Heard It on the Grapevine

By Clive Cooke

“Love Token” is set in one of the great country houses of England at the time of the First World War. The servants below stairs are getting ready for a house party for thirty guests. Inevitably, the old social set-up disintegrates under the pressures of the war. It is also a love story.
“Kaffee Klatsch” (gossip in English) is about two elderly women, friends for fifty years. Both women fall in love with the same man which puts their relationship under considerable strain. Jealousy rears its ugly head. However, their friendship survives the crisis and when it is finally over the two old dears are ready to make the same mistake all over again.
“Lavender” is a love story set in an old-age home. What the eighty-year-old love-birds don’t appreciate is that their romance is seen by their children as a threat to the status quo, especially the possibility of losing their inheritance.
The story “Dear Olivia” is told through a series of e-mails between Cathy and her friend and confidant Olivia. Her friend warns her, but she does not want to listen.
The setting of “Lemon Juice” is a press conference where a film star is presenting her new range of beauty products to the public. Meanwhile, a member of the audience plans to take revenge on her. The conventional saying is: “when life gives you a lemon.... make lemonade”. However, in this story, the woman seeking revenge forces the film star to drink pure, concentrated lemon juice.
“Writers’ Block” is a story of a writer facing a dry creative patch as she approaches the end of her career. When she discovers a novice writer with talent, she decides to steal the young woman’s work and to do this she needs to murder her.
In the story “Revenge is Sour”, one member of the family is beautiful and the other is plain. Which one do think is the jealous one?
The next four stories are set in different countries. Divorce Italian Style is about one set of rules for men and a different set of rules for women. Divorce in America is all about greedy lawyers. Divorce British Style is about the class system. Divorce in Ireland depends on what you find at the end of the rainbow.
“One Up” is a game between husband and wife. Why not turn divorce into a game? It’s much more fun that way.
The story “Heard it on the Grapevine” is a portrait of a sociopath manager. Perhaps, you have run across him during your career. Recognise him and avoid him at all costs. The writer proposes that the higher the level in a company, the greater the proportion of sociopaths. These people are viewed as “gurus’, “visionaries” and “dynamic”. Don’t be fooled. They are enormously destructive.
“Rules of the Game” are the unwritten rules of the corporate world. Uncle Al takes it upon himself to teach his nephew the rules. His nephew views him as old and cynical whereas Uncle Al views him as young and naïve. The reader is left to judge for herself which point of view is correct.
“The Corporate Smile” is dripping with sarcasm. Learn how to get to the top by smiling rather than by working hard. In the corporate world, smiling is a WMD (weapon of mass deceit).
“The Max principle” is a story about the mentality of entitlement, or how people justify doing bad things.
Say “hello” to a team of demotivated subordinates in: “Why Should I?” These people believe that the company owes them a living.
In “Lambe to the Slaughter” pity Frank Lambe the project manager, running around in circles trying to satisfy every boss and his dog. Call in the consultants! Sack the consultants! Call in new consultants! Frank isn’t coping.
Are you a “Team Player”? Are you prepared to cheat, lie and do illegal things for your company. Top management will protect you. You have nothing to lose, except perhaps your reputation.
“Chairman of the Board” is a farce. Communication sessions by top management are never like this.
“What About Me?” is humorous story of a young man trying to be popular with all the

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clive Cooke
• Release date: Mar 2, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301745210

Clive Cooke

Worked for thirty years in the petrochemical industry in production and marketing, recently retired. Published ten books. Intends to devote more time to writing and to travelling.Specializes in small-scale human dramas rather than in epics. A shrewd observer of the complexities of human behavior. Loves contradictions and uncertainties. Health warning: there are unexploded land mines buried in my writing. The reader is advised to tread warily.Traveled extensively in Europe, North, Central and South America. Speaks four languages. Photograph: I'm the one on the left wearing the hat.

Book preview

Heard It on the Grapevine

By Clive Cooke

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Published by Clive Cooke at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Clive Cooke

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Cover Design by Jo Naylor

Cover photo courtesy of CanStockPhoto

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This volume comprises two collections of short stories. I have used the British style of spelling throughout. I have also frequently used dialect to represent local speech and a sprinkling of foreign words to add colour, but not that many as to have you reaching for the dictionary. Please enjoy!

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Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Table of Contents

Don’t Get Mad, Get Even

Love Token

Kaffee Klatsch

Lavender

Dear Olivia

Lemon Juice

Writers’ Block

Revenge is Sour

Divorce Italian Style

Divorce American Style

Divorce British Style

Divorce Irish Style

One Up

Big Companies for Dummies

Heard it on the Grapevine

Rules of the Game

The Corporate Smile

The Max Principle

Why Should I?

