“It looks like it did before the war, then?”
“Well. . . Yes and no. It’s the same city, put it that way.”
A telephone rang through the sound of distant traffic on the breeze, and the old man turned without a word, and went inside.
“Hallo? Ja. . . Yes, speaking.”
Mickey felt the edge rub off the holiday mood. They had been there half an hour, and already someone was ringing his father, apparently in English. Business as usual.
He turned back into the room and found that Elspeth had deserted him for some reason. Clearly she would be back very soon, or she would have told him, so he was left with an indeterminate number of minutes to waste. He cast an eye over the helpful advice for visitors in seven languages, then opened the wardrobe. This was good for a laugh. His wife had turned him into an American, hanging up his clothes in the wrong combinations, tweed jacket with blue chinos, golfing jacket with cavalry twills. It wasn’t worth making a fuss about. He decided to have a bath, and reorganise the clothes as he dressed. He was just pulling on the chinos when she returned, and as soon he saw her he knew she’d found something exciting, extraordinary, something that had just absolutely made her day and brought her back to him hot and out of breath, full of energy and words.
“You should have taken the lift,” he said.
“Sure I did. I’m sorry I was so long, I just went out to get some cold cream—can you believe it? I forgot to pack cold cream—and it took just forever to find somewhere, and then the help didn’t speak English, and I had to wait—but then, on the way back here, I saw something—”
Mickey raised a hand.
“Don’t tell me. You found an old building.”
“Hey, don‘t make fun of me! This is really exciting.”
“OK, OK. Excite me.”
“Well there was this poster, OK? And it’s for this exhibit that’s on until May 1st, all about the civil war that happened here, when your father had to leave, back in 1934! I asked someone, to make sure I had it right. It’s the fiftieth anniversary, you know? Mickey we have to see that show. It’s really important.”
“Yes, fine, fine. Where is it?”
“It’s not in the centre of town. I copied down the address, I figured we could take a cab, maybe this afternoon?”
“This afternoon? For heavens’ sake, Pet, aren’t you tired? I just want to have some lunch and lie down on a bed that doesn’t move.”
“Hey, I didn’t come here to sleep. You know, we only have a week, and there’s a lot to see.”
With a groan, Mickey flopped back on the bed, and bathed his eyes in the emptiness of the ceiling.
“All right. See how I feel after lunch. Maybe a bucket of very cold gin and tonic would help.”
“Aspirin would be better. I’m sure your mother has some.”
“Undoubtedly, if she didn’t pop them all on the train. OK. Let’s look in on the old folks.”
When Mickey knocked on the door of his parents’ room a moment later, there was no answer. He waited, and was about to knock again, when his father opened the door just enough to let himself out, and then quietly locked it behind him.
“Your mother’s asleep. Probably better to let her rest while we have some lunch. What do you think?”
The question was rhetorical, although Mickey had no objection to raise. He would have been quite happy to let his mother sleep for the week.
He decided to adopt the gin option to relieve his headache, and secured a large one before he sat down again. The hotel restaurant seemed disappointingly familiar in its decor and menu; the Austrian influence could have been the work of any enterprising London manager pursuing a novel theme. That wasn’t all. He noticed, not for the first time, that he had automatically taken the right-hand seat of a pair, Elspeth the one on his left. Every meal was like getting married all over again, especially these occasional meals with only his father facing them, smiling, expectant and benignly in command, and so much more like an elderly vicar than the soldier he was supposed to be.
“I see they have Chablis. Elspeth I know you’re not very keen on wine. Mickey, will you have some, if I order it?”
“l will.”
Dimly he remembered learning that marriage was a sacrament. It was not only the Last Supper, then, that could be commemorated in food and drink, though this was probably some sort of heresy. Certainly his father would know.
“Do you two have anything planned for this afternoon?”
“Well. . .”
“Your mother mentioned something about having a general conference over the maps and guide books.”
“Actually, Elspeth’s found an exhibition she wants to see. It might be a good idea to get it out of the way today, with so much else to do.”
Elspeth turned to him, and beamed.
“Oh, you feeling better?”
“Quite restored, thank you.”
“Oh that’s great. Herbert it would be really good if you could come too. It’s the fiftieth anniversary of the time when you were here.”
“Yes, I know.”
“I mean. . .”
“Oh, the uprising? I’m sorry, I see what you mean now. Really? Well that would be interesting, certainly. It’s on for a while, is it?”
She nodded, with her mouth full of bread.
“Until May 1st.”
“Ha! Of course, it would be. Well, to tell you the truth, I don’t think I’m really up to it today. I must try and get there, though, before we leave. Ah. Have we decided?”
Mickey looked up at the waiter, and flinched. The man’s expression of supercilious contempt was probably misleading, but it was enough to cow an enfeebled tourist.
“Dad I’ll have whatever you’re having. I can’t make up my mind.”
“I only really want an omelette.”
“Fine.”
“Very well. . . Elspeth?”
“Do you have Wiener Schnitzel?”
Mickey closed his eyes, but strangely the waiter didn’t whistle up the entire hotel staff to jeer and take photographs, but merely thanked them and went away. Elspeth said;
“Can you tell us some more about it? I mean I know that was when your uncle died. . .”
“Oh yes, but that was nothing to do with it, really. I don’t know, Elspeth, the exhibition will tell you more than I could, I’m sure. Funnily enough, you see, although I was there. . . here, I didn’t have a clue what was going on. It seemed like the end of the world, that’s all I know.”
“Sure, but just, like, in general terms. . .”
“Oh. . . well there was the Left, and the Right, and a lot of paramilitary groups, some of them armed to the teeth. Austria was a real mess in all sorts of ways after the first war. When I was here the government was more or less a dictatorship, and it was having to lean pretty heavily on an outfit called the Heimwehr. Home Army. Austrian Nationalist. They really wore the trousers in the country, although Vienna was pretty solidly socialist. This was four years before the Nazis took over, remember. They wanted to keep Austria independent of Germany, and they hated the Italians like sin because of the pasting they took in the war . . . some of them wanted the Emperor back. Quite