Chapter 3: Commie-Tea

I had visited Vienna many years before. Matt and I attended a conference, but my kids were young, and I was anxious to get back to them. I even missed the gala dinner at the end of the sessions. Matt stayed on for a few days, I recall. His wife was still living with him at the time although their marriage was shaky.

I remembered the city as hot and humid, but now it was cold with snow piled up beside the streets. People weren’t letting the weather deter them. The streets were full and there appeared to be a Christmas market round every corner. My hotel was warm and welcoming with a gym and even a heated swimming pool.

The most memorable thing, however, was the music. Mozart and the family Strauss were everywhere – in cafes and department stores and filling the streets and squares. I attended four live concerts in my ten days in the city, including an opera – The Magic Flute – and a concert in the orangery of Schonbrunn palace.

I began the day with a swim, before spending the morning flitting from café to café. Viennese cafes are about as different from Starbucks as the earth from the moon. They are as I imagine the old London coffee houses that developed, White’s into an exclusive gentleman’s club or Lloyds which become the centre for insurance.

In the afternoons I visited museums and galleries, even finding time to watch Lipizzaner horses rehearse. I doubt if there is another city in the world with such a variety of sweet, irresistible pastries to tempt poor mortals. As penance, I spent an hour in the gym before dressing for a concert.

Vienna is one of the most popular destinations in Europe and it shows in the hospitality sector. Everything is very smooth and organised but rather lifeless. When you enter a café or bar, there is a waiter waiting to seat you and another ready to take your order which is quickly filled. It is efficient and it took me some days to notice that the waiters look glum. You feel welcome for your contribution to the economy, but they would really prefer it if you stayed at home and sent them a cheque.

It was just what I wanted and needed. I had no interest in interacting with people. I wanted diversion, which I got, and time to ponder on where I had been and where I might go in the future. I knew that I would not take my wife back, and my response to Melanie, the travel agent, suggested that I could be open to other relationships in the future. Not now, however. I had wounds to my psyche that needed time to heal.

It was the second day before I turned my phone on. I was at a loose end after dinner, so I let my conscience drive me into reading my messages. Mitzy wanted a weather report from the pool in my beachside resort. I chuckled as I sent her a text telling her where I had ended up. Most of the other texts were routine requiring no answer. I did text Matt and Chrissie to give them an update.

The only strange message came from Jennifer. ‘Lucky devil!’ she wrote. ‘I’m moved in with Unk, three kids and my mum who is behaving like a teenager. My idiot has moved in with your idiot. He says they have separate bedrooms, but I have my doubts. Make me envious by describing hot sun and cold drinks. We need to talk when you get back. Xxx.’

I have met Jennifer three times, none of them social. On the Saturday when everything blew up, I did kiss her on the lips, but it was mainly to try to stop her yelling at me. The following day, I walked off in the huff. My last meeting was during a confrontation with her mum over the way Jamal had been treated. Nothing prepared me for this chatty message.

When I spoke to Melanie, I realised that I was free to chat up women now my marriage had crumbled but I had not taken the thought further. In my youth, I lusted after Chrissie and Izzy without, I must add, any encouragement from them that I could detect. We played together as children, and I don’t think it had crossed their minds that I was a hormonally driven teenager on our last summer together.

I am not sure I know what I want from a new relationship. Matt wanted nothing to do with the female of the species after the way his wife treated him over many years. The only good thing she ever did, in my opinion, was to leave him and swan off to her cult in the wild west. He has been content to have a purely sexual relationship with Mitzy for years, though it now appears that he has some romantic notions about Jennifer’s mum, Faith.

Perhaps he’ll pass Mitzy to me. That thought did not stir my libido: I want a real relationship not just a fuck buddy. Is that a realistic expectation for a man close to fifty? Melanie told me not to undervalue my appeal to women, but perhaps she was judging on my affluent appearance. Would she still think I had a chance if she knew I was unemployed?

That question shook me out of my torpor. Iain will have cleaned up the new workshop by now. It will be interesting to see how far he has progressed with designing gears. That got me thinking about my cottage. My plan is still to move in at Easter by which time I hope Iain and I have the prototype generator up and running. For perhaps the first time since I discovered Helen’s betrayal, I began looking forward.

