Amalia in the rain E-Book

Dill McLain

• Herausgeber: epubli
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 380

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

The Swiss author Dill McLain surprises us once again: With a fresh, entertaining, direct narrative, she catches us and makes us part of her incredible love stories. In them, often written with an air of humour and set in very diverse places after going through periods of lack, love disappointments and broken relationships, the protagonists always end up finding happiness.

Leseprobe

Amalia in the rain

Dill McLain

Primera edición: junio 2023

ISBN: 978-84-1189-247-6

Impresión y encuadernación: Editorial Círculo Rojo

© Del texto: Dill McLain

© Maquetación y diseño: Equipo de Editorial Círculo Rojo

Editorial Círculo Rojo

www.editorialcirculorojo.com

[email protected]

Editorial Círculo Rojo apoya la creación artística y la protección del copyright. Queda totalmente prohibida la reproducción, escaneo o distribución de esta obra por cualquier medio o canal sin permiso expreso tanto de autor como de editor, bajo la sanción establecida por la legislación.

Círculo Rojo no se hace responsable del contenido de la obra y/o de las opiniones que el autor manifieste en ella.

With special thanks to Alan Bruce Thompson for editing my text.

Eternal Love

The sun could cloud forever,

the sea could dry in a flash,

the axis of the earth could break

like a faint crystal.

Yes, all of this could happen!

May death wrap me in its shroud,

but inside of me will never expire

the flame of your love.

Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer (1836-1870)

(Translation by Dill McLain, 2022)

Cappuccino

She leaned back, lifted her cup and looked forward to the great delight of the first sip of Cappuccino. Just before taking this long-awaited sip, she became thunderstruck. The cup slipped from her hand and flew over the table. Where the hot coffee spilled over the right trouser leg of a tall man in front of her table.

“Good gracious, what is this, a new way of making friends?” the man asked and turned around. Edith sat there and just stared at him. She could not talk.

The man touched his coffee wet trouser leg and mumbled, “I do not know whether this was just your way of approaching men in general, but sorry for being so direct, you could be my grandmother, so it must be something else that struck you!”

In the meantime, Edith opened her handbag, not taking her eyes from the man. Her fingers searched for money inside the bag and, finally, she found a banknote as well as her voice, “Young man, I am very sorry for what has happened. I have no intention to make advances to you, not at all. Please take this money for the cleaning of your trousers!” She handed him a 100er banknote and continued, “Please sit down and don’t make a fuss.” He sat down opposite her while she ordered two cups of Cappuccino. The waiter nodded and cleaned the remains of the coffeethrow.

They did not talk until the two cups arrived. Then Edith explained, “My name is Edith. I am 75 and a widow for seven years. When you came along and appeared in front of my eyes, I thought my first great love showed up again. It was like being put back 50 years. Same hairstyle, same movements and also a remarkably similar profile. I was struck by lightning. And I thought that I must find him!”

They shook hands, and the young man stated sighingly, “Well, my name is Mirko. I am 36. I studied Informatics, lost my job because I did not want to work night shifts, and there were some other aspects I did not like. I also paint – it is my great hobby, and I need the nights for that. So I am sort of between two chairs. I work part-time in the art gallery around the corner, where they also give me the chance to present some of my work. Three half-days a week, I work with disabled teenagers in the field of Informatics.”

He moved the banknote over the table and uttered, “I cannot accept this. I will wash my trousers tonight. That will do it. And please, I apologize for calling you a grandmother. I was a bit stressed. It’s a compliment really because you also look like my grandmother, whom I loved very much.”

After a deep sip of Cappuccino, he added, “And where is this great former love living now?”

Edith also took a large sip of Cappuccino, paused a moment and then said with a particular light in her eyes, “I do not know at all, I lost his trace many years ago, but it is in these last years as a widow, when I repeatedly thought about Curt and what he might do, where he might be, etc. When you appeared, I immediately thought that I really must try to find him.”

Mirko leaned over the table, “O.K., then why do you not start the search. This is not a real problem nowadays. The net helps a lot.”

“Which net, what do you mean that I should go fishing?”

“The Internet.”

“Aha, and you think this Internet knows where Curt is?”

“The Internet does not really know where he is but will help to find him.”

