First Impressions

by Margaret Thornton

  ‘Well, isn’t that lovely?’ said Jane. ‘I hope you enjoy it. They seem to be very nice friendly sort of men, from what I’ve seen of them.’

  Shirley started talking to Mavis who was sitting next to her, so Jane spoke in a quiet voice to Ellen. ‘You look very attractive in your new top and trousers,’ she said, ‘and it’s great for you to have a change of company. You don’t need to get all worked up about it. I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time.’

  ‘It’s ages since I went out with a man,’ Ellen whispered. ‘Well it’s not really ‘going out’ is it, because there are four of us? Not a proper date, like Shirley was saying, but I know she was just teasing me. I’ve not had a lot to do with men, you see, except for those I work with, and they’re married, of course, just colleagues. I had a boyfriend once,’ she added in a confidential tone, ‘when I was about twenty. My parents were very strict, you see, so I hadn’t been out with many young men. But I really liked this one and we were getting quite fond of one another, but my parents disapproved of him because he liked to go for a drink, and they were afraid he would encourage me to do the same. So, it just fizzled out. There was never anyone else after that. And then, of course, I looked after my parents when they became ill.

  ‘I’m not complaining, though.’ Ellen smiled so brightly that Jane felt sure she meant it. ‘I’ve enjoyed my job at the bank, and I have some good friends, as well as Shirley. And this week – it’s been just wonderful. I do hope we’ll all be able to keep in touch, Jane.’

  ‘I’m sure we will,’ replied Jane. ‘We’ll exchange addresses before we say goodbye.’

  She was sure that these words had been said many times before by people who met on holidays such as this one. Maybe some kept up the friendships – though possibly by email or phone these days, rather than the conventional letter – whilst others lapsed apart from the odd Christmas card. For her part, Jane felt that she would like to keep in touch with Ellen. She experienced a kinship with her, knowing that Ellen, like Jane herself, was somewhat diffident when it came to friendships with the opposite sex. Ellen had been discouraged, even prevented, it seemed, from forming any meaningful relationships, until now she assumed it was too late.

  Jane could not complain about her parents in that respect. She had never had the close bond with her mother that she could have wished for, but neither of them had ever objected to her having boyfriends. There had been one or two, but no one of any importance until she had met Tom. She understood how Ellen must feel now, nervous and unsure about getting friendly with a man, as she had felt after Tom died. Jane did not know, in fact, whether the four of them had formed themselves into two couples. Probably not, at least not so far. But it might work out that way, she thought to herself; foursomes usually did. Maybe it would just be a holiday companionship, not leading to anything afterwards. But however it turned out, Jane hoped that Ellen would forget her fears and have a really enjoyable time.

  As for herself, she had soon overcome her shyness on meeting Dave. It had seemed that their friendship might be going somewhere, but now the future looked more unsure than ever.

  The two drivers had breakfast together rather later than usual. As a rule they liked to dine before the guests appeared. They were glad of a complete day of rest, which was what the management insisted on before they embarked on the long journey home. They were not allowed to drive at all on this rest day. On the UK holidays the drivers were permitted to do an extra tour, usually a half day, and this was regarded as a bonus for the driver; he was allowed to keep the fare money for himself, less the amount used for the fuel. This little tour on the last day rounded off the holiday nicely, but on the Continental tours the clients were left to their own devices.

  ‘So, what do you have planned for today?’ Mike asked his co-driver. ‘Are you seeing the lovely Christine?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I am,’ said Bill. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

  They had sometimes spent the last day together, mooching around doing not very much at all, glad of the time to be on their own without the responsibility of a coachload of passengers.

  ‘Why should I mind?’ said Mike. ‘I’m pleased it’s going well for you, old chum. No further trouble from Olga?’

  ‘No, thank goodness! I suppose I was rather a heel, dumping her like that, but I thought it was a mutual decision. Anyway, she seems to have got over it and we’re speaking to one another again. It would be better, though, if I didn’t have to do this tour any more. I would miss it, but I’ve almost made up my mind to ask about being transferred to the UK tours.’

