First Impressions

by Margaret Thornton

  Maybe the residents who lived near to the river were accustomed to the traffic noise. Although the scenery along the banks of the Rhine couldn’t be surpassed in its beauty and grandeur, it was, nevertheless, an important arterial route in that part of Germany with goods as well as passengers being transported by road, rail and river.

  Jane and Dave listened to the remarks of their fellow travellers.

  ‘I reckon we did OK then, having rooms at the back,’ observed Dave. ‘Did you sleep alright?’

  ‘Very well,’ replied Jane, ‘once I’d got off. My head was full of the events of the day, especially the music and the hilarity last night. It was a great evening, wasn’t it?’

  ‘The first of many, I hope,’ he answered.

  The other coach party, the one from Yorkshire, was leaving round about the same time. Their drivers, also, were loading their coach; they were bound for the Austrian Tyrol.

  There was an enormous stack of suitcases, but it gradually dwindled as the men humped them into the well at the side of the vehicle. They refused help from the men in the parties, although they might well have been glad of it. It was all concerned with health and safety, Bill had told them. If a client injured himself whilst helping, then the company would be liable to pay compensation.

  ‘All aboard now,’ shouted Bill when the last suitcase was stacked away. A quick count of heads, then they were off.

  It was a pleasant drive along the bank of the river. Bill drove at a leisurely speed as it was not much more than a hundred miles to their destination. They made a morning coffee stop at the side of the river, then, after the lunch break near to the famous town of Heidelberg – unfortunately with no time to view the sights of the ‘Student Prince’ city – they turned towards the Black Forest region.

  They arrived mid-afternoon at the village where they were to stay for the next six nights. The hotel – or Gasthaus – was in an idyllic setting, such as was seen on hundreds of picture postcards. It was a white painted building with green shutters at the windows, situated near a rippling stream that flowed along by the roadside. The village through which they had passed consisted of a cluster of similar guest houses, a church with a spire, and a few souvenir shops and wine bars. The ‘Gasthaus Grunder’ – the name was on a swinging sign by the door – was a half mile or so from the centre of the village; there was no other guest house near to it. It would most certainly be quiet – no sound to be heard except the ripple of the stream – a vivid contrast to their hotel of the previous night.

  The proprietor, Johann Grunder, came out to meet them, a portly ruddy-faced man of middle-age, clad in a voluminous white apron. He welcomed them in halting English, saying that he hoped they would enjoy their stay. When they had collected their keys there was to be a treat for them to bid them welcome. Kaffee und Kuchen: a piece of Black Forest gateau and coffee. And whilst they were enjoying this their luggage would be sorted out and taken to their rooms.

  ‘How very nice!’ Mavis remarked to her husband. ‘What a kind thought! I must say we’ve been made very welcome in Germany. I’ve been pleasantly surprised so far. You can’t say any different, Arthur.’

  ‘I’m not trying to,’ he answered. ‘Aye, it’s been alright so far. It’s a damn good job we had a room at the back, though, in that last place.’ A comment that Mavis agreed with wholeheartedly. She’d never have heard the last of it if he’d had a sleepless night.

  The hotel was deceptive, as it was much larger inside than it had appeared to be from the exterior. It was a long low building, stretching back a good way, with bedrooms on the ground floor and on the one above. It was modern and simple in design and there was a pleasant smell of pinewood. Everything was light and bright and scrupulously clean. It was a family-run hotel with a small staff, consisting of the receptionist, three waitresses, and an extra chef who helped Johann Grunder – himself a trained chef – in the kitchen. Marie, his wife, made the pastries and cakes. All this information was gleaned by Mavis who was not shy at asking questions. One of the waitresses, a language student called Greta, was only too willing to chat and practise her English.

  The receptionist, Olga, was a friendly and attractive young woman in her mid-thirties with her dark hair swept back in a chignon. Mavis, who missed very little, noticed that she smiled and nodded at Bill as though she was very glad to see him. He smiled back at her, but he was busy with the luggage. Mavis guessed, though, that they might be well acquainted.

