Clemmie smiled at the comparison.
“She has quite the entourage,” he continued, referring to the countess. I believe she has one of the grandchildren with her, who travels with nurses and a governess. And there’s a companion too, and other people whose purpose I don’t know. “One cannot always relate to the nobles. They do seem less independent than most. I couldn’t imagine traveling with so many.”
“Do you travel alone, Mr. Coleridge?” Clemmie asked.
“I do. I tend to meet people at my destination, but traveling together is tiring, I find. It doesn’t always bring out the best in people. And when you travel with a group, you are so less likely to meet interesting people like yourself.”
“Rightly said,” Oliver said. “I made some fast friends out of the people I’ve stumbled across while abroad.”
“Now comes a German couple. Mr. and Mrs. Schonberg, who I believe come from Munich. Lovely couple. Their English isn’t perhaps the best, but better than my German. I believe, like yourself, they are on their honeymoon.”
Clemmie looked over to see a young couple, very handsome.
“They’ve been here a few days and he’s rather partial to tramping around the mountains. A hobby I cannot bring myself to understand. So, I expect they intend to be here a few days. Actually, I gather this is the destination for their honeymoon.”
“Oh,” Clemmie said with surprise, not having guessed anyone would choose this as the location for their honeymoon.
“Then we have a Russian gentleman over there. I know very little about him. We haven’t had the chance to be introduced. He arrived shortly before you did. The others I haven’t really met either. Although I did meet Mr. Moran, a businessman from Milan. I believe he is heading north to Germany.”
“This is quite the intersection of Europe, isn’t it?” Clemmie said.
“As I said, it is certainly a place to meet interesting people.”
Their meals arrived. Roasted lamb with small potatoes and fine gravy. A bottle of wine accompanied it. “I have to say I haven’t had a bad meal since I arrived.”
It was delicious and Clemmie felt her hunger after the long day’s travel. She probably ate a little more than she should have, and ended up with the uncomfortable feeling of being just a bit too content. The wine was delicious as well, and she stayed with her wine while the men enjoyed their desserts.
“There’s a village down in the valley,” Mr. Coleridge stated once he’d finished. “Today we can’t see it, but on a clear evening, you can see the lights. It’s a delightful little village. A very good bakery. The Germans are good bakers. Some would say the French are better, but I don’t agree.”
The noise of a broken plate drew their attention back toward the countess’ table and the waiter rushed to help. In the commotion, the countess rose and left the dining room. One of the younger women looked flustered and close to tears. It seemed not a happy household.
“Have you seen the glacier?” Oliver asked.
“It’s magnificent. It is ice, but it has colors you can see nowhere else. There’s a cave you can walk into, and you are surrounded by ice. I don’t know how thick is it over your head, but it has to be at least thirty yards if not more. The ice has a translucent quality, of course. It really is a marvel.”
“I’d very much like to see it,” Oliver said.
“It would be a crime to pass through here and not see it. Shall we retire to the parlor?”
“Excellent Idea,” Oliver said, turning to Clemmie questioningly.
“I could do with a small digestive,” she said.
“They have all the Italian liqueurs and sherries from Portugal. Port too, if that suits your fancy.”
“A sherry would be nice.”
They rose and left the dining room. There were a surprising number of people there. The hotel had to be close to full occupancy. But perhaps people came from places around, such as the village, to dine here as well.
The parlor had a more comfortable quality, with cushioned chairs and a large fire. Dark wood paneling on the walls gave a warm quality. There looked to be a library attached to it. It was a nice space, particularly on a cold night.
The Italian gentleman they’d seen before was there, reading a book and sipping on a small glass of liqueur. A cigar sat on an ashtray next to him.
“Do you mind if I smoke, Mrs. Rowland?”
For a moment, she didn’t answer. She still wasn’t used to her new surname and didn’t always recognize that she was being spoken to. “No, please go ahead,” she said when she realized her error. The smell of cigars reminded her of her father, who liked to smoke in the evenings after supper. Oliver didn’t like tobacco and declined when Mr. Coleridge offered him one.
A man came over and inquired if they wanted drinks and both Mr. Coleridge and Oliver requested a port, while Oliver asked for a sherry for her. As she sat, she watched the Italian man, who was dark in complexion and had hair in neat waves along his head. Absently, he took a sip of his liqueur without looking up from his book. Perhaps she should explore some of the excellent Italian liqueurs Mr. Coleridge had mentioned. It was a topic she knew very little about, and it would be nice to return from this trip with expanded experiences.
The fire crackled, and Clemmie started to feel more relaxed. Her rest hadn’t been terribly long. It had been difficult to fall asleep and she wasn’t sure she’d gotten that much rest in the end.
The warmth and the pleasantly subdued conversation were lulling her into tiredness. Even the sherry did little to revive her, and she struggled to keep her eyes open. Hopefully, she would sleep very well that night, Oliver’s warm body next to her.
For his sake, she hoped there would be a clear day come morning. Mr. Coleridge’s
