Three and a Half Minutes

by Caroline Fyffe

  He sat up straighter, clearly interested. “I know the school well.” He smiled for the first time, displaying straight white teeth. “My office is right around the corner from Brandstätte and Tuchlauben.” He laughed. “Not that that would mean anything to you. However, it’s extremely close to the institution. Perhaps when you get fed up with Diphdonge and Umlaute exercises, you would consider having lunch with me.”

  Heat surged inside Camille and she hoped her face wasn’t turning red. Is he asking me out? His expression told her that was indeed the case.

  “I’m sorry, but…I haven’t any idea yet what my schedule will be like.”

  “Of course. Of course.” His smile widened. “I’ll drop by sometime and look you up. Then, if time allows, I’ll show you the city. Stephen Turner.” He held out his hand until she had little choice but to take it in her own.

  “Camille Ashland.”

  She felt like a treed cat. Who would’ve thought? It wasn’t as though dating was unthinkable. She’d worked hard and kept her shape, hadn’t let herself go. It was just…

  A buzz of quiet conversation erupted in the cabin as passengers began preparing for landing. If she wanted to go to the ladies’ room, she’d need to hurry. The seatbelt sign illuminated with a subtle dong but if she went quickly, no one would stop her.

  She unbuckled her seatbelt and half stood. “Excuse me.”

  Hurrying toward the lavatory, Camille couldn’t get her mind off their conversation. The young man directly in front of her turned around. Before she could stop, a woman plowed into her back and sent her vaulting into his arms. Horrified, she tried to pull away, but not before a scalding sensation made her gasp. She grabbed at the hot material burning her chest.

  Looking up, Camille winced as the fellow’s face contorted in pain and a long hiss slithered from between his teeth. For one brief moment, he was too startled to speak. His cup of coffee was now one big splotch on the front of his starched white shirt and running in rivulets down his expensive-looking pants.

  Laughter erupted from three teenage girls seated nearby. Their giggles and snorting seemed to go on forever.

  “I’m so sorry. I’ll get something to wipe it off.” Camille waved at the flight attendant.

  Her victim, who looked to be nineteen or so, stood rooted to the spot. He had a high, intelligent-looking forehead on a very round head. His crimson face stood out next to his white-blond hair. Blotches appeared like two flags on his cheeks amid an array of freckles, and in his embarrassment, they darkened like a chameleon’s.

  The sympathetic flight attendant handed Camille paper towels. Camille began wiping at his shirt.

  He angrily grabbed the towels from Camille’s hands.

  “Somebody ran into me. It was an accid…” Camille’s voice trailed off as she looked around for the person who’d shoved her into him. The aisle was empty behind her.

  “Please,” she tried again. “Let me get some cold water. I think I can get most of this out.”

  He raked her with his eyes.

  The flight attendant interrupted. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to take your seats now. We’ll be landing soon.”

  Camille went back to her seat and waited as Stephen Turner unbuckled and got up, letting her in.

  She refastened her seat belt feeling sick. Her silk blouse was ruined and the coffee had soaked through to her bra. She was thankful she had brought a jacket that she could use to cover up the mess.

  “Too bad,” Stephen Turner said quietly. “But don’t beat yourself up over it.” His smile was understanding. “As they say, stuff happens. Even to the Prime Minister’s so—” He closed his mouth and shrugged. “To important and unimportant people.”

  That was a rather odd comment but Camille was too upset to give it another thought. Under normal circumstances, that young man was probably a very nice person. She snuck a quick look back. Seated one row in front of the laughing girls, who to Camille’s horror were still carrying on, he stared out the window.

  Vienna, Austria

  Camille’s mouth watered. She stood before a vending machine staring at a Kit Kat bar with utter longing. She was exhausted. And hungry. Her host family had failed to show to pick her up and she was without a single euro. Without any difficulty at all, the fine thread of self-control that held off panic could snap at any moment, turning her into a blubbering mess.

