Sandy shook her head doubtfully. ‘Honestly, my dears, I really do think you’d be much better off with somewhere else.’
‘We’d like to give it a go, Sandy,’ said Daniel quietly.
The determined note in his voice made Sandy realize that this strange couple had made up their minds. ‘Well, it’s cheap enough I suppose. Two thousand francs a month plus taxes and my commission.’
‘Would there be any problem getting the town hall to agree to turning it into a bar-restaurant?’ Daniel wanted to know.
Sandy laughed. ‘In Tossfeldstrasse? Dear me, no. They’d be only too glad to see the place put to some use. And it would certainly add some colour to the area. Right. Keys ... keys ...’ She delved into a cash box and pocketed a bunch of keys.
❖
After a close inspection, Raquel conceded that the place on Tossfeldstrasse had possibilities. What had been the shop itself was fairly large - measuring about twenty-five feet by twenty feet. The wall dividing the shop from the rear storeroom was a plywood partition and not a load-bearing wall which meant that it could be replaced with a wide bar with cooking facilities behind it. The backyard was surprisingly large. It was enclosed by a high wall with double gates that opened into the wide passageway shared with the builder’s yard. A modern touch in the shop’s backyard was a precast concrete double garage which was full of rusting bicycle frames and wheels.
The three-bedroom flat over the shop was reasonably spacious although somewhat dingy because all the rooms were decorated in the same pattern of brown autumn leaves wallpaper that had been popular in the 1940s.
‘Normally,’ said Sandy, laughing richly so that her breasts jiggled like lively puppies, ‘I always advise anyone starting up a shop or whatever for the first time never to spend a penny on the flat until they’re through fitting out downstairs. But I don’t think I could live with that wallpaper.’
‘It’s probably worth a lot of money,’ Raquel commented.
‘If you can peel it off, you can sell it, dear. Well? What do you think?’
‘It’s exactly what we want, Sandy,’ Daniel declared. ‘We’d like to go ahead with a lease.’
Sandy looked doubtful. ‘Before you’ve got your residential permits?’
‘We’ll chance it, Sandy,’ said Raquel.
Sandy looked at her clients in turn. There was no doubt that they had made up their minds. ‘Well, my dears, I only hope you both know what you’re doing.’
The rest of the week’s stay in Winterthur passed quickly. In return for a cheque for two thousand dollars from Daniel, Sandy took charge of everything and used her considerable skills and boundless energy to bulldoze her way through the bureaucratic bogs. There were endless forms that had to be completed in German before Winterthur Town Council would even consider an application for the former bicycle shop’s change of use. She also hired a lawyer to act on behalf of Daniel and Raquel in the drawing up of a draft lease, and she bullied an architect in the office beneath her to drop everything in order to work on some preliminary sketches to give the council an idea of what the outside of the new bar-restaurant would look like. As Sandy predicted, the architect’s local knowledge of what the council would accept and what they would not proved invaluable. Raquel got an enjoyable kick out of watching her tentative suggestions materialize on paper. Following his advice, she paid particular attention to the bar’s outside appearance. A wide low wall with an inset flowerbed and an arched front entrance was shown enclosing the forecourt. Climbing plants and window boxes were used to soften the original plate glass windows of the shop. Garden tables and sunshades in the forecourt completed the artist’s impression. Despite her earlier misgivings, Raquel was getting excited about the enterprise.
‘We’ve got enough to hold preliminary discussions with the council,’ Sandy announced when Daniel and Raquel called on her at the end of the week before they left for Zurich Airport.
‘Really, Sandy.’ said Daniel, returning Sandy’s goodbye kiss, ‘we don’t know how to thank you for all you’re doing.’
Sandy laughed and said with disarming honesty: ‘There’s no need to thank me. I shall do nicely out of all the commissions I’ll be raking in off everyone when the real work starts. Anyway - I’m enjoying myself. Right now I’m off to do some arm-twisting in the town hall - see if I can get your application before the next meeting of the planning bureaucrats. Now you two get yourselves back to London and leave me to deal with everything this end. All you’ve got to worry about are those permits, otherwise - zip - two thousand dollars down the drain.’
