Chapter Twenty-Eight This Means Nothing to Me . . .
As we’re waiting in the departure lounge, I call Kathryn and book a table for eight at the golf club fundraiser. She’s delighted and asks whether I’d also like to offer a prize for the raffle. I laugh as this is exactly what I told her to do — always push a corporate booking for a little extra. Charlie and I had already decided that we would offer a prize, so I tell her we’ll donate a discount voucher for bookings over autumn as that’s really the only thing we can afford to give away. I know David will have to be seated with the rest of the committee, so I’ll be taking Peter and Charlie, Caroline and Ed, Mum and Dad, and Josie, who will be partnering with me for the evening. Patty is rehearsing and it’s been on the calendar for some time, so I know it’s not simply an excuse. I actually think she’d have jumped at the opportunity to point out how unsuitable David is. Now all my other friends can enjoy an evening with him and tell Patty she’s wrong.
Happy that it’s sorted, I turn my attention to my fellow travellers, who are all extremely excited by the trip to Vienna. I approach the little group, who are currently hanging on every word Felipe says — perhaps it’s not the lure of this beautiful Austrian city that has them excited after all.
‘What’s going on here?’ I ask my mum, who is as enthralled as everyone else.
‘Felipe was just showing us how posture and simply holding yourself up properly makes you look like a dancer even before you start moving.’ She pulls her shoulders back and sticks her chest out.
‘It’s true,’ says Felipe. ‘Try it; imagine a piece of string on the top of your head pulling your whole body up tall.’
Of course, we’re all doing this now as well as some others in the departure lounge who are just listening in.
‘Now, hold this position and remember to breathe,’ adds our dance instructor.
That’s the part I’d forgotten, and when I exhale that imaginary piece of string seems to snap and my chest is facing the floor again. I’m told it just needs practise but I can’t imagine ever being able to hold myself tall, breathe and move my feet in a co-ordinated way. Not all at once. Felipe walks among our group, pulling shoulders back and lifting chins upwards and I can see that they’re already loving all of this. Well, who wouldn’t?
We’re called to board and Dad takes Mum on his arm and walks her towards the boarding bridge. She still looks absolutely amazing after the makeover and the look in their eyes is of a love sixty years in the making. I won’t ever get there, but with a fair wind I might still have a thirty-year romance in me. I pull myself up tall as Felipe has shown us and make my way onto the plane with what I hope is a graceful glide. Of course, not watching my feet, I trip over as it slopes downwards and go flying into the man in front of me. Luckily, he’s more sturdy than me, so we don’t turn the passenger queue into a domino rally. I thank him for catching me and focus on walking properly rather than gliding.
After a smooth flight and an easy transfer, we start with a tour of Vienna city centre on a sunny spring morning. And it is beautiful.
‘You see photographs of the main squares and palaces but you assume that it’s not all like this,’ says Dad, echoing my thoughts completely.
‘I feel like I should be wearing a period costume,’ I say.
We’ve come to visit the Schloss Sch?nbrunn, where the sheer grandeur of the buildings and gardens leaves you simply speechless.
‘The predominant architectural styles in Vienna are baroque and gothic,’ our guide tells us. ‘This palace was once the home of the Emperor Franz Joseph and our beloved Empress Sisi.’
‘I’ve watched the TV series,’ says Mum. ‘She had to get married when she was sixteen and was a bit bored with the life of a royal.’
‘Indeed,’ replies our guide. ‘A little like your Meghan Markle, perhaps?’
This causes a debate among my group that has absolutely nothing to do with the magnificent surroundings of the palace, so I urge the guide to move everyone on.
‘She was considered very beautiful,’ the guide continues, ‘and was so desperate to hold onto her looks, which she considered the reason for her popularity among Austrians, that she invented her own beauty creams. One of them was known as Crème Celeste — can anyone guess what it contained?’
There are a few random guesses, including goose fat from one lady and sea kelp from my mum.
‘How would she get hold of that in a landlocked country?’ asks my dad.
‘She’s an empress,’ replies Mum as if it’s obvious. ‘She’d get a minion to ride out to the nearest rock pool.’
‘Where would the nearest coastline be?’ asks another of the guests. ‘It must be hours away.’
‘Italy, I imagine,’ Dad says. ‘Hours by train, so weeks by horse.’
‘A few days with a fast horse and they could pick a bulk order,’ says Mum.
The guide is clearly quite astounded at the debate that has ensued. He probably only gets an interested silence when he asks groups this question. He clears his throat to get our attention and we turn to face him.
‘Actually, it was white wax, almond oil and rosewater,’ he tells us.
‘Oh, I use rosewater,’ Mum says. ‘Does that mean I can be an empress?’
‘You’ll always be my queen,’ Dad says.
I gag and tell them to get a room.
* * *
After the morning tour, we’re dropped off at the dance studio. Although the exterior is in keeping with the rest of the grand Viennese street it stands on, the interior is a modern air-conditioned dance studio where only the sparkling crystal chandelier hints at a more courtly history.
