Page 19 of So This is Christmas

SOPHIE

Her plane had landed a few hours ago and despite the circumstances Sophie had been buzzing ever since.

She’d almost had her face pressed against the glass in the taxi that brought her to her accommodation, she was so eager to discover and absorb more of the city Bea had adored.

She wanted to see the palaces, the markets, the city centre with its architecture, the cafés and restaurants, the trams.

She looked down at the street below and smiled. Already Vienna felt magical, just as Bea had said it was. The lights in the café on the corner twinkled on the narrow street, people rushed here and there. She wondered how many of them were tourists like her, or whether she was amongst locals.

As she people-watched while she finished her coffee, she added a silent thank you that the woman who had come to mean so much to her had eventually been able to get her to Austria. And then out loud she said, ‘I’m here, Bea, I’m really here. You did it, you got me to Vienna.’

But right now it was less about the exciting parts of experiencing a new city and more about doing what she’d come here to do. She had to deliver the Christmas letter to Greta.

She left her empty cup in the sink and wrapped up warm with a coat, scarf, hat and gloves.

Down at street level there was still the odd frosty patch on the ground so she’d have to watch out for ice.

A passerby, clearly a tourist given he was speaking English, was talking into his phone about how it had tried to snow last night.

It made her hopeful that they’d get some snow while she was here.

She checked the map on her phone. She had thought about using Bea’s paper map that had been in one of her boxes of belongings, but the phone would be easier to use and she didn’t want to get lost. Her first stop would be the Wynter Hotel because there was a chance the owners Walter or Greta might be there, even though they were Bea’s age and would unlikely be working full-time.

And if they weren’t there it wasn’t too far a walk to their apartment instead.

On the way to the hotel Sophie had time to gather herself, although it was hard not to be distracted with everything new going on around her.

A horse and carriage went past and she wanted to stop and watch it, but she knew it wasn’t the time – she had something important to do and it had to be done sooner rather than later.

Bea had talked about the hotel so much. She’d stayed there with her late husband and described its beauty to Sophie many a time.

When the Wynter Hotel came into view less than half an hour after leaving her apartment, Sophie’s jaw dropped.

The word ‘wow’ came out on a cloud of cold air as she took the steps and went inside.

She wondered how long it would be before someone asked her to leave, because she was sure she didn’t look like she belonged in here.

It was so posh, opulent, better than any of the pictures online.

Bea had often looked it up when Sophie had her laptop handy.

She’d talked about the building, its history, the room she’d stayed in with its enormous bed and luxurious sheets and a view of the city.

She approached the reception desk and the lady standing behind it smiled. ‘ Guten tag .’

‘ Guten tag ,’ Sophie repeated. A lady with long, dark, curly hair who had had her back to her turned, smiled and then walked away, leaving her with the receptionist.

The receptionist flipped to English; clearly Sophie’s accent needed work. ‘May I help you?’ she asked.

‘I’m looking for Walter and Greta.’ No reaction. ‘Wynter.’

The woman behind the desk nodded. ‘Are they guests?’

‘No…’ She frowned. A lady wheeling a suitcase stopped next to her, clearly vying for the receptionist’s undivided attention given her sigh when it seemed the receptionist was occupied.

‘If they’re not guests then they may be in the brasserie if they said to meet them here,’ the woman suggested, before scrolling through something on her screen, ignoring a second sigh from the other visitor.

Sophie thought the receptionist was doing well not to lose it and tell the other person to please be patient.

‘Unfortunately, there isn’t anyone of that name booked into the brasserie, but they might have come in without a booking.

Do you definitely have the right hotel?’

Well this was odd. ‘Yes, I definitely want the Wynter Hotel.’ Sophie said it as if the enunciation would do the trick, but it didn’t.

Sophie thanked her and stepped aside so the receptionist could see to the woman who’d been waiting. Maybe the receptionist was new here and she’d be kicking herself later on when she realised she’d asked whether Walter and Greta Wynter were guests when this was their hotel.

Back outside, Sophie pulled the envelope from her pocket to double-check the address of the Wynters’ apartment and then added the postcode to the maps app in her phone so that she could follow the appropriate route.

She headed for a district called Wieden.