18
LONDON June 1968
There was an indefinable air of tension in the city. The month got off to a bad start with the assassination of Senator Robert Kennedy in Los Angeles, and Tariq Ali’s students’ protest over the war in Vietnam had reached a size whereby it had gained its own seemingly unstoppable momentum.
For Daniel and Raquel, the month was an agony of waiting to hear from Harriman at the Swiss Embassy. The suspense made it very difficult for them to slip back into their daily routine. Each morning they would take turns to prepare breakfast while the other watched for the postman from the front window. The telephone receptionists at the Swiss Embassy learned to recognize Daniel’s voice although, as the month dragged on, his calls to Harriman became less frequent. On the last Friday of the month two letters arrived. They opened the one with the Swiss postmark first. Sandy had persuaded Winterthur’s town council to issue a change of use certificate for the shop. The second letter was from the Swiss Embassy asking them to arrange an appointment with Mr Harriman. They were at the embassy two hours later - desperately eager for news and disappointed to discover that Harriman had yet more forms for them to sign.
The official got quite huffy when Daniel protested about the bureaucratic nightmare that the whole business was turning into. ‘These things can’t be rushed,’ he said haughtily. ‘Wait here please.’ ‘More forms, Mr Harriman?’
‘I’ll only be a minute, Mr Kalen.’
The minute’s wait in the now familiar interview room became thirty minutes. Harriman returned with two buff envelopes: one addressed to Raquel and the other to Daniel. This time he managed a wan smile.
‘Miss Gibbons - Mr Kalen: we wish you every success with your enterprise in our country.’
Daniel’s and Raquel’s elation turned to dismay when they learned that the permits were valid for only nine months.
‘You can apply for a six-month extension after six months,’ Harriman explained smoothly. ‘After that - a year. And yearly after that. How your applications are treated depends on your behaviour in our country. Good day to you both and good luck.’
Once outside the embassy they walked hand in hand along Montagu Place without speaking. Each was wrapped in their own thoughts and oppressed by the feeling of foreboding at the enormity of the operation they were embarking on.
Raquel was the first to speak. ‘Daniel. You’ve got to tell your parents now.’
‘No. Dad will try and stop me. I’ll tell them when it’s all set up.’ ‘One thing you will have to do today.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Give in your notice.’
Daniel laughed. ‘That’s something I won’t be sorry to do ... Rac - we’re going to do it. We’re really going to do it!’ He suddenly gave a loud whoop that alarmed passers-by, grabbed Raquel by the waist and whirled her around while she laughingly returned his kisses.
19
WINTERTHUR July 1968
In the afternoon heat, the conditions in the flat over the shop on Tossfeldstrasse were stifling. Daniel and Raquel sweated as they helped the van driver and his mate carry packing cases up the stairs. Sandy fussed ahead of them and threw open the shutters and windows. A cooling breeze swept away the smell of fresh paint and disinfectant.
‘Right,’ said Sandy cheerfully when the van had left, ‘can I help with unpacking?’
Raquel sank wearily down on a packing case beside Dan
iel. ‘No thanks, Sandy. You’ve already done everything.’ It was an understatement: during their absence in London, Sandy had organized cleaners and decorators to smarten the flat up. Nothing pretentious because she didn’t know Raquel’s and Daniel’s tastes - just plain white emulsioned walls throughout, but they were a huge improvement on the brown leaves wallpaper and made the rooms look larger. Downstairs all the rubbish in the shop and backyard had been cleared away.
Sandy pushed two packing cases into position and used them as a desk and chair. She opened her briefcase and produced a file.
Daniel looked dismayed. ‘More forms?’
Sandy chuckled. ‘Hundreds of them. All filled out so there’s no need for the long face, young man. The important thing is that I need another cheque from you for two thousand dollars.’ She gave Daniel a typed list. ‘That’s an account of what I’ve spent so far. I’ve got a lot of things under way because I know how long they can take. Two telephone lines for starters. One for the flat and one for downstairs. They’ll be put in by the end of the week. Electricity’s on. So are the gas and water. Sign where the crosses are.’
