right now hopefully that meant getting on a plane and flying to Vienna.
Chapter 20
Vienna, Austria
Saturday, April 26 th —3:03 p.m.
“Y ou must be exhausted. Let me drop you off at your hotel,” Sebastian suggested when they were back on the street.
“I can’t imagine that I’d be able to go to sleep. I think I’ll just walk around for a while.”
“When was the last time you had something to eat?” He pointed to the café up ahead that she’d noticed when they’d parked earlier.
“Thanks, but you’ve done enough. I can’t take up any more of your time.”
“Your father would never forgive me if I let you go off alone on your first day in Vienna. Let me at least buy you a cup of coffee. It will do you good.”
The idea of coffee did appeal to her and the truth was Meer was far too anxious to go back to an empty hotel room.
As they walked to the corner, Sebastian described the café society of Vienna, keeping up a steady monologue she wassure he offered as a distraction. “Everyone has a café they frequent either near their home or their office. It’s a daily routine. One is almost expected to sit at a table and linger for hours over a single cup of coffee and a piece of strudel.”
Sebastian held open the door and Meer stepped inside Café Hawelka. Immediately the fragrant atmosphere enveloped her. It was a scene from another century. Waiters in black frockcoats with white aprons bustled about carrying silver trays, reflecting ad infinitum in the large wall mirrors that expanded the small space. The heavy rust velvet drapes with white lace half curtains underneath gave the room a sense of both intimacy and opulence.
Once they were seated at a marble-topped table, Meer looked around at the reddish-brown ceiling and smoke-stained walls. Taking it all in, she felt wistful for an era she never knew.
“What would you like?” Sebastian asked.
“An espresso.”
“Nothing to eat? Well, at least we have to order Mrs. Hawelka’s homemade Buchteln . They are wonderful little jam-filled pastries, and you need to eat something.”
“You’re doing a very good impersonation of my father.”
Sebastian smiled and nodded toward the waiter, who came over and took their order in a very officious manner.
“He’s very formal,” she noted after he left.
“All the waiters are. They go to school and train for years before they earn the title of ‘Herr Ober,’ ‘Mr. Waiter,’” Sebastian explained. “There are actually twenty-seven hand motions required to prepare the tray correctly with the glass of water, coffee, sugar, napkin, spoon, etcetera.”
Meer’s fingers brushed the velvet upholstery. “How old is this café?”
“Usually there’s a history and a list of luminaries who frequented each café on the back of the menu.” He reached for it and read out loud: “There’s been a café or bar operating at this address since the 1780s.”
While he read, the waiter returned with the coffee, glasses of water and cookies, making a show of dressing the table with the refreshments. Sebastian thanked him and then continued where he’d left off with the history of the café. Sipping her coffee, Meer listened while she watched the patrons interacting and the waiters moving around the room almost like male dancers in a ballet. Snippets of conversation filled the air but instead of the foreign language reminding her she was an outsider—a stranger far from home—it was welcoming.
“There’s a timelessness about this place,” she said when Sebastian finished. “Not just this café, everything about Vienna.”
“I travel a lot with my work and Vienna is special that way. Maybe it’s that the love of music, theater, art and philosophy remain alive here in ways it hasn’t in other cities.”
“Listening to you, I feel like I’m back at school.”
Sebastian raised his eyebrows. “Compliment or criticism?”
“Compliment,” she said a little uncomfortably. What was it about him that
Chapter 20
Vienna, Austria
Saturday, April 26 th —3:03 p.m.
“Y ou must be exhausted. Let me drop you off at your hotel,” Sebastian suggested when they were back on the street.
“I can’t imagine that I’d be able to go to sleep. I think I’ll just walk around for a while.”
“When was the last time you had something to eat?” He pointed to the café up ahead that she’d noticed when they’d parked earlier.
“Thanks, but you’ve done enough. I can’t take up any more of your time.”
“Your father would never forgive me if I let you go off alone on your first day in Vienna. Let me at least buy you a cup of coffee. It will do you good.”
The idea of coffee did appeal to her and the truth was Meer was far too anxious to go back to an empty hotel room.
As they walked to the corner, Sebastian described the café society of Vienna, keeping up a steady monologue she wassure he offered as a distraction. “Everyone has a café they frequent either near their home or their office. It’s a daily routine. One is almost expected to sit at a table and linger for hours over a single cup of coffee and a piece of strudel.”
Sebastian held open the door and Meer stepped inside Café Hawelka. Immediately the fragrant atmosphere enveloped her. It was a scene from another century. Waiters in black frockcoats with white aprons bustled about carrying silver trays, reflecting ad infinitum in the large wall mirrors that expanded the small space. The heavy rust velvet drapes with white lace half curtains underneath gave the room a sense of both intimacy and opulence.
Once they were seated at a marble-topped table, Meer looked around at the reddish-brown ceiling and smoke-stained walls. Taking it all in, she felt wistful for an era she never knew.
“What would you like?” Sebastian asked.
“An espresso.”
“Nothing to eat? Well, at least we have to order Mrs. Hawelka’s homemade Buchteln . They are wonderful little jam-filled pastries, and you need to eat something.”
“You’re doing a very good impersonation of my father.”
Sebastian smiled and nodded toward the waiter, who came over and took their order in a very officious manner.
“He’s very formal,” she noted after he left.
“All the waiters are. They go to school and train for years before they earn the title of ‘Herr Ober,’ ‘Mr. Waiter,’” Sebastian explained. “There are actually twenty-seven hand motions required to prepare the tray correctly with the glass of water, coffee, sugar, napkin, spoon, etcetera.”
Meer’s fingers brushed the velvet upholstery. “How old is this café?”
“Usually there’s a history and a list of luminaries who frequented each café on the back of the menu.” He reached for it and read out loud: “There’s been a café or bar operating at this address since the 1780s.”
While he read, the waiter returned with the coffee, glasses of water and cookies, making a show of dressing the table with the refreshments. Sebastian thanked him and then continued where he’d left off with the history of the café. Sipping her coffee, Meer listened while she watched the patrons interacting and the waiters moving around the room almost like male dancers in a ballet. Snippets of conversation filled the air but instead of the foreign language reminding her she was an outsider—a stranger far from home—it was welcoming.
“There’s a timelessness about this place,” she said when Sebastian finished. “Not just this café, everything about Vienna.”
“I travel a lot with my work and Vienna is special that way. Maybe it’s that the love of music, theater, art and philosophy remain alive here in ways it hasn’t in other cities.”
“Listening to you, I feel like I’m back at school.”
Sebastian raised his eyebrows. “Compliment or criticism?”
“Compliment,” she said a little uncomfortably. What was it about him that
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