Page 19 of Lost in Translation
Chapter 17
Two monthsinto their move to Switzerland, Charlotte felt a little more settled. Yes, she missed the UK terribly, but Sadie, Pamela and a few other mums had helped her to feel welcome. They’d helped her to navigate the shops and advised her which plumber/electrician/handyman to call, and what to say. Charlotte still blushed when she remembered answering a cold caller in French and wondering why her response provoked hysteria.
‘Erm, you said, “Je ne suis pas interessante”, which means you’re notinteresting,instead ofinterested.’ Pamela spoke excellent French, the result of spending several years in Paris as a student. Sadie muddled through, figuring thatbonjour,au revoirandça vawould suffice. Charlotte had toyed with signing up for an intensive course, but toying was as far as she’d got.
She dropped off the boys, her driving confidence improved since the early days. Chatting briefly to Pamela, and arranging a catch-up later in the week, Charlotte headed back to the car. A familiar flashy red number was parked next to her, its driver leaning nonchalantly against the door as he vaped furiously. She hadn’t seen Dickhead since the day of the incident, but Sadie had filled her in on his background.
‘His name’s Jürgen, he’s German, and he’s been married twice,’ she revealed. ‘His last wife buggered off back to Berlin, but they kept their son Marcus here because they didn’t want to disrupt his education. He’s seventeen and doing his International Baccalaureate.’
Coughing ostentatiously as a cloud of minty vapour wafted past her, Charlotte opened the car door. For good measure, she gave Dickhead her best look of disdain, one usually reserved for Dom when he left the toilet seat up.
‘Is there something wrong?’ Charlotte started as he touched her shoulder. ‘You seem upset, or angry.’
He had a distinctive accent, and a deep, melodic voice. Glancing at his hand — and stepping away — Charlotte noted tanned skin set against a cufflink-adorned white shirt sleeve and a glimpse of an expensive gold watch.
‘I’m fine,’ she replied, in a tone suggesting the complete opposite. ‘If you’ll excuse me—’
To Charlotte’s irritation, he blocked her way as she tried to climb in. ‘Clearly you are not. Have I done something?’
‘You could say that.’ Charlotte squared up to him, aware of his height — well over six feet — and muscular build. She wished she had heels on but they were impractical on the school run, not least because of the hexagonal grass-filled tiles which formed the parking area. Only the brave or stupid risked breaking an ankle with inappropriate footwear.
‘Enlighten me, please.’ A smidgeon of a smile played across his face, which was as tanned as his hands and a contrast to his silver-streaked hair. Most people would consider him handsome, but Charlotte had no truck with his looks.
‘You don’t remember running me off the road weeks ago? I smashed my car into the wall,’ — she gestured towards the school entrance — ‘because you swung out too far. It cost a fortune to repair.’ A little white lie, but his smirk had raised her hackles.
‘Ah, a little bird told me someone blamed me for their run-in with the wall. Sadly, newcomers often misjudge the angle when making the turn from the left. I trust you are more practised now? I’m Jürgen, by the way. And you are?’
Ignoring the proffered handshake, Charlotte mumbled her name. The sheer arrogance of the man! Dumping the blame on her, when he had been in the wrong! ‘I can assure you I’m a very able driver. With an unblemished record, until you got in the way.’ Charlotte didn’t feel the need to mention the time she’d rear-ended a car in England, or got herself jammed into a tight parking spot in a multi-storey car park.
‘Jürgen.’ Charlotte turned at the familiar voice of Pamela. She stood a foot away, her tone frostier than a snow-filled day in December.
‘Pamela.’ Jürgen gave a small bow. ‘You look well. How is your husband?’
Charlotte sensed the tension between them. Perhaps Jürgen had also caused Pamela to prang her car? She couldn’t recall Pamela telling her of any incident, although that didn’t mean there hadn’t been one.
‘Are we doing coffee?’ Pamela asked Charlotte, as Sadie tottered over in a pair of mid-heeled black shoes. She was being more brave than stupid, as she had an important work do with her husband coming up later in the month and was practising walking in unfamiliar footwear.
‘Jeez, why didn’t I opt for a full-length gown? At least I could wear trainers instead of these monstrosities!’ Sadie almost came a cropper, saved from falling by the steadying arm of Jürgen. ‘Thanks. Christ, I could murder an espresso and a pain au chocolat. Didn’t get so much as a slice of toast or a sniff of caffeine this morning with the girls playing up.’
Gesturing to her car, Charlotte waited as Pamela and Sadie piled into the back seats. She nodded curtly at Jürgen. He smiled briefly, before climbing into his Ferrari or Lamborghini or whatever the heck it was. Seconds later he was gone, the noise of the engine ringing in Charlotte’s ears.
Seated at a table in Le Petit Train with a round of coffees and pastries, the women waited for the caffeine to kick in. Sadie took off her shoes and massaged her feet, sighing with relief as she wiggled her toes. Pamela took out a compact mirror and checked her reflection, wiping away a tiny smudge of mascara.
‘That Jürgen strikes me as an arrogant prat,’ commented Charlotte, destroying the fern-like pattern in her cappuccino froth with ferocity. ‘He bloody well blamed me for my car incident, when it was totally his fault.’
‘Ah, he’s not that bad,’ replied Sadie. ‘I think he’s a bit shy, actually. And his son Marcus is a sweetie. Cute like his dad, too!’
If Charlotte looked up the definition of ‘shy’ in a children’s dictionary, she was sure a picture of a strapping German with an attitude problem wouldn’t be there. As forcute…
‘Stay away from him. He’s nothing but trouble.’ Pamela finished fixing her make-up and ripped her cinnamon bun in two. Charlotte wondered if the bun represented Jürgen’s throat, so venomous was the glint in Pamela’s eyes. But what could the German road hog have done to warrant such a reaction?
‘Pamela, methinks there’s something you’re not telling us. Did Jürgen’s team beat you at the school quiz night? Or did his strudel trounce your cupcakes at the bake sale?’ Sadie winked at Charlotte.
Charlotte noted the rising colour in Pamela’s pale cheeks.
‘Very funny,’ Pamela replied. ‘Just mark my words, steer clear of that man.’
Charlotte had every intention of steering clear, at least in the driving sense. Still, Pamela’s comments left her wondering what had triggered such a strong dislike.
