The front door opened unceremoniously, making Elisabeth almost jump out of her skin and drop the kettle she was holding in the same breath.
"Must you always be so rough?" she admonished, smiling in spite of herself as she waited for Manuela's cheeky retort. Instead however, she was startled to hear another familiar inflection.
"This is the sort of information I wish you would just keep to yourself," snapped the voice from right behind her.
Elisabeth whipped around and came face to face with her sister, who was standing by the kitchen's doorway with her hands on her hips.
"What are you doing?"
"What am I doing? You make it sound like you did not simply barge your way into my kitchen… And goodness, Ida, this hat!" the older sibling exclaimed.
Ida ignored the remark altogether and walked to where her sister was standing, kissing her cheek soundly as a greeting.
"Is it sanitary? It looks like a pheasant died up here," Elisabeth insisted, visibly concerned.
"You, sister dear, are a philistine. I'll have you know that this is dernier cri. But I don't expect your provincial self to know this, of course."
The eldest shook her head and chuckled at the harmless jab. "Blessed are the poor in spirit, in some cases."
"Anyway," Ida sighed. "Why are you not ready yet?"
"But I am," Elisabeth blinked. "Ready for a cup of tea and a well-deserved early bedtime."
"Oh no… Please tell me you did not forget."
The older woman frowned, trying to remember what random event her sister could possibly be referring to this time. A vague memory of an "important reception, with important people" came up, and she shrugged dismissively.
"I never said I would attend. You know how I dislike these parties."
"I was counting on you," Ida whined, stomping her foot like a petulant child. "Ah, I knew I should have asked Georges. He is a tad coarse but he passes as acceptable as long as he keeps his mouth shut. I simply cannot attend without company –whatever will people think of me?"
"That you are a free spirit, maybe."
"No, this won't do. Manuela cannot desert me, I'm taking her along whether she likes it or not," Ida threatened.
"What about this Georges fellow? Maybe it's not too late to get in touch with him…"
"Oh, you are not going to pull the 'quiet evening together' trick on me tonight," Ida said with finality. "Besides Manuela is a lot better looking and more articulate."
Elisabeth considered protesting, but she simply shrugged and held out her hand to offer her sister a seat. She had a point.
"Too much for her own good, apparently… Well, you'll have to ask her when she comes back. Care for a cup?"
Ida nodded and pulled a chair, watching in silence as her sister's nightgown-clad figure moved about the room. To the untrained eye, she appeared perfectly untroubled, but there was a certain edge to her movements that did not fool the younger woman. Elisabeth poured them both a cup, her hand steady and her face ever so stoic. It was unusual for her to notice the crack in the façade Elisabeth maintained, and if she was honest, it was somewhat alarming. Her older sister had always been the strongest of them both. It was an immutable fact. Ida had always been the emotional mess and Elisabeth was the soldier, as well as her anchor and her shield. It did not mean that Elisabeth felt no emotions; simply that she had long mastered the art of hiding it. The sisters sat facing each other, a mirror of contradictions, and exchanged amused looks over their steaming mugs.
"Is this really your definition of an ideal Friday evening?" Ida asked after a while.
"I can assure you that it is perfectly healthy, Ida. You should try it sometimes."
"Maybe in about 40 years," the other scoffed. "But really… How have you been?"
Elisabeth did not answer right away, instead bringing her own cup to her lips to blow on the scalding liquid before she took a careful sip. "Fine. Yes, things have been just fine."
"Right. You know, you don't need to sugar-coat things for me, Elisabeth, dear. I'm not Manuela."
The older woman set down her cup, her eyes dangerously possessive.
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
"That it's been a fortnight since you lost your job and you refuse to talk about it. And she's worried about you."
"Has she said so?"
"She hasn't, but you should know by now that I'm not a complete idiot and can sense these things. Manuela is not a baby, Elisabeth. She doesn't need protection."
"I know that," Elisabeth hissed, outraged at the implication. "I'm not hiding anything from her. She is just so busy –I don't want her to agonise over it. You know how she can get."
"But she is in agony. Do you mean to tell me that what happened has had no impact on you? This is already ancient story –is that what we are supposed to believe?"
"I have made my peace with it. Sorry to disappoint."
"You were always a very bad liar," Ida tsked. She rose to her feet and headed straight to the kitchen cabinet.
"What now?" Elisabeth sighed, watching her sister rummage through the cupboards.
"I'm looking for the hard liquor. I swear it helps, for quite a lot of things."
"I don't require any help and certainly not- what are you doing?" Elisabeth screeched, pushing away the bottle of whiskey that her sister had managed to retrieve and pour a large amount of in her cup in the blink of an eye.
"You know, it would be good if you stopped acting like such a prude from time to time. After all, you have eloped to another continent with a girl half your age, as Manuela likes to remind you. For all intents and purposes, you are nothing but a prude," Ida smiled, lifting her cup in the air for a toast.
Elisabeth rolled her eyes, but still clicked her own cup with her sister's and took a long sip. "Can you imagine Mother's face if she saw us now?"
This made Ida almost choke on her drink and she let out what sounded like half a laugh, half a cough.
"Good lord! Drinking whiskey in the kitchen, no husband or offspring on the horizon… You a shameless Sapphic, me a vulgar entertainer. I'm surprised she hasn't crawled back from the dead yet to give us a piece of her mind."
It was not often that the sisters mentioned their mother and when they did, it was rarely in fond terms. Often, the memories were prompted by Manuela who was always so eager to hear saucy stories about younger Elisabeth. Over the years, she had learnt not to push the matter too far as she had come to understand that the woman's cruelty had been the cause of many torments throughout their young years. As for their father, he seemed to have been a fair and decent man, but his piousness had blinded upon learning of Elisabeth's "deviance". Even though the memories were still painful for the most part, laughing it off seemed easier these days, as it almost felt like all of it had happened in another life.