  The overhead intercom crackled once before a smooth female voice announced, “Lassen Sie Ihr, Gepäck nicht unbeaufsichtigt. Nehmen Sie keine Pakete von Fremden an.” The voice repeated in English, “Do not leave your bags unattended. Do not accept packages from strangers.” The almost vacant airport had an eerie feel.

  Camille sank onto a nearby bench and pulled her luggage up close. Getting through Customs had been the last straw. She’d been shuffled from one agent to another trying to explain that the Canadian tags on her bag contradicting her United States citizenship were not part of some sort of treacherous espionage plan, but the brainless advice of her travel agent.

  Mr. Sterns had assured her he routinely encouraged his clients to conceal their US citizenship from anti-American extremists with a smoke screen, so to speak. Canadian luggage tags were an easy way to do that. Americans were not the most popular tourists these days. He’d banned visors and fanny packs, tacky tourist red flags he’d called them, and coached her against reading maps, speaking loudly, and asking too many questions in public places.

  Finally past the Customs gauntlet, she’d hurried over to the ATM only to have it reject her PIN number twice. Gone were the days of traveler’s checks, Mr. Stern had assured her. “Before leaving the airport, just make a withdrawal from the ATM. You get the best exchange rate and you only withdraw what you need. It’s perfect.”

  Perfect, indeed.

  On her third try, the cranky machine ate her card, leaving her alone in a foreign country with only fifty US dollars. Emergency money of sorts. At eight twenty p.m., the exchange office was closed until tomorrow.

  Taking a deep breath, she squelched the overwhelming urge to call home.

  “Camille, is everything all right?”

  Stephen Turner stood before her, concern in his eyes.

  “Stephen.” She almost winced at how desperate she sounded.

  “I saw you sitting over here all alone. Isn’t anyone here to meet you?”

  “There was supposed to be. I’ve called my contact number but there’s no answer. Maybe they’re just late.”

  “It’s been almost two hours since we landed. Customs was slow and then the car rental agency screwed up my paperwork, adding another thirty minutes. If they’re not here for you by now, I don’t think anyone’s coming.”

  He was right. She’d have to take a bus or taxi. Would she have enough cash? Would they even take American money? Without her credit card, she felt naked.

  “Come on. I’ll give you a lift.”

  Is he serious?

  Lunch in a public restaurant was one thing, but going off alone in a foreign country with a total stranger was quite another. How many times had she made Kristin swear she’d never do something like that?

  She must have had uncertainty written all over her face because he smiled his understanding. Folding the paperwork he held in his hands, he put it in his briefcase.

  “I know the city well, Camille, so it won’t be a problem finding the address. I promise I’ll drop you off anywhere you’d like. Just friends.”

  What choice did she have? Spending the night on a cold bench in a foreign airport held no appeal.

  “Well…okay.” She stood and straightened her stained and rumpled clothing, and gathered her things. She looked up into his attractive brown eyes and prayed she was doing the right thing. “Lead on.”

  Chapter Four

  Stephen, true to his word, delivered Camille safe and sound. Now, early Monday morning, she descended the stairs and met Helene, the wife and mother of her host family, at the front door. The house smelled of freshly baked apple st
rudel and coffee. A small candle on the knotty pine entry table winked at Camille, as if to say good morning. Petra and Patrick, Helene and Wolfgang’s eight-year-old twins, and Sasha, their three-year-old daughter, were still asleep.

  “Have a good first day,” Helene said, hugging Camille. “Do not worry about anything.”

  Helene looked darling in a red and yellow frock resembling the hippie styles of the sixties. Her reddish hair, cropped one inch from her scalp and spiked out in all directions with the help of a fragrant hair gel, was cute. She had an appealing oval face with translucent skin.

  “It will be enjoyable, and…” Helene struggled with her English, “before you know it, it will be time to come home.”

  Camille’s heart did a somersault. She’d said those same words to Kristin on her first day of kindergarten.

  Helene gave Camille a long look. “You are nervous?”

  In truth, she was petrified beyond words but preferred not to worry her hostess. “No. Only excited.”

