Page 26 of Lost in Translation
Dom introduced Charlotte to the others seated or standing around the table. A flurry of hand-shaking ensued, with Charlotte trying to commit all the unfamiliar names to her memory.
‘Hello again! Long time no see.’ Dom’s colleagues from the UK, Hank and André, joined the group, each clutching a pint.
‘These guys are over here on a jolly — I mean, a training course. Isn’t that right?’ said Dom, slapping gum-chewing Hank on the back so hard that Charlotte feared he might choke.
‘Are you enjoying Switzerland?’ asked André. At least, shethoughtthat was what he said. The clamour of the crowd coupled with his barely above-a-whisper voice made it impossible to be sure.
Charlotte smiled and replied in the affirmative as Dom passed her a glass of something clear and no doubt deadly.
‘It eez a pity Amelie is not here,’ said Antoine, clinking his glass against Dom’s and Charlotte’s. ‘That girl eez the life and soul of the party.’
‘Ah, yes,’ mused Juliette. ‘The last time we were here she started a conga around the room. She likes to be the centre of attention.’
Charlotte took a large gulp of her drink, its potency making her eyes water. Blinking furiously, she saw Dom’s jaw tighten a fraction. Was that because of the mention of Amelie? Was he worried that his wife would grill him again on the subject, or did Amelie’s absence mean more to him than he let on?
‘We need to eat,’ declared Hank, picking up a menu. ‘I hope everyone’s good with tapas, because that’s what’s on offer.’ After several minutes of debating, Hank and André fought their way to the bar to place a large order for albondigas, garlic prawns, patatas bravas and empanadas.
The rest of the evening passed pleasantly enough. Charlotte chatted to Juliette and Dom ended up in a huddle with the menfolk, raucous laughter punctuating their chat. From time to time he caught Charlotte’s eye. Was he making sure his wife was comfortable hanging out with his colleagues? Or wondering if he was in for the Spanish inquisition later?
At eleven, Charlotte signalled to Dom that it was time to leave. She’d told Marcus they would be home before midnight, and their pre-booked taxi was due shortly. He headed for the gents’ loos, and she said her goodbyes to the group.
‘We must do this more often,’ said Juliette, giving Charlotte a hug. ‘Next time I will ask my mother to look after Sylvie so that my husband can join us. He finds it hard to leave our little one, whereas I look for ways to mix with adults outside of work!’
Back home, Charlotte paid Marcus, who reported that the boys had been as good as gold. ‘We watched both movies, although Robson fell asleep during the second one,’ he said. ‘And we ate all the cookies, but I used my phone to time them brushing their teeth!’
Marcus slipped out of the door just as the familiar red car appeared. Before Jürgen could vanish into the night, Charlotte tapped on his window.
‘Are our boys now firm friends?’ he asked, Charlotte catching a whiff of lemony cologne.
‘Well, as they’re tucked up in bed I can’t ask them, but Marcus was already a hero in their eyes,’ she replied.
Marcus blushed and thanked Charlotte again for asking him to babysit.
As he got into the passenger seat, Jürgen leaned further out of the window. ‘Perhaps I can say thank you too by taking you for coffee again soon. Shall I text you?’
Charlotte glanced nervously back at the house. No sign of Dom. She nodded quickly, quelling the small knot of anxiety in her stomach. It was just a coffee, nothing more.
Chapter 22
‘I thoughtwe should try somewhere different. What do you think?’
Charlotte looked around the quaint café-cum-bakery, customers queuing for fresh bread and chatting in French at the tables dotted around. Somehow, people here never seemed as loud as people back in the UK. And despite their fondness for calorie-laden cakes and pastries, very few were overweight.
‘It’s very charming,’ Charlotte said. ‘And not so easy to find.’
The café was tucked away down a cobbled side street in Vevey, minutes from the boys’ school; she’d walked past the narrow doorway three times before realising it was there. Even more surprising was the small, sun-drenched rear terrace where Jürgen had secured seats, a canvas parasol providing some shade.
‘So, how is life treating you?’ Jürgen had already ordered for them both. Renversé for her, an espresso for him, and a selection of mini éclairs. Charlotte wasn’t sure whether she felt touched by the gesture, or annoyed that he hadn’t waited to ask her.
‘It’s OK. Fine, I guess.’Yes, let’s go overboard with enthusiasm, she thought. A sure-fire way of inviting questions she didn’t want to answer. Charlotte had no desire to discuss the state of her marriage; certainly not with a man she barely knew and had misgivings about.
Jürgen didn’t comment. He downed his coffee and pushed his sunglasses on top of his head. ‘Please eat,’ he said, ‘before the icing melts.’
The éclairs were to die for. Charlotte had attempted to make some at home several years ago, but her choux pastry turned out like bathroom grouting. These were light as air, melt-in-the-mouth, utterly moreish, and—
‘We know little about each other, would you agree?’ Jürgen dabbed his lips with a paper napkin. He clearly hadn’t shaved for a few days, and silvery stubble adorned his firm jawline. For one insane moment, Charlotte wanted to reach out and touch it. It was like the feeling when you stood at the top of a tall building and, just for a second, wondered what it would be like to fall.
‘Well, we haven’t exchanged CVs, or played twenty questions,’ she retorted, her tone sharper than she’d intended.