By the time I left Vienna, I was keen to get to Scotland to stride towards the next phase in my life. The city of the Habsburgs had worked its magic on me. When we landed, I considered visiting Melanie, but it would have meant walking round to the departure concourse. I pondered while I waited for my cabin baggage to arrive – I had to buy a new suitcase to hold my new winter clothing.

I was still undecided when I exited the green channel to be overwhelmed by Mitzy, beaming at me and wetly kissing my cheek. She spent the first few minutes berating me for choosing a ‘dull old relic’ over vibrant nightlife in a sundrenched resort. She impatiently gave me a few minutes to report on what I had done before she could no longer contain her own hot news: Matt is like an adolescent over Faith Wishaw.

“He’s out tonight, Bill, squiring her to some charity do. They giggle together like kids. It’s disgusting.” I suggested that it sounded sweet, but she shot me down in flames. “They’re both in their seventies,” she shrieked. “And she’s a prude. What the hell he sees in her I’ll never know.” She took much longer to describe the situation, of course, and we were pulling into the drive before she came to a stop.

She had left lasagna in the oven on low heat which she hurried to serve me. “It sounds as if you’re a bit jealous,” I ventured as she put it on the table. She had kept her coat on and was heading for the door, but she stopped and gave a giggle. “On the contrary. He must be the perfect gentleman with his lady friend, so he comes home and ravishes me. He’s had me on my back at least once a day since you left.”

After I ate, I cleared up. All that meant was scraping off the plate and loading the dishwasher. Even Helen would agree that I can do that as well as the next man even if I can’t be trusted to do a wet wash. I had put the kettle on for a cup of tea when I remembered that I was short on underwear, so I dragged my cases into the kitchen.

When I lived at home, I put my dirty linen in a hamper at night, taking freshly laundered clothes from drawers in the morning. Every Tuesday, the hamper mysteriously emptied and on Thursday morning my drawers were full of fresh pants and socks.

Since I began my nomadic life four weeks ago, things have been different. When I left for the airport, I packed my remaining three pairs of pants and four pairs of socks. As I planned to spend my time dressed only in a swimsuit, I thought that would be enough. I bought a ten pack of each in Austria; I am at present wearing the last clean pair of underpants and I have one pair of socks left for tomorrow.

It will be ok when I reach Skye since Chrissie insisted on washing three or four sets when I visited her. I could return to college habits, of course, searching out the used knickers that were least offensive, but I seem to have become fastidious with age. I opened my cases and unpacked my linen straight into the washing machine.

Having set it going, I moved to the bedroom to hang up my suit and coat. To my surprise, the wardrobe was full of ironed tops, both formal shirts and casual polo shirts. Since I moved in with Matt, I’ve been throwing soiled clothes into the hamper provided without thinking about what happens next. Mitzy has been laundering and ironing for me without even mentioning it. I was very glad that I had brought her a decent present back from my holiday.

There were three letters waiting for me on the bedside table, one redirected from Helen’s house and the other two from lawyers. The redirected letter reminded me that my annual dental check was due, asking me to make an appointment. One of the lawyer’s letters was thin and I recognised the name as the company solicitors. The final letter was bulky, bearing the return address of my personal shark.

It contained a copy of Helen’s response to the separation agreement I had handed to her at the party. My man had provided an idiot’s guide to her lawyer’s document. Why is it that legal papers look as if they were written by Geoffrey Chaucer? We had anticipated her main problems, so I didn’t have to think about my response.

The problem was that her lawyer was demanding a face-to-face meeting at the earliest possible date. My man had warned me that failure to meet would risk upsetting the judge when we moved to divorce court. I’ll admit that I was wriggling on this issue. I was not ready to meet my soon-to-be ex-wife. I remembered Jennifer’s text saying that John had moved in with Helen. Perhaps that would give me an acceptable excuse for delaying a meeting.

That reminded me of the texts I had answered while I was in Austria. Chrissie, despite having a house full of paying guests, replied within minutes reminding me of my promise to visit Skye as soon as I returned. Matt had sent an igloo emoji. I had taken time and trouble answering Jennifer. I was friendly, giving her lots of details of my activities but carefully avoiding any hint of personal interest. I ignored completely her plea for an early meeting. She has not responded.

