Without Reservations_ The Travels of an Independent Woman - Alice Steinbach [38]
Finally, I thought as I approached my new digs, all those years of reading The New York Review of Books has paid off.
When I entered my building a porter inside greeted me, then took my shopping bags and placed them in the elevator. “Seventh floor, is it?” he said, pushing the button before I could answer. The elevator was one of those old, slow numbers that took forever to get from one floor to the next. But who cared? I had nothing but time. When it finally lurched to a stop, I stepped off, turned the corner, and unlocked the door to my flat.
The late afternoon light was coming in through the kitchen- and living-room windows. Instantly I put down the groceries, walked to the balcony, opened the door, and stepped outside. Below me was Cadogan Street and to my left, tree-lined Sloane Avenue. I hung out as far as I could over the railing, looking first in one direction, then the other. After a few minutes of this I returned to the living room and turned on the lamps. The room was as pleasant as I remembered: the furniture stylish and comfortable, the white walls softened with framed prints and drawings.
I put away the groceries and fixed myself a drink. A special-occasion drink: Cutty Sark, with ice. I carried the glass with me into the bedroom, where I set out the family photographs I’d brought along on the trip. Then back to the living room, where I kicked off my shoes and sat down to watch the evening news.
How nice, I thought, sipping my drink, to hear the news in a language I fully understood.
When I arrived at the café on Friday, Victoria was already there, queued up. With her was a tall, attractive woman whose face, tanned and mapped with fine wrinkles, suggested a life spent outdoors. Victoria spotted me and waved me into the line next to her.
“So nice to see you again,” she said, holding out her hand. She then introduced me to the woman next to her. “I’d like you to meet Sarah Davies. Sarah and I went to boarding school together. Met there when we were eleven and have been friends ever since. Which means we’ve been friends for about a hundred years.”
Sarah and I laughed as we shook hands.
“Sarah’s in town for a few months doing a piece on Mrs. Some-body-or-other’s gardens,” Victoria continued. “She’s left her husband behind in Kent. Where, I suspect, he is busy with his roses and his dogs.”
Sarah laughed again. She didn’t seem to mind at all Victoria’s running commentary on her life. “But, Victoria,” she said, “the two of us being here without our husbands will make it just like the old days.”
Victoria was about to answer when the hostess beckoned us to a table. We sat down and after ordering salad and iced tea, Sarah asked about my stay in London. “Victoria said you wrote for a newspaper but were taking several months off. It sounds quite exciting.” She turned to Victoria. “Do you remember our plans to travel around the world when we turned eighteen?”
Victoria nodded. “Yes. But it never happened, did it? As I recall, you fell quite madly in love with Stephen and had to have him. And that was the end of it.”
A skeptical look crossed Sarah’s face. “Funny that, because I remember it the other way round. You fell in love with a stuffy old professor and had to have him. And that was the end of it.”
The two women exchanged private glances, then burst out laughing.
I liked the easy rapport between Victoria and Sarah. At home I had friends like this, women with whom I could exchange in bold shorthand strokes whole parts of our shared history. It was what I missed most on this trip: my women friends. I could always count on them to boost me up or take me down a peg when I needed it.
Sarah began asking questions about my trip. Where I was going. Where I had been. How I chose my flat in London. She seemed genuinely interested. Then Victoria joined in, asking me what had prompted me to do what I was doing.
“I needed an adventure while I still had the legs for it,” I said,