‘Do they? Cool, I’ll pop in there tomorrow.’
‘What about work?’
‘Ian agreed that I could have unpaid leave for the rest of this week. I’m already well ahead on next year’s Christmas recipes. It wasn’t difficult, just more of the same with an extra pinch of nutmeg.’ She groaned at the thought of the same old, dull formulations. ‘I’ll go shopping tomorrow for thermals and things. I’ve never been anywhere where it’s properly cold before.’
‘Layers. It’s all about layers. There’s no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothes. In fact you should go to one of those outdoor places at Cheshire Oaks. They’ll sort you out with all the right kit.’
By Thursday lunchtime Mina’s case was packed with virtually an entire new wardrobe, and a considerable extension to her overdraft. She also had a brand new notebook and a copy ofMoving Onwards and Upwards: Get the life you deserve, find purpose and achieve your goalswhich she’d bought on a whim in Waterstones. She’d caught sight of it out of the corner of her eye, and while she didn’t believe in fate or providence, it did seem to sum up what Ian had been hinting at.Reading it, she felt sure, was bound to help in sorting herself out – or at least it would feel as if she were trying. She’d always been someone with a plan, who knew what they were doing. Since everything that happened after her disastrous would-be proposal, for the first time in her life, she felt herself floundering, and not really knowing what to do about it. The book was her equivalent of a lifebelt. Reading it was a practical step that she could do straightaway.
She’d read it on her journey – or maybe she’d save it for later, she had a couple of podcasts on her phone to listen to. Who knew what Switzerland held – but she was going to make the most of these two weeks, and think about the future, not look backwards and dwell on the mess she was leaving behind.
Part Two
Chapter Four
Zurich
Zurich in mid-February brought tears to her eyes as the cold bit at her nose. Mina huddled deeper in the long down coat that she’d bought especially for the trip. It made her feel positively European among the other women wearing very similar outfits in the sparsely populated streets.
Last night when she’d arrived in the dark by train, which sped efficiently from the airport to the city centre in just ten minutes, the snow-covered roofs and spires had piqued her interest. Now in the bright sunny morning she regretted giving herself so little time to explore the city. Her train to Reckingen, in the canton of Valais, was due to leave just after lunch, which left very little time to wander the streets, checking out the inviting nooks and crannies of the little lanes and cobbled roads.
She’d done a little reading on the internet and had been fascinated to find that Switzerland was made up of twenty-six cantons, each of which were individual states with their own distinct regional foods and dialects. It was like each county in England having its own rules and regulations, and she wondered how on earth it worked in Switzerland. Now she was here, she thought maybe she should have done more research but – she gave herself a wry smile – that was typical of her, jumping in with both feet. Besides it was more of an adventure to find things out as you went, wasn’t it?
Luckily the friendly receptionist in her hotel had given her an extremely handy leaflet with a recommended short walking tour which encompassed all the highlights in one quick circuit, taking in the old Roman fort Lindenhof for an ‘inspiring view of the city’, St Peter’s church ‘to see the largest clockface in Europe’, the Fraumünster with its ‘must-see’ Chagall stained glass windows, and, across the river Limmat over the Münster Bridge, the Grossmünster, ‘a Romanesque Protestant church’. It seemed like a lot of churches to someone who really wasn’t that spiritual, but the prescribed walk offered a quick snapshot in her limited time slot.
After a breathless, steep climb, the old fort did indeed afford the promised ‘inspiring view of the city’, providing a wonderful snapshot of the different architectural styles spread along the banks of the Limmat, from the white buildings crowding onto the river front with their pale blue, green, or grey wooden shutters and the terracotta roofs glowing in the mid-morning sunshine, through to splendid steep-pointed, gothic spires protruding from every part of the city. Taking a moment to enjoy the view, she took a few photos to share with Hannah, Miriam, and Derek on the family WhatsApp group, and then, conscious of the time and her train in a couple of hours, she walked to St Peter’s Church and took another tourist snap of the enormous clock face, before hurrying on down another street following the arrows on the leaflet. She was about to take a left turn when something stopped her and she lifted her head to take an appreciative sniff. Chocolate. The rich scent filled the air and she could almost taste it. Abandoning her route, she followed her nose down a narrow cobbled lane, where the tall houses created an alley-like feeling with flags on either side of the street almost touching each other.
Halfway down, housed in an old timber-framed building, was a tiny shop which, judging from its large, incongruously contemporary plate-glass window display, sold nothing but chocolate.