While Sandy was talking, Daniel was scanning quickly through the various forms as Sandy handed them to him and scribbling his signature. The amount of paperwork involved that Sandy had got through was remarkable; he wondered how he and Raquel could have managed without her and decided that it would have been impossible.
‘Please, Daniel.’ Sandy held up her hand to halt Daniel’s thanks.
‘I’m enjoying all this. It’s not often I have a chance to help get a business going from scratch. Anyway - I’ll be billing you about a thousand dollars for my services when you’ve opened.’
‘You’re worth every penny, Sandy,’ said Raquel with feeling, looking around at the freshly decorated walls.
Sandy chuckled. ‘I’ll remind you of that when you get my bill. Now then, young man. Opening. Have you decided on a date?’ Daniel was at a loss. ‘Isn’t it a bit early to think about that, Sandy? I mean - with all the building and fitting out work that has to be done?’
Sandy dug a list out from her files. ‘All the more reason for fixing a date now - so that we can give the builders completion dates. It’s going to take you a good week to work out what sort of interior you’re going to have. A week to get plans drawn up. A week to get tenders in. And I’d say a good month for the actual building work. And maybe another two weeks for final fitting out and stocking up.’ Sandy suddenly broke off. She looked worriedly at Daniel and Raquel in turn ‘Oh dear. I hope you don’t think I’m going too far? All this planning is the fun bit. If you think I’m taking over, you just say so and I’ll—’
‘Please, Sandy,’ Daniel interrupted, ‘you don’t know how much we appreciate all this wonderful help you’re giving us. When we open, you’re going to be our guest of honour.’
Sandy looked pleased. She leafed through a diary. ‘In that case what about Monday September the ninth? That’ll be the day when Sulzers and everyone are back from their hols.’
Daniel grinned and gave Raquel a hug. ‘What do you think, Rac?’ Raquel returned the squeeze with a kiss. ‘Monday September nine it is, boss. But isn’t there something you’ve forgotten?’
Sandy frowned and consulted her list. ‘I don’t think so. What?’ ‘A bed,’ said Raquel simply. ‘We don’t have a bed to sleep on tonight.’
‘Booths,’ said Raquel suddenly, dropping the record player stylus on to Esther and Abi Ofarim’s ‘Cinderella Rockefella’. She knew the number would annoy Daniel; the only Israeli performers that anyone had ever heard of and their international hit had to be a treacly tune of profound ghastliness. But she had a good reason for playing it.
Daniel looked up from his sketching and decided that Raquel in high-cut denim shorts bending over a record player was a divine distraction. They had set up a table and chairs in the middle of the shop and were pooling their doubtful artistic talents in an attempt to pin down on paper their ideas on what was an ideal bar-restaurant. The shop floor was littered with discarded attempts. ‘What? And please shut that row off, Rac.’
Raquel turned down the record player’s volume. ‘Booths,’ she repeated. ‘Dining booths round the walls. Dining booths with high backs and gingham curtain screens. You never see them in European diners and yet people like them. They give customers a sense of security ... their own little patch of defendable territory.’
‘We want them to come in here to eat and drink,’ Daniel observed. ‘Not fight wars.’
But Raquel wasn’t listening. She was pacing along the walls with her long, elegant legs. ‘I reckon there’s room for at least ten booths,’ she exclaimed. ‘Ten six-seater booths. Each one with a press-button warning light on the wall so I can see when a booth wants service. I always think it’s crazy that customers have to catch the waiter’s eye when they want more coffee. And the bar along the back here in front of the partition. What do you think?’
Daniel liked the idea. He reached for a fresh sheet of paper. ‘Booths it is, Rac. Considering your taste in music, you come up with some great ideas.’
Raquel listened to the Israeli couple and plunked herself on Daniel’s knee. ‘It’s grim,’ she agreed, wriggling seductively. ‘But it gave me a fabulous idea for the bar’s name.’
