“Er can I speak to Gertie, I mean Frau Schmidt please?”
“I'm afraid she's not available at the moment, can I help?”

Okay, so it was a bit of a long shot but when I went up to Bonn the other week she said to call if there was anything she might be interested in for Rhein Abend.

“Its about a story, she told me to ring her?”

The unnamed person at the other end of the phone line must have picked up on my disapointment at not getting through to the magazines presenter, she sounded somewhat more concilatory when she replied.

“I can give her a message?”
“Er yeah,” I agreed, “if you tell her that Gaby Bond called.”
“Gaby Bond the Weltmeisterin?”
“Er yeah.”
“I'm sure she'll get right back to you, oh does she have your number?” she sounded more enthused after identifying me.

I told her my Handy number and finished the call, this whole concert thing is becoming a right monster. It was Mum again who suggested I talk to Gertie, aparently she has become a 'contact', a friendly face in the media. Somehow I seem to be getting dragged into being a 'personality', urgh, what a horrible thought!
 

Of course, there's more going on in my life than these proposed concerts, college and last night, should've been Cheer. Do you know what, I really do miss being in the Foresters back in Warsop, we had some great fun and competitive success, somehow the All Stars don't ignite me quite the same. Hmm, I wonder if Hannah knows anything about that Artistic cycling stuff? Should've asked last night, i'll have to ask her on Friday.

I finished nibbling at my sandwich, it was a bit too crusty to be honest, and washed it down with the last of the Sprite I bought with it. With a bit of a sigh I gathered my stuff, well you'd sigh too if you had two hours of accountancy to look forward to. Is that my Handy trilling? I dug back into my bag and sure enough it was an incoming call.

“Bond,” I offered, well there was no caller ID.
“Gaby? Its Gertie Schmidt.”
“Oh hi, thanks for calling back.”

To be honest I didn't think she'd even get the message.

“Sorry about earlier, I was in a production meeting, Jay only just gave me your message, so what can I do for you Fraulein Bond?”
“Er thats okay,” I offered as I started drifting towards lecture theatre twelve, “so I don't know if you guys would be interested but we're putting on some charity concert type things at the kiosk?”
“We might be struggling, this side of Weihnachts is always full of stuff.”
“They're in the Neu Jahre,” I interrupted.
“Ah, thats different then, so tell me all about it.”

I gave her the bare bones before having to end the call with a promise to get back to her when things are firmed up some, Herr Dumas does not take lateness to his classes lightly.
 
“So everyone know what they're doing on Friday?” Steff posed.

How did it get to Advent so quickly? I looked around the Stube to my friends, mostly the same gang as in the past but bolstered this year by Bernie and of course our three recruits from Silverberg. I hope the Kinderhaus people appreciate our efforts, I'm sure they do but I guess there's always that nagging thought that we're pushing ourselves on them.

“So we'll meet at the kiosk four o'clock?” Steff went on.
“We might be a bit late,” Marty told us.
“Sure we'll cope,” Nen mentioned.
“How long do you think it'll take?” Pia queried.
“We were done by like, nine last year,” Con supplied.
“Looks like we're missing Garde eh Gab's, I'll ring Han and let her know.”

Bum, there goes that idea.

“Er yeah,” I agreed, “i'll ring her, I want to talk to her anyhow.”
“'kay,” P agreed.
“We don't need our Kostum do we?” Frannie asked.
“No “ I offered.
“Thought your trip started Sunday,” Bernie opined.
“It does,” I confirmed, “but i've got some weird training thing to go to on Saturday.”
“Sounds mysterious, i guess we can manage without you,” Steff chuckled.
“Tell 'em what it is then,” Manda prompted.

De Vreen! Urgh!

“Ooh, sounds intriguing,” Nen cooed.
“'tistic cycling,” I mumbled.
“What?” Max queried, “couldn't hear you.”
“Artistic cycling,” I repeated with some resignation.
“That gymnastics stuff on bikes?” Pauline, another Silverberg recruit queried.
“Er yeah, you know about it?”
“Not really, its been on Eurosport sometimes.”
“Gymnastics?” Bridg put in.
“Well not exactly,” Pauline warmed to her subject, “they do all these balancing things on their bikes, sometimes there'll be two together, how they control them stood on the handles...”
“And that's what you're doing Gab?” Steff enquired.
“This I must see,” Max chortled, “she struggles to stay upright on solid ground.”

I gave him my best Paddington stare, I guess it doesn't translate well, at any rate he ignored it.

“We'll see,” I huffed, i've half a mind to not snog him later for that quip.

 
“All sorted?” Dad asked when we got back to Bond Acres.
“Hmmph!” I offered.
“Yeah,” Mand advised, “looks like its all under control.”
“So what's up with you then kiddo?”
“Hmmph!” I repeated.
“Max?” Dad directed to de Vreen.
“Sort of,” Mand told Pater.
“I probably don't want to know do I?”
“Er probably not,” Mand agreed.
“Hmmph!”
 