  Their cake and coffee was served in the dining room, along a short corridor from the reception area. The room had a cosy, homely feel with floral chintz curtains at the windows, earthenware plates with designs of fruit, flowers, and birds hanging on the walls, and a small vase with fresh flowers in the centre of every table. The tables and chairs were of pinewood, with a tapestry cushion on the seat of each chair.

  The six who had shared a table the previous evening sat together now. They all agreed that the piece of Black Forest gateau was the best they had ever tasted. It would be the authentic recipe, of course, moist and rich, oozing with cherry liqueur and whole cherries, covered with chocolate frosting, and served with whipped cream.

  ‘Much better than anything you can get in the supermarket,’ said Mavis. ‘Even when you have it in a restaurant it doesn’t taste like this. It’s all so stereotyped and stodgy, not the real thing at all.’

  Arthur complained that it would play havoc with his indigestion, but he ate it all the same.

  It was whilst they were chatting, having finished their little treat, that Mike came to the table to speak to Shirley. ‘Mrs Carson,’ he began politely. ‘Could you come with me, please? There seems to be a mix-up with your luggage. I’m hoping we can sort it out.’

  Shirley sprung to her feet. ‘What do you mean? Are you saying that my case is missing? Well, really …’

  ‘We’re not sure,’ Mike answered placatingly. ‘Bill’s checking again now. So, we’ll go and see, shall we? Have you got your room key?’

  ‘Shall I come as well,’ said Ellen, sounding very concerned.

  ‘No, best not to, Miss Walmsley.’ He smiled at her. ‘We’re doing our best to sort it out.’

  Shirley left the room with Mike; she was looking very cross and anxious.

  ‘Oh dear!’ said Ellen to the others. ‘I don’t like the sound of that. I do hope they find her case. I know I’d be upset if it happened to me. But for Shirley—’ she shook her head despairingly – ‘I think it would be a major disaster.’

  Jane new what Ellen meant, at least she thought she did. She had noticed that Shirley always dressed immaculately and stylishly as well. Even during the day when they were travelling she looked chic; her hair and make-up was perfect and she paid great attention to detail, even with casual clothes. She had never looked the least bit untidy or travel weary. Her trousers looked neatly pressed and she added a touch of style to her tops with a trendy little scarf or a chunky necklace and dangling earrings. And at night she really went to town in long skirts and sequinned jumpers.

  Ellen bore out Jane’s impression with her next words. ‘Shirley tries to look her best at all times, you see. I know we all want to look neat and tidy – at least that is what is important to me – but Shirley loves to dress up, especially when we’re on holiday.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve noticed she always looks elegant,’ said Jane. ‘I feel as though I need a good wash and tidy-up after the journey today, but Shirley looked as though she’d stepped out of a bandbox.’ She laughed. ‘Whatever that is; I’ve never been sure.’

  ‘She’s always been the same,’ said Ellen. ‘Even when we were at school she managed to look stylish in her uniform; she made the rest of us feel a scruffy mess sometimes. I’m not criticizing her; it’s just the way she was, and still is.’

  ‘And she’ll be surrounded by lovely clothes in the department store where she works, won’t she?’ observed Mavis.

  ‘Oh yes; she loves her job, and she creates the most wonderful window displays. And she’s
able to buy her clothes at a good discount,’ she added in a confidential voice. ‘That’s why she has so many. Her suitcase is always bulging with all the stuff she brings. Oh dear! I do hope they manage to sort it out.’

  ‘I expect it’s just mislaid – gone to the wrong room, perhaps,’ said Jane, trying to be optimistic, although she could imagine how Shirley must be feeling. ‘I’m sure the drivers are very careful …’ But I suppose mistakes happen occasionally, she thought. She had heard of luggage going astray at airports, being missing from the carousel at the end of a flight. She wondered if the Galaxy insurance would pay up if the worst came to the worst.

  ‘It wouldn’t matter so much if it was me,’ said Ellen. ‘I’ve bought a couple of new things to come away – a summer skirt and a new cardigan – but most of my clothes I’ve had for ages. They’re still good, though; not shabby or worn. I give some to the charity shop now and again, but I’ve always been thrifty. It’s the way I was brought up, you see. My parents weren’t short of money – not wealthy but not poor by any means – but they didn’t believe in wasting it or going in for luxuries. Actually, my father was a Methodist local preacher, very set in his ways … and it’s had an effect on me,’ she added, almost apologetically.

