Gang of Four

by Liz Byrski

  ‘So this is a quest, Isabel?’ Klaus asked awkwardly, turning the matchbox in his hands. ‘Your mother, is she still alive?’

  ‘She died last year. There’s so much I wished I’d asked her and now it’s too late. I guess that’s why I’m here now, visiting the places she loved.’

  ‘Of course,’ Klaus said gently.

  ‘I don’t know why I felt so sure they had met. Wishful thinking, I suppose.’

  Klaus shrugged. ‘Was your mother also in Germany?’

  ‘Yes, in Berlin, Nuremberg and Munich.’

  ‘Then you must make it a part of your journey.’ He smiled, refilling her wineglass.

  ‘I plan to. I want to be in Germany in winter, to see the snow, to have a northern Christmas. It’s something I’ve always dreamed of.’

  Klaus laughed. ‘You may regret it – the cold is really cold, not like your Australian Snowy Mountains. But you must permit me to show you Nuremberg. It is a magnificent city.’

  ‘Klaus will make you walk for miles while he tells you the history of every building,’ Antonia said, returning from the kitchen carrying a goat’s cheese tart, a bright, hard energy in her voice. ‘By the time he has finished, you will know the history of Nuremberg inside out.’

  It was after eleven when Isabel pulled back her bedroom curtains, flooding the room with moonlight. Her early excitement and curiosity had evaporated, and she was left with disappointment and unease. It had been a bad start. Antonia had been totally uninterested in the pictures of Eunice and the house, and Isabel wondered if she had offended her with her questions. She was exhausted by the journey and her own nervous energy, but Monsaraz had its own magic, and despite Antonia’s chilly response to her questions Isabel liked her and she liked Klaus too. She would stay on for a while at least. Eventually she fell asleep in the moonlight with the barely detectable sounds of a Mozart violin concerto drifting up from the garden studio.

  Waking early the next morning, she showered and dressed, and then wandered down to the kitchen, helping herself to coffee from the percolator. She had been allocated her own space in the fridge and the pantry, and that morning Antonia would take her shopping for provisions. Klaus was sitting on the terrace, his long brown feet resting on the lower struts of the table, a book propped against a jar of peach preserve, as he tucked into a pale gold croissant.

  ‘Good morning. Do you mind if I join you?’ Isabel asked.

  He jumped at the sound of her voice and got to his feet immediately, the slight inclination of his body towards her marking him as distinctly German. ‘Forgive me.’ He smiled, whisking croissant crumbs from his beard with his napkin. ‘Good morning … please, yes.’ He indicated the chair at the other end of the table and Isabel settled herself with her coffee.

  ‘I usually like to eat out here. Did Antonia tell you she takes her breakfast upstairs?’ He offered her a basket of croissants still warm from the bakery. The smell was tantalising.

  ‘I’d love one, thank you.’

  He was gone in a flash to the kitchen, returning immediately with a plate and knife, pushing the butter and jam towards her. ‘You’re very kind,’ she said, helping herself to a croissant. ‘But I think the rules are that I look after myself.’

  ‘Ja, ja! Of course, but it is your first morning, it’s the least I can do as I am what I think you call already a sitting tenant.’ He was a fine looking man with thinning hair, a closely cropped grey beard and a whimsical smile that brought his otherwise rather stern face to life.

  Breakfast was punctuated by desultory, companionable conversation, and Isabel was loading the plates and cups onto a tray when Antonia appeared and suggested that it was time Isabel got her bearings, and was introduced to the supermarket.

  ‘Ha!’ Klaus laughed as Antonia picked up a shopping basket. ‘Supermarket – this you will see, Isabel, is a somewhat extravagant description.’

  They left him to his book and set off to tour the village. Antonia, obviously well known, exchanged greetings with a couple of young women whose children were playing together by the fountain in the square, and waved to a man who swerved and rattled across the cobblestones on a motor scooter. Elderly women dressed entirely in black sat knitting in their doorways on the sunlit pavement, and an occasional car crawled cautiously along. Antonia was a perfect guide, giving no hint of her short-lived coldness of the previous evening. Isabel’s disappointment and confusion soon evaporated and she gave her attention to the task of learning her way around.