Mittwoch, Wednesday, was at least sort of ordinary, no birthday parties, no Weihnachtsmarkt meeting just plain old college until lunch and only training when I got home. With Manda still at school well after I got home it was just me pounding the tarmac today, a steady ride up to the 'Ring and back. As usual it cleared my head to think about the important things, maybe I was a bit harsh with Max this morning.

By the time I dropped through the tunnel out of Altenahr I was fantasising about getting up close and personal with von Strechau. My heart wasn't in last nights' departing kiss but hey, its a girls prerogative to be moody, its all the hormones. Right, anyhow, I wonder if he's home yet?

I put my clog down through Mayschoß and slipped into the lane across to the schloss when I reached Rech. Of course the von Strechau family home is nothing like the 'romantic' castles perched on rocky crags all around the region, Dad describes it as a fortified manor house. Whatever you call it, its quite imposing sat amongst the regular housing of the village, I turned onto the cobbles and through the gateway into the cobbled yard.

“Gaby,” Willie, Max's dad greeted me, “been training?”
“Er yeah,” I confirmed bouncing to a halt by the Baron, “is Max home yet?”
“Not seen him but i've only just got back myself, go on in, I'm sure his Oma would like to see you.”
Not exactly mutual, I forced a smile onto my face but I can hardly dive off now can I? “er sure.”

I climbed off my steed, and clacked across to the side door that the family use rather than the main entrance. I have of course been here a few times, well Max is sort of my boyfriend, but even before that the Bonds have been regular visitors here. Anyhow, I propped my bike against the wall, balanced my skid lid on the bars and opened the door to go inside.

“Hello? Max?” the cold stone floor had me almost hopping along the corridor, well I wasn't going to clack about in my cleats.
“Gabrielle?” a voice enquired from the next doorway.

Bum, the Baroness.

“Er yes, Grandma, I was looking for Max,” I told her stepping into the parlour.
“I haven't seen you for sometime,” she sort of accused.
“You were in Rothenburg last time we were here,” I mentioned.
“I recall Gloria mentioning some sort of gathering, but you don't have to have a reason to visit us Gabrielle.”
“Er no, but with college and stuff,” I blustered.
“Gab?” a familiar voice called from the corridor.
“My grandson I think,” the Baroness stated.
“Er yes,” I agreed, “in with your Grandma Max.”
A moment later, he arrived at the door, “hi Gran, dad said you were here Gab, wassup?”
“Speak properly boy,” the dowager Baroness told him firmly.
“Sorry Grandma.”
“And find the poor girl something to wear, she looks positively frozen.”
“Yes Gran, come on Gab, its warmer in the kitchen.”
“A pot of tea would be nice young man.”
“Yes Gran,” he almost kept the sigh out of his reply.
“Er bye Grandma,” I offered as I was tugged out of the parlour.
“We'll see you again soon I think,” I was told.
“Um yes, soon,” I allowed, having to hide my own sigh.

Its not like she's a bad person, the opposite if anything but she can get a bit much if you are exposed too long. She means well but in her head me and Max are all but ready to wed and I'm pretty sure she's the one paying the tab at Eloise Couture. I did ask Max to find out but he either forgot or he's in on it, not sure which, its not like I asked for any of it is it?

“So what's up?” Max enquired once the Baroness' yea was started.
“Has something got to be up? Just thought i'd stop in to, you know.”
“Visit my Oma? Pull the other one Gabrielle Bond.”
“Would you believe I just thought i'd stop to see you?”
“Much more believable, so you want a drink or something?”
“Coffee? Maybe something after,” I hinted.

Compared to most people, the von Strechau's have something a bit more professional for coffee than a drip filter. Not that there's anything wrong with that, with the right beans of course, its what we have at home as i've not convinced the rents that we need a Gaggia yet. On the other hand, here at the schloß they have a rather nice Nuova in the house, there's just something nice in having a steamer and all that.

Not that I was getting a chance to play, Max was already starting on my Cappuccino and had the kettle on for his gran's tea. I perched myself on a chair and tried to rub some life back into my now, freezing tootsies.

“So you been far?”
“Just up to the 'Ring,” I allowed.
“There's some Hausschuh by the door,” he offered.
“Er thanks,” I hopped off the chair and padded over the cold stone.
“Don't know how you do it.”
“Do what?” I asked as i sorted through the slippers for some that weren't designed for Bigfoot.
“Ride all that way, it'd take me forever to get up there.”
“Its only like thirty K,” I pointed out slipping into some cosy knitted booties.
“Only she says,” Max mentioned shaking his head, “thats sixty there and back, most people I know don't do that in a week, I wouldn't do that on the Mofa.”
I gave a shrug, “practice?”
“Here,” he passed me a steaming cup of coffee, “be right back,” and he set off to deliver the tea.
 
I sipped through the froth, hmm, along with the cosy borrowed footwear I felt a bit warmer immediately. Is sixty K a long way? Well I wouldn't want to walk it but its only like a couple of hours riding, mind you, the long downhill helps with that.