Lambe to the Slaughter

Team Player

Chairman of the Board

What About Me?

Don’t Get Mad, Get Even

Love Token

Nellie’s mistake was to try to do two things at the same time. She hadn’t been concentrating properly and Mr Maugham would be cross with her. She was terrified of the old man, all wrinkles and spleen. He had been in service with His Lordship for forty years and had risen through the ranks. He might dock Nellie’s wages, or give her notice. This was her first job in service. She had only recently turned seventeen.

When she stood on tip-toe, Nellie could see a portion of the lawn and the vegetable garden through the basement window. Jack, the assistant gardener, sometimes left an apple for her on the window sill, or a pear. He was a fine fellow. This time, he had left a red rose. As she reached out for it, the dish she was washing slipped out of her hand and fell onto the tiled floor with a loud crash. Horrified, she looked at the ruination of her mistress’ dinner service. Jenny, who worked above stairs, came through to the scullery and stood with her hands on her hips.

‘Ooh Nellie, now look what you gone and done.’

Jenny was short and stout and plain and unmarried. Nellie’s face was scarlet. As she bent down to pick up the pieces, she burst into tears.

‘You’ll have to tell Mr Maugham, you will’

Words stuck in Nellie’s throat. She wiped her eyes with her apron. What would she say to Mr Maugham?

‘It slipped.’

‘You’re right about that.’

‘I put too much soap in the water. It makes everything slippery.’

‘Well, now.’

Jenny turned her back on the unfortunate girl. This was Mr Maugham’s problem. She had her own work to do.

Lunch in the servants’ dining room was held in silence. Mr Maugham said grace as if he were officiating at a burial ceremony. Betty and Mary served soup for everyone followed by roast pork and boiled cabbage. Jack, the assistant gardener, said you could tell that the cabbage had been dead a long time by its smell.

‘What’s this?’ asked Mr Maugham, poking his finger into a mound of pale-coloured worms on his plate.

‘Italian,’ said Betty. ‘It’s called spaghetti.’

‘We are trying something new,’ said Mary encouragingly. ‘Very nice.’

‘I don’t eat foreign stuff,’ replied Maugham. ‘What’s wrong with right proper food?’

‘Very well, Mr Maugham.’

Nellie still hadn’t confessed her sins to Mr Maugham. When she had gone to see him earlier during the morning, her courage failed her at the last minute. Her face was still red and puffy from crying. Mrs West sat next to her. Her husband had recently passed away. She was sixty one. She smiled at Nellie and patted her on the hand.

‘Never you worry yourself, my dear. I’ll tell Mr Maugham I broke it.’

News below stairs travelled fast.

‘Mrs West…. thank you.’

‘Shh my dear, not a word more. He won’t dismiss me. He wouldn’t dare.’

‘Thank you, thank you.’

Mr Maugham was going over everyone’s roles and responsibilities for the house party on Saturday. He called it his battle plan. There would be about thirty guests. Jenny asked if there was to be music and dancing.

‘Yes, but we will not be worrying of the musicians. I have strict orders from His Lordship not to serve the musicians alcoholic beverages. Musicians are notorious….’

‘What is notorious, Mrs West?’ asked Nellie.

‘I don’t know. Mr Maugham is always putting on hairs and graces, fancy talk he overhears in the drawing room.’

Mrs West had taken the young girl under her wing, having no children of her own. Nellie came from the local village, young and pretty. Her cheeks blushed readily. Her smile was innocent, her complexion fresh and her lips the redness of ripe cherries. Jack, the assistant gardener and Freddy, the stable boy, were sweet on her. Freddy had given her a love token made out of three ears of wheat tied together with a plaited rope of straw in the shape of a heart. Nellie did not know what it was. She left it on the kitchen table and Jenny found it.

‘Whose is this?’ asked Jenny.

‘Freddy gave it to me,’ said Nellie.

‘Do you know what it is?’

‘No.’

‘It’s a love token. No-one ever give me a love token.’

Mrs West told Nellie she was to wear the love token on her right hand side if the feelings were reciprocated, or on the left hand side if they were not. Nellie said she liked both Freddy and Jack. Mrs West thought for a while and then said that perhaps she had better not wear it. After all, she was only seventeen. Jenny asked if she could have it. This was fine as far as Nellie was concerned. Jenny pinned the love token on the right hand side of her uniform.