“You tell me that the Internet could help to find him, do you really mean it?”

“Of course, Madam!”

“Please, call me Edith!”

She moved closer to the table and put her elbows upon it.

“To tell you the naked truth, I never cared about all these electronic things, and I do not have a computer. But please tell me what I need to install this Internet.”

She asked Mirko to make a detailed list. The fire in her eyes became stronger as he explained the possibilities, and Mirko started rather amusedly to list the things needed. After he finished, Edith thanked him and said, “I will arrange for all this and then you will teach me to use this modern stuff, this ‘laptop’. I will pay you, of course. Now, I must go. I have a lot to do. Goodbye.”

She left in a hurry, and Mirko sat there with a frown.

Four hours later, Edith sat on the sofa in her sitting room. She sat upright and stared at the picture in her hands. The image from 50 years ago showed a tall man with very dense, half long hair and blue eyes in a well-formed and friendly face. Her heart jumped with excitement and just again.

They had been engaged for over two years when he told her about his plan to establish a sailing school in Australia. After finishing commercial school, he only intended to work for a couple of years to save enough money to realize his dream. When the day came to decide, Edith was not ready to leave for such a distant place. So he went alone. And then they lost sight of each other.

Edith was over 35 when she married a much older man who worked as Management Consultant. They did not have children, led a calm life and formed an excellent team. Her husband died two years after beginning his pension. Since then, Edith has lived alone. She refused several approaches by quite interesting men. She had a group of friends with whom she shared common interests.

About two or three times in the past years, she thought about Curt. But probably he was happily married, and she would only disturb. Furthermore, she did not know how to find him. She could not remember to which coast in Australia he had planned to go. Therefore, she pushed the thought away.

She usually went for a long stroll along the lake on Thursday morning. And her walk always ended with a Cappuccino in the same bistro. When on this morning that man appeared right when she was about to take the first delightful sip – that man who looked like Curt – she knew immediately that she had to find him.

Friday morning:

Mirko sat on a stool in the gallery and thought about his situation. Although he worked three afternoons as a teacher in the Informatics program for disabled people, it was not enough to live from. He needed something else. But what? The rest of the time he painted, he was very fortunate to present some of his works with four other artists in this gallery. However, it was tough to sell any pieces, and one could not count on a regular income as an unknown artist. He lived with his girlfriend in a tiny flat. She was a violin player in a chamber music trio, often on tour. It was time to ask her to marry him, but he felt embarrassed as long as his income was not better. Mirko sighed and moved his shoulders up and down. Yes, he should really ask her.

The old doorbell at the entrance to the gallery pulled him out of his romantic thoughts. Edith staggered into the hall carrying two huge bags. “Oh please, not that now!” he murmured. Before he sufficiently collected himself, the two huge bags were parked left and right of his stool. “Young man, a lot of work is coming up for you,” Edith stated, full of a smile but lightly out of breath. He was somewhat bewildered with a tendency to get nervous. “Ahm, I have to work here and guard the gallery the whole day. I am sorry, I cannot help you at the moment.”

She blew her nose and continued, “Young man, I know that. Here you have my key and address.” Edith placed a key and a card on the wooden desk. Without waiting for his reaction, she happily explained further, “And here is money for a taxi. You take the two bags, in one is food, and in the other is all the stuff from the computer shop. At 2.00 p.m. the electrician comes and at 2.30 the agent from the cable company to install the e-mail-package and Internet I need. I will guard the gallery, and you will, in the meantime, install everything necessary. I have already set up a table in my sitting room. After closing here, I will come and cook a light dinner, and then we will start searching the Internet. You will teach me. Off we go!”

This grandma was a bit too pushy for Mirko, and he took a deep breath getting ready for defence. No chance, he remembered his own grandmother. Edith already jumped across the room and asked, “Which ones are your works?” Instead of his defence speech, he said with half loud voice, “The large ones with heads of musicians in crowns of trees.”

“They are fabulous! This one must be Beethoven. You should increase the prices!”

Mirko felt pride climbing up his ribs. Why not do it. He jumped from his seat, showed her the necessary items and left the gallery.

