Page 53 of Lost in Translation
‘I didn’t know you wore glasses,’ commented Charlotte. He looked good in them, the sleek, angular frame giving him an air of studious authority.
‘Normally I wear contact lenses,’ Jürgen replied, ‘but they have been irritating my eyes recently, so I am having a break from them.’
They stood side by side in front of the fruit selection. Charlotte picked up a Charentais melon and a bag of mixed seedless grapes. Jürgen popped a pack of raspberries in his trolley. ‘Tonight I will make home-made raspberry ripple ice cream for dessert.’
‘Is there no end to your talents?’ teased Charlotte. ‘Next you’ll be telling me you make your own meringues too!’
Jürgen chuckled, reaching for a bunch of bananas. ‘Not when you can buy delicious Gruyère ones here, but I confess I make a mean pavlova.’
They strolled around, lobbing bits and pieces into their trolleys.
‘I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch since I last saw you,’ said Jürgen. ‘I wanted to give you time to process things, but it was difficult not knowing how you were.’ He raised a questioning eyebrow.
‘Dom admitted to something, but not to having… you know.’ Charlotte lowered her voice and glanced around. ‘We’ve sort of reached an impasse, getting through the days without talking about it, but—’
‘You do not believe him?’ Jürgen placed a hand over Charlotte’s and her grip tightened on the trolley handle.
‘I don’t know. And what worries me most is that I’m not sure how much I care.’
The shopping finished, they lugged their bags to a small café. Charlotte insisted on ordering, returning with two iced coffees and a giant chocolate-chip cookie. ‘I thought we could share.’ She broke it in half and handed Jürgen his portion.
He thanked her, took a bite, and laid the rest on a paper napkin. ‘Charlotte, when trust dies, it is very hard to resuscitate. The pulse grows weak even if one person wants to make things work. My marriage to Monica was built on poor foundations, but it might have endured if she had not met someone else. Sometimes we tolerate things because we are afraid of the consequences of change. But fear of change is no reason to carry on when things are wrong.’
Charlotte gulped. It was as if Jürgen could see into her soul, nudging asidewhat ifandcan’t do thatwith laser precision. He spoke so eloquently, cutting to the core of what had troubled her for months now. Did she and Dom have a future together? Charlotte tried to imagine a happily ever after, but the thought left a bad taste in her mouth.
‘Talking to you … sharing things with you…’ Charlotte snapped off a corner of the cookie and took a small bite. ‘It’s hard, but it’s easy at the same time. Does that make sense? God, I’m babbling. Sorry.’
Jürgen sipped his iced coffee, leaving a smidgeon of froth on his upper lip. So used to wiping stray food and drink from the boys’ faces, Charlotte leaned over and removed it with her napkin.
Jürgen took her hand and laced his fingers through hers. ‘We have a connection, Charlotte. I don’t mean to sound — how do you say — sleazy, but getting to know you has been a shining light in my life after many years of darkness.’
Coming from another man, Charlotte agreed that the words might sound sleazy — a come-on, hinting at a desire to take things further. But somehow, Jürgen was the real deal. He spoke from the heart, his face a beacon of honesty and empathy. Unlike Dom, who had got dodging and weaving around the truth down to a fine art.But what about Pamela?Not for the first time, Charlotte mentally hushed the niggling little voice.
‘Give yourself time,’ said Jürgen. ‘Letting go of a marriage is never easy, even if the head says it is right to do so. Put yourself and the boys first. If the situation becomes intolerable, then you must act, but only inyourbest interests.’
Charlotte nodded and gently untwined her fingers from Jürgen’s. If anyone spotted them, they’d jump to conclusions. Thewrongconclusions, she reminded herself. Like in the movieWhen Harry Met Sally, and the discussion about whether men and women could be friends without the sex part getting in the way. Of course they could, although Dom had overstepped that boundary. By how much? Well, the jury was still out.
‘It’s been lovely to chat to you, but I need to get on.’ Charlotte’s plans for the rest of the day included giving the house a thorough clean, calling her folks for a catch-up, and enjoying a lazy hour or two in the garden. Hardly the height of excitement, but…
‘Take care, Charlotte.’ Jürgen stood up and glanced at the cluster of bags at her feet. ‘Are you parked here?’
Damn it! Intent on stretching her legs, Charlotte had parked at the other end of town. Now she’d have to lug the shopping all the way back there in the stifling heat. She shook her head and explained her stupidity.
‘Not a problem; I parked the Ferrari below. Please, let me drive you to your car.’ Jürgen effortlessly gathered up his own bags and Charlotte’s, his defined biceps visible beneath his pale-grey cotton shirt. Charlotte tried not to stare, aware of a group of women in their mid-thirties brazenly checking him out.
The journey to her car took under two minutes. Charlotte wished she’d parked several miles away as she relished the air whipping her hair around inside the open-top car. Passers-by stopped and stared as it roared along, the engine a growling monster. Casting a nervous glance at the speedometer, Charlotte saw they were well within the speed limit. God knows what it would sound like burning rubber on the autoroute…
‘Thank you.’ Swivelling out of the seat, Charlotte hoped she hadn’t flashed her knickers at Jürgen, who was holding the door open for her. She tugged down her skirt and accepted her pile of shopping bags. ‘My car’s just here.’
‘If you ever need me for anything, just call,’ said Jürgen. ‘Any time, day or night.’ He brushed his lips against her cheek, then stepped back.
‘I will,’ said Charlotte, a wave of sadness washing over her. She loaded up the boot, got into the car and listened to the sound of Jürgen’s departure. As the roar faded, she leant on the headrest and closed her eyes for several minutes.
Chapter 44
July turned to August,then September. They’d finally managed five days at a converted farmhouse in Umbria, Dom adamant that he couldn’t afford more time away from work. Alastair and Robson loved it, especially the kidney-shaped pool and the friendly Italian waitress, Graziella, who served their favourite gnocchi with pesto every lunchtime.
In the evenings, they sat outside on the tiny private patio and played card and board games. Dom did his best to put on a show of unity, but Charlotte struggled to do the same. He often wandered off to make a phone call, but she no longer questioned who he was calling, particularly as she’d texted Jürgen several times. Nothing more than chatty, innocuous messages, which Charlotte told herself were no different to her exchanges with Ruth. But deep down, she knew their bond ran deeper than friendship.
