Blue Enhanced - An Extended Version of 'Blue', which appears on **Hope you enjoy it!**
By all accounts, lunching with friends in Vienna should have been a pleasurable affair for Georg and Elsa. Early autumn had brought fine weather to the capital, the leaves on the trees turning orange as though tinged lightly with an artist's brush; the city was at its splendid best. But despite the finest of food and wine at the restaurant, Georg soon tired of Elsa's friends and their city talk, learning everything about them that he'd rather not know: parties, racing, romances, castles, deception. Gradually he found his mind wandering back home to Salzburg with its lakes and snow-capped mountains, its farms and animals.
By the time coffee came, he began thinking of excuses to leave and caught Elsa's eye across the table, giving her a look of ennuie. She responded with a coquettish look, pointing to her hair, reminding him of her appointment at the coiffeuse in anticipation of their visit to the theatre that evening. "I'll only be an hour", she said once they were finally out of the restaurant and had exchanged endless goodbyes with their guests. For one used to a barber, an hour seemed a long time to Georg; but, before turning away down the wide Volkstrasse, he gave her peck on the cheek, because it seemed the right thing to do.
Needing to occupy himself whilst she was away, he wandered into a haberdasher's store, and headed for Gentlemen's Tailoring in search of a particular grey-green tweed suitable for a jacket. But meandering alone along the endless bolts of fabrics brought him no reward; they all seemed to be too drab or too dull, too dark or too muddy. Sighing in exasperation as he got to the end of a row, he stopped and looked around; at last, he saw just the shade he was looking for. Instinctively, he extended a hand and felt the material, but was disappointed again at its thinness. Looking up suddenly, he realised he had strayed into the Ladies' Department, being surrounded by a myriad of lighter fabrics and brighter colours. Unused to such an array, he turned back, but was startled by a figure standing so close to him.
"Forgive me" he exclaimed, then stopped, realising it was Elsa, back early from the Coiffeuse. How had she known he was there? The figure stared back at him in stony silence, wreathed in a silky blue organza drawn from a bolt of fabric beside her. For all the world, to Georg it looked just like the Baroness with its trim figure, perfect features and blonde tresses piled on its head. But the mannequin stood motionless, the sheer material winding its way through her fingers, her yellow-pink arms beckoning to him, face fixed in a smile, her eyes firmly set over his head, above and beyond him...'Set, most probably, on my money, my position … or even my title', thought Georg grimly.
But despite her expression, he couldn't take his eyes off her, for the sheer folds of the fabric captivated him; the way they fell and caught the light reminded him of times past. He longed to see the translucency of the material floating over his dancefloor at home again, as it had done in his gilded ballroom many summers ago. He thought for a moment and looked up at the mannequin with her fixed smile and hard skin. Then he glanced around him, and gently unravelled some of the organza from its roll, and gathering great waves of it in his hands, sensed an unexpected lightness and a fresh, straw-like smell which reminded him of home. Then, like a bolt from the blue, he knew what to do.
For some time he knew an apology had been owing. Not to Elsa, but to another, his children's governess; a silly argument in which he had to admit he had been presumptive and irascible. He had been unable to find the words to explain himself, but as time passed and he had got to know her better, rather than becoming less necessary, an apology was becoming imperative. He looked again at the fine blue material, realising that maybe here was a way to say sorry without the need for words. He turned without a further glance at the mannequin to seek out the sales girl behind the counter.
"What name shall I put on it?", she asked as she produced a small card for the box. He hesitated.
"Leave it blank", he said, as she gave him a curious look.
Blank was how his life had been for so long since Agathe had gone. Aimless and pointless, he had felt devoid of interest until Maria arrived to educate his children. Gradually, he found himself fascinated by how she related to them, and then little by little, he came to see that she was also sketching in the colours on his own grey canvas.
"There's a package in your room, Fraulein!" called Frau Schmidt as the adventurers returned from their outing. The young governess put out seven pairs of damp shoes to dry, every one a different size, as her charges filed into supper. "Look smart now, children", the housekeeper chided, "your father called to say he is returning tomorrow."
Bounding up the stairs, the young woman opened the door and spied it lying on the bed, all brown paper and string. Unable to recognise the handwriting or decipher the postmark, she eased at the knots until the ends lay free and the wrapping crackled open to reveal a ciphered box; inside, layers of crisp white tissue paper were topped by a card printed with the words,
Druckmann
Vienna
Fingering the raised print, her brow furrowed: she knew of no-one in the capital. But then, folding back the leaves of paper, she discovered the bolt of blue beneath. Moments later, she was lifting the corners of the finest organza, holding it up to the light, marvelling at its sheerness and the subtlety of its colour. Then finally, she placed her hands behind her waist and smiled as she watched the folds fall around her.
The following days in Vienna passed in a whirl, Elsa ever the centre of attention, and a paeon of elegance for her couturier. Georg's mind wandered back to the mannequin from time to time when he saw her, wondering about the blue fabric and whether the expression of the model had somehow changed when he had done what he had done. So, arriving back at home alone from the capital some days later, he found himself looking out for the parcel, or for any evidence of its contents. Several days passed with no sign of it. Had Maria received it? Would she have guessed who it was from? He saw nothing, just the hurly-burly of life with seven children… and their intriguing governess. Quietly he began to despair that the parcel had not arrived, but was too coy to ask the housekeeper of its delivery because of the questions it would inevitably engender.
It was in the ballroom that he saw it, the very place where he had imagined the material fluttering to music. As she slipped silently round the side of the stage, he saw Maria was clothed in exactly that familiar shade of azure. With one look and his heart in his mouth, he left Elsa's side and strode towards her, for she wore a heavenly dress of that same bluest organza. His organza. Desperate to tell her it was he who had sent it, he managed some banalities about the show she and the children had just performed.
"I really am very, very much impressed…", he said, "…with you...", just managing to stop himself in time. He glanced at her dress: yes, it was of the material from Vienna. He tried to speak to tell her but found himself lost for words, just wanting to reach out to touch the gossamer-like layers again. For he was taken aback by her radiance - wearing the dress had grown her cygnet into a graceful swan, and he found himself utterly bewitched.
But suddenly Elsa's cold hand gripped his elbow, interrupting them, chivvying, guiding him away to the door. Georg felt overwhelmed; he could hear Maria talking behind them, he had to see her again. Instinctively, he let the Baroness lead through in front as they reached the door to the hall, then turned to give a neat bow to the governess behind as he allowed her past. He smiled to himself as he saw her expression of surprise, then fell in behind her and allowed his eyes to feast on the finest layers of blue that swayed on that lithest of figures. And as he did, he could hear the orchestra from the past playing, and felt at last as though life was beginning again. As they went through the door together, he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.
It had been stifling; the evening had been hot, and the way conversations kept faltering half-way through had meant he had to escape into the night air. The Captain chose the balcony to be alone, and seeing the moon rising over the lake, he placed his hands on the balustrade, relishing its coolness in the dark. But gradually, looking out, he saw in the shadows of the trees someone else gazing out across the water, the reflected light filtering through and silhouetting the slenderest of figures. He stared until his eyes rewarded him with the hint of a familiar blue. His fingers could remember the softness and silkiness of the material, and he longed to feel its blueness again.
"So there you are!" came a voice from behind him, and suddenly his fingers began to feel the cold hardness of the balustrade once more. "You were very quiet at the dinner table…"
He felt himself shiver as the wind blew across the lake; then he took a deep breath and turned to face the music.
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