CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Il Postino
THE WINTER SUNis slanting low through the pine trees, throwing orange light across the glassy Altaussee lake and onto the pale grey mountains. Gerhard signals for us to follow him up a twisty path to his brother’s Lokal (bar) for some Glühwein to warm ourselves up.
‘I’ll join you in a minute,’ I cry. ‘I just want to stay here a bit longer before the lightgoes.’ Gazing out across to the Totes Gebirge mountain range, I lift my face to the sky, drawing in the crystal clear air.
I feel an overwhelming Maria-von-Trapp moment coming on. Jamming my hands deep into my pockets I spin on the spot and am reminded of the last time I felt like this: atop Crinkle Crags.
I feel the rough, sharp edges of a small stone and remember placing it there allthose months ago, as a reminder of that magical time. I toy with it, make a wish, then send it skipping across the lake.
I collect more stones and send them skimming in a kind of cleansing ritual:
This one’s for you, Nigel. I truly believe what you did to me was sent as a major lesson in life, and I have you to thank for putting me on this path.
Greg, it’s okay that you dumped me fora man, and I don’t want you to feel guilty about that any longer. I would have dumped you first but you got there before me. I hope you are happy now.
Mum, I know you are quick to remind me of my rapidly disappearing prime and have, on occasion, urged me to seek medical help to cure me of my ‘delusional thoughts’, but I understand you only want the best for me.
And finally, Emily, youtoo are acquitted of the crimes of which you have been guilty:
Allowing your heart to make major decisions instead of your head.
Failure to provide your parents with grandchildren and peace of mind.
Displaying wilful behaviour, not befitting a normal, respectable, middle-aged woman.
* * *
I arrive back in Vienna to find a postcard from Francesco, suggesting some possible datesto visit.
As Wendy is pencilled in for some of them, I call her from the theatre that evening to check they don’t clash with her schedule.
‘I don’t think I’ll make it now, hon. Liam is short of volunteers at the riding school and I’ve kind of promised I’ll support him on hacks whenever I’m free,’ she says.
‘Liam’s name has been cropping up a lot recently,’ I say, ribbing her.
‘I told you – he’s the new stables manager,’ she says evasively.
‘And there’s a smile in your voice whenever you mention him.’
Ignoring this last comment, she continues, ‘Those kids so look forward …’
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah …’
Joking apart, there’s no doubt in my mind that Wendy’s voluntary work at the riding school is a godsend. The reason? Because those horses and those disadvantagedchildren are helping her to heal. Catching a frisky pony in an open field or keeping a disabled child safe and happy requires the utmost concentration and doesn’t allow your mind to stray elsewhere. Equine therapy, I believe it’s called. All I’m suggesting is, where’s the harm in her enjoying a little sexual therapy too?
‘Don’t change the subject,’ continues Wendy after a pause. ‘What’s thematter with you, darling? It’s high time you started putting Francesco first. I understand why you’re being cautious, but he’s a good ’un, that one, so you fix that up right away, d’you hear me? Francesco first.’
‘But …’
‘Ladies and gentlemen of theOn Golden PondCompany, this is your Act One beginners’ call. Act One beginners to the stage, please.’
‘Wendy, you still there?’ The phoneclicks. ‘Wendy?’
* * *
BA 0696 LONDON HEATHROW GELANDET