  By the end of the week she was shopping with confidence. In the cool early mornings she took long walks beyond the village, through the ruins of the old castle, under the brazen gaze of the goats that wandered the hillside. She browsed Antonia’s bookshelves for information on Spain and Portugal, and found books in English in which she could read about the places she planned to visit. She sat in the cool darkness of the church, listening to the organist at his daily practice and rested on the balcony gazing out to the misty lavender shadows of the distant hills. She watched the lacemakers who sat on the pavement, their intricate designs growing as the bobbins flew. And she discovered the local potter working at his wheel while others painted and glazed the bowls, dishes and vases and sold them from the adjacent shop.

  Isabel wrote letters home filled with the details of her time in Lisbon and Cascais, and now the long, luxurious days of Monsaraz. They were easy letters to write, filled with small events and impressions, letters Doug would pass on to the children and his parents. She had expected to prepare her meals alone but the atmosphere was so relaxed that the three of them took it in turns to cook. A friend of Antonia’s ate with them one evening, a robust Portuguese lawyer who had a practice in Lisbon and was visiting some clients in nearby Elvas. German friends of Klaus turned up one day on a trip from Évora. They came to dinner and stayed the night in the other guest room before heading off in the morning.

  Isabel put her photographs away with the other papers from Eunice’s past and turned her attention to the present. She relished the peace and quiet, and thought of her family with the affection of one removed from the wearing emotional peaks and troughs of normal life. She thought of her friends, Robin and Grace still at home, Sally on the other side of the world, and felt comfortably distant. She knew she was changing, growing – perhaps to match her new appearance – more relaxed and open. She lost a little weight and her pale skin turned from tender pink to light gold, for here she could tolerate the sun, which was less brutal than back home.

  ‘I am planning an outing,’ Klaus said one evening. ‘I must take the bus to Évora and go to the bank. I may stay overnight.’

  Antonia stretched her arms above her head, lifting her hair off the back of her neck. ‘Perhaps I will come with you. I need to order some new spectacles and do some business at the town hall. Have you seen Évora, Isabel?’

  ‘No, I just got off the train there and straight onto the Monsaraz bus.’

  ‘Why don’t we all go?’ Klaus suggested, pouring the last of the wine. ‘We can stay in the wonderful Monfalim, Antonia, and take Isabel to the Capela dos Ossos.’

  Isabel raised her eyebrows. ‘The Chapel of Bones?’

  Antonia smiled. ‘It’s remarkable. Built from the bones of more than five thousand monks and nuns. It sounds gruesome but it’s really incredibly beautiful.’

  ‘Let’s go,’ said Isabel. ‘Do let’s go. Do you have time, Antonia?’ Antonia nodded and smiled. ‘Certainly, I’d love it, if Klaus doesn’t mind us interfering with his excursion.’

  ‘I should like nothing better,’ Klaus said, standing up and collecting the dishes. ‘How often does a man of my great age have the opportunity to escort two beautiful women. Now I think it is my turn for doing the dishes.’

  And so two days later they took the early bus to Évora and by mid morning were signing the register at Solar de Monfalim. The former summer palace of the dukes of Monfalim was converted now into an elegant and rustic hotel of narrow passages with whitewashed walls open
ing into simply furnished rooms, each with its own elegant bathroom. The high-ceilinged dining room panelled in dark wood and the cosy bar were lined with old paintings of dukes, their wives, their children and animals. The Monfalim was almost full, with only two rooms free. Klaus offered to stay elsewhere but the women insisted they could share one room and he could take the other.

  While Klaus and Antonia did their errands Isabel wandered through the town, browsing in the elegant little shops and walking to the Roman Temple of Diana. When they met up again later in the day they went to the Capela dos Ossos, where the tibias, fibulas, pelvises, vertebrae and skulls of the religious departed created the interior of the Romanesque chapel. When they emerged, the afternoon sun had lost its heat and the shops were reopening after siesta.

  ‘We have time to see the cathedral before the light goes,’ Klaus said. ‘I think I must prove to myself that I can still climb the tower.’ He loped off ahead of them across the square.

