‘But …’
‘I insist.’ (forefingerstabbing the palm of the other hand.) ‘Now, let’s have an espresso.’ (forefinger and thumb touching, other fingers extended in drinking mime.)
* * *
I sprinkle some of my precious Bad Aussee mix into the bath and slither down into the warm water, swishing my hand gently back and forth. I can almost feel the toxins draining out of my body.
Opening one eye, I lazily lift a pruney armand grope around for my watch: 5.40. I haul myself out of my warm cocoon, slip into my LFMD (little flea-market dress), scoosh some mousse on my hair and scrunch it up, apply some lip gloss, and put on my shopping channel, diamante earrings. I grimace then grin as I relive that particular cringeworthy presentation …
ME: Notice the way they catch the light.
VOICE IN EAR: Twenty-five moreseconds to fill. Keep talking.
ME: Yes, the light catches them in a most alluring way – blinding even.
VOICE IN EAR: Twenty-two seconds.
ME: My mum has a pair like this … and my friend.
VOICE IN EAR: Twenty seconds.
ME: And my aunty.
VOICE IN EAR: Okay, enough of the family-tree thing. Change tack. Eighteen seconds.
ME: In fact, Wills, if you’re watching, I can guaranteeKate would love these and wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between these and your granny’s.
VOICE IN EAR: Cut!
* * *
‘Ready, Anna?’ I say, popping my head around the living room door.
‘Fertig,’ she says, buttoning up her dark greenLodenmanteland collecting her basket.
As we totter along the street arm in arm, she tells me that since Walter her beloved husband died,she rarely ventures out in the evening.
Her lovely warm face creases as she pats my hand and says out of the blue, ‘Francesco is a good man,liebling. This I see in his eyes.Undgood men are hard to find.’
‘You can say that again,’ I say, half laughing.
‘So, you should marry this man,ja?’
‘I … I …’
‘Life is short, and you are not so young,’ she remarks squarely.
Had anyoneelse said this to me, I’d have thought, here we go. Give me a break – not all us single ladies of a certain age are on a quest to harness a husband.
Yet, old she may be, and like many Austrians, steeped in traditional values, but I know from our many discussions over coffee and strudel, Anna is a modern, forward-thinking woman, who juggled career and family life at a time before it was thenorm. So no offence taken. She’s right though; men like Francesco are a rare breed, but finding your happy ever after isn’t just about chemistry and meeting ‘the one’, like in some Hollywood romcom, is it? Real life is complicated and can sometimes pull you in opposite directions.
As we climb the winding staircase to Cristina’s apartment, the mouth-watering, Mediterranean mix of sweet tomatoes,garlic, and fresh herbs drifts down to meet us.
Anna depresses the brass handle of the solid dark wood door and beckons me to follow her inside.
‘Grüss Gott!’
‘Guten Abend!’ replies Cristina, emerging from the gloom of the long, dark hallway, an antique rosary swaying from her waist. Her mouth breaks into an appreciative smile when I present her with the floral arrangement of trailingjasmine, paper-white narcissus, and burnt-orange roses I had created especially for her at the market.