  ‘You and me both, then,’ said Mike. ‘I shall ring Sally today and see how things are going with Tracey. She was in a real tizzy the last time I spoke to her, and I know it’s time I thought about being nearer home. Like you, I would miss my trips over here, but there’ll be plenty of lads waiting to step into our shoes, you can be sure. Are you serious, Bill, about giving this up? Are you and Christine … well, is it going to carry on after you get home?’

  ‘I’m hoping so,’ said Bill. ‘Fingers crossed and all that. It’s not gone very far yet, if you know what I mean. Anyway, she’s not the sort of girl to rush into anything like that. That’s what I like about her. I don’t think she trusted me at first, especially when she found out about Olga. But we’ve been getting on fine these last few days. I’ll have to be careful not to blow it, though. I’ve planned something special for today.’

  ‘Have you, indeed! What have you got in mind? The weather’s not too good at the moment.’

  ‘No, but I’m hoping it will clear up because I thought we’d have a run out to Schneider’s Vineyard. We can do the wine- tasting bit and have lunch there. It’s much nicer to dine outside, but it’s comfortable inside if it’s still raining.’

  ‘How are you going to get there? Will you borrow Herr Grunder’s car?’

  ‘No, it would be a cheek to ask and he’s been very good to us. Anyway, we’re not supposed to drive at all, are we? I thought we’d take a taxi; it’s not all that far.’

  ‘My goodness, you’re going mad, aren’t you? You must think she’s worth it.’

  ‘It’s only once in a while. Anyway, I’ve saved up a fair bit this year, and the crowd this week should be good for a few extra quid, don’t you think?’

  ‘I try not to be so mercenary,’ said Mike with a grin. But he knew what Bill meant. The drivers were not highly paid, but the tips they received at the end of the holidays – and most of the clients were pretty generous – made quite a difference to their wages.

  ‘We may not do so well back in the UK,’ Mike added, ‘but there may be advantages. It’s swings and roundabouts, I suppose … I hope you have a good day. What time are you going?’

  ‘I said I’d meet Christine in the foyer at half past ten. So I’ll see you later, Mike.’ Bill stood up, ready to make a move. ‘Wish me luck, won’t you?’

  ‘Oh, I do, as much luck as you deserve!’

  ‘And how much is that? Not a lot, eh?’

  ‘All the luck in the world,’ said Mike. ‘Yes, I mean it. I hope all goes well for you.’

  The name ‘Black Forest’ brought to mind a region of mountains and dense forests. There were, however, gentler hills where small farms and vineyards were to be found in the valleys. They were mainly family concerns, the vineyards producing comparatively small quantities of wine, red and white, from sweet to dry, which was sold mainly in their own region. Such a vineyard was the one owned by Rudolph Schneider and his wife, Eva, a few miles outside Freiburg.

  ‘We used to visit it on our tour,’ Bill told Christine on their way there in the taxi, ‘then the itinerary was changed. There isn’t enough time in a week to see all the places of interest, but it may well be included again sometime in the future. It’s a shame to miss it, though, and I know Herr Schneider will be pleased to see us. I haven’t told anyone else about it,’ he added with a wink. ‘It’s just a secret for you and me. We’re not likely to meet anyone from th
e coach there, and that suits me just fine.’

  ‘They’re a good crowd, though, aren’t they?’ asked Christine. ‘No one causing any trouble. I’m sure you must have lots of problems sometimes.’

  ‘No, we can’t grumble this time. It’s all gone smoothly, apart from Mr Johnson’s heart attack and the missing suitcase. They’re a good crowd as you say, but the best thing is that I’ve met you.’ He turned to smile at her and took hold of her hand.

  It took only twenty minutes or so to drive to the vineyard. A rather faded sign at the entrance held the name of the proprietor and the opening times, surrounded by a border of grapes and leaves; then a short drive led up to a long low white building which Bill said was the restaurant.