Inspiration hit me as Max returned to the kitchen.

“Nothing's ever right for her,” Max supplied, “i forgot the sugar tongs, you'd think she hadn't got fingers.”
“She'd get on with my Nanna,” I admitted. “i was just thinking...”
“Ot oh, that's dangerous,” Max interrupted.
“Huh!”
“Just kidding, so what's this great idea of yours?”
“Well you could come training with me.”
“You been taking something? I'd never keep up would I?”
“What if you could?”
“Go on, I'm listening,” he suggested, taking a sip of his own caffeine supply.
“Well,” I paused, “you could use your Mofa.”
“Hmm, I like your thinking.”
“See, I'm not just a pretty face.”
“Who told you that?”
“Why you!”

I barely saw him move, next second his arms were around me and he was nibbling my ear, hmm, maybe I'll forgive him.

 
“Where's Dad?” I enquired of Mum joining her in the kitchen.
“Holland, i was expecting him back by now.”
“Holland? Whatever for?”
“You'll find out when he gets here, you cooking tonight?”

I kind of walked into that one didn't I?

“What're we having?” I sighed.
“Spag Bol, I picked up some mince and batons earlier.”
Well it could be worse, “okay.”

I quite enjoy cooking as you know but some stuff takes a lot more effort, Spag Bol is however very straightforward. The big pasta pan was soon on the stove and the mince in the pan to brown, we pretty much always have the rest of the makings to hand, tinned tomatoes, onions and of course the contents of the spice rack. Its a pretty quick meal to prepare so it was only twenty minutes later that I yelled out an impending food warning to those lazing in the front room.

It probably sounds like I'm the only one who does anything at Schloss Bond, that of course is not quite the truth. So yes, I end up doing a lot of the cooking but thats largely playing to my strengths, I'm not sure Mand would agree about her chores. Of course we're each responsible for our own rooms but Mand has pulled hoover and duster duty for the family areas in lieu of cooking duties – she can't boil water!
 

“Hmm, something smells good,” Dad mentioned poking his head into the kitchen.
“Bolognese,” I advised, “didn't hear you get back, how was clog land?”
“Clog land? Oh right, flat as ever, how long's the food gonna be?”
“Spag's just gone in, five minutes,” I suggested.
“I'll wash up and find a bottle then.”
“We celebrating something?”
“Maybe,” he allowed with a grin.
“Da-ad!” I complained to his departing back.

The worst bit of cooking pasta is decanting from the pot and rinsing, not made any easier when you have a pot the size we have for cooking it. I've done it enough times to have it all organised, collander over the sink, kettle of boiled water ready and so in clouds of steam I quickly tipped, rinsed and poured the pasta into the serving dish. The sauce went into another pot and the garlic bread retrieved from the oven and onto a plate, find the Parmesan et voila!

 
The feeding frenzy kept conversation to a comestible level for a few minutes and lets face it, eating spaghetti is hardly conducive to conversation.

Mum eventually started things off, “so you got it then?”
“Yup!” Dad grinned from behind his wine glass.
“Got what?” I asked.
“The new motor.”
“You got a new car?”
“Uh huh,” he agreed as he started to reload his fork.
“What is it?” I demanded, “and why did you have to go to Holland?”
“Its a Saab and thats where the dealer is.”
“The same as the one that was nicked?”

You might remember that our bad luck with family cars started when our previous Saab was stolen at the airport. Then of course there was the Mercedes.
“Similar, you can see for yourself after dinner.”
“Its here? But how?”
“I took your Dad up to Köln and he took the train over,” Mum told us.
“Finish your food and you can go take a look.”
 
Okay, I collect model cars and I know what I like to ride in but I'm hardly any sort of car buff, i've no idea what all the stuff under the bonnet is or does. I do know that the old Saab was pretty nice, maybe nicer than the crushed Merc and definitely better than Mum's A. We finished eating, cleared the table and then we all trooped outside to see the new family wheels.

“Nice,” Mand opined.

And indeed it was, a sort of silver grey, tinted glass and of course its an estate.

“What you wanted?” Mum asked peering inside.
“Better,” Dad grinned, “you can get in.”
“Key?” I suggested.
There was a funny bleep and flash of lights, “'s open.”
“Very swizz,” Mater suggested pulling the drivers door open.

“Smells a bit,” de Vreen noted.
“Sort of plasticky,” I agreed, “bit like when we had that hire car.”
“Its because its new,” Mum pointed out.
“The Merc didn't smell when we got it.”
“The Mercedes wasn't new,” Dad put in.
“This is brand new kiddo,” Mum added.
“But how? We got the camper didn't we?”
“Yes,” Dad went on, “but we didn't use the insurance money for that.”
“Can we go for a ride?” I requested.
“I've had a drink or two kiddo, you'll have to wait until the weekend.”
“Oww!” I groaned.
 
© Maddy Bell 11.03.2019