  Helene didn’t look convinced. “If you change your mind about walking home, call my number and I will send Wolfgang to get you. Or tell one of the instructors, and they will call for you.”

  “I’m sure I’ll want to walk.” The school was only a bit over three kilometers. Since she’d be living here for the next two months, she figured walking was the best way to get some of the exercise Stephanie had prescribed. “It’s part of my therapy. But thank you so much, for everything.”

  Camille closed the door behind her quietly and stepped into the frosty morning air. Not knowing what to expect on the first day, she’d agonized over what to wear. If possible, she wanted to blend in with the other students. Feeling silly for having changed three times, she’d finally decided on a neutral calf-length skirt, cream tights, and a brown lightweight sweater. She wore sneakers for her walk, but carried a pair of casual loafers in her backpack next to her ultra-sleek laptop. She didn’t want to look like a fuddy-duddy, but trying too hard to look trendy was a sure ticket to disaster.

  She smacked her gloved hands together and set off at a brisk clip. She took deep breaths and forced the air out through her nose without breaking stride. Like always, she expected a jolting pain to pounce on her at any moment, as it had before. With determination, she pushed her fear away. She was on her way to recovery, stress free.

  It surprised her she hadn’t thought about Chocolate Blossoms once since landing in Austria. She’d thought of Kristin, of course, and her mom and Stephanie too. But always with a smile. They were excited she was here. Thoughts of Bret tried to sneak in and ruin her joy, but she pushed them aside. She’d not let him spoil her adventure. She’d married for the wrong reasons, hadn’t taken the time and discernment needed before jumping into a short engagement. They’d hardly known each other. They had never discussed anything important, and she’d paid the price. After the glow of the honeymoon had worn off, it was like waking up next to a stranger.

  Camille placed two fingers on the top of the watch she had purchased before leaving Portland. It was a remarkable contraption, designed to check her heart rate simply by touch. She was walking swiftly and the blinking red light said her pulse was slightly elevated. She hadn’t yet called Dr. Williamson but intended to do so later today.

  As Camille drew closer to the heart of Vienna, the sidewalks buzzed with inhabitants. Motorbikes sped by at alarming speeds. Cars and busses jockeyed for position on the narrow roads, honking noisily at each other as if they were the only vehicles permitted to be there.

  She liked it. The feel of the city wrapped around her. The people were gracious and the experience was so European. Rounding the corner, Camille saw the school straight ahead. The building stood proudly in the early morning light, students bustling here and there.

  “Camille.”

  Glancing back, she saw Stephen Turner loping in her direction. She had the sneaking suspicion he’d been waiting for her to arrive.

  “Camille. How are you? I’ve been wondering how things are going at the Eberstarks’.” His words came out in great puffs of frosty air. “After the look on their faces when you knocked on their door that night, I couldn’t help but wonder.”

  He was wearing rich brown corduroy pants and a wool jacket over a patterned shirt. His shoes were expensive, and slung over his shoulder was the same computer pack he’d had at the airport. Freshly showered and shaven, he looked younger, mid to late forties. “Stephen. Hello. The Eberstarks are extremely nice. I couldn’t have picked a nicer family. They felt horrible about the mix-up. Their paperwork had me arriving the next day.”

  “Ah, mystery solved. How’re your accommodations?”

  “Lovely. My room is the only one upstairs. It has a private bathroom, albeit very tiny, and a darling spiral staircase that comes out in the back of the kitchen. It’s comfortable and cozy.”

  “Good. Sounds like you’re all squared away. After I dropped you off, I realized I hadn’t gotten a contact number, you know, so I could see how you’re holding up. I hope you don’t mind that I decided to find out in person.” He continued, not giving her a chance to answer. “Are you ready for your first day?” He looked her up and down and then smiled into her face. “Excited?”

  She laughed, enjoying the easy, struggle-free conversation with an American. “Panicked, is more like it.” She glanced at her watch, then around at the people and bustle. “I’m surprised it only took twenty minutes to get here. That’s quicker than I expected.”