At 8.00 p.m., they sat in her living room, enjoying Caesar’s Salad and a delicious chicken Maharaja. He felt great. Edith had sold two of his pictures. Apparently, a group of Chinese tourists had come along, and she encouraged them into the gallery and showed them his pictures. They paid cash. And the guide got instructed by Edith to come back with other groups. This grandma seemed to have uplifting organisational talents.

They began to work. Mirko prepared three sheets with instructions on how to start the electronic notebook, how to switch it off, how to search on the Internet, how to print out pages, finally, how to write an e-mail-message and how to read a received message. Edith was obviously not interested in the latter but could hardly wait to start the great search.

“O.K., what is the family name of your Curt?” She seemed embarrassed and moved backwards and forwards on her chair. “Could we rehearse with another name?” Mirko tried it then with ‘Beethoven’ and explained the various steps and what the results meant. She seemed very excited. Then they tried it with ‘sailing school Perth’. And finally, they wrote an e-mail-message as a test to Mirko’s address. At midnight he left, and they arranged for a meeting on Monday. He gave her his phone number for the case that she would get stuck.

Monday:

Mirko arrived at Edith’s apartment at 11.00 a.m. and found her in the middle of hundreds of sheets of paper spread all over the carpet. All full of addresses of sailing schools in Australia and the rest of the Pacific. Edith just started with Hawaii. She seemed to have searched without interruption on Saturday and also on Sunday. Remains of quickly eaten food were distributed on the salon table and surrounded by printouts.

Edith sighed, “So far, I could not find anything with his name. Maybe he is not alive anymore. Maybe it all is just a great dream!”

Mirko sat down, scratched his head and then asked, “Would you now be so kind as to indicate to me his name and thus enable me to help to search?”

“His name is Curt Bergström,” she murmured tenderly.

“O.K., Curt Bergström, we are coming!” Mirko pronounced to the sitting room.

Edith turned her head and smiled – she looked so full of hope – and then casually interjected, “By the way, there is more work for you. Seven old ladies – all my friends – wait to be taught regarding e-mail and the Internet. I have already fixed a price for you to install their computers and we will take shifts in the art gallery. And I am sure that some of their husbands will also want to join the sessions.”

Mirko was speechless. He had to work in the afternoon in the children’s classes, but he promised to help search the Internet and think about some more ideas for possible links.

Tuesday:

Edith came at 11.30 in the morning to the gallery. There had been no results so far. No sign of Curt Bergström. In the meantime, she extended her search to the sailing schools in the Mediterranean area, starting in the Greek Islands. They went to drink a Cappuccino, and after that Edith decided to go for a walk before continuing her odyssey on the net. She surfed all night long on the Internet and finally fell disappointed into sleep.

Wednesday:

She called Mirko and expressed doubts about the whole project. However, she wanted to continue by all means.

Thursday morning:

The phone rang at 7.30 a.m. Mirko’s voice announced, “I found him, Mr Bergström ahoi!” Edith was speechless and unlocked the door. Half an hour later, Mirko arrived. Edith sat on the sofa, upright, the picture of Curt Bergström in her hands.

“Where is he?” she asked anxiously. “Well, here we go: Thin-Bergström diving school in Mergui Archipelago, Burma!”

“And who is Thin?” Edith whispered. “His daughter. She runs the school. Her mother died when she was seven. Curt is a widower. I played detective a bit and found that all out for you. Here is his e-mail-address. We are now drinking a nice cup of coffee, and then we are sending him an e-mail-message!”

Edith remained seated on the sofa, where she did not move. Mirko went to the kitchen to prepare the coffee. He sang an aria from one of the famous Verdi operas. When he came with the coffee, Edith sat in front of her electronic notebook and said, “And what should I write? Maybe he does not want to meet me at all.”

“He’d be a real fool. Of course, he wants to meet you! Do you think we went through all of this madness just to change our mind?”

Edith wrote: ‘Hello Curt. I have tried since last Saturday to find you all over the world. How are you? Can we meet? Looking forward to hearing from you. Edith.’

She asked Mirko to press the send button. She was too excited. Mirko added her precise address with her phone number and sent the message. Then they both sighed in unison in front of the notebook.

“Can I leave you alone now? Mary is returning from her tour, and we would like to spend two days in the mountains. We will be back Saturday night.”

