The Egg at Dumstreet

Rooibos

The sound of Adriana's doorbell was a low chime, two close notes dancing in wobbly interference around each other.

His heart was beating in his throat. Pushing that button had been a spur-of-the-moment decision.

Then a thought struck him—she might think him to be the murderer, seeking out his next kill.

Undo!

But life had no undo. The button had been pushed, and it could not be un-pushed now.

There was a noise from behind the door as if someone were touching it. The light emanating from the spy hole flickered. Art rearranged his face into what he hoped to be a friendly smile devoid of any murderous intent.

The door opened a crack, wide enough to reveal Adriana's face.

"Good evening," Art said.

"Hey, Art." Her words hovered between a question and a greeting. She was nearly as tall as he, and her eyes searched his face.

"I just wanted to check if you're okay..." He gulped, sought for words, and found some, "...or if they've arrested you."

She chuckled and opened the door all the way. "No. They let me go... on probation." She was grinning now.

Art laughed. "Good. I'm out on bail." He doubted that this exchange made any legal sense, but it still felt good.

"Er..." She hesitated. "Can I offer you some coffee?"

"I'm not really into coffee in the evening..." Strong coffee after 4 p.m. tended to interfere with his sleeping.

"I also have tea, herbal tea. All sorts..." She took a step back and made a gesture inviting him in.

"Yeah, tea would be fine, thanks."

"So, do come in, please. Just ignore the mess in here."

His eyes searched for the mess, but all they found was a tidy hallway in cheerful tones of beige and pink. He stepped inside, and she closed the door behind him. She took a solitary wrought-iron coat hanger from a solitary wrought-iron hook on the wall. He shrugged out of his jacket and gave it to her.

A flowery scent and a trace of stale cigarette smoke hung in the air.

Lovely lavender fighting foul fags.

"You can leave your shoes there." She pointed at a small, brown plastic tray positioned behind the door. "I'll get you a pair of slippers."

Art obliged. Adriana produced two gaudy, giant-sized felt slippers from a small cupboard.

Then she led him into her kitchen. Slippered Art shuffled along behind her. Art's eyes alighted on her feet, expecting to see slippers there, too, but she wore thick, blue-red knitted socks, strangely incongruous with her knee-length white skirt and stockinged legs.

She was almost as tall as he was, and definitely less skinny than the waitress but not fat.

The tiny kitchen was crowded with two chairs, a table covered with an ecru tablecloth, and a row of modern appliances.

A plate holding crumbs of something and a fork were set on the table. She took hold of them. "As I said, it's a mess." She opened a tiny dishwasher and stowed them away.

"I don't see any mess here."

In reply, she just smiled. "Is rooibos okay with you?"

"Rear-bus?" Art didn't know what she was talking about.

She laughed. "Rooibos. It's a tea. Don't you know it?"

He shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Maybe by a different name?"