Benjamin asked. âPerhaps we could meet for a drink later.â
âThanks, but Iâm afraid I canât. Iâm having dinner with my fiancéeâs cousin this evening.â
âIs your fiancée trave ling with you?â
âNo, Iâm afraid sheâs not.â The smile vanished from the artistâs face, and he looked back at his sketchpad. âS heâs in Syria.â
âOh,â Benjamin said. âYou must be very wo rried for her.â
âYes, but weâre keeping in touch, and Iâm trying to get her here safely. With some luck, sheâll be with me soon.â
âWell, then, I wish you the very best,â Benjamin said. âWeâll let you get back to your drawing.â
Benjamin and Elisabeth said their good-byes and started heading in the other direction. Elisabeth looked around for Zoltán, who seemed to appea r from nowhere.
âHow awful for that poor man,â Elisabeth said. âAnd his fiancée! He must be terrib ly distressed.â
âI imagine so,â Benjamin answered. âThe conflict in Syria and the refugee situation are heart-wrenching. Iâm sure he wants to get her to Europe as quickly and easily as possible.â He turned to Zoltán. âZoltán, you should have stayed with us. That artist is quite skilled. Heâs penned a perfect sketch of you. So, you promised us a tour. Shall we g et on with it?â
Zoltán shot a glance at the artist. Turning back to his clients, he raised his arms and ushered them in the other directio n. âThis way.â
He led his clients from one memorable spot the next. Elisabeth especially enjoyed the Central Market Hall, where she admired the embroidered textiles and purchased some paprika. After several hours of sightseeing, however, she was worn out, and Benjamin needed to catch his breath. Only their tour guide appeared to be indefatigable. Elisabeth suggested cooling off with a soft drink, and Benjamin pointed to the terrace of a large café. Zoltán dissuaded him.
â Kavé for tourists! Borozo better.â
Elisabeth consulted her smartphone. âItâs a bar, dear. Iâm all right with that. Are you?â
Benjamin nodded, and the Cookers let themselves be steered to the end of a narrow street. They entered a tavern that wasnât much to look at. The walls were painted blue, and the few sticky tables were being used as armrests by the old folk who were riveted to a plasma-screen TV, where an important soccer game w as playing out.
Elisabeth ordered a soft drink. Benjamin was about to order for himself, but Zoltán placed a hand on his wrist, as if to say the winemaker should trust him. They were friends, after all , werenât they?
A beautiful blonde with Slavic eyes took a ladle and filled two glasses with a yellowish liquid that hardly lo oked drinkable.
The two men clinked their glasses and raised them to their lips. Zoltán grinned. Benjamin sipped, winced, and turn ed to his wife.
âItâs a dry furmint, a white Hungarian grape variety thatâs only made here. Elisabeth, my dear, why donât you put a bottle in our luggage. Itâll come in handy for unclogging the sinks a t Grangebelle.â
16
W hen the Cooker couple, saddled with their guide, met up with Claude and Consuela in the salon of the Hotel Astoria, Benjamin realized that his friendâs mistress had gotten her way yet again. Better to wander and âcapture the soul of a city,â she had said, than to waste the day in poorly ventilated museums. Benjamin couldnât help noticing that she had several shopping bags.
Indeed, Consuela had spent much of her time in high-end boutiques and had picked up some Herend porcelainâcharged on Claudeâs credit card, most certainly.
âYou know boutique-hopping isnât my thing,â Claude told Benjamin. âSo I went off by myself to experience some of Budapestâs
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