Page 141 - Wake Up and do Your Thing
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NICHOLAS BOOTHMAN
That Letter
It's 1975, the year after the Portuguese revolution. I'm standing there in my studio in Lisbon, ready to hand over the keys and embark on a brand-new adventure in Canada. Just two days away from my big move, my phone starts ringing. I pick up the phone, and there's a woman on the other end. She says, "I'm looking for Mister Nicholas Boothman." Well, that got my attention.
!Who is this?”
!A Mister Nicholas Boothman who lived in the in the Algarve in 1967.” This took my breath away a bit. !Nicko? You might not remember me. This is Frankie. Francisca Vieira. Daughter of Casilda. I have a something for you. For Nicko. From Thomas. From a long time ago.”
We agreed to meet for coffee in front of my studio. I got there first. A few minutes later a young woman carrying a small string bag and dressed in a white cotton shirt with a short blue skirt came towards me. She dropped the string bag on the table, cleared her throat and perched her Ray- Bans on top of her slicked-back hair.
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