A Foreign Country

The telltale signs that Lottie is the genuine article and not an impostor are the little stars tattooed on her neck that I first noticed many years earlier in an hotel room in London when a potential night of passion came to nothing.

“You were too much of a gentleman, Jeremy”, she says when I recall the occasion. “I lost my virginity soon after.”

How soon and how long after she does not elucidate and maybe I'm still too much of a gentleman to enquire.

'The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.' That first line from the Go-Between comes to mind and I reflect that it was literally a foreign country for her and the fact that I rejected her advances must have confirmed her belief that things were done differently in Britain.

◊ ◊ ◊

She's gone to Zurich for a meeting with her lawyers to hopefully resolve the problematic issue with her sister once and for all.

“I don't know how long it will take but I leave you in good hands. Kristin will look after your welfare but you have to provide your own entertainment.”

Then with a wink she comes out with a phrase she's heard me telling Jessica many times: “Be good but if you can't, be careful.”

What can she possibly mean? That I am likely to go gallivanting in her absence?

◊ ◊ ◊

Kristin is the factotum of the Schneider's household and an excellent cake maker. I can still taste the flavour of the Black Forest Gateau she made when we arrived. Jessica is elated at the thought of her delightful cooking.

Following Lottie's advice I occupy my own time by accompanying my niece to the ski slopes and watch her titubant attempts at downhill while a horde of five year-old kids overtake her at great speed.

I am too sedentary to partake in such activities and eventually end up in The Chedi bar for an aperitif.

The chances of meeting somebody we know or with whom we have something in common in a foreign country are remote but possible.

So it was no surprise to see a familiar figure propping up the bar while I was waiting for the bartender to fix me with an atomic cocktail that he said would knock my socks off.

Her name is Carla and she's the epitome of feminism. She wanted to smash the male bastion and managed to do so by forcing my club to accept female members. She used it to climb the career ladder by consorting with rich bankers, one of which she has now in tow.

“A new sugar daddy?”, I enquire saucily.

“yes, but I understand that you too are after a cushy number with a rich widow.”

It is a blow below the belt which hurts. Have I acquired the reputation of being a gold digger, I ask myself. I see Jessica approach calling my name.

“Who's this, a nymphet or your love child?”asks Carla bitchily.

© Luigi Pagano 2020

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