  ‘I reckon we’re all a product of our upbringing, one way or another,’ said Mavis kindly. ‘And we’re all as the good Lord made us. I can see that you’re a very good friend to Shirley.’

  ‘As she is to me,’ replied Ellen promptly. ‘We get on really well, even though we’re not at all alike. She’s always telling me to clear out my wardrobe and have a fresh start. She says I could make more of myself,’ she added in a whisper, ‘but I’m quite happy the way I am.’

  She probably could, thought Jane. Ellen had a roundish face and dark brown alert-looking eyes, and when she smiled, as she often did, she looked very pretty and younger than she normally seemed. Her grey hair would look better when the newness of the perm wore off. She was prematurely grey; a light brown tint would work wonders. But maybe, as she said, she was content the way she was. After all, it was what we were like inside that mattered. And Ellen was a really nice person. Jane had formed a favourable impression of Shirley, too, but she guessed she might be quite a tartar when riled, as she had seemed when she went off with Mike.

  Shirley accompanied Mike up to the first floor. ‘That’s my suitcase!’ she exclaimed when they arrived at her door. ‘Oh, thank goodness! It wasn’t missing after all. What a fright you gave me.’

  ‘Er … no, I’m afraid not, Mrs Carson,’ said Mike. ‘It looks like it, almost identical, I’d say. I remember seeing yours earlier, but when we’d sorted them out, this is the one that was left. It’s … not yours,’ he finished in a halting voice. ‘I’m so sorry …’

  Shirley bent down to look at the label. ‘This one says Richmond Travel.’ She stood up, facing him angrily. ‘That’s the tour from Yorkshire, isn’t it? They were staying at the hotel … Oh, really! This is too bad. I can’t believe this is happening.’

  ‘Bill has gone to recheck outside all the rooms. Yours may have been left at the wrong door.’

  ‘But that doesn’t explain why this one is here,’ said Shirley. ‘There’s been a slip-up, a bad one, and you’d better admit it.’

  Bill arrived back at that moment, shaking his head. ‘No joy, I’m afraid, I’ve checked all the rooms.’ The drivers looked dejectedly at one another.

  Then Mike spoke. ‘We’re really very sorry, Mrs Carson. We can only assume that your case has gone with the luggage on the Richmond coach. You say your suitcase is just like this one?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve already told you that.’ Her voice was quiet rather than loud with anger. ‘But how can you have made such a stupid mistake? The labels are all clearly marked, aren’t they?’

  Mike ran his fingers through his hair. ‘We were loading up at the same time. We left just before they did. I remember seeing the two red suitcases; they were near to one another. That’s all I can say. Maybe Jim, the other driver, picked the wrong one up. Or maybe I did, I don’t know. All I can say is that I’m truly sorry. But don’t worry; we’ll get it back for you.’

  ‘Don’t worry! How can you say don’t worry?’ Shirley’s voice was shrill with anger now. ‘I’m left with only the clothes I stand up in. Oh … this is too bad!’

  ‘We’re really sorry, Mrs Carson,’ Bill reiterated. ‘We try to be so careful. This has never happened before, at least not to us.’

  ‘But that doesn’t help me, does it?’ snapped Shirley. ‘It’s happened now. And how long will it be before I get it back … if ever? Where have they gone, the folk on the Richmond tour? And I suppose some other poor woman will be in the same boat as me, with the wrong case?’ The label had stated that it was a Mrs and not a Mr.

  ‘Er … we’re not quite sure where,’ answered Mike. ‘We know they’ve gone on to the Austrian Tyrol. I don’t suppose they’ll have arrived there yet; it’s a longer journey. We don’t know the hotel or even the resort, but the receptionist back in Rüdesheim will know.’ He crossed his fingers tightly, hoping that this was so. ‘We’ll do all we can to get it back for you as soon as possible.’

  ‘How?’ asked Shirley.