“O.K., I’m up to my ears in work now. I must clean up the flat. Then rearrange the furniture and wash all curtains. I must go to the hairdresser, and I need some new clothes. I will also check travel arrangements to Mergui. You see, I have a lot to do for the next couple of weeks.”

Mirko stood there and looked at the charming older lady, who now seemed twenty years younger. “Do not forget to buy a new sexy nightdress!” he threw over his shoulder and left with a smile on his face. Her face reddened.

Saturday:

Edith opened her cupboard and started to search in all corners. Finally, she found what she was looking for: black stockings with embroidery and a suspender belt. She sighed and decided to try them on. After all these years it took time to get it all in the correct position. She placed herself in front of the mirror and smiled. She turned around and said to herself, “Well, the ideal thing is that it all covers up the traces of age!” She slipped into her new black silk blouse with ruffles and found it all very lovely. In any event, she was equipped and ready for whatever would come up. She posed and whispered, smiling, “What would he think, seeing me now like this?”

The doorbell rang, but Edith did not expect anyone. The doorbell rang again. She rushed to the door and looked through the spyhole in the door. She saw something like flowers. “My goodness, he sent me my flowers!” she whispered. She could recognize tiny beautiful orchid blossoms.

Her heart jumped. A heatwave flushed through her body up to her cheeks. She totally forgot about her outfit and hastily turned the key and opened the door.

“Hallo Edith, wow, I like your outfit!”

She stood there with wide-open eyes, her glasses in hand and stared at the tall older man carrying an enormous bouquet of orchids. He was Curt Bergström.

“Oh, you are here, I almost can’t believe it,” she stammered, trying to press her knees together and covering up the patches of skin above her black stockings.

“I sent you an e-mail-reply,” he said patiently.

She turned around. Rushed in the direction of her sitting room and sank into the chair in front of her electronic notebook. Curt Bergström entered, closed the door and placed the orchids on the table. Then he stepped behind Edith, reached over her shoulder and pressed a key on the notebook. It took a while. He opened the incoming mail file, and one single message read: ‘Hallo Edith, I am already underway.’

She stood up and sank into his arms.

They married three months later and established an Internet corner for pensioned people in the large back room of the art gallery where Mirko worked, and Mary’s trio now played music once in a while.

Mirko smiled and thought, “How much more complete life is when we younger ones work together with the older ones.”

Climbing Roses

Matteo was filled with great happiness and pride because today was a special day. He wore his new black linen suit, a light blue shirt and ultra-soft dark brown moccasins without socks on his feet. He carried a bouquet of wonderful dark red roses in his right hand. He paused in front of the large house with four floors built in the past century by a wealthy family. A particular aspect of the architecture was that there were fire ladders added to the front house wall that, at the same time, served as decor. The house was occupied by one large family in the past. After some renovation and transformation, there were now individual flats on each floor. Matteo looked up to the top apartment of the left side on the fourth floor and smiled in great anticipation. Then he put his foot on the fire ladder, clamped the bouquet of roses under his chin, and then began slowly to climb up the fire ladder. This had been his idea for quite a while. He wanted with this brave action to impress his girlfriend and then surprise her with his marriage proposal.

Matteo studied philosophy in the 7th semester and worked as a night porter in a small hotel. He lived with his mother in an old house at the edge of the town, that she had inherited from her parents. His mother’s sister in law often came for more extended visits to live in the house. Both women had lost their husbands in a traffic accident. Matteo’s plan was to become a university professor one day, but this was still a target in the clouds. He and his girlfriend maintained a stable relationship for over three years, and he now thought it was time to get married. They could then live in the lovely flat on the top floor under the roof prepared for his brother and enlarged with a toilet and bathroom. However, his brother was a trekking tour guide and was over eighty per cent per year underway somewhere out there in the world. When he returned for his very short visits, the smaller original room he had since childhood was enough for him.

Since Matteo’s mother was rather old fashioned and very religious on top of it, she had not been able to accept that Matteo and his girlfriend would live in the house without being married. Therefore, the two consistently and regularly met in the tiny apartment of his girlfriend in the already-mentioned big four-store house with the unique fire ladders on the house wall. This small apartment was costly, and moving together into the old family house would help economically, apart from being a pleasant idea, thought Matteo. He had not discussed this idea with his girlfriend so far, but he was persuaded that she would like it the way he did.