The guests for the house party started arriving the following day, genteel folk, in cars and good quality shoes. A few of them still had carriages. Freddy took care of the horses. The house servants lined up outside the front door to welcome them. The ladies’ clothes were objects of wonderment; the furs, the hats and the jewels. Nellie had never seen anything like it before. Mr Maugham ordered Nellie, Jenny and Betty to carry their luggage up to their rooms. The master’s son, Vaughn, was expected down from Oxford. Mrs West warned Nellie about him.

‘A good-looking boy, such a pity,’ she said.

‘Why, Mrs West?’

‘Gambling, drinking, that’s what young people get up to at Oxford. I can’t repeat the details what some folks tell me. It’s not decent.’

During the afternoon, a red sports car was seen driving down the avenue, the driver blowing its horn repeatedly. Mr Maugham rang the servants’ bell and ordered everyone to line up outside. Rain threatened. It was going to be a wet weekend. Two young men climbed out of the car. Mr Maugham called the one man Sir. This was Vaughn, the young master. He called Maugham: Old Sour-Face. Jenny giggled. Mr Maugham stared her into submission.

‘A new crop,’ said Vaughn as the row of female servants curtsied. ‘This is a pretty one. What’s your name, Miss?’

Nellie blushed.

‘Nellie Given, Sir.’

‘Things are looking up, Maugham.’

‘Thank you, Sir.’

‘Smile, Maugham, for heaven’s sake smile.’

The second young man was one of Vaughn’s drinking friends from Oxford.

The following day, a shoot was organized for the men. The women spent the time walking around the gardens and drinking tea in the green room. It was so tranquil one would not know that the country had been at war for two months. Miss Arbuthnot had kind words to say to Jack about the collection of tropical plants in the conservatory. Lady Broughton asked to speak to the cook. She much admired Mrs Jones’ pastries. An endless procession of vans arrived at the back door with provisions for the weekend. Mr Maugham was permanently in a bad mood. Nothing was to his satisfaction. He lost his temper with Jenny who complained to Mary that the old man was going senile. Someone had forgotten to order extra port wine. It wasn’t her fault. Beverages were the butler’s responsibility. Alfred, the head butler, hid in the attic and smoked. He had had enough of the house party already.

Master Vaughn came down to the basement on a pretext. Mr Maugham was busy in his office with books and ledgers. According to his calculation, there was enough port. But, where was it? Had it been delivered to the wrong address? He rang for the head butler. There was no answer.

‘So, this is where you hide,’ said Vaughan.

The young master had never been down to the kitchen before.

‘I call it my den, Sir.’

‘I was wondering…. oh, there she is. It’s Miss Given, isn’t it?’ Vaughn called the young woman. Nellie blushed. ‘I’ve got a job for you.’

‘Sir?’

‘I need my boots polished.’

‘Sir,’ said Maugham ‘The assistant butler, will do it for you. I’ll ring for him.’

‘I want Miss Given to do it.’

‘As you wish, Sir.’

Nellie followed Vaughn up the stairs and into the entrance hall. She had only been there once before. She shared a room in the attic with Jenny and Betty, but they used the servants’ staircase. Nellie looked around. The great staircase was lined with family portraits. They passed a row of marble busts in the gallery and went up a smaller flight of stairs. They stood in the passage outside Vaughn’s room.

‘I don’t really need my boots polished,’ he said. ‘I just want to talk to you.’

‘Sir?’

‘You are very pretty.’

Nellie stood with her back to the oak panelling. Vaughn leant against the wall, preventing her escape. The sound of footsteps echoed down the passage. A woman came towards them. It was lady Broughton.

‘Oh, there you are Vaughn. I’ve been looking for you everywhere. You’ll be a sweetheart for me, won’t you? I need an errand.’

Nellie fled back downstairs.

Lunch below stairs was tense. The strained atmosphere had nothing to do with the preparations for the house party. Open hostility between Jack and Freddy spilled over at the dinner table. Everyone knew they were rivals for Nellie’s attention. Jack had seen the love token Freddy had made and which Jenny was wearing and he knew it was not meant for her. Jack argued with Freddy and Freddy disagreed with everything that Jack said. Mrs West found it highly embarrassing. She looked to Mr Maugham to exert some discipline.

Nobody at the dinner table spoke about the war. It was as if the outside world did not exist. Mr Maugham’s only reference to it was to say that there were more important things to worry about than foreigners and their petty squabbles. If it were up to him, he would send in a detachment of the Guards to give them Serbs a bloody nose. He knew what he was talking about.

