Page 41 of Lost in Translation
‘I told you. I was embarrassed, and yes, I thought you’d find it funny. Anyway, I’m sorry I lied, but I’m not sorry I went. I feel better than I have in ages. Now, I’m going to grab a shower, then we can get a bite to eat at our local hostellerie.’
Charlotte gaped in disbelief at Dom’s ability to act as if what he’d done was a mere blip on the radar. Not only had he lied, but he’d failed to react at the news of Alastair’s accident.
‘Why didn’t you come home? When I messaged you about Alastair? Or were you too busy seeking spiritual enlightenment to spare him a second thought?’
This time, Dom looked genuinely remorseful. ‘Sweetheart, you’re absolutely right. I just assumed you’d have it all under control, as you always do. Forgive me.’
Dom pecked Charlotte’s cheek, and she tried not to duck out of the way. Left alone, she looked at the invoice again. It was billed to Dominic Egerton for a single room, full board, with all yoga, meditation sessions and therapies included. She boggled at the price: 2’500 Swiss francs, tax not included. Still, he earned the money, and could spend it however he wanted.
Trudging upstairs to freshen up, Charlotte wished she felt as rejuvenated as Dom did. Instead, she felt flat, wrong-footed and far from convinced by his story.
Chapter 34
Only another twothousand steps to go, and Charlotte would have aced her ten-thousand target for the day. She adjusted her earbuds and fiddled with her phone, looking for some rousing music to spur her on. ‘Bad Romance’ by Lady Gaga. That should do the trick.
Swigging from her water bottle, she carried on past the campsite: a hotchpotch of caravans, awnings, and tents set up for those attending the upcoming Montreux Jazz Festival. Charlotte recalled Jürgen saying that some 250,000 people swarmed to the event each year, filling up hotels in and around the area. Others either preferred or had to pitch up under canvas, which was fine as long as the current dry spell continued.
She took the path towards the lake, greeting a couple walking a panting terrier, its fur dripping after a dip in the water. Sidestepping quickly, in case it gave her an impromptu shower, Charlotte stopped at the entrance of the buvette. A blackboard listed the specials of the day — filets de perches avec frites; salade de chevre chaud, and steak de cheval. She couldn’t bring herself to eat horsemeat, despite its popularity in Switzerland. Silly, really, when she’d happily tuck into a juicy entrecote du boeuf or a rack d’agneau.
The lake was as still as glass, the mountains a majestic backdrop. Charlotte paused the music, taking a moment to absorb the beauty surrounding her. Beads of sweat prickled her forehead, and she unearthed a tissue from her shorts pocket to wipe them away.
Dom had miraculously taken the day off to spend time with the boys, who’d had a whale of a time camping at Sadie’s. If this had been motivated by guilt, Charlotte didn’t want to know. Her mind remained a maelstrom of misgivings, but she needed to clear her head. Exercising, something she’d let slip since the move, helped a little.
As she scrolled through her phone for another upbeat tune, she noticed a car some twenty metres away: a familiar racing-green Jaguar convertible, its roof up despite the 28 degree heat. Charlotte moved closer, peering at the number plate. Yes, it was definitely Alicia’s. Charlotte had a strange and rather pointless ability to remember number plates, though she struggled some days to recall what she’d eaten the night before.
Alicia sat in the driver’s seat, looking down. For a moment Charlotte thought she was hunting for something she’d dropped, then realised she was banging her head on the steering wheel.What on earth…?
Hesitantly, Charlotte tapped on the window. No response. She tried again, harder this time, and Alicia looked up. Even through the tinted glass, it was obvious she’d been crying. A lot.
‘Alicia, are you all right?’ Charlotte grabbed the door handle, and it opened.
Alicia turned away, muttering something Charlotte didn’t quite hear. Possibly ‘go away’ or ‘mind your own business’. But Charlotte couldn’t bear to see someone in deep distress. Not even if that someone was an imperious pain in the arse with a superiority complex.
‘Right, I’m coming in.’ Charlotte went round to the passenger side and slid into the sumptuous cream-upholstered seat. A quick glance revealed a car as pristine as the day it glided out of the showroom. No discarded crisp packets, juice cartons or wads of pay-and-display parking tickets here. The only signs of disarray were several scrunched-up tissues scattered around Alicia’s lap.
‘Alicia, you don’t have to talk to me, but I can’t leave you like this. Please let me help.’ Charlotte hoped her sweaty T-shirt wouldn’t stain the leather. She leant forward, aware that her bare legs were also sticking to the seat. ‘Erm, would you like some water?’ She offered her half-drunk bottle, expecting Alicia to turn her perfect and possibly surgically enhanced nose up at sipping from a shared vessel.
To her surprise, Alicia took it and swallowed a mouthful. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’m just having a bit of a moment. Please forgive my appearance.’
Alicia flipped down the sun visor and tutted at her reflection. It wasn’t pretty: her eyes were swollen, mascara snail-trailed down her cheeks and a red line marked where she’d whacked her forehead on the steering wheel.
‘Alicia, you’re upset. Don’t apologise for how you look. When I ugly-cry, my husband locks me in the basement and slides cream crackers under the door.’
Alicia rubbed at the mascara smudges with her finger. ‘Really? Oh, you’re joking.’ A smidgen of a smile appeared. Charlotte realised she’d rarely seen Alicia smile; her default facial setting was haughtiness.
‘So, would you like to tell me what’s the matter?’ she said.
‘It’s Derek. My husband.’ Alicia twiddled with the solitaire diamond necklace framing her smooth throat. ‘He’s left me.’
Charlotte recalled seeing Derek at school. He’d struck her as an odd match for Alicia: on the short side and paunchy, with a bad comb-over and a liking for loud shirts and clashing trousers. Still, they said opposites attract, and perhaps he had a delightful personality. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Has he … did he find another woman?’
Alicia pulled a gold compact from the glove compartment and set about repairing her make-up. ‘No, darling,’ she replied, dusting her face with powder. ‘Another man.’
‘Oh.’ Charlotte didn’t know what else to say. Pamela had been right. She waited for Alicia to explain further.
‘It really shouldn’t have shocked me. I knew — suspected — he was gay when I married him. But I told myself that we could make a go of things, and we have done for the past fifteen years.’
‘But if you thought he was gay, and if heknewhe was gay, why did you get married in the first place?’ It made little sense to Charlotte. Surely their relationship had been a ticking time bomb from the start?
