It’s difficult to reconstruct at what point I lost my nerve. It started with an ominous banging in the pipes, which soon grew deafening. The water waned to an icy-cold trickle before quickly running dry. Jumping out of the knee-high tub, I banged my ankle, reducing me to a whimpering wreck. I rinsed the shampoo out of my hair in the antique sink. Then I opened my suitcase and had to admit that Bri had been right. There wasn’t a single article of clothing that was appropriate for this country and its freakish weather. Finally, I knelt with my dying mobile phone and charger in front of the funny British outlet—and burst into tears. How was I ever going to find Charlie when I couldn’t even manage to bring a plug adapter?
I awoke with a pounding heart and a raging thirst. I had planned just to rest my eyes for a few minutes, but hadn’t reckoned with the powers of the king-size four-poster bed and its down-filled pillows. The bed swallowed me up and carried me off into an uneasy sleep peopled with ghosts who all looked like seven-year-old Charlie and who ran away from me, giggling. I almost caught the last one, but then Justus suddenly stood in front of me in his navy-blue wedding suit. I reached for him, but he pointed sadly to the floor. There it was at my feet—the ring. I got down on my knees, but it had disappeared. I moaned in despair and stood up, only to find myself looking straight into the green eyes of Aidan Murray.
I fumbled for my glasses on the nightstand, and then just sat there staring at my dark mobile phone. I wished I could call Justus, even though it would mean a long sermon about why this trip was ridiculous. Calling my friend Claire, who worked at a food magazine in Berlin, would also have helped. She had a dry sense of humour and wouldn’t have minded either the late hour or my gloomy mood. I would even have settled for Mama’s sleepy voice, although I was mad at her for setting Li and Bri onto me. She could at least have warned me.
I put the phone down with a sigh. It was clear that I was on my own. First things first, then. I vaguely remembered a soft drinks machine in the lobby.
I snuck down the staircase in my nightgown, trying not to make much noise on the carpeted wooden steps. When I was almost down to ground level, I heard muted laughter from the lobby.
“What are you two still doing up?” My crazy aunts were sitting by the now-cold fireplace.
“We could ask you the same thing,” Bri replied and laid down a card. “All right, Li, now you’ve lost round twenty-nine. So, you owe me”—she pursed her red lips—“six pounds and twenty-four pence.”
“You’ve always been a disaster at maths, my dear.” Li adjusted her gold-rimmed glasses. “It’s six pounds and eighteen pence.”
“Twenty-four.”
“Eighteen.”
“Twen—”
“Quit it!” I raised my hands. “Do you have any idea how late it is? Shouldn’t you be in bed by now?”
Li was about to say something, but a look from Bri stopped her.
After a while, Li said with a yawn, “It’s your turn, Bri.”
I went to the vending machine and put in a coin. The mechanism was stuck. I rattled the worn metal handle, but the bottle of water remained where it was, thumbing its nose at me through the glass.
“The thing’s broken,” said Bri.
“Why am I not surprised? Could one of you tell me what’s going on here?”
With a quick glance at Bri, Li said, “It’s not my fault.”
“Whatever,” replied Bri.
“I told you, I put the room key in my left jacket pocket. What am I to do when it suddenly isn’t there anymore?”
“If you stopped to think every now and then, you wouldn’t constantly lose things.”
“I put it in my jacket pocket, the left one!” Li repeated, her chin held high.
“What’s all this about?” I was ready to explode.
Bri scrutinised me, raising an eyebrow at the low neckline of my nightgown. “Li mislaid our room key. Nice nightgown, by the way. I always pictured you as the flannel pyjama type.”
“They have very cute flannel pyjamas these days,” Li chirped.
It was a valiant effort on Li’s part, but Bri’s mocking laugh drowned her out. I decided to ignore Bri’s remark.
“Why don’t you ring for Trish and get a spare key?” I suggested.
“We can’t wake the poor girl in the middle of the night,” Li answered.
“No? So instead you plan to sit here until breakfast, is that right?” I asked.
