Page 3 of The German Mother

‘I am Franziska zuReventlow,’ replied the woman grandly, shaking Minki’s hand. ‘I am an artist, but no one has any vision any more.’ She sighed as she took a sip of her port. ‘So, if my paintings don’t sell, I have to sell myself instead…’

Minki blushed. Again, the woman threw her head back and laughed, her auburn curls gyrating. ‘Oh, I’ve shocked the little convent girl.’

‘How do you know I went to a convent?’

‘It’s obvious. I can tell by your clothes – that grey jacket does nothing for you. You might as well be wearing a nun’s habit. Plus, your stockings are made of lisle, your shoes are flat and dull. Frankly darling – you scream “convent girl”. Am I right?’

‘You are. I don’t particularly like my clothes – my father bought them for me before I started at university.’

‘Didn’t your mother have a say in it?’

‘My mother died when I was a child.’

The woman’s manner changed suddenly, and she reached across the beer-stained table and stroked Minki’s cheek. ‘You poor little thing. I’m so sorry. To lose your mother at such a tender age must have been dreadful.’

‘It’s all right,’ replied Minki bravely. ‘I survived…’ She was surprised to see tears in Franziska’s eyes.

‘You’re such a pretty girl – you’re wasting yourself in those awful clothes. I could lend you something, if you like.’

‘Oh no – I couldn’t possibly…’ Minki stammered.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I have plenty of clothes. Drink up and follow me – I only live upstairs.’

The woman led the way to her room on the first floor. Opening the door, Minki felt she was entering a chaotic but exotic Aladdin’s cave. Clothes lay in tangled heaps on the floor. Feather boas and large hats hung from nails in the wall. The pink satin counterpane on Franziska’s bed was covered with a selection of pastel satin nightwear. In one corner of the room was an artist’s easel, on which stood a half-finished oil painting of a female nude.

‘Is this your work?’ Minki asked, admiringly.

‘It is…Do you like it?’

‘It’s very good…is it a self-portrait?’

‘Of course. I usually paint myself – models can be so difficult and expensive. I’ll paint you though, if you’d like.’

‘I’m not sure my father would approve,’ replied Minki hurriedly. ‘Not painted like that, anyway.’

‘You’re very funny,’ said Franziska, laughing. ‘You don’t care what people think, do you?’

‘Not always,’ replied Minki, blushing.

‘Well now, let’s find you a pretty coat.’ Franziska rummaged in her overstuffed wardrobe, and finally brought out a dark blue coat, trimmed with a brown fur collar. ‘Try this on.’

‘Oh, I really couldn’t,’ said Minki.

‘Of course you could! Besides, blue has never been my colour. Try it.’

Minki removed her tweed jacket, and slipped the coat over her cotton shirt and skirt. Standing in front of the mirror, she saw that the colour brought out her blue eyes and the cut of the coat – narrow over the shoulders and waist – fitted her perfectly.

‘It is lovely,’ said Minki wistfully. ‘Perhaps I could buy it from you.’

‘Don’t be so insulting! It’s a gift.’

Minki began to remove the coat. ‘That’s very kind, but it’s also silly. You’ve already said you’re short of money, and I have an allowance – please let me pay.’

‘I ought to be offended,’ said Franziska, smiling, ‘but…all right – if you insist.’

Over the next few days, Minki found herself drawn to the café and often spent time with Franziska.

‘What’s it like living here?’