Daniel looked wary. They had argued long and hard on this subject. ‘Which is?’
Raquel nuzzled his neck. It was her method of getting him to agree to anything. He slid his hand around her waist and under her T-shirt. ‘Well?’
‘Cinderella’s.’
20
TEL AVIV August 1968
‘Daniel’s quit his job in London,’ said Emil, pouring himself his second glass of breakfast orange juice.
Leonora stared across the table at her husband. ‘So where’s he working now?’
‘I’ve no idea. I phoned his office yesterday. They said that he had resigned over a month ago.’
‘But El Al owned his apartment. Has he left that too?’
‘Oh yes. And he didn’t leave them a forwarding address.’
Leonora scowled angrily. ‘He gets it from his father. Never telling us what he’s planning. Never writing.’
Emil looked at her with interest. He would have liked to learn more about Daniel’s father but he could see that Leonora was too upset for him to risk any questions even though she had brought the subject up.
‘What do you suppose he’s up to, Emil? You saw more of him than I did on his last visit. He talks to you.’
Emil shook his head. ‘Honestly, Leonora -I don’t know what he’s doing. But I’d certainly like to find out.’
21
WINTERTHUR September 1968
It was nine days to the opening of Cinderella’s. Daniel and Raquel were convinced that the bar wouldn’t be ready in time even though a month’s hard work by a Zurich firm of shop and restaurant fitters had transformed the interior. All the downstairs partition walls had been ripped out and a new floor laid, and new toilets built. But only eight out of twelve of Raquel’s booths had been installed, because the carpenters had to build them individually on site. The worst problem had been materials and fittings arriving in the wrong order
- due largely to the fact that most of the supply companies were manned by skeleton staffs during August. The bar had arrived in several sections and couldn’t be properly installed until the griddle and cooking units were in place, and the cooking units could not be installed until the gas fitters had rerouted the pipes. Electricians could not install power points for all the various appliances until they knew where they were supposed to be installed. It was all one big headache alleviated by Sandy’s reassuring daily visits. On one occasion she even brought her latest conquest with her - the local chief of police.
‘Don’t worry, dears. It’ll all suddenly come together. You’ll see.’
It all suddenly started ‘coming together’ five days before opening when the carpenters finished work, cleared up the appalling mess th
ey had made, and moved out. Daniel helped contractors lay flagstones on the forecourt while builders put finishing touches to the surrounding wall. Some of the flagstones had to come up so that the electricians could lay cables because Raquel had suddenly decided that the front garden should be decked out with festoons of coloured lights. Exterior decorators arrive to paint the outside of the building white and managed to splash emulsion on the teak tables that Daniel had collected from a garden centre in their new Volkswagen van. Delivery of the van had been delayed because the signwriter had used his initiative to create three versions of the spelling of ‘Cinderella’s’ on the sides and rear of the van. He managed a fourth version on the front of the building and had to start again.
‘For some reason or other,’ said Raquel, kicking off her shoes during a much-needed coffee break, ‘I had always imagined that the Swiss were super-efficient at everything they did. It’s cheering to know that they can make monumental cock-ups just like the rest of us.’
The alteration work had a regular lunchtime audience when the skeleton staff working at Sulzers turned out to watch progress. Raquel skipping around in her tight shorts attracted admiring glances from the male members of the audience. She secured promises from the English-speakers among them that they would definitely try Cinderella’s when it opened.
The third day before opening was marked by the arrival of two public hygiene inspectors - a subject close to Swiss hearts. They were intrigued by the American concept of open cooking facilities behind the bar that could be seen by customers. They made approving noises at the sight of the neatly tiled walls and the well-fitted stainless steel worktops and the central griddle with its overhead extractor fan hoods. Despite Sandy’s warning that they could be ‘a real pain in the ass’, the only fault they found was that the hot-air hand driers in the ladies’ toilets were not working. Nevertheless they issued the prized certificate that gave Daniel and Raquel the legal right to provide unsuspecting Swiss citizens with cooked food.
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