Bri shifted her weight and straightened her back, which made her resemble my grandmother to an alarming degree. “It’s simply good manners. Anyway, this chair is quite comfortable,” she said grandly and closed her eyes, signalling that she considered the conversation over.
“But it’s Trish’s job to look after guests, even if it’s”—I glanced at the big grandfather clock—“. . . three in the morning. Dear god.”
I went to the reception desk and reached for the bell, but Li’s insistent “Nooo!” stopped me.
“You can’t spend the night down here.”
“We don’t mind! We’re actually not tired at all. At our age, you don’t need that much sleep,” Li assured me, but undermined her credibility by yawning loudly. “Excuse me!” She looked to her sister for support and gave a start. Aunt Bri’s chin rested on her chest. Her pheasant-feathered hat had slid forward and was in danger of falling to the floor, and it could not be denied—she was snoring.
“Bri?”
My aunt’s head shot up—the hat fell back and revealed a red pageboy haircut. “Josefine?”
The words tumbled out before I could stop them. “Why don’t you both come to my room? I have to warn you, though, the shower’s broken.”
“Not a problem at all!” Bri was out of her chair so fast I wondered if she had counted on my making the offer all along.
“Not a problem,” echoed Li, allowing me to help her up.
A loud thump made me spin around. To my surprise, Bri held a water bottle in her hand.
“So you don’t have to drink that metallic tap water, child.” She handed me the bottle with a thin smile and strutted up the stairs to the second floor.
“Sorry, honey.” Li put a hand on my shoulder. “You know she’s hard on the people she really cares about.”
I did know that, only too well. What I was grappling with now was the fact that my seventy-three-year-old great-aunt not only sported flapper hair, but had also just kicked a jammed drinks machine like a spoiled teenager.
5
“Cheer up, Josefine.”
“It’s itching,” I complained, fumbling with the turtleneck of the loose-knit woollen pullover until Aunt Li’s pout made me stop. I slouched.
Jammed between snoring Bri and thrashing Li, I had hardly slept a wink the night before. Then, at breakfast, I’d made the mistake of telling the two of them about my lack of appropriate clothing for the Scottish climate. Li had insisted on a shopping trip, which had not only wasted valuable time, but also resulted in this mustard-yellow monstrosity, which made my behind look humongous and my breasts non-existent.
Bri, who had waited outside the upscale department store, stomped out her cigarette and scrutinised me from under her umbrella. She blinked at the ridiculous Border collie face on my chest. The jumper was so bulky I couldn’t even hide it under my jacket.
“You picked that?”
I nodded in Li’s direction and sighed.
Next to Bri in her elegant breeches and tailored tweed jacket, my new wardrobe made me feel like a country bumpkin. Li had insisted I also wear the lined rubber boots she’d found in the store’s basement.
“Why in the world must you always say yes to everything, Josefine?” Bri teased before turning to Li. “We know that you have impeccable taste, dear sis, but you should really acknowledge that the girl is old enough to select her own duds by now.”
But Li was entranced by a young street musician who sat cross-legged in front of a fast-food stand, plucking his guitar. His eyes were closed and he sang as if nothing else existed
—not the drizzle and not the tourists roaming George Street and walking so close by that they trampled on his mat.
“Poor boy,” Li said, pulling out her wallet.
Bri sighed. “If you continue in this fashion, Mother Teresa, you’ll have spent our entire budget for the trip by this evening.”
“Since when have we been so poor that we cannot spare a few pence for someone in need?” Li replied, and she crossed to leave a five-pound bill in the man’s crumpled cap.
The young man didn’t even notice the donation.
“I don’t mind if you write him a cheque, dearest, as long as you still have cash in your purse—I urgently need a cup of coffee. I wouldn’t say no to a piece of cake either, after the scare that thing gave me.” She gestured to the Border collie jumper and laughed when I stuck out my tongue.
