Page 21 of Lost in Translation
With precision timing, Charlotte’s stomach rumbled louder than an approaching underground train. Jürgen grinned, touched her arm gently, and before she knew what was happening, they left the supermarket together.
‘This is nice.’ Charlotte sat opposite Jürgen, having both placed their order at the counter. Renversé, a Swiss-French variation on a latte, for her, and a double espresso for him. Conceding that skipping breakfast hadn’t been the best of ideas, she’d opted for a croissant au jambon.
Jürgen had chosen a triple-layered chocolate confection, which he assured her tasted divine. ‘Please, taste,’ he said, offering her a second spoon. Charlotte hesitated — it seemed terribly intimate to share a stranger’s dessert — but she took a small spoonful. Itwasdivine.
‘So, what brings you to Switzerland?’ Jürgen downed his coffee and signalled to the waitress for another.
‘My husband’s work,’ Charlotte replied. ‘To be honest, I didn’t want to come. But the boys are happy, and that’s what counts.’
‘Surely your happiness counts too?’ Jürgen regarded her intently. The skin around his eyes was paler than the rest of his face. Charlotte assumed he was a summer sun worshipper or a ski bunny. Or both.
‘Of course it does. I’m just struggling to find my feet, that’s all.’I don't have to justify my feelings to this man. She finished her coffee and reached for her purse.
‘Do you have to go already?’ Jürgen smiled at the waitress as she set down his second cup. ‘And this is on me. I’d like to get to know you better, Charlotte.’
Was he coming on to her? Maybe Mr Twice Married made a habit of prowling around supermarkets and homing in on women with dodgy packing skills. ‘My son has friends coming over, so I need to get back and bake… things.’Because baking a batch of cookies and slicing bread for sandwiches takes at least five hours.
Jürgen stirred a sugar into his coffee and gestured for Charlotte to have more cake. ‘You could always cheat and take some things home from here.’
‘I could, but I enjoy baking for the boys. And the stuff here is a bit upmarket for an after-school get together.’ Charlotte helped herself to a small sliver, washing it down with the glass of water that always accompanied the coffees.
‘Perhaps you need to get out more,’ said Jürgen, picking up his phone. ‘Sorry,’ he added, ‘that did not come across very well.’
Charlotte glowered at him. Bloody cheek! Was he implying that she was some kind of hermit, only leaving the house for the school run and supermarket shopping? Mind you, she and Dom had gone nowhere together without the boys since moving to Switzerland. He was always too busy with work, or too exhausted in the evenings to do anything more than flick through Sky channels and top up his wine glass.
‘Let’s exchange phone numbers.’ Jürgen passed his top-of-the-range iPhone to Charlotte. She took it, although every fibre of her being screamed ‘No! This is not appropriate!’
‘My son, Marcus, likes to babysit for extra pocket money,’ Jürgen added. ‘He is a good boy, and very patient with younger children. I believe your boys are younger, no?’
Charlotte nodded, relief coursing through her veins. Jürgen wasn’t coming on to her; he simply wanted to find a revenue outlet for his teenage son. She keyed her number into his phone, and he fired off a quick confirmation text. So he now had her number, but where was the harm in that?
‘Yes, Alastair is nine and Robson is seven. They’re lovely — well, I would say that, wouldn’t I? I’d hardly admit to them being little monsters!’ She scrolled through photos on her phone, showing Jürgen a picture of the four of them taken at Christmas, wearing paper crowns and sporting cheesy grins. ‘That’s my husband, Dom, by the way,’ she added, in case Jürgen thought they were posing with the postman.
‘A lovely family,’ he replied, beating a little tattoo on the table with his fingers.Strong fingers,thought Charlotte. Long, and topped with well-groomed nails.
‘Do you have a photo of Marcus?’ Jürgen nodded and produced an image of a smiling young man wearing a baseball cap. Charlotte took his phone again and peered closer. That face was familiar. Of course, she’d probably seen him around at school, but—
‘We’ve met!’ She recounted the story of Alastair’s skiing mishap, and how Marcus had come to his rescue.
‘Yes, he mentioned something about it. He has a generous heart and always thinks of others.’ Jürgen put his phone away, his expression one of quiet pride.
‘So, do you have other children, or is Marcus an only child?’ Charlotte already knew the answer, assuming her playground informant Sadie had reliable intel.
‘Correct, Charlotte. He is my only child, and the reason I wake up every day. I have been married twice — I suspect you already know that — but I haven’t given up on finding the one. The perfect match, as you say.’ Jürgen stretched out his legs, taut thigh muscles straining against the expensive fabric of his trousers.
Help!Charlotte scanned the café in the faint hope of spotting someone she knew. She needed an excuse to extricate herself from this confusing, unnerving situation—
Oh, praise be to the god of all things gooey and calorific. Alicia waltzed in, designer handbag artfully placed on her arm. Mere mortals parted in her wake, although they might have been dithering over their sugar-laden choices.
‘Alicia!’ Charlotte’s voice cut through the clamour of the café as keenly as a knife through the bread she hadn’t yet bought. ‘How are you?’
Jürgen stood up, frowning, his countenance that of a man with more to say. He gave Alicia a half-hearted wave, then tossed some notes on the table. ‘Thank you for having coffee with me. I hope we’ve put the car incident behind us and we can be friends. Because I need friends, Charlotte.’
Charlotte swallowed, hard. When you made a judgement call on someone, it was difficult to unpick the stuff you’d knitted in your head. Jürgen was the bad guy: arrogant, entitled and going through wives like a Hollywood star with commitment issues. Or was he? Did she really want him as a friend? Mind you, Charlotte wasn’t sure she wanted Alicia as a friend either.
‘Oh, hello.’ As Jürgen left Alicia approached, taking up the vacant seat. ‘I see you know Jürgen. An interesting man, if a little intense for my liking.’
Alicia’s order — a mint tea — arrived; presumably the coffee here didn’t pass muster. She tore open the tea bag envelope, Charlotte marvelling at her perfectly manicured nails. She bit her own, chipped polish and ragged cuticles completing the unedifying look. Casually placing her hands out of sight, she smiled. Alicia smiled back, but Charlotte noted it didn’t reach her eyes. In fact, her eyes, despite a liberal coating of mascara and lashings of smoky-grey eye shadow, looked pink and sore. Exactly how Charlotte’s looked when she had a cold or … or she had been crying.
