The feeling had been growing all week. It sat in the pit of her stomach, first as fear; then anticipation. She eyed the crushed velvet skirt she dusted off once a year, and imagined that the colour rivalled rich Irish moss. The knock at the door made her start.
"Ready?"
The temperature gauge above the clock in the train station read minus three. Yet, the warmth emanating from the bodies and the walls made her forget that she was on the fringes of winter. She felt a hand on the small of her back, and followed his gaze to the busker, who was singing a rendition of Ave Maria that should have been echoing off the stage of the Wiener Staatsoper. She felt a glove brush her cheek and looked up into smiling eyes. He led her to the platform and into the waiting train.
"Five stops."
She nodded. There were many accents tonight and, like her, they were dressed up in green and gold. The air was perfumed with Guinness and sandalwood.
"I have a surprise for you."
She tilted her head. "I don't like surprises."
He smiled. "You always say that." He kissed the gap between her hat and eyebrows.
At Stephansplatz, they sprinted with the crowds in the race for the escalators and were met by the biting cold and floodlights of Stephansdom.
"It looks magical."
"It's the snow," he said. "Snow makes everything sparkle."
He led the way down Rotenturmstrasse. Everywhere she looked, there were advertisements for St Patrick's weekend, felt hats and shamrocks.
"I can't feel my feet."
"You should have worn your boots."
"They don't match my dress."
"Walk faster, then."
They passed their usual turn. "We're not going to Figlmüller?"
"Not tonight."
"In case you're wondering, I don't think I can handle the noise of the Hard Rock Café."
He laughed, and led them down an alley between the buildings. They came to double brown doors, the wood heavy and dusted in snowflakes.
"Look down."
At her feet were two brass plaques.
"You found them. You found Arnold and Hermine*."
"They loved each other until the end. Even if it was not the end they deserved."
"No, it wasn't."
"But we're here now. How does our story end?"
Her courage overcame her and she pulled him closer. She could feel his smile against her mouth.
"I like the way this night is going."
"I will like it even more if we don't go to the Hard Rock Café."
They got a table by the window at Restaurant Hinterholz. The candlelight barely obscured the way the wine touched their cheeks or the way their hands lingered across the table. They watched the snow falling on a man carrying fifty pink roses over his shoulder, students with bellies full of beer and women wearing insensible shoes and faux fur jackets.
"The schnitzel at Figlmüller is better."
"No, it's bigger."
They ordered dessert to share: apfelstrudel with a generous dollop of ice cream. The combination of warmth, nuts and spices made her smile.
"Your eyes look especially big tonight."
"All the better to see." She stared at the snowy street. "And to remember."
The cold air on the walk back to Stephansplatz shocked them out of the wine and sleepiness.
"Good night?"
"I've never felt luckier."
"It's the effect of the Irish."
"No. It's having you here."
She hugged him to her, their bodies forming an island on the pavement, around which pedestrians streamed to bars, apartments and oblivion.
*In memory of Arnold and Hermine Deutsch, and other Holocaust victims like them, who lived at 21 Rotenturmstrasse before they perished at Treblinka in 1942. For more information, visit http://steinedererinnerung.net/projekte/1-innere-stadt/1-september-2017/
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