Trap for a Goose Read online

  The Smith family had been settled in St Andrews for over fifty years in a Victorian home with a beautiful garden on Warrack Street. Consequently, moving back to his hometown and family house was especially significant for Cameron. Although Kristin also loves this parental home, which is filled with comfort and tranquility, her heart still aches for her native Lyon.

  Kristin had always felt that the time would come when her husband would want to return home to Scotland. Once he had agreed to move for her, for the sake of their love and her career. Although they lived so happily in France for many years, he always had a special nostalgia for his homeland, for his native Scotland. As far as possible, he always tried to convey to her every slight particle of the incomprehensible beauty of his little Scotland and seemed to say, ‘Look around, how can you live happily without the sensation and presence of this enchanting universe.’

  Cameron and Christopher are fluent in two languages, her husband being a professor of economics, working at St Andrews University, while his son studies at Cambridge. Kristin, an assistant professor of sociology at the University of Lyon, was left without a job in Britain, although she knew perfectly well that without fluent English, all doors would be closed to her. For the past eight months, she has practically only spoken English, but with a strong French accent that many locals are unable to decipher.

  ‘Oh, this is a phone call home from Christopher on the landline,’ Kristin observed, she instantly picked up the phone and heard her son’s disturbed voice.

  ‘Mummy, how are you? Are you all right?’ Her son’s confused voice scared Kristin.

  ‘Yes, everything is fine with me, why are you calling at this time?’ she replied, nervously.

  ‘This morning when I went without receiving your usual SMS, it alarmed me. You normally pamper me with your unquivering attention, so I was jealous. Maybe there was another object of your affection? I thought that you had forgotten about me and decided to spend time only with your new friends,’ Christopher teased.

  ‘My dear, you are the most important object of my life,’ answered Kristin, smiling. ‘I wish you a good and happy day. Really miss you.’

  ‘I also miss my beautiful mum. Have a nice day. Kisses. Bye,’ said Christopher.

  When Kristin hung up, she remembered that her mobile phone was on the nightstand in the bedroom and was on silent mode. She hadn’t been aware of any calls that morning, so had probably also missed a bunch of texts from the girls.

  Four months ago, Kristin had made some new girlfriends, and her husband was happy about this. He was particularly worried about her feeling lonely in her Scottish solitude, which was in contrast to her rich social life in Lyon where she was always surrounded by friends and family, all infinitely devoted to her.

  During one of her daily morning runs along the waterfront of the mighty North Sea, Kristin met Martina Gverzoni, an Italian woman with an attractive appearance. Martina moved to St Andrews from Northern Italy with her husband, Marco, and her little daughter, Julia, ten years ago. The couple are both artists and they have a small studio. Julia goes to school locally and grows more beautiful every day. She has the same attractive facial features as Martina, while her seductive smile and charisma have been inherited from her father. Like all Italian families, they adore cooking: pasta and risotto are cooked only by Marco, while Martina skillfully prepares desserts. Martina’s delicacies are so rich and sumptuous that anyone who eats them is forced to run at least three miles to burn off the excess calories.

  The Gverzonis are not only creative, but also excel at sport. They often make a pair to play Kristin and Cameron in tennis doubles matches. After tennis, they go to a coffee shop where the men normally discuss interesting football matches and the women talk about outfits and travels.

  Every day, Kristin and Martina start their run along the waterfront at 7.20 a.m. then go to Italian coffee houses to continue their morning enjoyment. Both are not only brunettes with brown eyes and fair skin, but also real coffee drinkers who are trying to continue their traditions in a British setting. Kristin loves coffee with a croissant and believes that the most genuine croissants are baked only in France, where the local water and flour give them their unique quality. On this basis, she often courts controversy with Martina.

  During one of their debates in the post-run coffee session, they met Barbara. Kristin told Martina the story of the life of the famous Italian composer, Gioachino Rossini, who considered haute cuisine and beautiful music to be “two trees of the same root”. The great musician, to the end of his days, sought to achieve harmony in cooking.