  ‘I believe they do very well in the evenings,’ said Bill. ‘The locals dine there, and Eva is a splendid cook, with a very good team of assistants, of course. But if it’s fine it’s nicer to dine outside, in the daytime, I’m still hoping we might be able to do that.’

  The taxi driver drove round to the back and pulled up in the courtyard. Christine noticed a coach parked there, and the sign on it indicated that it was from Lille in France. Bill paid the fare and explained in halting German interspersed with English – that the man seemed to understand – that he would phone him when they were ready to go back.

  The proprietor must have been expecting them because he appeared at that moment, a tall thin man with greying hair and a goatee beard, and dark piercing eyes that lit up with an expression of delight at seeing them. He greeted Bill like a long-lost friend.

  ‘Ah, Bill, it is so good or see you again. It has been too long. And your friend …?’

  ‘Yes, this is Christine. She’s on the tour and I wanted her to see your place.’

  ‘That is very good. We have a party here just now. They are tasting the wines, if you would like to join them?’

  Christine looked around curiously. At the rear of the restaurant there was a paved terrace with wooden tables and benches, with flowering plants and small bushes in terracotta pots; a rustic setting where it would be nice to dine if the rain stopped. It was still drizzling, and she was wearing her anorak, the first time she had needed it during the holiday. A veranda stretched over the area though, so it might be possible to sit there later.

  Despite the weather it was an idyllic setting. Beyond the huddle of buildings, which included the red-roofed bungalow where she guessed the family lived, a gentle slope rose upwards where the rows of vines were growing, and in the distance a backdrop of wooded hills. The scene was far different from the steep slopes they had seen along the Rhine valley, mile upon mile of vineyards reaching down to the river.

  That was the chief wine producing area of the country where vast quantities of somewhat less expensive wines were produced, such as those sold in supermarkets all over the UK. Connoisseurs were inclined to disregard these products as being inferior, only produced to suit the tastes of a largely undiscerning market.

  In the Black Forest region the wine was produced on a much smaller scale catering mainly for the local population and not sold abroad in large quantities. It did, however, find its way across the channel in the bags and boxes of tourists who had been on a wine-tasting trip.

  ‘Come along with me, if you please.’ Herr Schneider led them into a building where a group of people were sitting at tables with a row of tiny glasses in front of them. Christine assumed that these were the French visitors from the town of Lille. The proprietor spoke to them in French, and they smiled and nodded at the newcomers, inviting them to sit down and join them.

  The young man assisting with the distribution of the wine was a younger edition of Herr Schneider. Christine guessed, correctly, that it was his son, Sebastian. The French contingent had already sampled a few of the wines, but Bill’s and Christine’s glasses were soon filled so that they could catch up.

  ‘It’s a good job you’re not driving,’ she whispered, after drinking the contents of three glasses, albeit minute ones. ‘This stuff’s pretty potent. Not like your common or garden Liebfrau, is it?’

  ‘I shall be careful, don’t you worry,’ said Bill. ‘I’ll have an odd drink at lunchtime, then keep off the booze tonight so that I’ll be fit and ready for the journey in the morning.’

  Sebastian walked around the tables filling each of the glasses in turn, whilst his father told the visitors, first in French and then in English, about the wine that they were tasting. There were various kinds of whites and reds, ranging from dry to very sweet, with names that Christine had never heard of before. There was a particularly sweet red wine, which seemed to be a contradiction because reds were usually dry, but this was a wine that was favoured by the local populace and not widely sold abroad. There were bottles of this, however, and of all the other wines, for sale in the shop.

  As was only to be expected, at the end of the session they were led into the adjoining shop where they were left to browse among the row of laden shelves. There were wines in abundance, of course; they were by no means cheap, but, according to Rudolph Schneider, you were paying for the quality, that extra something that was not to be found in the mass-produced wines.

  There was a vast array of eatables and souvenirs as well as the wine. Chutneys and jams; honey and marmalade; packets of biscuits, fudges and chocolates; carved wooden animals, teddy bears, dolls and trinkets, such as they had seen in the shop with the large cuckoo clock, but on a smaller scale.

