JUICE

They met at the Hippodrome

It was her first morning in the city and after breakfasting at the Orange Hotel, she went for a walk up the hill to a wide open space that she later learned was called the Hippodrome. It was fairly quiet and she was wandering freely when she saw a restaurant with a covered outdoor terrace. Outside was a menu board with the irresistible words ‘fresh pomegranate juice’ written on it in chalk.

She sat a table closest to the road, and when the waiter came, ordered a glass of the juice and a Turkish coffee. While she sat and enjoyed the view she couldn’t help but overhear a conversation in English at the only other occupied table. From the accents she guessed that the sole woman was Australian while the three men were probably Turkish. They were drinking champagne, or some sort of sparkling wine, and seemed to be celebrating a business victory or agreement.

The pomegranate came and was as delicious as she remembered it to be from the last time she drank it in Kathmandu. Rather than pull out her novel or notebook, she resolved to just sit and observe and gradually felt herself relax. As the celebrating party pushed back their chairs and rose to their feet she glanced up to see the woman kiss each of the men on both cheeks, before they departed. Then the woman came to stand by her table, saying, ‘did you enjoy the pomegranate?’

‘I did, thank you,’ she responded.

‘May I sit,’ said the woman.

‘Please do. I think that you may be Australian,’ she said, smiling.

‘I am, that’s why I came over. I could tell from your accent that you are too. My name is Gaye. My partners and I were just celebrating the renewal of contracts for my hotel, just down the road here. You must come and see me there, if you have time.’