  Rossini loved his cooking as much as his music. His gastronomical intemperance led to a natural result: towards the end of his life, Rossini suffered from obesity and stomach disease. A few years ago, in Paris, a cookbook was published called, Rossini and the Sin of Gluttony. It contains about fifty interesting recipes, such as the “Figaro salad” and the famous “Tournedo Rossini”, invented by the famous gourmet of his time.

  ‘Martina, to my deepest regret, our favorite composer, one might say, was a big glutton, not a gourmet,’ Kristin said, sadly.

  ‘I do not agree with you; a person can be a gourmet and a glutton, or not. It depends on the individuality of the person,’ said Martina.

  ‘My dear, Martina, a true gourmet, unlike a glutton, prefers quality over quantity. We, the French, believe that the gourmet is a connoisseur of fine dishes, a lover of unusual combinations of flavors, a connoisseur of drinks, including wines. And note that famous chefs do not suffer from overweight,’ Kristin said, excitedly.

  Waving her arms like a true Italian and in a low, sarcastic voice, Martina tried to pin her interlocutor to the wall. ‘Your world view about the sophistication of French cuisine has long been outdated. There are facts, and they are deplorable… According to Forbes, the healthiest cuisine in the world is Japanese. Japanese life expectancy is eighty-two years, and the percentage of people who are obese is absolutely minimal. And in second place is the Singapore cuisine. Mediterranean cuisine is also considered good: Spanish and Italian. The main components of these cuisines are olive oil and a large amount of seafood. And also, Kristin, I will disappoint you, but I have to tell you the truth, French cuisine is inferior to Italian,’ said Martina, calmly.

  A sudden female voice stopped their controversy.

  ‘Sorry for my intervention, but I could not calmly listen to your fascinating dispute without making a comment. Perhaps we, the British, compared to the Italians and the French, are more boring, but reasonable. Sorry again. You are such beautiful women arguing so vigorously about the culture of food that it was impossible not to ask you an obvious question. How do tasty food lovers like yourselves manage to keep such beautiful figures?’ posed the plump blonde with a kind smile.

  ‘It’s hard work!’ Kristin and Martina quietly answered together, after which, they laughed for a long time at the similarity of opinions.

  ‘We, of course, try to eat the right food, but after today’s exhausting jogging and all sorts of disagreements of views, we traditionally go to drink coffee in Italian coffee house together, one of us with a croissant and the other with a cheesecake,’ Kristin answered with a satisfied smile.

  ‘After jogging along the waterfront of the North Sea, we increasingly want to eat,’ said Martina with good English pronunciation.

  ‘I’m Barbara. Today is the second morning run of my new fitness regime. To be honest, I noticed you both yesterday, as you were discussing something interesting,’ said Barbara, warmly.

  ‘I am Martina.’

  ‘I’m Kristin.’

  They all laughed simultaneously.

  ‘Probably, I too will now go to drink coffee at the nearest Italian coffee house. I rarely go there at the moment as the British prefer tea with milk, but now I want only coffee,’ said Barbara, smiling softly.

  ‘Barbara, we’ll tell you a secret,’ Kristin said, temptingly. ‘Martina and I are regular visitors to Italian coffee houses, pract
ically our second home.’

  ‘A handsome barista — a young polish man, is now almost our relative,’ said Martina, seriously.

  ‘Ha, ha, ha! Girls, time to drink coffee, probably the cute barista is already feeling worried,’ Barbara continued.

  Kristin immediately picked up Barbara’s thought and continued, ‘But if we say that there is an addition in our family, he will be happy, although at once there are also a lot of emotions that are not safe.’

  ‘Girls, you have to be careful, everything gradually,’ completed Martina.

  After this joint visit to the coffee shop, Kristin’s and Martina’s traditional morning jog and coffee pleasure also entered the life of Barbara Duke. She possessed an amazing serenity and the peace of her views showed her up as a true, modest Scot. Barbara works in St Andrew University Library, is part-time and her husband is a detective in the Scottish police force.