In the meantime, he had reached the level of the first floor. Up to here, it was an easy project because one could even jump down from here. Getting to the second floor was also still easily makeable. However, after this, it began to be a real challenge. Looking down over the shoulder from the third floor requested a good portion of courage and no tendency for nausea. And finally, moving on to the fourth floor was then an extraordinary challenge and actually needed absolute concentration and the abilities of a Musketeer. Matteo was a friendly, well-balanced and generally good-natured person, who preferred peace and a special touch of class, and he absolutely despised any kind of rudeness.

He was now just to reach the third floor and paused for a short moment. He took a deep breath, and a giant smile extended on his face when he thought about his girlfriend’s big eyes full of surprise when seeing him coming along this unusual but courageous way. And then he also figured out her endless joy about his marriage proposal. He smiled in that way that only someone could smile, who was about to come up with a great surprise, and then slowly moved on. When he was at the exact level of the flat on the third floor, he leaned a bit over to briefly peep into the window. The room was muted. On the commode burnt three giant candles whose flickering light produced a romantic aura by sketching large, moving shadows on the wall. A beautiful woman just came through the door. She was barely dressed, only wearing a midnight blue, silken nightdress that just covered her backside, and she looked incredibly sexy with her long dark brown hair falling almost to her waist. She had a glass of champagne in her hand and was just about to take a sip when a sun-tanned half-naked man came in; he only wore briefs in leopard print and held a glass of champagne in his hand.

Matteo was amused and wanted to move on, but at this very moment, the man discovered him through the window, pointed with the finger at him and screamed angrily, “What does this one want here?” He then turned half away toward the pretty woman who glanced with large eyes at Matteo and obviously seemed frightened about what she saw. Matteo stood out there on the ladder in a rather uncomfortable position, still having the bouquet of roses clamped under his chin. The half-naked man in his leopard briefs made two steps toward the window to better see who was out there. Then he shook his head, rolled his eyes and moved back to the attractive woman who, in the meantime, had sat down on the massive bed with the mountain of cushions in all colours and sizes. The man threw his champagne into her face with a furious gesture, dropped the glass to the floor and grasped her by the shoulder, shouting like a mad one, “You see, I knew it! I knew it exactly! You do not deserve me. You are fooling around with other males when I am on business trips. I always feared this naked truth. One cannot rely on women, never. It’s too much that your gigolos now even come up via ladder to deliver their cheap flower bouquets!” He seemed totally blind through jealousy and reached out to beat her, but the pretty woman could escape to the other corner of the room.

Matteo quickly moved his head back and paused for a small moment, shocked about what he just had to witness. Then he shook his head and thought, “Well, this relation will not last anyway. She has to take the consequences - no use to keep up a relationship with such a monster!” Then he carefully climbed onto the fourth floor.

When he reached window level, he again leaned over and looked into the room. His girlfriend was sitting on the sofa, holding her mobile phone to her ear, obviously talking to someone. Then, she observed him, dropped the phone and came with a smiling face rushing to open the window to let him in. Matteo climbed into the room and sat on the windowsill, now holding the flowers in his right hand, to emphasize the whole scene. Then he fell on his right knee, looked at her with big dog eyes – which he had rehearsed at home in front of the mirror – presented his marriage proposal and held the bouquet of dark red roses under her face.

He was so pleased and released at the same time that he finally managed to surprise her and that everything worked out well. For a moment, he closed his eyes, letting her find her speech. Before he could open his eyes again and hear her tender answer, as he expected, he felt a terrible pain in his face like thousand thorns hurting him at once, then again and again. He kept his eyes closed, but he knew that his girlfriend was whipping him with the bouquet of long-stemmed roses full of sharp thorns. She must have lost her mind. And for a short moment, Matteo thought this house must have been occupied by the devil on this night. He opened his eyes slowly to make sure that the attack was over and saw her smashing the damaged bouquet to his feet. Then she placed herself in front of him and yelled, “Who do you think am I? Just a stupid girl who does not have an idea about the world? A marriage proposal with just a bunch of flowers is no way acceptable! Where is my diamond ring? Hey, where? Have you never read a romantic book or seen a modern movie? A marriage proposal without a diamond ring is not worth anything! I do not want a man who does not even know the basic ‘rules of marriage’, and furthermore to live in that old house with your mother on the ground floor is also not my thing, to be frank now! Over, it’s over with us!” She made such an ugly face that Matteo thought, “What the hell did I see in this woman?” and he just stood there, concentrating. He felt blood dripping down his face, and the wounds were burning. She began again to yell, “You’re not even able to defend yourself, you coward! You know what, get out of here, at once!” She rushed to the door in the corridor and opened the entrance door, standing there with both arms on her hips, and making an extremely snooty face.