"So. Am I going to have to worm it out of you?" Ida asked, breaking the spell without realising. Of course, she expected the other woman to deny the evidence yet again, and was not at all prepared for the admission that followed.
"Fine! I feel humiliated. These people have rendered me useless and I despise it. I despise them, and I am beginning to despise this place," Elisabeth burst out, making her sister recoil in her seat.
"Do you mean –what? Do you mean you would rather go back?"
"No –I don't know. This is impossible, anyway… I simply don't belong here. I thought I had found my place, and it turned out to be nothing but a chimera."
"Elisabeth, you're not thinking clearly. No one ever said it was easy to settle in another country…"
"It's been years," Elisabeth interrupted dryly. "You and Manuela had no difficulty. But it's not the same with you artists. You see the world differently…"
"You are an artist too! Just because you refuse to paint –why is that anyway?"
"Oh please, Ida. Painting doesn't pay the rent. Not here at least. Not my paintings," Elisabeth spat and downed the rest of her drink without ceremony.
"The rent is not an issue and you know it."
"It's not. Everything else is. And I am being selfish on top of it all. You cannot tell Manuela about this," she pointed a severe finger at her sister. "I am serious Ida, not a word."
"Why not? Maybe this is exactly what she needs to hear!"
"And what would it change? We have rebuilt a life here, and I know how good she feels. Knowing that I don't would devastate her. Not to mention I am the one who uprooted her. We are here in the first place because I decided so, and she left everything behind for me."
"Elisabeth…," the singer said calmly. "If we'd let things go as planned, she would be married to an idiot, and so would I, probably. And maybe you would still be in that convent father so graciously locked you in. Not to mention in a country where war is raging. Coming here was the best thing that could ever happen to Manuela and frankly, to all of us. But there are no rules against longing for your homeland. Surely, she would understand if you told her."
"Manuela hasn't heard of her brother in over a year. She has no idea if he's even still alive. She has lost contact with all of her remaining family members, with all of her friends…" Elisabeth choked, and the memory of Bertram and Erika von Kleist's juvenile faces suddenly brought tears to her eyes. "How could I complain? The only things I have left are you and her, and I have you both right here."
"Yes. And she has us too, alright? She has us," Ida stammered.
Ida didn't wait for her sister to acquiesce and she stood up, throwing her arms around the other woman's neck in a surge of affection at the same moment the front door flew open for the second time this evening.
"Are you hugging without me?" Manuela whined indignantly upon stepping into the kitchen.
"Quick, come join!" Ida ordered, waving at Manuela without breaking the embrace. "Elisabeth is about to combust from too much contact."
Manuela did not need to be told twice and wrapped her arms around her sister-in-law and wife, kissing the latter's lips without much restraint.
"How are you, darling?" Elisabeth asked, laughing between kisses.
"Perfect now," Manuela whispered.
It wasn't long before Ida extricated herself from the hug and looked at the two lovers with an accusative glare.
"Why do you always have to turn perfectly chaste moments into something filthy?"
Instead of replying, Elisabeth planted another long kiss right on Manuela's waiting lips for good measure.
"My sister wants you to accompany her to a… reception of some sort."
"I've been officially appointed to sing a few songs of my repertoire at the British embassy, to be precise. Something you would know if you listened to half of what I say," Ida chastised, and it was aimed at both women still embracing without a care in the world.
"Was it tonight? I'm exhausted, Ida," Manuela groaned and looked at Elisabeth. "You're not going, are you?"
"Certainly not. But it would be nice of you to attend. If only because it would be the first time for Ida attending a soirée with such a dashing partner at her arm," Elisabeth said, winking at her sister who scoffed indignantly.
"For the record, I have a recital next Saturday that none of you are allowed to miss or forget. Do I need to have an invite formally sent out to you?"
Manuela ignored her and wrapped her arms more snuggly around her wife instead. "Are you sure you don't mind staying alone tonight?"
"Don't worry about me. I will probably be out like a light as soon as I get into bed."
At that, Manuela smirked and leant forward to whisper something into Elisabeth's ear, who feebly swatted her arm with an embarrassed chuckle that made Ida shudder in disgust.
"Anyway!" she drawled out. "We're leaving in ten, kid."
"We can go now, I'm ready."
"No, you're not. You're going to run a brush through your hair and put on a dress for once, please and thank you."
Manuela threw a disgruntled look towards Elisabeth, hoping for some support, but her wife did not seem inclined to help this time.
"I think freshening up a little would not hurt, darling…"
"Fine. I'll be right back," Manuela growled, and disappeared into the bathroom.
True to herself, she was out a few minutes later, dressed in a long-sleeved navy tunic, a long string of pearls around her neck and a cigarette dangling from her lips.
"Ready when you are, love," she said, extending her arm for Ida to take. Instead, the older woman slapped the cigarette off her mouth, making Manuela yelp in outrage.
"I won't have you smoke in front of the deputy ambassador!"
"Oh, I get it now," Manuela exclaimed in realisation. "Must I remind you that the bloke is married?"
"I know that. I simply don't want him to think we are frivolous women."
"Well –I am," the young comedian shrugged, reaching down to retrieve her cigarette, and lighting it before her sister-in-law could protest. "Good evening, darling."
"Good evening," Elisabeth said, drawing Manuela closer for a kiss. "Don't cause trouble. Both of you."