Page 63 of Lost in Translation
‘I took a chance that you would be. If not, I planned to leave a note.’ Jürgen touched the top pocket of his jacket, a sliver of paper just visible.
‘Please, come in.’ She gestured upstairs, pressing a finger to her lips to signal keeping their voices down.
Jürgen nodded and followed Charlotte into the lounge. ‘You have a lovely home,’ he said, his gaze taking in her efforts to create order from chaos in the past few weeks.
‘Thank you. Now, can I get you something to drink? Tea, coffee or something stronger?’ The latter seemed a good idea to Charlotte, to help her deal with a situation she’d never envisaged.
‘A glass of wine of any colour would be lovely.’ Jürgen smiled as he admired a series of photos lining the mantelpiece: the boys at different stages of their young lives, and one family portrait with Dom and Charlotte in the middle.
Returning from the kitchen with a bottle of red and two glasses, Charlotte poured two generous measures. Jürgen took one, and they toasted one another. His eyes never left Charlotte’s face, and a hot tingle coursed through her body.
‘Alastair and Robson, they are doing well? Marcus enjoys writing to them, I think. He became very fond of them during their time together.’
‘They’re great,’ said Charlotte. ‘They’ve settled back into their old school as if they’d never been away, which isn’t surprising as we weren’t in Switzerland very long.’
‘And you? You are happy to be back?’ Jürgen swirled the liquid round his glass, his penetrating gaze still fixed on Charlotte.
‘I am. It’s familiar here, easy to fit in again, and I don’t have to worry about speaking French or navigating those twisty mountain roads!’
They sat down on opposite sides of the room. Charlotte wanted to ask Jürgen why he was here, but the words welded themselves to the roof of her mouth.You know why he’s here, an inner voice screamed in her ear. She just wasn’t ready to hear it, and afraid of her reaction to an impossible situation.
‘Charlotte, I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the day you left. You are the first thing on my mind when I wake up, and the last before I go to sleep. I’ve tried to bury the thoughts, but—’ He ran a hand through his silver-streaked hair. ‘You are like a beautiful ghost who haunts me.’
Charlotte swallowed her mouthful of wine. She wanted to make light of Jürgen’s remark and joke about being a hundred per cent alive and kicking, but she couldn’t. She felt the same. This warm, compassionate and desperately attractive man had occupied her thoughts every single day.
‘Jürgen, I… I know we have feelings for one another. I tried to deny them while my marriage was falling apart, and I didn’t want to cheat on Dom — not even in my head — because that would make me as bad as him. But how can we possibly act on those feelings? We can’t, we just can’t.’
For a mad moment, Charlotte pictured Jürgen upping sticks and moving to England. The two of them, dipping their toes into a fledgling relationship, figuring out if their mutual attraction was solid or destined to fizzle out. She blinked rapidly, erasing the unlikely scenario.
‘I could move to England.’ Charlotte gasped, wondering if Jürgen had mind-reading powers. ‘Marcus wants to study here, perhaps at York or Durham University. He is in his last year at La Montagne, and I can work anywhere in the world. It sounds crazy, but being closer to you, just knowing I might see you sometimes, would feel like the sun coming out on a winter’s day.’
Coming from anyone else, Jürgen’s words might seem overly flowery, like a wannabe poet’s attempt to woo a reluctant partner. For Charlotte, they typified everything she loved about him.Did I just use the L word?
‘Jürgen, I need to process all of this. You appearing out of the blue, saying the things you’re saying. I’m still legally married. I need to think about the boys, I need to build a new life here, and—’
‘Mummy, I had a bad dream! A monster snuck into my bed and did an enormous poo. Oh, hello!’ Alastair stood awkwardly by the door, sucking on the neckline of his pyjama top.
‘You remember Jürgen?’Of course he does, you idiot. Charlotte’s memory had the occasional Swiss-cheese-style hole, but her boys’ memories were laser-sharp. As they should be, at such a tender age.
‘Alastair.’ Jürgen rose and offered his hand. Alastair looked at Charlotte, confused and uncertain how to react.
Charlotte leapt to her feet and wrapped her arms around her precious son. ‘Sweetie, Jürgen’s in town on business and he dropped in to say hi. Isn’t that a lovely thing to do?’
Alastair accepted the handshake. ‘It’s nice to see you. Are you going to have a sleepover?’
Jürgen, to his credit, kept a straight face. ‘No, sadly I have a taxi booked to come in’ — he looked at his watch — ‘ten minutes. And I must return to Switzerland the day after tomorrow.’
So soon?Charlotte massaged Alastair’s shoulders, feeling his bones through the delicate skin.Stay,she wanted to scream.Go,her rational side shouted. ‘Alastair, take yourself back to bed and I’ll be there in a minute to check for monster poo.’
As Alastair’s footsteps receded, Charlotte remained motionless. She wanted another drink; she wanted Jürgen to stay; she wanted life to be less bloody complicated. She wanted a happily ever after that delivered, instead of collapsing in a heap of acrimony and doubt.
‘Charlotte, my taxi is here.’ Sure enough, a sweep of headlights and the toot of a horn signalled Jürgen’s time to leave.
‘Is this goodbye? A proper goodbye? None of that, “I’ll see you again stuff”?’ Charlotte trembled, pain swelling inside her chest.
Jürgen took her hand as he’d done before, and Charlotte rested her head against his chest. The taxi tooted again, and she silently cursed its unwelcome presence.
‘If you want to see me again, text me tomorrow.’ Jürgen stroked the nape of her neck. Charlotte tingled at his touch, before stepping away. ‘If I don’t hear from you, I will understand. I will never forget, but I will understand.’