Matteo let her stand there, turned around and climbed out of the still open window. He had to be careful now when moving down because it was more than a risky action under these circumstances while he was covered in pain. On one side, the wounds on his face were troubling him. On the other side, was the heavy wound in his heart – as after a knife had been turned around. He tried to be brave-hearted, saving the tears for later and moving towards the ground.

When he reached the third-floor level, he could not hold back but lean over and glance through the window. He saw the unknown woman sitting on the floor in front of the bed. She was embracing her knees, and her head was resting on them. Her long hair flowed over her legs almost to the ground, and she seemed to weep. Matteo knocked on the window to get her attention. Nothing happened. He hit again, this time a bit harder. Now she slowly lifted her head and looked in the direction of the window. She seemed very sad, her make-up was smeared over her face and her nose was bleeding. When she saw his face, she opened her eyes wide and seemed to be shocked. She got on her feet and rushed to the window to open it and helped him into the room. Then she asked with a voice expressing genuine sorrow and compassion, “What happened to your face? It’s covered in blood! Who has done this?” She pushed him gently over to the mirror on the wall. When he saw his face in the mirror, he could not believe it: his face was the face of a horror puppet - full of scars and blood traces everywhere. Now it was clear to him why he felt such pain.

“She was whipping me with the long-stemmed dark red roses I wanted to present while pronouncing my marriage proposal!” Matteo explained in a calm voice while the unknown beauty very carefully tried to dab off his many wounds caused by the thorns of the roses. Then he wanted to know what was happening with her and her partner down here in this apartment. She went on dabbing his face, and after a pause, she explained, “Well, he freaked out completely and was possessed by the thought that you actually came up for me. He insinuated that I was having an affair with you and that he always knew that I was not true to him. He banged around in the flat and hit me several times, also in the face, until my nose was bleeding. And finally, he announced that he already had another girlfriend who would never do such things to him, who was very obeying and a real beauty. After wishing me to hell, he threw the key into the corridor and left. It was more than clear to me that he felt very guilty because of having cheated me, but now wanted to push everything into my shoes!”

She paused a moment, looked at him, and said with a firm voice, “Well, I’m glad that all this happened and that he is gone. I do not want such a brutal womanizer!” Then she reached out with her right hand and said, lightly smiling, “Hello, my name is Lara!” Matteo presented himself and thanked her for dabbing his face. Lara suggested having a nice cup of tea and chatting a bit about their two lives.

Matteo sat down at the round table in the salon that led directly into the kitchen. He observed her moving around and preparing the tea and some light snacks. She was an absolute beauty, and he thought, that a man behaving like the one from before behaved must be a total idiot. He could not hold back, and to his astonishment, he heard himself expressing his thoughts clearly in loud words. Lara glanced at him with a very light smile and reported, “Well, he said I am a bloody witch. Maybe it is true! Be careful!” Matteo felt great and countered, “Maybe I am also an idiot, but I do not believe that you are a bloody witch! I think that we have maintained partnerships with the wrong partners, and tonight the gods let us find it out, a bit too cruel, but what matters is that the disappointments have gone!”

Lara and Matteo enjoyed several cups of tea and chatted extensively. Later they changed to red wine as a good night cup and made plans for the next day together. At three o’clock in the morning, Matteo dribbled down the stairs after waving again to her. He was warbling full of joy all the way home.