Li clapped her hands. “Cake—what a wonderful idea! I saw a lovely little pastry shop on the corner of St. Andrew Square, where they sell Scottish pastries.” She linked arms with me and nudged the snout on my stomach. “Come along, Josie, let’s feed your pretty new friend some butter scones.” Giggling, she dragged me along the cobblestones, not missing a single puddle.
To my surprise, I loved plodding through the water in my boots instead of navigating around them in pumps. I trudged as heavily as I could to make the water splash. I had a herding dog on my chest, so why not act like a twelve-year-old?
Bri followed us with a pinched expression on her face. “Great shape we’ll be in if the Scots bake as badly as they knit.”
Li’s powers of observation always astonished me. She may often have seemed a bit spaced out, but she seldom missed small details that the rest of us would overlook.
The bakery was not only tiny, but also inconspicuous. The building was set back from the main drag, nestled against a corner house on a small side street. I wouldn’t even have spotted it if Li hadn’t led the way. Behind a display window filled with cakes, the interior looked dim, so I figured the shop was closed. But then the crimson door opened and released a group of elderly men, all in identical raincoats embossed with the logo of a French travel agency. A tall man with a tan face and a meticulously trimmed white beard tipped his cap and held the door open for us. He glanced at Bri and looked at Li a little longer.
“Enchanté, mesdames.”
With a hint of a bow, he didn’t for a moment take his remarkably blue eyes off Li, who self-consciously studied the amateurish paint job on the door frame.
Bri sashayed past the gentleman without acknowledging his gallant greeting. I had to nudge Li to bring her out of her reverie. Head lowered, whispering “Most kind,” she stumbled into the shop.
“A pleasure!” the gentleman called after her in German, tipping his cap again. Turning to me, he said, “You must try the caramel shortcakes, Mademoiselle. They give even our French patisseries a run for their money.”
“We shall, Monsieur.” I thanked him with a smile.
It was very warm inside, and as my glasses soon fogged up, I had to squint to make out the counter and shelves covered with all kinds of pastries in cellophane bags with handwritten labels. A boy, maybe ten years old, sat drawing at one of the bistro tables. The pastry shop looked like any of its kind, though surprisingly quaint and un-touristy for being so close to a busy shopping street.
Then I recognised it—my chest rose and fell, and I felt as if I’d just returned home after a long spell abroad. It was the aroma—the unmistakable scent of sugar and cinnamon in melted butter. I had a vision of doughy fingers disappearing into greedy children’s mouths whenever Grandmother looked away. And then, two hours later, the taste of warm apple cake—the delicious tartness making our lips pucker.
In those days, we weren’t just big, reasonable Josefine and a little monster bent on mischief. We were so much more than that.
I looked up to meet the curious gaze of the boy. Bri and Li, their heads together, were chattering excitedly and leaving blissful fingerprints on the display case. There wasn’t a huge assortment, but each torte and each cake was lovingly decorated with marzipan roses, chocolate garnishes, or caramel grids. The cakes on one tray were even decorated with the Scottish flag in blue and white icing, making me regret my choice of wedding cake, with its simple buttercream and crumbly praline topping. Maybe I should reconsider the order.
A saleslady had appeared and waited with a patient smile for my aunts to make a decision. She seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place the delicate, freckled face, as I was still distracted by memories of Grandmother’s kitchen.
“Oooh, is this real cheesecake?” Li cooed and poked me in the ribs. “Doesn’t it look sumptuous, Josie? But look at that one over there . . . good god, I can’t make up my mind.”
“Yes, it’s cheesecake, baked according to a traditional Scottish family recipe,” the saleslady confirmed, at the same time signalling with a nod that she had seen Bri pointing to the chocolate cake and coffee machine. “Next to it is carrot cake with candied ginger. If you like, I could prepare a tasting plate.”
“You could do that?” Li was in heaven.
“Not a problem at all, madam.”
I had heard that strong voice before. I was sure of it. I wiped my glasses and put them back on. The young woman had a white scarf tied around her head. A red curl peeped out from underneath.
“Can you manage, Vicky?” a male voice called from the back.
My pulse skyrocketed. Was this some kind of joke?