  “What time does your class start?”

  “Eight. It’s good to know that I won’t have to leave the house quite so early from now on.”

  “Or, if you were so inclined, you could still leave early and we could share an espresso before the day begins. If you haven’t noticed yet, everything in this city revolves around coffee.” He laughed deeply. “And pastries. The best in the world.”

  “I guess we can sometime, but not today. I’m much too nervous.” She switched her backpack to her other shoulder. “I’m sure I’d spill it all over myself.”

  He raised an eyebrow, then broke into laughter when she realized too late exactly what she’d said. “You make a habit of that, do you?”

  They began walking toward the school. “You’re going to be fantastic. I thought about you all day yesterday and what you’re accomplishing and I think it’s quite courageous. In my estimation, Camille Ashland is a brave woman.”

  “Brave or stupid?” she responded easily, now thoroughly enjoying the conversation. “I’ll let you know which after I get through this first day. I feel like I’m back in senior high and have my first speech to give.”

  They laughed again as they walked past cafés and shops.

  “I remember those days. Feels like yesterday.”

  She admired his enthusiasm. He was congenial and so self-assured. With his thick wavy hair and brown eyes, she figured most women would consider him a handsome man. More importantly, he was incredibly nice and friendly. God knew she needed a friend right now.

  “Stephen, thanks for coming out to meet me on my first day. I appreciate it a lot. But if you don’t mind, I need to get going. I only have ten minutes to find my class.”

  “Of course. Oh, your phone number. Do you mind if I take it now?” He handed her a business card. “Just write it on the back.”

  She hastily scratched out the long, alien-looking number she’d committed to memory.

  He took the card from her gloved hand. “Have a great day,” he said. “Knock ’em dead.”

  Camille hurried up the wide flagstone steps leading to the main entrance of the school. Two huge double doors, constructed with thick, iron-covered wooden beams, stood fifteen feet tall. A remarkable conglomeration of different levels and styles, the building looked worn and old like the pictures she’d seen in history books of medieval monasteries. The bell tower donged loudly, telling her she was late on her first day. Once inside she felt tiny in the gigantic hall, with its musty smell and cool air.

 
Students sat at their desks as Camille hurried down the hallway, passing each room. She was looking for D-14. The numbers above each door all began with the letter E. E-6, E-7. A young woman hurried in her direction.

  “Please, can you tell me where D-14 is?”

  The girl looked at her blankly. Camille held out her paperwork and pointed to D-14.

  “Ah, ja.” She pointed up.

  “Upstairs?”

  The girl took her by the shoulders and turned her around. She pointed to the end of the corridor where she saw a flight of stairs.

  “Fahren Sie zum dritten Stock.” The girl held up three fingers.

  Camille nodded. “Danke, danke,” she called over her shoulder as she hurried away.

  By the second story landing, Camille’s heart was thumping frighteningly in her chest.

  At the top of the third floor, she stopped to catch her breath and let her heart rate slow down. If she were late, so be it. It was better to be safe than sorry. Once she felt better, she continued on, counting the doors as she passed them. Finally at D-14, she hurried inside and assessed the situation.

  The instructor hadn’t arrived. Seeing only one vacant seat, she made a beeline for the front of the classroom. She willed herself to relax.

  The talking stopped as the professor entered the room. Of medium height, he walked with purpose. Well-built, with a chiseled, masculine chin and defined nose. His shiny chestnut hair moved with his stride and his blue eyes shone brightly.

  He went directly to the front of the room.

  Willkommen in Vien, he wrote, welcoming them to Vienna. He turned back to the class.

  All five senses in Camille went on red alert. Her heart, which had so recently slowed down, took up the familiar thudding, surprising her that it could happen with no exertion at all.

  “Welcome to Vienna. My name is Günther Christove. My colleagues and I are delighted to have you here to study the German language and experience the splendor of our magnificent city.” He rolled the piece of yellow chalk back and forth in his fingers.