths are different to suit different fat and thin body shapes.Bertram can find a chair for almost any shape, tall or short, fat or thin.

It's tea time, and the hall is full of people.In fact, the lounge is not the only place where you can drink tea.There was a drawing room (upholstered in chintz); a smoking room (for some unknown reason only for gentlemen) with large chairs of the finest leather; and two studies , you can bring a close friend and gossip comfortably in a quiet corner - and write letters there if you like.As well as these cozy Edwardian retreats, there are other peaceful retreats in the inn.Not labeled in any form, but known to those who need them.There is a double bar with two waiters.One is an American who makes American guests feel at home and offers them bourbon, rye, and a variety of cocktails.The other barman, an Englishman, served his guests sherry and Pimms No. 1, and was good at talking about Aspen with middle-aged gentlemen who lived in Bertram for the important races. Kurt and Newbury's horse racing.There is also a TV room tucked away at the end of the corridor for those guests who request to watch TV.

But people still like to drink afternoon tea in the lounge in the foyer. Older ladies like to watch people come and go, recognize old friends, and marvel at the vicissitudes of the world.The lounge also attracted many American guests, where they could see the British nobles drinking traditional afternoon tea seriously and calmly.In fact afternoon tea is a major feature of Bertram. Everything is so perfect here.It was Henry who presided over the daily rituals of the hotel. Tall and straight, in his fifties, he was kind, warm-hearted, with all the modesty and majesty of those long-lost races—the perfect butler.The slender young waiters carried out the daily practical work under Henry's strict command.There are many silver trays with coats of arms in the hotel, and silver Georgian teapots.And the china, even if it wasn't from Rockingham and Davenport, looked alike.Brinder-style service is a favourite.

The tea is also the best, produced in India, Ceylon, Darjeeling, Lampson and other places.As for food, you can order whatever you want - and you'll be sure to get it. On this day, the sixteenth of November, Mrs Selina Hartz, sixty-five, from Leicestershire, was eating delicious buttered muffins with old lady interest. Although she was concentrating on the muffins, she always looked up suddenly when the two doors of the back room opened and a new person came in. She smiled and nodded to welcome Colonel Luscombe.He had a straight, military build, with a pair of spotting binoculars hanging around his neck.She beckoned him over with dictatorial haughtiness.After a while Colonel Luscombe came to her side.

"Hello, Selina, which wind brought you here?" "Dentist," Mrs. Selina mumbled, chewing on a muffin, "I figured since I'm here, I'd see my arthritis at the guy in Harley Street. You know who I mean." .” Although there were hundreds of fashionable doctors treating all kinds of ailments in Harley Street, Luscombe did know which one she was referring to. "Is it getting better?" he asked. "I think so," said Mrs. Selina reluctantly, "some one of a kind, caught me unexpectedly by the neck, and wrung it like a chicken's neck." She turned her neck carefully. .

"Does it hurt?" "It definitely hurts to twist my neck like that. But I don't have time to feel it yet." The old lady continued to turn her neck carefully, "It feels good now. For the first time in many years, I can see something over my right shoulder." She actually verified it and exclaimed: "I'm sure it's old Jane Marple. I thought she'd been dead for years. She looks like she's over a hundred years old." Colonel Luscombe glanced in Miss Jane Marple's direction, but was not very interested: there were always a few people in Bertram who he called "long-haired old cats".

Mrs. Selina continued: "The only place in London where you can still get muffins. Real muffins. You know, I went to the States last year and they had something called muffins on the breakfast menu, but they weren't real muffins at all!Just tea cakes with raisins. Why are they also called muffins? " She stuffed the last buttery morsel into her mouth, looking sideways indistinctly.Henry appeared immediately, he was unhurried, but it seemed that he appeared in front of Mrs. Selina suddenly. "What would you like, ma'am? Cake?" "Cake?" Mrs. Selina thought for a while, unable to make up her mind.