  Kristin and Martina have not met Barbara’s husband during these months. According to Barbara, Steve works a lot, so family responsibilities are almost all left on his wife’s shoulders. The children have long been living on their own, the son and his family live and work in Glasgow, while the daughter married a Dane and lives in Denmark. Perhaps Barbara took all the responsibilities on herself because she just needed to take care of someone. Now her husband has become the third child.

  Once, during a run, Barbara admitted that thanks to this friendship, her views and feelings on life had changed, namely, that fifty-six is still an age of youth and beauty. At one time, Barbara even tried to change the family’s diet — to give up chips and sandwiches and replace them with more vegetables, as a necessary step for Steve to lose a few tens of kilograms.

  ‘The first day my husband ate without emotion, and said dryly, “Yes, if we switch to such a regular meal then we will be exhausted but look young.”

  ‘Steve, that’s not too bad. Vegetables and chicken with, or without mayonnaise, is a tasty combination.’

  ‘Yes, it is delicious, but the potatoes were almost absent, outnumbered and overwhelmed by all the other vegetables.’

  ‘How do you mean almost absent, Steve? You ate three potatoes.’

  ‘Yes? They were probably so small that I didn’t notice.’

  ‘By the way, Barbara, I still haven’t got rid of my feeling of hunger. How about a cup of tea and a sandwich?’

  ‘No, Steve, you can drink only water.’

  ‘I’d rather go back to work. Goodbye.’

  ‘Steve, your big stomach should get used to your new diet. So far, today, you have managed to go without snacking. You should remember and be proud of this achievement.’

  Steve sighed sadly and said a limp goodbye.

  When Steve saw the next day’s upcoming dinner — vegetables and baked fish with just two small potatoes — his patience came to an end and with a raised, dissatisfied voice, said, ‘I’m not going to eat these infernal plants. I don’t want these macaroons and frogs to teach you about their continental diets. I am a Scotsman and I only want my Scottish food.’

  ‘Steve Duke, I have prepared regular, but healthier Scottish food and you shouldn’t insult my girlfriends,’ Barbara said, harshly.

  ‘You do not understand; I want my usual food. I’ve got to go.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I’m hungry, I’ll go buy fish and chips.’

  ‘Okay, go! That is your choice…’

  After Steve left, she dined alone and came to the conclusion that she would have to prepare different food options in the future to retain harmony at home.

  Exciting Whisper of a Wave

  Kristin saw three messages from Martina.

  The first: ‘Kristin, where are you? Did you oversleep?’

  Second: ‘Kristin, what happened? Why don’t you answer?’

  Third: ‘You missed a run, maybe we’ll meet at the coffee shop. I hope you’re all right.’

  And one message was from Barbara, ‘Hi, Kristin! How are you? We didn’t get the pleasure of our usual morning run today. We have waited in vain for you to arrive and now are just going to our coffee shop. If you can join us, we will be happy xx.’

  After reading the messages, Kristin smiled and said quietly, ‘Oh, girls, you are different, but cool.’

  Kristin looked at her clock, which was at twenty minutes past nine, quickly, she typed in a text and sent a message to both, ‘I will be there soon, in ten or fifteen minutes I will be in our Italian café. Wait! xxx’

  In two minutes, Kristin put on a warm cardigan, chose her small leather handbag with a long strap, applied some delicately toned lipstick, looked at herself in the mirror in the hallway, ran out of the house and slammed the door behind her. She ran quickly for twelve minutes to get to the girls and out of breath, entered the Italian coffee house and said with a bright smile, ‘Good morning, girls!’

  ‘Kristin, you are here!’ said Martina, triumphantly. ‘Look at her, Barbara, what a mischievous smile. So, did you have a romantic evening yesterday, continuing on into breakfast?’

  Kristin inadvertently ignored Martina’s intriguing questions and said, ‘Oh, I want a latte! I will order one.’

  When Kristin went to the bar, Martina immediately hinted to Barbara, ‘You understand, she closed my mouth.’

  ‘Martina, you’re too good! Do not tease her. If she wants, she will tell, maybe she overslept?’ answered Barbara.

  ‘Yes, maybe she slept, but her eyes are sad,’ said Martina with a sigh.