  ‘Well, it would mean one of us driving over there, or their driver coming here, or perhaps we could meet at a point halfway.’ He was not at all sure himself, but it would need to be sorted out somehow. It was just one of the hazards of being a coach driver, although one he had not encountered before. ‘I promise you we’ll do our best. And for now, the least we can do is to offer you a bottle of wine tonight for you and your friends, by courtesy of Galaxy. Just a little gesture of recompense.’

  ‘Well, that’s something, I suppose,’ said Shirley grudgingly. ‘I’ll have a look at my room now. At least I’ve got one or two essential items with me in my travel bag. But I won’t be satisfied until my case is back.’ She turned the key in the lock and entered her room.

  ‘Phew!’ said Bill. ‘One angry lady, but you can’t blame her. You’ve remembered, I suppose, that we’ve got excursions on the next two days? So it’s going to be … let me see … Saturday before we can do anything. Unless Jim is willing to make the journey over here. Oh, what a bloody mess we’re in! Let’s go and drown our sorrows, mate!’

  ‘In a drink of orange juice?’ said Mike wryly, ‘or a half of shandy if we really want to go mad. I know it was my fault, for what it’s worth – or Jim’s – I can’t be sure which. But you were nowhere near those blasted red suitcases. Thanks for supporting me, though.’

  ‘No problem, we’re in this together,’ said Bill, putting a comradely arm round his mate.

  There was another matter on Bill’s mind. He must have a word with Olga, and try to convince her that it might be better to call it a day.

  Shirley entered the room and looked around. Yes, it was a very pleasant room, and in normal circumstances she would have been highly satisfied. It was a good size for one person. There was a single bed with a pinewood headboard, and a duvet with a bright floral cover which matched the window curtains. The pine theme was echoed in the wardrobe, chest of drawers and bedside cupboard. There was a reading lamp, too, and a light over the mirror on the chest of drawers, essential for fixing one’s hair and make-up. The room was at the back of the building, and there was a picturesque view of the church spire in the village a little distance away, and further away the verdant rolling hills of the Black Forest region.

  She flung her shoulder bag and travel bag on to the bed, then flopped down on it feeling cross and weary. The holiday had been going so well; she had been enjoying it immensely. It was good to meet different people. The two couples that she and Ellen had met – she was already thinking of Dave and Jane as a couple – were interesting to talk to and share points of view. Arthur, admittedly, was a bit of a grumbler; he reminded her of her father who had died a few years ago, both in looks and in temperament. She had not been to this part of Europe before and she had been enchanted by th
e scenery of the Rhine valley, and now the Black Forest. The food, too, had more than lived up to her expectations, which had not always been so in the past.

  It was good to spend time with her old friend, Ellen, as well. She knew that some found it hard to understand their friendship; they were so different. But each had found in the other something that appealed to them; maybe it was because they were so dissimilar. Ellen irritated her at times, of course, with her fussiness about getting back to the coach in what she called ‘plenty of time’, for fear of annoying the driver. (Shirley had sometimes insisted on leaving it till the last minute, just for the sheer devilment of it!) And she knew that she aggravated Ellen sometimes by dressing up ‘like a dog’s dinner’ as her friend might say, and keeping her waiting while she added the finishing touches to her hair and make-up, or making sure that her shoes and bag and scarf matched her current outfit. Whereas Ellen didn’t care as long as she looked clean and tidy as she put it, which, of course she always did. Shirley had tried in vain to persuade her to spend some money on herself – fashionable clothes, smart shoes, even a tint on her hair, but you might as well talk to a brick wall.

  Shirley sighed, a deep heartfelt sigh that reached down to the pit of her stomach. It was all spoilt now; she had no smart clothes to wear, no high-heeled sandals, floating skirts or stylish culottes – she had recently bought two pairs of those to wear as a change in the evenings. Whatever would she do? She felt like bursting into tears.

  There was a knock at the door at that moment, and there was Ellen. She looked at her friend’s stricken face and drew her own conclusions.

  ‘Oh dear!’ she said – one of her favourite expressions. ‘You’ve not had any luck then? Your case hasn’t turned up?’

  ‘No, has it hell as like!’ Shirley didn’t often swear – she also knew that Ellen didn’t like it – but this was enough to make a saint swear. She explained that her case was probably in the Austrian Tyrol by now, and goodness knows when she would get it back.