“Good afternoon, ladies. What can I do for—? Woah!”
In front of me stood Aidan Murray, flour in his dishevelled hair.
“You’re wearing an apron.”
“And you’re wearing a collie.” He smiled.
“Hrm,” I grumbled, and turned to see Bri staring at Aidan.
Last night’s dream washed back over me and my face felt hot.
Vicky—now I recognised her from the airport—sized up Aidan and his hypnotised staring at my jumper. After a short pause, she turned and said with a smile, “Maybe you’d like to try an assortment of our cookies, miss? The lucky stars are very popular.”
“That’s all right, Vicky. I’ll help this customer,” Aidan chimed in. “You’re late as it is. And we don’t want to disappoint Mike’s new girlfriend!”
He grinned at the boy, who immediately packed up his art supplies. The little guy was meticulous—every crayon seemed to have its very own spot in his threadbare pencil case. Vicky took off her apron. The way she now looked at me was quite different from her previous professional friendliness. She wrapped her arms around Aidan’s neck and whispered something in his ear. I quickly turned away. I can’t stand public displays of affection. I mean, get a room.
Li stood in front of one of the pastry shelves with her reading glasses on, studying each label intently. I headed towards Bri, who sat at the little window table, nearly obscured by her giant pheasant-feather hat, pretending to read an issue of the Scotsman. I plopped down on a chair that—strategic planning on my part—had its back to the counter. Bri’s paper rustled.
“A handsome young man.”
“You’re holding that paper upside down.”
“Answer my question.” The feather bobbed demandingly.
“There was a question?”
Bri snorted, folded the paper, and squinted towards the counter where Aidan most likely was still cuddling with his girlfriend.
I arched an eyebrow. It was fun messing with Bri, especially after I had been the target of her sharp tongue for the last few hours. Unfortunately, Li arrived at the table with a plate piled high with cake, derailing my game.
“How do you know this nice gentleman, Josefine?” She took a seat, looking happy and slightly stressed. Scots, apparently, had a unique definition of “tasting.” “Who’s going to eat all of this?” she moaned, before shaking out a napkin and tucking one end into her ruffled collar.
“You should have thought about that before ordering the entire display case,” Bri replied caust
ically. Her eyes were still on me.
“He’s actually not nice,” I said. “That man is the worst kind of womaniser.”
“Really?” Surprised, Li turned to look at the counter and I did, too—I couldn’t help it.
Vicky and the little Picasso were gone. Aidan was firing up the coffee maker. I hadn’t noticed on the plane how broad his shoulders were. I felt a grudging fascination as I watched him expertly pull espresso shots and steam milk. It seemed so effortless—he probably could have read a book while doing it.
He looked over his shoulder at me and smiled. I turned away quickly and was met by Bri’s inquisitive eyes.
“We met on the plane,” I said defensively. “And like I said, the jerk has more than one iron in the fire, not that I care. After all, I’m practically married, and he’s not the kind of man I—” I suddenly realised how I sounded.
“I thought he was a pastry chef,” Li said, her mouth full. “What iron are you talking about?”
“Oh, Li, it’s just a saying. She means the man chases lots of women.” Bri rested her chin on her hands and focused her pale-blue eyes on me. “What Josefine really means is that she . . .”
To my chagrin, I felt myself blushing again. I stubbornly stared at the feather sticking out of Bri’s hat. It no longer bobbed up and down, but drooped slightly to the left.
“. . . likes him.” Bri basked in her cleverness, and that was probably what pushed me over the edge.
“Oh, come on, Aunt Bri! The man’s a baker.”
I realised too late why Li had stopped chewing and Bri’s eyes opened wide. A plate clattered down in front of me.
“I thought the young miss might like our chocolate cake.” Aidan’s frosty voice trickled down my spine like ice water. His tone of voice made clear that he not only had heard my condescending words, but, due to his excellent German, had also understood them. “With rich dark chocolate icing and, most of all . . . not too sweet.”
Kissed by the Rain Page 6