  Isabel and Antonia strolled silently, side by side through the cool and dusky cloisters. Isabel imagined she could hear the swish of the monks’ habits on the paving, the creak of leather sandals, the rattle of rosary beads. Lost in her thoughts she cried out in shock when a large crow took off from a high ledge under the cloister, cawing and flapping its wings. Missing her step against the raised edge of the paving she staggered sideways and was only saved from falling by Antonia, who caught her. A chill brought her out in goose bumps but as she regained her balance and steadied herself, she felt the reassuring warmth of Antonia’s body against hers, and her arm around her waist.

  They faced each other, suddenly each within the other’s space. Isabel felt Antonia’s breath on her face, was mesmerised by the intensity of her gaze. Fleetingly Isabel felt Antonia was moving even closer but then she leaned back slightly and Isabel felt dizzy. A flush crept up her neck to her cheeks and, confused and embarrassed, she broke the gaze. For a fraction of a second Antonia increased her grip on Isabel’s waist and then she dropped her hand.

  ‘Are you hurt, Isabel?’

  ‘No, no, not at all, just shaken. Thank you … you stopped me falling.’ Their former ease and intimacy had turned to awkwardness.

  ‘Perhaps we should walk to the base of the tower,’ said Antonia. ‘Klaus must be on his way down by now.’

  Isabel nodded, feeling a strange mix of danger and excitement. Her heart lurched and she reached out to touch Antonia’s shoulder, but the other woman had moved away and Isabel withdrew her hand, turning the gesture into a casual attempt to smooth her hair. ‘Yes, of course. It’s getting late, we should get back …’ and her voice faded as she remembered the shared room and the intimacy it would impose on them.

  The evening seemed interminable. Klaus, making his way enthusiastically through a bottle of wine, embarked on a long story about the reunification of Germany and seemed unaware of the new tension between the two women. It was after ten-thirty when, with his usual courteous bow, he bade them goodnight and wandered off up one of the passages to his distant room. Isabel’s heart thumped nervously and she was relieved when Antonia stood up and announced that she would take a short walk before going to bed. With a small, distracted smile she picked up her light woollen wrap and went down the steps from the terrace and into the street.

  Isabel stood for a while gazing at herself in front of the bathroom mirror. She looked so different from the woman who had stared back at her from the mirror in her bathroom at home. She touched her face, ran her fingers through her hair, then, after brushing her teeth and splashing some water onto her face, slipped quickly into bed and switched out the lights, wondering what would happen when Antonia came back. Should she say something? How could she name this feeling? Should she pretend that strange disturbing moment had never happened, that nothing had changed, that the devastating surge of emotional and physical chemistry had been an aberration? But Antonia’s face was burned into her mind, as clear and unforgettable as the flood of desire she had felt at the other woman’s touch.

  Isabel punched her pillows, recalling the night she and Doug had lain on either side of the chasm created by her plans. She felt the enormity of the tension that had divided them and then the gentleness with which he took her hand. The slightest gesture could bridge estrangement, banish awkwardness, restore connection. But the wrong gesture could cause irreparable damage. She felt the sudden rejection as Antonia turned away, and saw the tense smile when she looked to see if Isabel was following. Had she imagined it or had they both been stricken by something that had taken them beyond friendship?

  It was after midnight when Isabel fell asleep, and much later she heard Antonia let herself quietly into the room. She tensed again, listening to the sound of water running in the bathroom, the soft footfalls in the bedroom. Would she speak? Would she perhaps just touch her? The other bed creaked and there was silence. With a mixture of relief and disappointment, Isabel drifted back to sleep hoping that when she woke the next morning she would find that it had all been a figment of her imagination.

  But it was not to be so easy. The tension between them was acute. Normal conversation seemed impossible as they made their way back to Monsaraz and settled again in the house. Isabel’s confusion hardened to anxiety about what had passed between them and what it meant. Klaus was due to leave the following day, and she wondered what would happen once they were alone. Antonia was expecting new guests for the studio and the second room to arrive on the morning following Klaus’s departure. Before then, surely, something would be resolved between them.

