Page 20 of Lost in Translation
‘Anyway,’ Pamela continued, ‘what’s your dress like, Sadie? Got any photos?’
Sadie whipped out her phone, scrolled through, and thrust it in front of her friends. Both oohed and aahed over the slinky, one-shouldered silver number, complete with diamanté brooch.
‘I told Rick I picked it up in the sales,’ said Sadie. ‘If he knew the actual price tag his head would explode. Still, I’m worth it, right?’
‘Hello there!’ None of them had noticed Alicia arrive, resplendent in head-to-toe cashmere, topped with a full-length burgundy leather coat. ‘What are you all looking at?’ Before Sadie could close the photo, Alicia peered at the screen. ‘Lovely dress, darling. Is it Valentino?’
‘As if,’ murmured Sadie. ‘No, it’s from a small British designer. Not well known, but definitely on the up.’
Alicia sniffed, either from a cold or disdain at the dress’s lack of big-name status. Without asking, she pulled up a chair and extended her perfectly formed legs. Judging by the trademark red soles, her shoes were Christian Louboutins. She snapped her fingers imperiously at the waitress, who — to Charlotte’s delight — turned away.
‘The service here is atrocious,’ said Alicia. ‘We should take our custom elsewhere: perhaps that new bistro in town. I hear their coffee beans are sublime. Apparently, they’re extracted from civet poo. The prices are on the high side, mind you, but one gets what one pays for.’
Charlotte pulled a face. Drinking coffee produced from a small animal’s bottom? At home she was happy with a mug of Nescafé instant, or a mint tea if she felt virtuous.
Alicia finally placed her order, the waitress regarding her with all the enthusiasm of someone who’d trod in some poo, civet or otherwise.
‘Right, I need to get more walking practice in.’ Sadie wriggled her feet back into the painful shoes. Wincing as she stood up, she gestured to Charlotte and Pamela to join her. ‘First to the car chooses where we go next. Shopping, yomping along the lakeside or back home for a snooze. Ready, steady, go!’
Fluttering hands at Alicia, they headed for the exit. Charlotte held back, Pamela next to her, as Sadie strode — tottered — ahead. Charlotte would drop them back at school to collect their own cars. She needed to sort out a few things at home. A sit-down with her book would be nice, but wasn’t an option. Besides, she needed time to regroup. Meeting Dickhead face to face had rattled her, and something was definitely amiss between him and Pamela. However, judging by Pamela’s still-stony expression, that was a subject she’d be wise to leave alone.
Chapter 18
‘Peanut butter,flour, sugar, Cheddar, eggs, tuna, tomato paste, printer paper, tampons.’ Charlotte stood at the supermarket checkout, mentally ticking off items on her handwritten list. ‘Bugger! Forgot red onions.’ Never mind, there were a couple rolling around in the bottom of the vegetable drawer at home. She could always cut off any squidgy bits.
Thankfully, Sadie had introduced her to other, larger shops not too far from home. Nowadays, Charlotte only ventured to the local one in moments of desperation. She still had bizarre dreams about sitting naked in a Marks and Spencer food hall, licking the chocolate off profiteroles and smearing her body with deli-style coleslaw. She hadn’t shared these with Dom. Better he imagine her moans of pleasure in the small hours related to sexual fantasies, rather than a yearning for choux pastry and mayonnaise-drenched vegetables.
Digging in her purse for the shop’s loyalty card — carte de fidélité — Charlotte recalled her moans of pleasure last night. Their sex life might not set the world on fire, but Dom still knew how to push the right buttons, and in the correct order. She straightened her face into a serious one, as the customer before her made payment and Charlotte’s groceries advanced along the conveyor belt.
‘Bonjour, Madame,’ she said, the assistant echoing her words. She handed over the card for swiping, marvelling again at the subtle differences language could make. To Charlotte, fidelity meant being faithful in a relationship. And loyalty meant staying true to someone or something, but not in the same way. God, she had to stop over-analysing things, especially when doing a basic food shop.
‘Cent vingt-cinq francs, s’il vous plaît.’
One hundred and twenty-five francs? OK, she’d snuck in two bottles of wine and a cheapo mascara, but Swiss prices still made Charlotte’s head explode. She rammed her debit card into the machine, typed in the code, and said her ‘Merci’ and ‘Bonne journée’. The pathetic quantity of stuff would barely fill the Bag For Life she’d folded into her handbag. Removing it, Charlotte started packing and — oh, for goodness’ sake — half a dozen apples sought freedom and bounced towards the cigarette and magazines kiosk.
‘Do you need some help?’
Charlotte looked up. Standing amid her apple uproar was Jürgen. He bent over, picked up two, and juggled them. Right, very impressive. She picked up a third and tossed it at him. Damn it, he carried on juggling. An elderly gentleman paused in his purchase of roll-up tobacco to give him a round of applause. A few other customers gathered, watching as Charlotte lobbed a fourth, then a fifth, then—
‘My career in the circus did not last very long.’ Jürgen gathered up the dropped apples and Charlotte held out her bag.
‘Thank you.’ He placed the slightly battered fruit in the bag, then waited by her side as she retrieved the rest of her purchases.
‘My pleasure.’ Jürgen showed no sign of leaving. And no sign of having bought anything in the supermarket.
‘Don’t you have shopping to do?’ Charlotte didn’t want to dawdle with this man, wrecker of cars and — for whatever reason — arch-nemesis of Pamela. She planned on baking cookies and making cheese and ham sandwiches ready for Alastair’s play date with his friends.
‘All I needed was a supply of liquids for this.’ Jürgen produced a vaping gizmo from the top pocket of his jacket. ‘It is a poor substitute for cigarettes, but I have no wish to die just yet.’
‘Right. Well, I have things to do, so… I guess I’ll see you around.’ Charlotte took in his effortless style. Designer suit: check. Designer shoes, polished to perfection: check. Not a greying hair out of place: check. Her irritation rose a notch, fuelled by a vaguely irrational but pulsating dislike of the man.
‘Would you have coffee with me?’
Charlotte made a show of looking at her watch. Her cheap watch, in contrast to Jürgen’s flashy number. Then she glanced at the supermarket café. ‘I don’t think—’ It resembled a scene from hell. Customers were queuing for drinks, snacks and full-on meals, and jostling for tables already piled high with discarded trays and dismembered sugar sachets.
‘Not here. There is a nice place just around the corner.’ Jürgen nodded towards the exit. ‘And they have delicious pastries and cakes, if you are not dieting like most women I know.’
Was he implying she was fat? Charlotte tugged her less-than-flattering Puffa jacket around her middle. ‘No, I’m not. And I’m not hungry, so—’