How could she resist? Chocolate or churches? Was there even a choice? Without hesitation, she pushed through the door and stopped on the threshold, entranced by the even deeper and richer scent, which brought with it images of molten, sinuous chocolate. Chocolate heaven indeed. Whoever had arranged the displays had to be in cahoots with the devil, the whole place reeked of sinful decadence and Mina loved it. Ahead of her, on pale grey shelves showcased by strategically placed spotlights were matt black dishes filled with all manner of temptation, from tiny Florentines to cocoa-dusted truffles to glossy pralines. In the centre of the shop were a few well-placed pedestals upon which blocks of chocolates lined up like dominoes around tiny vases of fresh flowers. Stepping closer, she read the labels: white chocolate flavoured with rose, yoghurt, and raspberries; dark chocolate flavoured with lemon and hibiscus; milk chocolate with hazelnuts.
Like a prowling cat, she examined all the different displays, taking her time, considering the flavours and wondering, if she had to narrow it down, what on earth she would buy. And then she knew without looking at the prices, which she guessed were going to be in the extremely expensive bracket, she just had to buy some.
Sometimes chocolate was all you needed, she decided with a happy smile.
Although she’d already bought Amelie a beautiful hand-printed silk scarf as a thank-you-for-having-me present, she decided an additional box of chocolates wouldn’t go amiss, and then perhaps a small taster of chocolate for herself to help the long journey…
She took her time, perusing the selection before she made her final selections. Chocolate, after all, was serious business. Churches could wait. At last she thought she’d got the perfect balance. Three small bars of chocolate, because she was intrigued by the different enticing flavours, and for Amelie, whose taste she wasn’t completely sure of, a box of different-flavoured chocolate squares.
‘You like chocolate,’ teased the petite woman when she took them to the cash desk.
‘I love chocolate, but I don’t know as much about it as I’d like to. These all sound so interesting.’
‘You’ve come to the right country. We invented chocolate as you know it today. If you’re really interested you should take a chocolate tour, there are several in the city.’
‘I’d love to, but I’m catching a train today and going to stay with my godmother.’
‘There are chocolate factories all over Switzerland. I’m sure she’ll know somewhere.’
‘I’ll ask her,’ said Mina, as she handed over her card, not even flinching at the astronomical number of Swiss Francs she was parting with. A tour would be brilliant, she’d always wanted to know more about how chocolate was made and what differentiated one from another. Chocolate recipes were one of her passions. Before she worked in a food kitchen, she’d experimented a lot at home and had amassed a collection of her own ideas over the years. Once upon a time she’d thought about writing her own recipe book, but then life and work had got in the way.
Clutching the ribbons of her fancy carrier bag, she walked down the street towards the river, beaming at passers-by as she thought of her purchases. Most smiled back, albeit after an initial second of reserve. See: that was the power of chocolate. It made you happy, and it made other people happy in the same way as a smile. Feeling a definite skip in her step, she crammed her hat down on her head, catching the eye of a young man walking past. He shot her a flirtatious smile, dark eyes scanning her with quick interest, and she grinned back but didn’t slow her stride.
Across the Limmat she spotted the dome-topped twin towers of the Grossmünster, which according to her trusty leaflet had been described by Wagner as pepper dispensers. She thought that was a little harsh, as she studied the creamy stone glowing in the winter sunlight. It was an imposing sight – but now with very limited time, she decided the lure of stained glass windows designed by Marc Chagall, as described in her leaflet, was far stronger. These were to be found in the rather beautiful Fraumünster church which, she decided, looked much more interesting with its dramatic, dragon-scale-like green tiles covering the steeple that draped like curtains around another imposing clock face.
The stained glass windows were every bit as stunning as her faithful leaflet had promised, and the vibrant jewel-bright glass glowed, backlit by the sun. What must it be like to create something that people revered and adored, wondered Mina and, probably like many in the church, pondered her own insignificance. If she thought about it – something she’d avoided before now – she hadn’t really achieved much in her life. Splitting up with Simon had brought with it an unpleasant and rather shaming awareness that, despite all her zest for life, her life was actually quite small. She hadn’t really been anywhere or done anything. According to the leaflet, Wagner, Einstein, and James Joyce had all lived in Zurich at some point in their rich and varied lives, and all had left lasting contributions to society.
Good cook, great theme nights, fun to be with – would probably be the sum total of her epitaph. It wasn’t as if she wanted to change the world but it would be nice to know that she’d made a difference to someone and achievedsomethingduring her lifetime. She thought she’d had a positive impact on Simon, livened him up a little. It turned out she’d just irritated and frustrated him half the time. And at work her most notable success was a recipe for the company’s best-selling chicken and chorizo risotto, which if she was honest was mostly a paella rip-off. Hardly that innovative.