On the following day, they took an extensive stroll along the river. And yet, before finishing his philosophy studies, he climbed up the fire ladder to the third floor, this time on one Saturday in the summer. A tiny bag of glossy paper from an exquisite jewellery shop was between his teeth. And, yes, of course, Lara stood there radiating with joy. When she finally saw the ring presented to her, she did not even wait for his marriage proposal. But fell around his neck and screamed again and again, “Yes, of course!”

Violetta

Breakfast time was already over in the Palazzo Dalla Rosa Prati. However, a woman with a highly wild hairstyle and a completely tear-stained face was still eating. She was wearing a pink jogging suit, and she seemed to have endless time. Staring into the air, obviously without seeing anything special, she sat there seemingly bored, then and again guiding a piece of bread into her mouth or taking a sip of a cappuccino that must have been cold already. A good looking artist in his forties was efficiently moving around with huge framed paintings, trying to hang them up here and there on thin wires hanging from the ceiling – obviously specially arranged for this. The works of art showed modern compositions of curved patches in different colours – such as waterfalls and rivers - which seemed to move like waves through the paintings, mingling and separating again. They all had a splendid drive, witnessed the good hand of the artist, and invariably invited one to stay a bit longer and be immersed in this art. Although something seemed to be missing, perhaps a captivating highlight. The artist was preparing the presentation of his final six works of art for the upcoming opening of his exhibition that evening.

And then an angry outcry sounded through the elegant breakfast hall, “What on earth are you doing? Are you mad? You’ve just destroyed them. They were not quite dry yet!” The artist was about to freak out, running from one corner to the other, letting fly clouds of curses in dramatic pitch. The woman in pink had been trying to open a cellophane pack containing a healthy cornflakes mixture, and as the packet was so challenging to open, she needed all her strength, ending up using her teeth to help. The cereal package suddenly erupted, and the contents scattered wildly over the table. In the useless attempt to avoid this cornflake cloud, she made a reflex action with both hands, gesticulating movements. So that the cup of cappuccino, the freshly pressed fruit juice, yoghurt, and the half full pot with the dark cherry jam flew over the table, ending up on two of the large oil paintings that the artist had parked standing upright, leaning against the next table. It was a total mess. Fruit juice and coffee were now running across these delicate pieces of fresh art, and then the yoghurt and the sticky cherry jam took a bit more time to slowly move down the canvas. One of them was almost entirely covered with milk, which the woman in pink had just minutes ago collected from the buffet to pour over her muesli mix. The artist seemed to lose control and held his head with both hands.

The receptionist came running to see what was going on. And two guests who had come for a reservation were also watching the scene. In addition, some passers-by were peering curiously through the large window. And now the hotel owner also arrived, an heir of a well-known family in town. He looked imploringly at the two disfigured paintings and searched for the right words. The woman in pink was sitting there, completely calm, leaning back with hanging arms, staring into the two destroyed artworks, expressionless and somehow rather indifferent, although she had caused the mess.

The artist was desperate and saw his reputation getting seriously damaged. The two works now destroyed were the core works of his exhibition and thus the most expensive ones. They should have been presented on the large wall in this hall, where the speeches would be held at the event’s opening. A discussion began about cancelling the exhibition. But even with today’s digital messaging capabilities, where information could be sent out within seconds, this would still cause considerable problems. A row of important guests of the local society was invited and the press, and it would, in any case, result in a loss for the Palazzo Dalla Rosa Prati and for the artist, who seemed to be close to tears. Helplessness reigned! The artist indeed pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and began to wipe his eyes, one after the other and with a theatrical expression on his face. For him, it was the end of the world.

“Stop this nonsense! What happened has happened! I did not do it on purpose, holy cow, and it does not help at all now standing around with sad and helpless faces. What we need now is to find a solution!” came the dry voice of the woman in pink. The artist gave a loud sob and threw a devastating glance at her, almost disgusted, underlining his thinking with a disparaging gesture and then half turning his face to the other side. “No piece of art of this kind can be replaced within a few hours. You haven’t got a clue!” he threw in with an angry undertone. The woman in pink sat up, her eyes flashed, and shouted back, “Stop freaking out, and calm down. This is not the end of the world!” She placed herself in front of the artist. And then ordered, with a competent voice, and as if it were the most natural thing in the world, “Please get a selection of quick drying acrylic colours!” And turning towards the owner of the palazzo, “I would like you to show me your storeroom with old furniture in the basement, now, please!” Before she followed the owner who, frowning, headed towards the corridor. She turned back to the artist, who was standing there with disbelieving eyes, and said, with a slight smile on her lips, “Hurry up, we meet in ‘Violetta’ on the top floor in half an hour!” Then she disappeared through the door.

