The sky above a perfect blue, its stillness punctuated by the squawks of circling gulls.
They take lunch in one of the little cafés in the trees behind the Strandpromenade, looking out towards the sea and the strange little Moorish kiosk with its splaying roofs and knots of small boys queuing to buy bottles of lemonade. Markus is in a good mood, teasing and telling jokes, his gaze leaving Gisela’s face only to drift slowly down her neck to the faint opening of her dress and the hint of a shy décolletage, his fine leather shoe edging towards and occasionally finding her ankle beneath the curtain of the white table-cloth.
“So girls, what are you doing this afternoon? More shopping? Or perhaps Tristana you’ll show them the sights of the town? What do you think Tristana?”
“I thought we might take some bicycles out, not too far, to the hills maybe, for the view, into the Statwald perhaps. Would you like that Gisela? Brangane?”
“Well, I don’t think I’ll join you this time. I’ve booked an appointment for a haircut and a shave in town. Dinner is at our place tonight. I’ve told the maid you’ll be joining us. Come early and we’ll play a hand of cards, girls. Alright? So, let me get the bill and we’ll meet later then. And don’t fall off….Those trails in the hills can be tricky you know.”
Chapter 7
The Steinweg soon becomes a sandy track, climbing in gentle curves through the forest, tall pines offering scant shade from the afternoon sun. The girls peddle upwards, just the sound of panted breathing breaking the silence. Eventually they come to a halt, leaning the cycles on the slope. Below them the valley opens out towards the sea, calm and still. Here and there a white stone villa punctuates the landscape. Tristana opens a flask of water and passes it around, Gisela throwing back her head as she drinks deeply, wiping her lip with a finger and smiling.
“Let’s take a little walk, there’s a nice clearing in the woods just by here with a little stream, come on.”
“Tristana, can’t we just look at the view? I’m exhausted. We both are, aren’t we Brangane? We’re not used to all this climbing like you are!”
“Really it’s not far. We can leave the bicycles here. Come on, it’s lovely and shady in the forest. We can fill the flask from the stream too. The water is so clear and cold. Come on! You’ll love it, I promise!”
I think Tristana can see me frowning. It’s not that I don’t like exercise, I do. But really, it was so tiring getting all the way up here. Anyway, we’re here now, and Tristana’s leading us up the little path between the firs. She’s right, and as soon as we’re in the trees it becomes suddenly cooler and I love the smell of pine. Our feet are almost silent on the needle-covered track. It is rather lovely here, I think. It’s leveling out now and suddenly Tristana turns and puts her fingers over her mouth as if to say “be quiet”.
“Shhh…. Quick, come here and look. Over there, come on, stay hidden. Look!”
Tristana points into the little clearing, a shallow depression surrounded by the dark of the forest. A girl is dancing. All alone, singing to herself. Her feet skipping over the soft ground, kicking little puffs of sand into the air. Her hands twirl over her head, slip to her hair, parting and lifting her chocolate curls. She pauses, then spins away again, her limbs flowing in time with her song. She is quite, quite naked.
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