All the walking meant she got to experience Vienna, the sights, the smells, the locals – a group of schoolchildren huddled on the other side of the road chattered excitedly and she wondered where they were off to, a man cycled past, whistling as he turned the corner, the scent of something sweet drifted from the doorway of a café.

Despite the circumstances it still felt good to be here and she wished with her whole heart that she could pick up the phone and call Bea to tell her that she’d finally made it to her beloved Vienna.

With her phone’s expertise, the directions eventually brought her to a stone building with a large arched doorway.

Once again she checked the address on the envelope before heading up the steps to the front entrance.

She ran her gloved fingers down the line of doorbells until she reached Number 15. Wynter. And she pushed.

Nothing.

She pushed again. And a third time.

She was about to give up and come back later when a crackle came over the intercom, followed by a voice.

‘Hello?’ the voice cautiously greeted her.

‘Hello.’

‘Who is it?’

‘My name is Sophie?—’

‘I don’t think this is going to work out,’ the man said. It had to be Walter, didn’t it?

‘Excuse me?’

‘I’m fine.’

Sophie was puzzled. She had no idea what he was talking about so she ploughed on.

‘I’m Sophie. I work at the Tapestry Lodge in England.

’ At least she had done, but she wasn’t about to announce she’d been fired and practically marched out of the premises, as this elderly couple would never trust her if that was her initial admission.

Her words were met with silence. And then a buzzer went beside her and she heard the main door click.

The man’s voice was back and it sounded a lot kinder. ‘Push the door, go three flights up. The apartment is on the right.’

She pushed the big, heavy door open. The vestibule was surprisingly warm given the crisp outdoor temperature. It was bright too and she looked upwards as she wound her way up the curved staircase with the polished wooden handrail, counting out the three flights, and then turning right at the top.

She found Number 15 and knocked gently.

Her heart was thumping. She had to deliver the worst news imaginable and although she’d made the decision it had to be done in person, thinking about doing it and actually doing it were two very different things. How was she supposed to get the words out without dissolving into tears?

The door opened and when she saw Walter, she was met with a smile so warm that her heart almost broke.

‘Hello,’ she said tentatively, aware that this was sudden – a shock, even.

He couldn’t stop smiling. ‘Sophie. At last we meet again.’

She was smiling now as well. ‘It’s good to see you.’

‘You’d better come in.’ He stood back, one hand on the door.

She wasn’t sure whether he needed it for balance.

He looked older than when they’d met that one time at the lodge, older than when they saw each other on the few video calls she’d been involved in.

They hadn’t done one in ages, what with Walter and Greta having trouble with their internet connection and then a broken webcam.

She followed him into the apartment.

‘You’ve come a long way.’ He held out his hands and she realised he was offering to take her coat, so she unhooked her bag from her shoulder, removed her coat, hat and scarf, and passed them to him to hang up on the hooks beside the front door. ‘Greta and Bea always hoped you’d come eventually.’

‘Bea was forever talking about Vienna, telling me to come and see it for myself, and that when I did, I should get in touch with Greta. Greta often mentioned it in her letters too.’

‘I know she did.’ He smiled. ‘Well, I’m glad you’re here. And I must apologise for my rudeness when I answered the buzzer. I thought you might be someone else.’

She wondered who, but it wasn’t her business. ‘I appreciate I’m probably a bit of a surprise.’

‘You are. But a nice one.’ However, his look of contentment gave way to a sorrow she couldn’t quite read. Did he know why she was here? Did he suspect? ‘Now, can I offer you a cup of tea?’

‘That would be lovely.’ And it might make this easier.

She followed him as he walked along the hallway, his slippers scuffing across the wooden flooring. It was so quiet inside the apartment that she wondered whether Greta was even at home.

A gentle hum from the oven greeted them when they reached the kitchen.

‘I’m heating up a fruit cake.’ Walter had obviously spotted her gaze going to the glass-fronted oven door. ‘You’re just in time. There’s plenty to share.’

‘Oh no, I don’t want to put you and Greta to any trouble.’ She felt worse now, terrible that she had to deliver the heartbreaking news.

‘It’s no trouble.’ He went about making the tea after setting two plates on the counter-top next to the oven, ready for the cake to be served.