She was right. The large storeroom of this house with a long history was the perfect place; within minutes, she found what she was looking for. The elegant owner stood at the entrance and saw her approaching with two wooden doors. They probably once belonged to some kind of wardrobes. But they stood now in the very back in the half-dark, apparently forgotten. “How about these? Could we have them? They would fit the purpose perfectly and become a total success!” the woman in pink inquired, somehow persuaded that the answer would be positive and therefore already walking with the two doors to the way out. “Ahem, they are from some cupboards we now use without doors to present decorative objects in the corridors; we never used the doors. Yes, you can use them!” the elegant man replied, wondering a bit what she intended to do with these pieces of wood, and followed her after locking the door. They passed the reception desk, where the women in pink stopped for a moment to put the doors down and explained, “The Vernissage will take place as planned, for sure! So no reason for panic! Please get two old bed sheets and a large plastic sheet, and bring it all up to ‘Violetta’, now!” She grasped the two wooden doors and disappeared.

Half an hour later, the artist appeared at the reception desk with several plastic bags. He glanced full of doubt at the receptionist, shaking his head several times and asking for the way to ‘Violetta’ – which he realized was obviously the name of one of the hotel rooms - and then he also disappeared in the direction of the elevator.

The woman in pink, had in the meantime, prepared one corner of the room, transforming the space into a kind of a workshop with the help of two bathroom stools on which the wooden doors – which she had thoroughly dusted - were resting. The floor beneath was primarily covered with bed sheets and a thick plastic sheet. When she heard a knock on the door, she jumped up and moved towards the entrance to open the door. The artist stood there with various plastic bags, looking at her with doubts, dissatisfaction and deep disgust. He then moved into the room, passing her quickly and somewhat annoyed, and placed all the bags abruptly on the floor in the middle of the room, angrily spitting out, “What the hell should all this bring? You destroyed my works by your idiotic fuss at the table – they’re irreplaceable, and the prospect of a halfway tolerable or somehow partly successful event this evening is zero, you silly cow!”

“Hi, my name is Luna, not Vacca,” she patted his shoulder, “and yours is Sandro from what I could read on your paintings. Sit down over there, and stop raging!” She pointed to the chair in front of one of the lying wooden doors. He sat down hesitatingly and growled. She unpacked the paint tubes and placed them efficiently next to his feet with brushes and a towel. “Now you are going to prove that you are really an artist! You will paint on these doors your typical wavy surfaces in various colours. However, since we have certain time pressure, you will perform it quickly, full of powerful drive and pleasure! I will then do my part and give both works a finish. Off you go!”

Sandro first thought that the woman was totally crazy, but the way she had set up things, at the same time, let doubt arise about this first thought. Actually, it allowed him to think that she might have something up her sleeve of which he had no clue. And her decided way of explaining her plan was unusual and sounded quite interesting. He then began to open the tubes of acrylic paint with a certain automatism. While leaning over the paint tubes, he observed her surreptitiously. She now had her hair combed and arranged in a ponytail. Light make-up emphasized her face to an irresistible advantage, giving her a dramatic touch. Overall seen, she was an attractive woman with a well-formed body. She glanced at him with a smile, and he pretended somehow irritated to align the different paint tubes in a specific row, which was just to win time. Luna then took a magazine and placed herself on the antic sofa.

After staring for a few minutes at the wooden door, Sandro finally shook his head, muttering some unclear comments, and painted. He decided to give this mysterious art project - proposed by this woman coming out of the nowhere - a try. With efficient movements, he stroked large wavy patches of acrylic paint right over the central area of the wood, not even letting a straight rim remain uncovered. “Why not do something crazy for once!” an inner voice filled him with artistic pride and pushed his creativity. So far, he had never been painting on wooden doors. He now even felt somehow unleashed, inspired and quite satisfied in a new way. After about forty-five minutes, he stated, relaxed and almost a bit amused, “Here we go, you can now take over!”