The studio owner comes out to greet us, shaking the hands of the men and kissing the hands of the women with extreme propriety. I wonder whether everyone coming here feels like royalty within moments of meeting this lovely man.
He begins by giving us a short history of the dance we’re about to learn.
‘This is one of the most romantic and graceful dances in the world,’ he tells us. ‘Much faster than the traditional waltz and it developed from some of our local folk dances where couples would dance in the round — as we do in the waltz. During the Hapsburg period, the dance became popular with the aristocracy as Johann Strauss created the beautiful music we will dance to today. I will warn you all that this dance was considered scandalous.’
He pauses as we giggle then grabs one of the ladies and pulls her close.
‘The man,’ he continues, staring into this woman’s eyes, ‘had to hold the lady close and put his hands on her hips.’
He does just this and although he’s hamming it up, the atmosphere is electric.
‘He must gaze deeply into her eyes as they twirl faster and faster.’
He takes the lady on a spin around the room that is dizzying to watch.
‘You might just be able to see the lady’s ankles as they peep out below the dress.’
Our instructor has us all dying to try it out, and after his demonstration he arranges us in pairs and puts on ‘The Blue Danube’ — a piece of music that we all recognise as much from advertisements as anything else. By the end of the first lesson we’re at least all moving in the same direction and those who have a natural aptitude for dance seem to be following the steps without moving their lips. I’m not in that camp, in case there was any doubt, but Mum and Dad look as if they were born to dance this. I don’t know whether it’s the makeover or the adventures Mum is having through the bucket list, but they do look more in love than ever. I think ahead to the remaining items that I have to organise and really cannot imagine fulfilling Mum’s wishes — it would break Dad’s heart.
Just as I’m basking in the glow of parental love, Mum leaves Dad and taps Felipe on the shoulder, asking his partner to swap. As with most things Mum does, there’s not a lot of choice in the matter, so my parents both end up in the arms of people much younger. Their new partners are dance instructors from Marianne’s school, and although my folks looked good dancing together, the extra tuition they’re now both getting leaves me breathless; I didn’t know either of them could move so quickly. The music reaches its grand finale and my customers break out in spontaneous applause. Their cheeks are pink from the exercise and the smiles reach across the room. Mum has picked a wonderful activity to try and her dream has given all these people a fabulous day. Not for the first time, I wonder why people leave bucket lists until they’re old. And why I don’t have one.
Our four-day stay here follows a similar routine each day; we visit one of Vienna’s stunning palaces or galleries in the morning and continue with our dance lessons in the afternoon. We take a cruise along the Danube, stroll through the parks with their colourful spring flowers and take in the Klimt exhibition at the amazing Upper Belvedere gallery. I also find some local micro-breweries where Dad can sample some Austrian beers and, of course, we make time to sample Vienna’s other famous export — the Sachertorte. I’d done my homework before leaving and knew that there were always queues at the Hotel Sacher. I’ve booked out the tea room for our group, and as well as tasting this delight, we’re treated to a glimpse into the kitchen, where chefs are preparing the famous glaze.
‘Just a glimpse,’ the ma?tre d’h?tel tells us. ‘The original is a secret recipe known only to this hotel, where it was invented by sixteen-year-old chef Franz Sacher for an Austrian state banquet back in 1832.’
‘Was everyone in Austria called Franz?’ my mum whispers, getting a giggle from those nearby.
The ma?tre d’ goes on to say that there are more showy ‘vulgar’ confections nowadays.
‘Like that harlot of a cake, the Black Forest Gateau.’ His look is one of humorous distaste. ‘In Vienna we create only elegance.’
I think of the buildings, the music, the dancing, and decide that elegance is the word that best describes this city.
The cake arrives with a dollop of cream and I take a small forkful, savouring the deep chocolate perfection — oh yes, I could definitely live here. I wonder if there are any golf courses for David?
* * *
On our final evening we have a grand ball where everyone can show off their new skills. Rather than eat and then dance, the school has transformed its studio and we’re having our final session together surrounded by glittering lights that bounce off the chandelier. Everyone is dressed up in evening wear, the women in long dresses and the men in tuxedos. They look amazing. As this trip is the result of Mum’s bucket list, the group stands to one side as she and Dad walk onto the floor to a round of applause. She’s wearing an ankle-length silvery dress with a lace bodice and sleeves; it’s gorgeous and pairs perfectly with her little silver sandals. Mum has certainly taken the advice she was given to heart and looks beautiful. The music starts and Dad holds out his hand to her, taking hold and pulling her in with his hand on her hip as instructed. At the beat, he waltzes her round the room, never taking his eyes off her. I’m so proud of him. This wasn’t his dream and I don’t think he would ever have chosen to do it, but he’s here and he’s learned his steps perfectly to make his wife’s dream come true. That’s true love for you.