Page 55 of Lost in Translation
Before she could take a sip of her drink, Jürgen shuffled his chair closer, and reached towards Charlotte. A buzzing in Charlotte’s brain replaced the buzz of the street as he inched closer, his lips seemingly aiming for hers. Their mouths connected, the heat of the exchange spreading from her head to her toes. The world faded to black, all thoughts of Dom banished by the kiss.Oh my God,we’re kissing!
Charlotte pulled away, a hot wave of shame replacing the excitement of kissing another man. Not just any man, but Jürgen. Her friend, someone she relied on, the man Pamela insisted had forced himself upon her—
‘How dare you!’ Charlotte hissed across the table. ‘How could you take advantage of me when I’m vulnerable? Then again, it isn’t the first time, is it?’ She ignored the sneering voice saying that she’d agreed, not willing to process that she’d crossed a line. A line which made her no better than Dom.
‘I’m so sorry, Charlotte, I didn’t mean… I was trying to… your hair.’ White-faced, Jürgen pointed to the right side of Charlotte’s head. Puzzled, she ran her fingers through her hair and a fragment of silver tinsel fell into her lap. She gazed at it, recalling that she had brushed past the beautifully decorated tree beside the Globus doorway as they left.
‘I noticed it before, but it looked pretty sparkling in your hair,’ said Jürgen. ‘Then I thought you might not appreciate it being there. I was just…’
Charlotte twiddled the tinsel around her middle finger. Jürgen hadn’t instigated the kiss; she had. Although he hadn’t exactly objected.
‘Charlotte, what did you mean when you said that it wasn't the first time?’ Jürgen gazed at her, hurt all over his face.
‘Pamela said you’d hit on her at a school event months ago,’ stuttered Charlotte.
Jürgen looked as stunned as if Charlotte had slapped him hard on the cheek. ‘I would never hit a woman. I don’t understand what you are talking about.’
‘No, nothit, notphysically. She claimed you’d tried to kiss her against her will.’
Charlotte watched realisation dawn on Jürgen’s face. He gave a sad smile that tugged at Charlotte’s insides. ‘I do not like to speak ill of anyone, Charlotte, but I’m afraid the opposite is true. Pamela tried to kiss me — I gave her no encouragement — and I moved away immediately. That is the truth.’
Charlotte wished she could rewind the last few minutes. Not only had she kissed Jürgen, she’d accused him of forcing himself upon Pamela. Something she’d always known couldn’t be true. If stupidity were an Olympic sport, she’d be a shoo-in for a gold medal.
‘I’m sorry.’ Charlotte stared at Jürgen, willing him to meet her eyes. He didn’t, his attention focused on fumbling in his pocket.
‘I think I’d better take you home.’ He produced his car key, and they left the café, the silence between them almost unbearable.
Chapter 45
The festive seasonpassed without incident. Alastair and Robson relished returning to school in January, excited to begin their weekly ski lessons. After a week off work Dom headed back to the office, with several trips to Zurich and the UK lined up. Charlotte had detected a shift in his mood and behaviour over the holidays. He was more affectionate towards her, even attempting to instigate sex on several occasions. She turned away every time, her mind and body unwilling to co-operate.
No matter how hard Charlotte tried, Jürgen occupied her thoughts more than was healthy. She still saw him regularly at school, but neither of them mentioned meeting up again. Her cheeks still flamed with embarrassment whenever she remembered the kiss, and her unfounded accusation regarding Pamela.
‘Should I say something to her?’ Charlotte asked Ruth, having related the whole sorry story during one of their chats.
‘Hon, I wouldn’t bother. Sounds to me as if she wanted to get back at her cheating husband and thought locking lips with your hunky German would do the trick. When he didn’t play ball, she relieved her hurt feelings by spreading nasty rumours about him.’
‘He’s notmyhunky German,’ Charlotte said indignantly. ‘I told you: we’re friends, and the kiss was just a misunderstanding.’
Ruth snorted derisively before standing up and stretching with a groan. ‘Yep, your lips accidentally collided. Happens all the time. Oops, didn’t mean to snog you.’
Charlotte laughed at Ruth’s gigantic bump, now dominating the screen. With the baby due any day now, she’d ballooned over recent weeks and complained of constant backache and heartburn. ‘It wasn’t a snog, anyway. I’m a married woman, in case you’ve forgotten.’
Ruth slumped back into her chair and pursed her lips. ‘Hmm, you say that darling Dom has been unusually lovey-dovey of late. That’s often a sign of guilt, in my humble opinion. And you’ve said many times you don’t feel the same way about him anymore. Now, is that solely because of his dalliance with the French tart, or because you have feelings for Jürgen?’
Charlotte hesitated before answering. The two were intertwined, but in a chicken-and-egg way. Which had come first? Her misgivings about Dom, or those feelings she had tried and failed to push away?
‘Charlotte, how long have we known each other? I can read you like a bloody book, woman, and my epilogue demands a happy ever after. With whom remains to be seen, but when you mention Dom your face does this.’ Ruth tugged the corners of her mouth down. ‘Jürgen, on the other hand — well, it’s like you’ve been plugged into the National Grid. I’d fly over right now and give you a kick up the arse, but no airline would take me and I can barely see my feet these days.’
Desperate to change the subject, Charlotte related a funny story from their Christmas Day visit to the Montreux Palace. ‘So, Alastair heads off to the pasta section, his heart set on a mountain of spaghetti carbonara. Two minutes later he’s back, proudly places the plate on the table, and … we all stare at it.’
‘Go on,’ urged Ruth. ‘Did it look disgusting, or something?’
Charlotte shook her head. ‘There was nothing on the plate except some residual steam. Alastair looked totally baffled until we heard a scream and a loud bang a few feet away.’
‘Oh God, he’d dropped the pasta?’ said Ruth, clamping her hand to her mouth.
‘Yup. And a poor waitress stepped right in it and fell on her arse. It was bedlam, with staff rushing around making sure she was OK and mopping up the mess. I half-expected someone to point the finger at us and sue us for her injuries.’