  Christine had already shopped that week at every place they had visited, so there was nothing else she wanted to buy here apart from the wine. She felt obliged to buy a couple of bottles – it seemed that most of the visitors felt the same judging by the items in their baskets – but she wanted to do so, as well, as a souvenir of her holiday. She chose a medium white, similar to a Liebfrau but rather more mellow and fruity, although she was by no means a connoisseur, and a bottle of the rich red which had almost the consistency of a liqueur.

  Bill didn’t purchase anything, but then she didn’t expect him to. He must have been there many times before. Christine waited in a queue to pay for her purchases and when they left the shop the rain had stopped. A break in the clouds gave promise of a sunny afternoon.

  ‘That’s good,’ said Bill. ‘We’ll be able to have our meal outside. And it looks as though we might have the place to ourselves.’

  It seemed that the French people were paying only a short visit to the vineyard then moving on to somewhere else. Christine and Bill sat down at one of the rough wooden tables on the terrace.

  ‘It’s much posher inside the restaurant,’ Bill told her, ‘but the food is just the same. Is this OK for you?’

  ‘It’s fine by me,’ she answered. ‘It’s a lovely place. I’m glad you brought me here.’

  There was a superb view beyond the slope of the vineyard to a wooded mountain range in the distance. The clouds were quickly dispersing as the sun shone through the morning mist and rain. As Christine feasted her eyes on the beauty of the landscape a rainbow appeared over the faraway hills. She was reminded, as she always was at the sight of a rainbow, of the story she had heard long ago in Sunday School, of Noah’s Ark and God’s promise, following the flood, that He would always be there in the midst of trouble. She did not go to church now – well, hardly ever – but the moment seemed to be filled with a special meaning. She was happy that she was there, happy that she had met Bill, and hopeful that there might be something for the two of them in the future.

  Bill nudged her. ‘You’re miles away,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Are you thinking of the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow?’

  ‘Something like that,’ she replied. ‘It’s a stunning view, isn’t it?’

  ‘I must admit that it is,’ he said, ‘although I’m not one to wax lyrical. I know I’m ready for something to eat.’ He handed her the large menu that was held between the paws of an upstanding wooden bear. ‘What do you fancy?’

  Her eyes scanned the extensive list, then she realized that
several of the items were only available in the evening. But there was still a goodly number of hearty snacks for lunchtime.

  ‘I’m spoilt for choice,’ she said, scanning the list of pizzas, pastas and salads. ‘You choose for me, Bill. I’ll have the same as you.’

  ‘We’ll have Flammkuchen, then,’ he replied. ‘It’s a sort of flambé tart. It’s truly delicious, home-made by Eva Schneider. I know you’ll enjoy it.’

  He gave their order, plus two glasses of Riesling, to the waitress who was dressed in a dirndl skirt and peasant blouse. There were a few more customers now, seated at the tables, who looked like locals. It was always a good sign when the local people dined there.

  ‘We may have to wait a little while,’ said Bill. ‘Everything is cooked specially as you order it, but I can assure you it will be worth the wait. So Christine … are you looking forward to going home?’

  She didn’t answer for a moment, then, ‘Yes, I suppose I am really,’ she replied. ‘It’s always good to get home again after a holiday. There’s no place like home, as they say. But it’s been a fabulous trip, far better that imagined. I’ve really enjoyed it.’

  ‘Good … and could there be any special reason for that?’ He raised a questioning eyebrow as he smiled at her.

  ‘You’re fishing for compliments, aren’t you? I’ve enjoyed your company, Bill. You’ve made it all very interesting, showing me places and telling me all sorts of things about the area.’

  ‘And have you thought any more about what I said? About us seeing one another when we get back home?’

  ‘I’ve thought about it,’ she replied. ‘But it all depends on Monty. I’ll have to see what he thinks about it.’ She gave a roguish grin.

  ‘Ah yes, of course, Monty, your chocolate Labrador. Do you think he might take a dislike to me? I like dogs, you know. I’ve never been able to have one of my own, but I know they’re very loyal companions. He’ll be missing you, won’t he?’