‘What is a Serb, Mr Maugham?’ asked Betty.

‘Ooh.… let me think, now.’

Jack said that a Serb was a type of vegetable, like a potato, only it grew above ground. Freddy said it was a breed of horses. He had never seen one, but had heard that they were born with a dark coat which faded to a cream colour as they grew older. They were used in dressage.

‘What’s dressage, Mr Maugham?’

‘Ooh…. it’s a foreign thing.’

Mary brought the soup through from the kitchen. She and Betty served out the portions. Mr Maugham went over the battle plan again. Everyone had heard it before, several times. Jenny asked which house party Mr Maugham was talking about. Mrs West thought she was most disrespectful, poking fun at Mr Maugham like that.

The argument about Serbs flared up again. Jack insisted that it was a type of vegetable. Freddy laughed derisively. He said that Jack did not know his potatoes from his artichokes. Jack stood up from the table and pointed a finger at Freddy, his face contorted with anger. Mr Maugham ordered him to sit down. Jack challenged his rival to a fight. Freddy gladly accepted. Mr Maugham told him so sit down again. Jack ignored him. This was a matter of a man’s honour. The stable-hand had insulted him. Nellie asked him to sit down, so he did, just to please her. Mr Maugham went over the battle plan for the grand party again. Jenny giggled. The cook placed a dish of steaming hot rabbit pie, straight out of the oven, on the table.

The musicians from the big city arrived after tea. Mrs West took one look at them and declared them to be a bunch of rogues and blackguards. Betty thought the leader was quite handsome with his long, glossy black hair. She said he had beautiful hands. Her own hands were thick and rough from years of scrubbing and polishing. The musicians held a rehearsal in the barn. Jenny made an excuse to go and listen to them. Freddy was working in the hayloft. He saw her and grabbed her and kissed her full on the mouth. When she protested, he said she was wearing his love token. Jenny said she didn’t know it was a love token and she didn’t know it came from him. He called her a liar and kissed her again. Jenny continued to wear the token.

Next morning, the silverware was polished, glasses cleaned until they sparkled and the table laid with military precision. Mrs West did the flower arrangements. She also did the flowers in the ballroom where the musicians were to perform. The floor was polished and chairs arranged. Betty announced to the other servants that the band leader had spoken to her. Jenny frowned. None of the musicians had spoken to her. Only, Betty omitted to say that the band leader had wanted to know the name of the pretty seventeen year old helping to polish the floor in the ballroom. Albert, the head butler, reported the guests’ conversation in the drawing room to his colleagues below stairs. Apparently, the main topic of conversation was the war. Master Vaughn was considering volunteering. Lady Broughton thought he was terribly brave. The young master said it was his duty to fight. Miss Arbuthnot was concerned about his safety. Vaughn said that there was nothing to worry about. The war would be over in a matter of weeks, a month or two at the outset.

‘Did you see the ladies’ gowns?’ asked Betty. ‘Something marvellous.’

‘Beautiful.’

Betty and Mary had hidden under the grand staircase while the ladies came down to the drawing room for before-dinner drinks. There were to be seven courses interspersed with sherbet. The head waiter saw the two hiding under the stairs and chased them away. Vaughn put on a jazz record in the drawing room. None of the servants, except for the head waiter, had heard a gramophone before.

Below stairs, chaos reigned in the kitchen. Mr Maugham stood in the middle of it with a bewildered look on his face. He issued commands which nobody obeyed. The cook was in control now, red-faced and bathed in perspiration. Feet flew down the passages. Fingers were burnt on the hot tureens. Pots were stirred and fires stoked. Nellie was careful not to drop anything. The head waiter told Mr Maugham to go back to his office. There was nothing more he could do, except to enjoy his triumph. He called for the next course. Jenny had disappeared. Mrs West saw a figure walking quickly across the yard in the direction of the barn. It was too dark to make out who it was. The figure was short and dumpy. She guessed it was Jenny.

Just as suddenly as the activity had started, the end arrived. Mr Maugham was in control again. He gave everyone half an hour’s rest. The cook sat in Mr Maugham’s armchair as a reward for her efforts, fanning herself. The sound of music emanated from above stairs. Nellie had never heard an orchestra before. She stood next to the door, listening. Jenny came in from the yard.

‘Where you been?’ asked Mrs West.

‘Nowhere.’

‘We all been working our fingers to the bone while you acting like a lady.’

