Paul Klee's Frying Pan - Part 3

Then slowly as if he were talking to himself. . .
‘ It’s good to be sitting here in your studio, and all this work…all this good good stuff.’
Then he opened his eyes and looked at me. He smiled and nodded his head slowly a few times. He carefully placed his elbows on the hexagonal table where I keep my painting kit and lent forward wagging a bony finger as he spoke.
‘I ahhh - I ah had to make a call to Switzerland last night, it was aaaaaall a surprise – I received a letter from a solicitor there a couple of days ago and I have to pop over to Geneva this weekend.’
‘Bad news … or what?’ I asked.
He smiles and spread his hands – mea culpa.
‘ Who can say – it’s what you make it – maybe the bad news came 20 years ago - let me give you three names – all ladies – see what you make of them – eh!’
I lifted my glass and finished the wine, I look at him with his raised eyebrows, his bushy questioning eyebrows.
‘ Go ahead – I’m intrigued now.’ I say and he laughs.
‘ I love it here, ok here we go....’
His eyes twinkle as he counts them off .
‘One, Adele Hoffentaller, two Lydia Delectorskya, three Iseult Gonne.’ He lifts his hands in the air like a magician and looks expectantly at me – he expects that I would know two of the three – and I play along, he knows I will .... hey it’s 3am and there are only 2 glasses of wine left and some crumbs – and this is our relationship. I also hold my hands up – we look like two hostages.