The final letter made me uneasy. I lifted it several times, putting it back on the table without opening it. When I began loading my little case for my journey north, I realised that it was a displacement activity, so I sat on the bed and ripped the envelope open. The letter contained an offer of employment from Matt’s company, my former employer. It mentioned that the Chairman (Beth) was particularly keen to gain my support.

That was a surprise. I was expecting some sort of threat for the manner in which I had left the company. My first reaction was that Beth had no right to offer me employment. Unless things had changed, Matt owned the company, and she was acting pro tem using a power of attorney while he recovered from his stroke. Or! Did she know something I did not?”

When Matt was laid low ten months ago, he was unable to run the business, and the existing power of attorney held by his daughter allowed her to take control. The hospital staff had concentrated on his physical recovery, but his family doctor stressed that the burden of running the company had probably contributed to the stroke. He begged me to keep Matt in ignorance of any problems occurring while he recovered.

I visited him frequently during the time he was ailing, deflecting any questions about the company by telling amusing anecdotes. Even when Beth began to make a mess of things, I kept the worst of the news from him. At first, he asked how things were going but, at some point, he stopped showing an interest in the factory. I kept all my concerns to myself.

It was during this time that Helen began her affair, and I can acknowledge that I neglected her and our relationship while I acted as a buffer between Matt and the reality of his business. It was only when he transferred the rights to the patents that I realised he had been keeping secrets from me. It was evident that he knew perfectly well that Beth was making a complete mess of things.

Since then, he appears to have washed his hands of the whole business. When I try to bring the subject to his attention, he diverts the conversation onto my plans for the future. Before I left for Vienna, he told me straight out that it was no longer my business what happened to the company.

I was beginning to lose my perspective when I was saved by the bell. Or rather by the Radetsky March my new ringtone courtesy of the brunette who swam with me every morning before breakfast. The caller was Chrissie who welcomed me home and insisted that I be there the evening after next for a gala dinner with the Conde Hernandez, Izzy’s husband. By the time she rang-off, I had recovered.

Matt had kept from me his intention to give me the income from our patents, so he was capable of keeping a secret. It may be that he is keeping another now, planning the future of his company without consulting me. In the first place, he had a right to dispose of his own property as he pleases, and in the second place, he has supported me with his loyal friendship for more than a quarter of a century.

The problem is that my self-confidence has been badly damaged in the past six months. Not only has my wife chosen another partner, but Beth has undermined all my certainties on the way to run a profitable factory. Mostly, I have avoided slipping back into the uncertainties that troubled my adolescence. The call from my cousin was just the boost I needed.

Leaving everything, I went to the kitchen and made a reviving cup of tea. Coffee is wonderful but, when all is said and done, there is nothing quite like Chai! I finished packing my case and took my new, larger suitcase to the hall for Mitzy to store until it was needed. I left the letters on my bedside table and prepared for bed. I was enjoying my first sip of the brew when Radetsky announced another caller.

It was Matt to tell me he was spending the night at Trey’s house. “We’re going on a steam train tomorrow, believe it or not,” he chortled. “We met this guy at dinner, and he insisted we join him.” I still wasn’t totally convinced that he had my best interests at heart, so I took the opportunity to tell him I planned to go north early the next day.

“I wish you’d postpone it for a day or two, Bill. I’ve got some exciting developments cooking, but I can’t tell you about them for another few days. You understand” I certainly did not understand though I dreaded the outcome. “I really must see how the cottage is coming on and I want to make sure my new man has enough work to keep him busy. I don’t suppose it will take long.” He grudgingly admitted that my plan was reasonable.

The following morning, I was woken by the smell of bacon. After showering and dressing, I followed my nose into the kitchen where Mitzy waved me to a seat. On the table in front of me were eight ceramic mugs. I recognised them, of course, but I was baffled by the number. I had bought them filled with gluhwein at several Christmas markets in Vienna. Each mug represented one visit, although I usually had them refilled while I wandered round the stalls.

I had been in the city for ten days and had no memory of making eight visits to six separate markets. Mitzy described me as a drunk when I tried to explain that it was the atmosphere and the craft stalls that attracted me. Looking back, I must admit that I frequently popped into a market on my way to or from some more memorable event. “You’re just getting old and forgetful like the rest of us,” Mitzy chortled.

