Page 48 of Lost in Translation
‘The thing is, there’s no way Derek will want to have her living with them. A stroppy teenager mooching around his little love nest? I think not.’
‘I’m sure if you talk to her she’ll change her mind,’ said Charlotte. ‘If he’s living in Geneva, Jennifer would have to change schools, wouldn’t she?’
Alicia shrugged. ‘Talking to my daughter is like trying to demolish a building with a feather duster. The girl is as stubborn as a mule, just like her father. The only thing that might sway her is if I cut off her monthly allowance.’
Now more composed, Alicia offered to make Charlotte a tea or coffee. Charlotte checked her watch. She needed to pick up a few bits on the way home, including Dom’s suits from the dry cleaner. The thought dragged her back to the discovery of the card from Amelie —not that she had found anything incriminating since. ‘Sorry, Alicia, I need to make a move. I wish I could be more help, but I’m always here if you need to talk again, or if I can do anything else.’
As Charlotte turned to leave, Alicia lightly touched her arm. ‘I have something else to tell you, Charlotte. And you might want to sit down for it.’
Puzzled, Charlotte sat back down. A prickle of apprehension coursed through her as she took in Alicia’s sombre expression.
‘I may be speaking out of turn, but I’m a great believer in honesty.’ She gave a brittle laugh. ‘Perhaps not within my own marriage, but I hate to see other people being duped. Not everyone likes to hear the truth, but if I consider someone a friend… Well, let’s just say if the boot was on the other foot, I’d want to know.’
The prickle turned to a fiery rush of foreboding. Whatever Alicia was alluding to, it wasn’t good news. Charlotte grabbed the mimosa jug with shaking hands and poured a half-glass.
‘Can you please just spit it out?’
Alicia reached over, patted Charlotte’s knee, and drew a deep breath. ‘I’m afraid I saw your husband with another woman. And, judging by their body language, they’re more than just friends.’
Chapter 40
Canapés and alcoholchurned in Charlotte’s stomach, and she feared she might throw up. Instead, she got up and paced on the terrace, forcing herself to count down from fifty. By the time she got to fifteen she felt calmer, and ready to hear the rest.
‘Are you sure it was Dom?’ Although handsome, he might easily be mistaken for someone else, Charlotte reasoned. Then she wanted to slap herself firmly in the face. What was the likelihood of her husband having a doppelgänger living nearby? Not that Alicia had yet revealed where and when she’d seen him.Them.
‘I’m sure, Charlotte. I wouldn’t say anything otherwise. He didn’t see me. I was picking up a friend who doesn’t drive from a yoga retreat in Valais, and—’
‘Wait a minute. Did you say yoga retreat?’ Charlotte gawped in disbelief, hoping that somehow she’d misheard. Dom had shown her the invoice which clearly stated it was a solo booking, and— Charlotte thumped her forehead hard. She should get the words ‘total sucker’ tattooed on it, to remind her how naïve, how gullible she was. It had never crossed her mind that someone else could have booked separately. In fact, that would be the logical thing to do when attempting to fly under a wife’s pathetically inadequate radar.
‘Yes,’ Alicia continued. ‘My friend — well, more of an elderly acquaintance — goes twice a year, but she had to give up her driving licence because of macular degeneration. I dropped her off at the start and returned to pick her up at the end. We were loading her bags into my car when I saw them.’
For a moment Charlotte wished that Alicia had the eye problem. At least then she might convince herself it was all a mistake, but what were the chances of it not being Dom?
‘As I said, he didn’t see me, although he was only a matter of feet away. Not surprising, really, as he was wrapped around the woman like clinging ivy. The only way you’d separate them would be with a bucket of water. Oh sorry, that was brutal.’
Charlotte winced. Unbidden, an image came into her mind of Amelie slithering around Dom like a sex-mad snake, her little forked tongue probing his eager mouth.
‘What did she look like? The woman, I mean.’ As if she could be referring to anyone else.
Alicia closed her eyes, trying to recall details of the trollop’s appearance. ‘Petite, with blonde hair. I couldn’t see her face very well for obvious reasons, but her outfit struck me as odd considering the high temperature.’
‘What do you mean?’ Charlotte pictured Amelie clad in a fur coat — she was probably naked underneath — and wearing vertiginous heels to bring her up to Dom’s height.
‘Well, she was wearing these strange silver-studded boots. Not my cup of tea at all, especially teamed with a flouncy summer dress.’
Charlotte left minutes later. She thanked Alicia both for the drinks and for telling her that Dom was a duplicitous bastard. Taking a moment to compose herself in the car, she drummed her fingernails on the steering wheel. A million thoughts whirled through her head, most of them involving how to confront Dom with irrefutable proof of his infidelity. If only Alicia had taken a photo. He wouldn’t have been able to wriggle out ofthat.
Before she started the engine, another thought struck Charlotte. Had Alicia genuinely told her as a friend, or was there an element of — what was that word again? — schadenfreude? Something about taking pleasure from someone else’s misfortune. Whichever was the case, the outcome was the same.
On her way to the supermarket, a wave of nausea hit Charlotte. She pulled over and fumbled in her bag for a bottle of water. Gulping half of it down, she pulled out her pocket mirror and surveyed her face. Pale, wild-eyed, but otherwise normal. That German word, schadenfreude, played on repeat, and brought to mind the one person she really wanted to talk to before she talked to Dom. Charlotte grabbed her phone, scrolled through the numbers, and hit the call button.
‘Hi, Jürgen, it’s Charlotte. Yes, I’m OK — no, I’m not, actually. I wondered… I’m in Vevey and if you were free to meet at that little café… well, now. Sorry, I know it’s short notice— You can? Thank you. I’ll see you there in fifteen minutes.’
* * *
Jürgen strodethrough the café door precisely fifteen minutes later. Charlotte had touched up her make-up in the bathroom and hovered on the terrace until an elderly couple with a panting poodle departed. The harassed waitress was inside, dealing with a busy table of young mums and toddlers.
‘Charlotte.’ Jürgen greeted her with the customary Swiss kisses. ‘I would ask how you are, but I think I already know the answer. I will fetch us something to drink. Perhaps a cold drink?’