‘Some people are always sticking their noses into other people’s business.’

Mrs West pursed her lips.

‘Did you ask Mr Maugham’s permission?’

‘I don’t answer to you.’

Jenny said she was hungry. The cook gave her the remains of a leg of mutton. The door of the servants’ dining room opened and a figure stood there. The music was louder now.

‘Ah, Miss Given,’ said the figure.

It was the young master, Vaughn.

‘Sir?’

‘Come dance with me.’

‘Sir, I never learned.’

‘I’ll teach you. Come.’ Vaughn took Nellie by the hand and demonstrated the steps. ‘This is called a polka, one-two-one-two. Follow me.’

Jenny stood at the dining room door gnawing at the leg of mutton watching Nellie and the young master. Mrs West joined her, still complaining. Vaughn asked them to move some of the chairs out of the way. Nellie smiled. They broke, they joined, they turned. Nellie laughed. This was grand. A voice from the depths of Mr Maugham’s den interrupted her enjoyment.

‘Miss Nellie Given, what do you think you are doing?’ He strode out of his office. ‘You are not allowed….’ Vaughn turned around. ‘I beg your pardon, Sir. I did not realize it was you.’

‘Go to bed, Maugham. It’s long past your bed time.’

Jenny giggled. The music stopped, giving Nellie a moment to catch her breath. The young master was still holding her around the waist. Mr Maugham watched from his office. Then the music started again. Master Vaughn said it was called a fox trot.

‘One-two, one-two, follow my lead,’ he said.

The head waiter came downstairs to tell Vaughn that Miss Arbuthnot was looking for him. He had promised her the first dance.

The first out of bed next day were Betty and Mary. There was work to be done. Nellie was tired. She did not know what time she had gone to bed, except that it was late. She lay back thinking of the young master, of fox trots and black bottom. Mrs West disapproved of black bottom. She regarded the dance as immoral. Freddy and Jack were already in the servants’ dining room waiting for breakfast. The cook was late. She asked them to make the fires. Miss Arbuthnot went to church in the village. The rest of the guests did not appear until mid-day.

After lunch, most of the guests left. Mr Maugham spent the afternoon yawning. Lady Broughton gave the head butler a tip with strict instructions to share it amongst the rest of the servants. He thanked her and kept the money for himself.

The fight between Jack and Freddy never took place. A week after the house party, Jack handed in his resignation. He had volunteered to join the army. The head butler joined up too. Betty and Mary resigned. They had heard that since so many men had gone off to fight, there were not enough people to work in the factories. Women were now being employed doing men’s work and the pay was better than traditional jobs in service. Mr Maugham asked His Lordship how he was expected to run the household with reduced staff.

Jenny was ill. She stayed in bed for two days. She had become morose and prone to bouts of crying. Nellie asked her what was wrong. She gave Nellie back the love token saying that it had only brought her bad luck. Mrs West suspected Jenny was in the family way. She confronted her and the girl admitted it. There had been several visits to the hay loft which had not gone unnoticed. Mrs West asked who the father was, but Jenny wouldn’t say. Soon, she would not be able to hide her condition. Despite their disagreements, Mrs West was inclined to feel sorry for the girl. Mr Maugham would dismiss her and the disgrace would stay with her for the rest of her life. But, it was her fault; she only had herself to blame. However, when Mr Maugham found out, Jenny was not dismissed. The household was already short of staff and he could not afford to lose any more. He reported to His Lordship who agreed to keep Jenny on condition that she married the father. The father was Freddy, the stable-hand.

The marriage between Jenny and Freddy took place in the local village church. Two days later, Freddy joined the army in Flanders. The great house was quiet. There were no more visitors and no more house parties. His Lordship hardly ever left his study. Master Vaughn was in France. There was no word from him for months. Then a batch of his letters arrived. The north wing of the great house was closed. There was no use for it anymore and no-one to look after it. The head waiter spread the story that His Lordship had huge debts. Nellie told Mrs West she was considering leaving too. Both her suitors had gone and she doubted whether she would find a husband if she stayed there.

News of the first casualty reached the great house just before Christmas. His Lordship shared the sad news of Jack’s death in France with Mr Maugham who relayed it to the rest of the servants. It was a small group that now sat around the dinner table. Mrs West had retired and the cook had left to start her own bed-and-breakfast establishment at the coast. One Sunday, Betty paid a visit to the big house. They drank tea in the servants’ dining room. Nellie admired her fashionable clothes. She was obviously doing well at the munitions factory. Jenny’s baby was due in three weeks. But, the baby came early as a result of the shock she received. Freddy had been killed in action.