She wasn’t pleased with my plan to leave after I finished eating. “I know Matt has something important he wants to talk over with you,” she insisted. Her knowing more of Matt’s plans than I did convinced me that I was making the right move. “You’ve changed, Bill,” she mused, all the laughter gone. “You’re harder, more determined. Maybe a bit selfish. I preferred the old Bill,” she added giving me a hug where I sat sipping coffee.

I loaded my case into the Land Rover and was on the motorway before nine. I pulled in about a mile across the border into Scotland. It had been a difficult drive through flurries of snow driven by an increasing wind. I ate lunch while I checked the weather forecast. Frequent snow showers drifting in gale force winds and settling on higher ground, was the outlook until midnight.

At my present rate of progress, I would reach the twisting, highland roads after dark and at the height of the anticipated storm. It would be madness to press on, so I booked a room in a hotel in Balloch, at the end of the duel carriageway. I would rather make the trip to the cottage in daylight even in good weather. The only person who knew I was visiting was Chrissie, so I called her to give her a situation report.

“Glad to hear it,” she said when I told her I was delaying my journey. “I’m more delighted than I can say that you’re coming but I would rather have you late than dead or injured in a highland ditch.” We chatted a bit longer before she had to respond to another call. I sat over a second cup of quite decent coffee trying to remember when last someone had shown an interest in my welfare. It might have been about the time of my first visit to Vienna when the kids were toddlers.

I was thinking about Chrissie as I returned to the motorway. She and I had a great deal in common and we seemed to understand each other at a fundamental level. Pity she’s my first cousin, I thought. Then I blushed when I recalled the last year of our childhood holidays together with Izzy. I wasn’t bothered by ideas of incest at that time. As John Gay said: ‘How happy I’d be with either, were the other dear charmer away.’ It was only the presence of Izzy that stopped me making a move on Chrisse and it was only her constant presence that prevented me attempting to seduce Izzy. I realised, with a chuckle, that this was the first time I had admitted my lust for the girls, even to myself.

I was glad to get to bed after a tiring journey that had lasted an hour longer than normal. As soon as I woke up, I checked the weather forecast. A warm front followed the storm and there might be some winter sunshine from time to time. In the dining room, I learned more from the local news on television. The snow had turned to rain in the early hours. All main roads were clear, and secondary routes were passable with care.

There was a roundup of the legacy of the storm. Ferry services were expected to be running normally by lunchtime. The only report that impacted me was that six thousand homes in Skye and Lochalsh were without power. Iain will be involved in restoring power. He told me that he rarely goes out in the field now, sitting in a comfortable office coordinating repair teams.

He will, I know, work himself beyond limits on behalf of the householders, and he certainly won’t be available to talk to me for several days. Six thousand does not sound like much to a city dweller, but in a remote, sparsely populated area like Skye and Lochalsh it could mean a hundred repairs over an area of a thousand square kilometres of trackless wilderness.

I got on the road after breakfast, seeing no sign of snow until I climbed to Tyndrum. Even there it was lying in hollows where it had drifted in the gale force winds. The road slowly dried in the watery sunlight as I crossed Rannoch moor. It was lunchtime before I reached the harbour where I hoped Hamish would be waiting to take me to my cottage.

“It’s yourself, Bill,” he greeted me. “The boys stayed over last night so I haven’t done a run this morning yet. To tell the truth, I’d rather give it another hour to let the sea settle.” That seemed sensible, so I took him to lunch in the hotel. We ordered a case of beer to take over to the crew working on the cottage. Hamish told me they hoped to complete the windows today which would leave only the electric wiring as a major deterrent to my moving in.

Philip, the landlord, was one drink away from oblivion when we arrived. When I have stayed there before, he usually lasts until about nine before he stumbles off to bed leaving Louise, his wife, to handle things. “Did you ever think of giving her one?” Hamish asked as she left after delivering our food. “I was a faithful husband for twenty-six year and my mind didn’t run along these lines,” I grinned at him.

“That was then, my friend. I’m not in favour of monogamy myself but I can appreciate it in others. From what I hear, you’re a single man now, so have you thought about getting into the knickers of the fair Louise?” I suppose she is about my age, a bit overblown but still a desirable woman. From the way she behaves with customers, I guess she would know how to make a man comfortable in bed. She returned just then to ask if we were enjoying our meal; she stopped behind me, put her hand on my shoulder and leant forward to move a condiment that didn’t seem to need any adjustment.