CAFE 786

​​​

Sofia was an Italian in London ordering a full English breakfast. “I have the, eh, set breakfast number two, with, eh, veggie sausage, and coffee, black, thank you.”

 

“White toast or brown toast?”

 

“Eh, brown toast.”

 

“Ok, please take a seat.”

 

Sofia placed her shopping in one of the chairs at a table for two and sat in the other, she moved like a seasoned performer, only now there were no cameras, no paparazzi. Some said the only reason Sofia had a career was because her mother was Italy's biggest film star in the 1960s. Others said she was a talented actress and no-one could take that away from her.

​

An elderly lady with a cappuccino and a stylish haircut, who was sitting at the table next to Sofia's, turned to give the new arrival a welcoming gaze. The lady had been keeping an eye on Sofia (and skillfully concealing her surprise) from the moment the actress appeared outside the glass-fronted establishment. “You are very beautiful, my dear,” said the lady, with a quality Sofia was not accustomed to.

 

“Grazie, Signora. You know, I, eh, I hear this so much it means nothing, but when you say, it is like, eh, hearing for the first time. It is very special when you say.”

 

The lady could not stop her heart from pouring out across her face in the form of a smile. Sofia had no recollection of the lady, she was just a baby the last time they were together, in Milan. Some said the lady was the only person Sofia's father ever really loved.​

​