Nellie often thought about the music and the dancing. Mr Maugham saw her practising the fox trot in the servants’ dining room all on her own. He let her be. The tune of the black bottom went round and round in her head. It wouldn’t let her go. Sometimes, she found herself humming the tune while washing the dishes. She wondered if the young master still remembered her. She dreamt about him, but was too shy to tell anyone. She would be eighteen in July.

There was to be no shoot this year. The game keeper had gone off to fight, so too the head gardener. The garden was rapidly turning into a wilderness. One morning, Mr Maugham found His Lordship dead in his chair in the study. He sent Nellie off to the village to make arrangements for the funeral. The good news was that Master Vaughn was returning home on leave. He had probably been informed about his father’s death. Nellie looked forward to seeing him. Would he dance with her? They could put on a jazz record and do the black bottom again.

A car drew up at the main entrance of the great house. Mr Maugham walked stiffly down the steps to open the door. He was starting to show his age. Nellie looked out of the window to see a man being helped into a wheelchair. It was the young master. Nellie held her hand to her mouth. What had happened? No-one had said anything about Vaughn being wounded. Could he walk?

Lawyers came and went. Papers were signed and letters written. Mr Maugham said that it was true about the debts. The estate was to be sold. The young master, now His Lordship, was paralysed. He asked to see Nellie in the study.

Nellie knocked on the door and waited. Vaughn was sitting in a wheelchair looking out onto the park. He turned around when he heard Nellie’s knock.

‘Do you remember the fox trot?’

‘Yes Sir.’

‘And the black bottom?’

‘I never forget the black bottom, Sir. Mrs West said it was immoral.’

‘Naughty, but nice.’

There were serious matters to discuss: the loss of the estate, his reduced financial circumstances and his physical condition. His wounds had healed and he wasn’t in any pain, but he was paralysed. He said he was only half the man he used to be and would no longer make a suitable husband. However, bearing this in mind, would Nellie be prepared to accept his offer of marriage?

Of course she would. She had been in love with him from the time they danced in the servants’ dining room.

‘Come here Nellie.’

As a token of his love, he gave her a ring encrusted with diamonds and rubies and which had belonged to his grandmother. Mr Maugham was meanwhile listening to the conversation from the other side of the study door. For the first time in years, he broke into a smile.

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Kaffee Klatsch

Kaffee klatsch, gossiping with a friend over a cup of coffee, is one of life’s little pleasures. It’s something that anybody can do. You don’t have to be rich or famous to enjoy it and it isn’t expensive, the coffee that is. Gossip, however, could be quite expensive if you choose the wrong person with whom to share your secrets.

You can have your coffee with a slice of sachertorte, or apple strudel, hold the cream because of the waistline. Kaffee klatsch has always been very much part of Central European culture. It can take the whole morning, right up to lunch if you wish, depending on whether the owner of the coffee shop is the tolerant sort and whether you have the time. Sadly, the rushed lifestyle of to-day is making this pleasurable little habit obsolete. It is now mainly the pastime of elderly women and young mothers with prams. White-haired old gentlemen with their walking sticks and their hip problems prefer cognac with the morning newspaper. For them, kaffee klatsch holds little interest.

The two old dears had a regular Saturday morning date at Franco’s Coffee Shop. They sat outside under the red and white striped umbrellas when the weather was good, as it was to-day, or inside when it was not. Beryl’s husband had died two years ago and she was lonely. When he was alive, she complained about him over coffee and chocolate cake. But now that he was gone, she missed him terribly. She had taken off her shoe and was showing the inside to her friend Trudi who had recently buried her second husband.

‘It catches me here,’ said Beryl.

‘I can’t see without my glasses.’

‘Feel the inside with your finger.’

The two young mothers at the next table watched the examination of the shoe. It was like two brain surgeons discussing where to prod, where to poke, or how much to cut.

‘There’s a shoemaker in our building,’ said Trudi.

Beryl lifted her bare foot onto her friend’s lap. ‘Can you see the damage to my big toe…. no, it’s on the other side.’ Trudi made sympathetic noises. The couple at the next table pretended not to notice.

‘I can recommend our shoemaker. He is quite reasonable,’ said Trudi. ‘He’s done work for me before.’ She lowered her voice confidentially. ‘Did I tell you about his daughter?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Beryl, you are so vain about wearing your hearing aid.’

‘It’s the noise from