Lemon tart with extra first aid
Vivi’s lemon tart was delicious — sweet and sour, sharp and soft, all at the same time. It sat lightly in Freja’s tummy and spread a warm, tangy buzz through the rest of her body.
Finnegan seemed to have mixed feelings about the tart. Each and every bite made him wince and cringe. He might have rejected the tart altogether, except that the sour lemon bits were tangled up with so many marvellous things — sugar, butter, almonds, eggs. What was a poor dog to do but soldier on and hope for a nice fortifying lump of cheese or salami at the end of it all?
Tobias, of course, was enraptured. He ate three slices of lemon tart, then licked the spoon until Freja thought he might dissolve the silver.
‘That was delectable!’ he declared. ‘Best lemon tart in the world!’ He threw his arms wide and slapped the bottom of a passing woman. Accidentally, of course, but the woman was not to know that.
Freja gasped. Finnegan grinned and dribbled on the tablecloth.
The woman swung around and glared at Tobias, but he barely noticed. He had eyes only for Vivi, who was, at that very moment, dashing by on the other side of their table, holding a large pizza above her head. As she passed, Tobias reached out absent-mindedly and grabbed the tie at the back of her pink-and-white polka-dot apron. Vivi was jerked to a halt, but the pizza kept moving, flying off the tray and onto the floor. Finnegan leapt from his chair and pounced. Within thirty seconds, all that remained was a little pile of dribble and a dozen black olives.
‘Finnegan!’ gasped Freja. She slipped from her chair, plucked the olives from the floor and stuffed them into her pocket.
‘I don’t know what happened,’ cried Vivi, her eyes two round pools of chocolate surprise. ‘Un momento I was walking along with a perfect pizza for my customers and the next I came to a halt. POOT! Just like that! The pizza is gone!’
Finnegan trotted away, tail in the air. He leapt up onto the pink velvet lounge, stretched along its full length, yawned and fell asleep.
‘Strano! Strange!’ cried Vivi, shaking her head at the empty tray in her hands. ‘I must be going crazy! Pazzo Vivi!’ She sighed, apologised to the diners who were waiting for their pizza, then returned to the kitchen to make another.
‘Tobias,’ hissed Freja, slipping back into her chair. ‘That was dreadful! I know you didn’t mean to, but . . . poor Vivi.’
Tobias looked up at Freja and blinked. Just like Finnegan did when caught chewing on the curtains.
‘Shall we go for a walk and buy raspberry gelato?’ murmured Tobias.
‘But you’ve just eaten three slices of lemon tart,’ said Freja.
‘Have I?’ He tugged at his ear and chuckled. He sipped the last of his espresso and grinned stupidly. ‘I say! Doesn’t the sauce on that fellow’s pasta look remarkably like blood?’
Freja giggled. ‘I suppose so, but I wouldn’t say it too loudly, or —’
Too late! Tobias was already making his way to the table where the man was eating fettuccine Napoli.
‘Looks a little bit like the medical journals I was studying this morning!’ said Tobias. ‘Blood everywhere, I’m afraid.’
The man dropped his fork and gaped at the writer. ‘Huh?’
‘Look!’ cried Tobias, jabbing his finger into the man’s pasta. ‘The contents of your bowl could be a nasty wound to the leg. The fettuccine might be bits of ligament and tendon. The sauce, obviously, is the large amount of blood that would be oozing out all over.’
The man stared at Tobias’ finger where it poked and swirled around in his lunch.
‘Tobby,’ whispered Freja, now at his side and tugging at his cardigan.
But Tobias had already slipped away from the real world, into his writer’s mind. He pulled out the pale yellow chair beside the man and made himself comfortable. ‘Let’s just say, my good fellow, that you have fallen off a cliff of some height and landed rather awkwardly on some jagged rocks.’ He grabbed the man’s foot, lifted it onto the table and pushed the leg of his jeans up to his knee. ‘And let’s imagine that this pasta sauce is your horrific wound.’ Grabbing a spoon, he scooped out some of the rich red Napoli sauce and drizzled it along the man’s shin.
The man stared, open mouthed, too stunned to protest.
By now, three other diners — a Chinese couple and an Italian woman — had gathered by the table to see what was happening.
‘This poor fellow has fallen from a cliff,’ explained Tobias. ‘Well, he was pushed actually, but we won’t go into the details just now. We really should tend to his wounds. He has a nasty gash, maybe even some mangled tendons.’ Tobias draped two short strands of fettuccine along the line of sauce. ‘These are the tendons, of course.’
‘Ah yes! Of course,’ said the Chinese man, rubbing his chin.
His wife clutched her hands to her chest.
Freja sighed and shook her head, making nervous sideways glances towards the kitchen. She hoped Vivi couldn’t see what was happening in the middle of her pretty café.
‘You are quite right to be concerned,’ said Tobias, nodding encouragingly to the Chinese man. ‘For this poor fellow is still halfway up a mountain and miles from any sort of medical help.’
‘Mamma mia!’ shouted the Italian woman. She leaned forward and wrapped her arm around the victim’s shoulders.
‘But,’ Tobias continued, ‘he is a resourceful man and decides that, if he is to survive, he must perform his own first aid.’
‘Incredibile!’ cried an Italian man who had now joined them.
‘Yes,’ agreed Tobias, ‘incredible, and absolutely critical. First, he cleanses the wound with water from his canteen.’ He tipped the man’s glass of white wine over his leg, and most of the sauce and fettuccine washed away. Tobias dabbed it dry, ever so gently, with a serviette. ‘Then he stitches up the wound the best he can using a blunt needle and nylon thread designed to mend his sleeping bag.’ Taking a nib pen and a pot of red ink from his cardigan pocket, he drew a jagged line of stitch marks along the man’s shin. ‘And now he must bandage the wound to keep it clean and secure.’ Tobias scanned Café Vivi for a suitable object.
‘Quickly!’ cried the Italian woman. She pulled the silk scarf from around her neck. ‘Please, take this! Prego!’
‘Very kind!’ The Chinese woman smiled and bowed to the Italian woman. The Italian woman blushed.
Freja looked from one face to the next. The onlookers were completely spellbound by Tobias’ drama. Except for the victim. His face had grown quite pale and small beads of sweat were breaking out across his forehead.
Tobias wound the scarf firmly around the man’s calf. ‘And now,’ he explained, ‘our brave friend is able to make his way down the mountain — slowly and painfully, I might add — to find proper medical help . . . Unless his enemy finds him first and shoves him off another cliff!’
Tobias leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands behind his head and smiled.
The audience, relieved that all was well, clapped and cheered.
The man with the bandaged leg fainted.
‘What has happened here?’ asked Vivi, pushing her way through to the table.
The Chinese man stepped forward. He placed his hand on Tobias’ shoulder and announced, ‘This genius has just saved this other man’s life!’