"We have very delicious fragrant fruit cake here, madam, I recommend it to you." "Fangzishi cake? I haven't eaten it for many years. Is it authentic?" "Oh, yes, ma'am. The cook has a secret recipe for many years, and I'm sure you'll like it." Henry winked at one of the attendants, and the young man immediately stepped back and ordered the making of fragrant seed cakes. "I suppose you've been to Newbury, Derek?" "Yes. It was so cold I didn't even watch the last two races. Really bad day.Harry's filly was nothing special. " "I just don't think it'll do. How about Swanhilda?" "Finally fourth," Luscombe stood up. "I have to arrange my room." He walked across the lobby toward the reception desk, noticing the tables and guests inside.The number of people drinking tea here is astonishing, it's like going back in time.After the war, drinking tea as a meal had become somewhat passé, but that was clearly not the case in Bertram.Who are these people?Two priests and the vicar of Chislehampton.By the way, there's a man with leggings in that corner, a bishop, no less than a bishop!It seems that all that is missing here is the Pope. "The minimum position must be a priest in the cathedral to afford Bertram's expenses," the colonel thought.Ordinary priests can't afford these places, poor devils.Thinking about it this way further, he couldn't see how someone like Selina Hartz, who only had about twopence a year to support herself, could afford to pay.And old Mrs Berry, and Mrs Postelwaite from Somerset, and Sybil Kerr--all as poor as church mice. After thinking about it, he came to the counter, and the receptionist, Miss Gorringe, greeted her cordially.Miss Gorringe was an old friend, she knew every regular customer in the hotel, and never forgot a face as she did royalty.She looked old fashioned but respectable.Curly yellowish hair (it seems to be an old-fashioned hairpin), a black silk dress, a huge gold necklace box hanging from the high chest, and a brooch with embossed gemstones. "No. 14," said Miss Gorringe. "I think you had room 14 last time, Colonel Luscombe, and liked it. It was quiet." "I can't imagine how you remember all these things, Miss Gorringe." "We want to make our old friends comfortable." "Coming here makes me feel like I went back a long time ago. It seems like nothing has changed." He stopped, and Mr. Humphreys came out of an inner room to greet him. Mr. Humphreys is often taken for Mr. Bertram himself by first-timers.The question of who was Mr. Bertram, or whether there really was a Mr. Bertram, was lost in the mists of the ruins.The Bertrand Hotel was founded in 1840, but no one has ever been interested in tracing its history.It just stood there solidly and practically.He never corrected Mr. Humphreys when anyone called him Mr. Bertram, and he was Mr. Bertram if one wanted him to be.Colonel Luscombe knew his name, but he did not know whether Humphreys was the manager or the owner of the hotel.He felt more like the latter. Mr. Humphreys was a man of about fifty, with a good manner, quite the air of a junior minister.He can meet the different requirements of the guests at any time.He can talk about racing shops, cricket, foreign politics, tell royal anecdotes, give car show info and he knows the funniest show going on at the moment - giving American tourists where to see, even if the time is short to England.He is also very good at what restaurants are most suitable for customers with different incomes and different tastes.He is so enthusiastic about serving customers without demeaning himself.He is not always on call.Miss Gorringe was familiar with all these, and could reproduce them efficiently.Every now and then, Mr. Humphreys would appear for a moment on the horizon like the sun, honoring someone with his personal attention. Colonel Luscombe had the honor of this moment, and they exchanged views on a few clichéd horse racing questions, but Colonel Luscombe was still thinking about his question, and there was finally someone here who could give him an answer . "Tell me, Humphreys, how do those lovely old ladies come to live here?" "Oh, have you been wondering about that?" Humphreys found it amused. "Well, the answer is simple. They can't afford it unless..." He paused. "Unless you give them a special deal, right?" "Almost. They generally don't know they're getting a discount, and even if they do, they think it's because they're regular customers." "It won't be like that?" "Well, Colonel Luscombe, I'm running a hotel, and I can't let it lose money." "Then how do you make money?" "It's about the atmosphere... Strangers (especially Americans, because they have money) who come to our country have their own weird ideas of what Britain is like. You know, I'm not talking about people who are constantly coming and going across the Atlantic Wealthy business magnates. They usually go to the Savoy or the Dorchester Hotel. They want to enjoy all the modern facilities, American food, and everything that makes them feel in the United States. But there are many rare Foreign tourists who come here once, they hope that Britain should be - well, I don't say it is as far away as Dickens's time, but they have at least read "Cranford" and Henry James' works, and they don't want to find that Britain is actually the same as theirs. Your own country is no different. So they go back and say: 'There's a great place in London called Bertram's Hotel, and it's like going back a hundred years.It is old England.What kind of people live there!You will never encounter it anywhere else!The marvelous Duchess.All the old English dishes are served there, with delicious old fashioned steak pudding!You sure have never tasted anything like it.Excellent sirloin and lamb, old English tea and a wonderful English breakfast.Of course, there are some daily special things.It's very comfortable and warm there.They used firewood to keep warm. '" Humphreys stopped imitating and almost grinned. "I see," said Luscombe thoughtfully, "these people, the fallen nobles, the impoverished members of the old family, are they all good props?" Humphreys nodded in agreement. "I really don't know if anyone has ever thought of that. Of course I found Bertram to be perfectly qualified, all that was missing was the expensive antiques. All the people who came here thought they had found it for themselves." , and no one else knows." "I suppose," said Luscombe, "that those antiques must be very expensive?" "Oh, yes. The place has to look like Edwardian times, but it has to have all the comforts modern people take for granted. Our darlings—forgive me for calling them that—must find that although a new century has begun, Life hasn’t changed. And our visitors get to feel the vibe of another era while enjoying things they’re used to at home and can’t live without.” "Is it hard to do sometimes?" asked Luscombe. "It's not too difficult. Like heating, Americans demand—I'd say demand— at least ten degrees Fahrenheit warmer than the British.We actually have two very different guest rooms.Brits live one way, Americans live another.The rooms all appear to be the same, but are actually quite different - things like electric shavers, shower heads, and bidets in the bathroom; if you want an American breakfast, we offer cereal, iced orange juice, etc. Of course you can also have English breakfast if you wish. " "Eggs and bacon?" "Yes—but there's a lot more to it, if you want, smoked bacon, kidney and bacon, cold grouse, York ham, and Oxford marmalade." "I'm going to have to remember all these names tomorrow morning, I won't be able to eat anything like this at home again." Humphreys smiled. "Most men just order eggs and bacon. They—well, they don't think about what they used to have." "Yes, yes... I remember when I was little... the utensil holders were humming from the hot dishes... what a life of luxury it was." "We try our best to meet any request from our customers." "Including fragrant fruit cakes and muffins-yes, I see, take what you want..." "What did you say?" "Just talking, Humphreys. Two extremes combined." The Colonel turned away with the key Miss Gorringe had given him, and a page came and led him to the elevator.Inadvertently, he saw Mrs. Selina Hartz sitting with her friend named Jane something.