  When Kristin returned to the table, Martina began to tell her about the morning run. ‘Kristin, today Barbara had a record morning, she ran three miles and kept herself excellent.’

  ‘Bravo, Barbara! Congratulations!’ Kristin said with enthusiasm.

  ‘By the way, why did you order a latte? You prefer an Americano,’ inquired Martina. ‘Are you all right, my dear? Are you sick?’

  ‘No, girls, I’m fine, at the moment! Sometimes the Autumn melancholies manifest themselves, which is a phenomenon Erich Maria Remarque commented upon. He said something like, “…Perhaps Autumn is to blame for everything; I feel it stronger than you. In the Autumn, treaties are torn up and everything becomes invalid. And the human wants…”

  Yes, what does he want?’ Kristin said in a sad voice.

  ‘Stop, stop and stop again! We don’t like you; we know another Kristin!’ expressed Martina, fiercely. ‘By the way, today on such a sunny morning, we are only obliged to rejoice and enjoy every moment.’

  ‘Kristin, you have a good understanding of English and you will soon have the opportunity to continue your profession. I also understand that you miss your family, but there is a non-problematic solution at the present time,’ Barbara explained, calmly. ‘I would recommend that you write fascinating articles about everyone and send them to a publishing house.’

  ‘Why not? It is very interesting, and you have a talent, think about it,’ said Martina.

  ‘Girls, I undertake to think carefully about it at leisure,’ Kristin declared.

  Barbara looked at the wristwatch on its leather strap, rose abruptly from the chair and said, ‘Girls, unfortunately, I have to leave you! In one hour from now, my work day begins. I wish you a good day, let’s talk. I adore you! See you soon!’

  ‘Bye!’ the smiling friends answered at the same time.

  ‘What are your plans for today?’ asked Martina, suddenly.

  ‘I want to walk a little along the waterfront of the North Sea, clear my brain and breathe warm air, to enjoy the sunshine after yesterday’s continuous rain,’ Kristin said.

  ‘Excellent! Will you take me for company, I have before lunch free. What do you say?’ Martina asked, intrigued.

  ‘Where am I going without you?’ answered Kristin with a smile.

  Numerous picturesque hills are located along the shores of the North Sea and the friends often walk there. Kristin and her husband like to go hiking on weekends from St Andrews to Crail, or Anstruther and dine in the small restaurants on the seashore
.

  ‘So windy, Kristin!’ Martina said, displeased.

  ‘Yes, the sun is shining, the sea is raging, as if something is worrying him!’ Kristin said, thoughtfully.

  ‘This is the wind waves, Kristin,’ claimed Martina.

  ‘Maybe so. A thrilling sea and these magnificent small hills fascinate our hearts, poetically,’ said Kristin.

  ‘Kristin, you forgot in your ode to mention these beautiful cottages which are located on hilltops off the coast of the sea,’ mocked Martina.

  ‘Martina, after your sublime lines about my ode, my muse was frightened and flew away,’ Kristin continued to tease.

  ‘Oh, sorry, Mademoiselle, next time do not forget to remind me of my silence when your muse returns,’ teased Martina.

  ‘I will certainly say, Senorita!’ Kristin answered, seriously.

  Martina playfully looked into her friend’s eyes and slyly asked, ‘Now I’m forgiven?’

  ‘What do I not know? I do not know, my senorita. After all, it is easy to lose a muse, but to find it is…’

  Continuing in a serious voice to mock her friend, she was suddenly stopped by Martina’s frozen face from the horror she saw.

  ‘Martina, what is this?’

  ‘This… this man seems dead.’

  They are frightened and hesitantly sneak up on the corpse, which is in some thorny blackberry bushes.

  ‘Kristin, this is a woman. What a brutality!’ Martina speaks softly.

  ‘What cruelty, inhuman,’ a scared Kristin says, afraid someone will hear. ‘Such a young woman, about thrity-six to thirty-eight years old. She is in an evening dress.’

  ‘Painted blonde,’ Martina continues. ‘She also has a pretty face.’

  ‘Martina, do not get too close, there may be traces. Please call the police, I have bad English,’ Kristin says, stammering.