  ‘It has been an exceptionally good visit,’ Klaus said to Antonia the next morning, taking her arm as they walked to the bus. ‘I wish I could stay longer.’ He hugged her, kissing her on both cheeks, and drew her aside to say something softly to her just as the village priest, who was also on his way to catch the bus, greeted Isabel and took the opportunity to practise his English.

  The bus lumbered under the archway and rattled to a halt in the square. ‘And my dear Isabel,’ Klaus said, taking both her hands in his. ‘Do you promise you will contact me when you arrive in Germany? No – before that. I shall find somewhere for you to stay and I will show you the best of Christmas in Germany.’ He leaned forward to kiss her on both cheeks and Isabel resisted the urge to hang on to him.

  ‘Of course I’ll be in touch,’ she said. ‘You don’t escape that easily. I shall see you in the winter.’

  He picked up his bag and followed the priest onto the bus. The driver started the engine and Klaus appeared again in the doorway. He blew a kiss to Isabel and stood for a moment looking at Antonia. ‘Vergiss nicht, Antonia, verweile dock du bist so schön,’ he called and turned slowly back into the bus waving his hand in farewell.

  Antonia’s face was straight and a slight flush crept up her neck. They waited until the bus was out of sight before turning to walk back up the hill in silence. Isabel thought Antonia must have been able to hear her heart beating. The tension was driving her crazy. What had Klaus called from the bus? What would happen now?

  They climbed the stone steps and walked along the high terrace into the shadowy coolness of the house. As Antonia turned towards the kitchen, Isabel reached out and put a hand on her arm. Antonia jumped as though burned, and as she turned to face her, Isabel saw in her eyes all the confusion and anxiety that she herself felt. But she also saw something else. She saw that Antonia was closed off from her. The intelligent, open gaze was gone and the striking eyes shone with a harsh, defensive light.

  ‘Antonia, we need to talk.’

  ‘Of course. We must decide what to eat tonight. Perhaps you would prefer to dine alone?’

  Isabel followed her through to the kitchen, watching her open the fridge and contemplate the contents. ‘Not about food, Antonia. We need to talk about us, you and me, what’s changed between us.’

  ‘There is some soup left and I shall buy some fresh bread,’ Antonia said, ignoring her.

  ‘Antonia, please!’ Isabel heard the break in he
r own voice and Antonia must have heard it too, for she turned to face her. ‘I felt so wonderful here, so peaceful, it was such a joy to be here. Your company, the house, everything, until … well, until two days ago in the cloister, and then … well, when I looked at you everything changed. I felt –’

  Antonia raised a hand to stop her. ‘No, Isabel, no! Please stop. It was a misunderstanding. You imagined something, I think. Perhaps I misled you. I don’t know. Nothing changed, nothing, everything is just as it always was. You are my guest, we have become friends, that’s all.’

  Isabel stared at her, taking in the lines of tension etched across her face, the sheltered eyes, the uncharacteristically nervous way she twisted her hands. There was a long moment of silence. ‘What did Klaus say?’ Isabel asked.

  ‘Klaus?’

  ‘When he called to you from the bus?’

  Antonia shrugged and began putting coffee into the percolator. ‘Oh! Just a quotation.’

  ‘A quotation?’

  ‘Yes, yes. From Faust,’ she said, her attention fixed on the water level in the jug.

  ‘And what does it mean?’ Isabel persisted, ignoring the feeling that she was being rudely inquisitive.

  Antonia sighed and pretended to be studying the small print on a packet of coffee. ‘Faust makes a pact with the devil …’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know the story.’

  ‘They agree that if the devil is able to produce a moment of pleasure so incredible that Faust exclaims “verweile doch du bist so schön”, the devil would have won Faust’s soul …’ She paused.

  ‘But what does it mean, that phrase?’ Isabel persisted.

  Antonia raised her eyes and looked at her long and hard. ‘It means, “please stay, thou art so beautiful”.’

  Isabel felt dizzy with the flush of heat that overwhelmed her. She put her hand on the table to steady herself. ‘Why would Klaus say that?’ she asked, a tremor in her voice.

  Antonia kept looking at her for a moment and then turned away. ‘Who knows?’ She shrugged dismissively ‘Klaus, ha! He has a quotation for every occasion.’