by Jaye Peaches
“But this is all about sex, nothing else,” I pointed out, trying hard not to imagine her with him.
She smiled. “It depends how you define sex. Does sitting naked at his feet count?”
I scowled. She caught the lack of amusement in my response and the grin left her face.
“It’s always about sex,” she admitted. “But never love. I want you to understand. I do not love Stefan. He’s my friend. I care about him, look after his house when he is abroad, but there is nothing to bind us beyond what we do together.”
I slumped back in my chair. I should have felt relief, but confusion still reigned. “You’re not angry with him for having sex with me? Dating me?”
“No. It’s none of my business.” She clasped her hands together and looked quite businesslike in her posh hair salon, surrounded by expensive décor.
“Why? I mean, why do you let him…?” I stumbled to find the right word.
“Use me?” She waved an arm about her. “All this you see about us—bloody hard work. Years of investing to realize my dream. I started out as a lowly hairdresser sweeping dead hair off the floor and now, at thirty-five, I own four salons. It’s stressful. Stefan takes that burden off my shoulders for a short time and lets me fly free.”
She was older than him. A little envy struck me. How had she stayed so youthful?
“And him?”
“Ah. Well, Stefan has his reasons. He’s a mixed-up man, and after you caught us, he was quite distraught at what you’d witnessed.”
“Distraught?” An expression I would not have associated with the suave Stefan.
Magda shifted forward in her seat and leaned her elbows on the table. She latched her dark eyes directly onto mine, making me flinch with their intensity.
“Callie, he’s besotted with you.”
The pounding heartbeats hit my chest once again. Not nerves this time, but excitement.
She settled back in her seat. “Which brings me to a crucial thing to tell you—he did not fuck me on Monday. You arrived at the most inopportune moment. The music drowned out the doorbell. He was trying to fire himself up, create an ambience, when he suddenly backed off. He told me he couldn’t go through with it. In fact, by the time I’d left to go home, he told me it was over between us. Not our friendship, he’s too special to lose. But the sex. It’s done. He wants to concentrate on you, just you.”
Heat surged through every vessel of my body, pumped at a fast rate by my unhindered heart. Adrenaline told me all I needed to know. I wanted him too. Tears pricked my eyes and I shuddered, bowing my head in shame at my reaction.
“Oh, my dear.” She leaped off her seat, crouched next to me and pushed a lacy handkerchief into my hand. “He’s such a foolish man sometimes. He thought you didn’t want him.”
“He did?” I sniffed. I scrunched the hankie up in my hand. Something important shot into my addled mind. “Did he call you on Monday?”
Magda sighed. “Yes. He did, but I invited myself over, not him. He wanted to talk. First about his dad—he’s worried, naturally. He gradually opened up about you, but he didn’t mention the nature of the relationship. I wrongly assumed you were like me—an arrangement.”
I grimaced at her odd wording. It made it all seem like a business agreement. “You went and somehow your clothes just fell off you?”
She rose and smiled, irritating me with her graceful poise and sureness. “No. I always take my clothes off for Stefan. It’s part of…our arrangement. But what I want to say is he went through the usual…routine. Welcoming me, putting on the music and so on, then, just as you arrived, he broke off. Your face in the window. My God, it was a shock to him. He wanted to chase after you, but I told him you’d be incensed.”
Darn right I had been, pedaling furiously.
“And upset,” she continued. “Not the best time to explain the situation. It quickly became apparent his relationship with you is quite different from mine. Please, Callie, don’t give up on him. He made a mistake, but it was just as much my fault as his. I didn’t question his reason for calling me. We normally plan in advance, not spontaneously.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “I’m sorry, Callie, but I have to head off soon. Problems at one of my other locations.”
An impulsive need burst out from underneath my troubled thoughts. “Do you know where in Germany he is?”
She perched on the edge of the table. “Yes. As I said, I keep an eye on his house, so I know his father’s address.”
“He would be there?”
“Probably, while his dad is in hospital.”
“Hospital. It’s serious, then?”
“Minor heart attack. He felt ill over the weekend, then Tuesday he was rushed to the hospital. Hans, Stefan’s useless brother, has refused to look after his dad, even though he lives only a couple of hours away. Stefan’s been tearing his hair out trying to arrange adequate care for his father. A stubborn man, who wants to maintain his independence.”
I thought of all those heated conversations on Sunday. He’d been arguing with his brother.
“Do you think he would see me?”
“Oh God, yes.”
Reaching out for the doorknob, I turned back to Magda, who’d returned to her chair. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Why does Stefan think of himself as a dangerous fox?”
She pursed her lips. “He called himself that?”
I nodded.
“Silly Stefan. He has these commitment issues.”
“Was he warning me?”
She sighed. “No, Callie. He was warning himself. He’s a danger to himself, not you. He would not hurt you, not intentionally, as much as you might think Monday evening was unpleasant for you. He needs somebody like you, not me. Tame him, and he will be yours forever.”
Her words encouraged me, because I was already formulating a plan. An impulsive, stupid plan that would wipe out my savings and probably lose me my job.
Chapter Thirteen
Bright sunshine shone directly into my eyes. I yanked at the plastic blind, tugging it down until the yellow glow diminished. I went back to gripping the seat belt tightly, periodically lifting and snapping the metallic buckle. About me, the hubbub of voices¸ air conditioning and turbine engines. The seat next to me was vacant. The flight was half-empty. It was a blessing as it had allowed me to book a ticket at the last minute.
The previous twenty-four hours had whizzed by in a whirlwind of activity. I’d gone straight from the salon to the Golden Lily, pedaling frantically until my thighs had exploded with pain. I’d roughly mapped out my plans, as I’d woven between parked cars. First requirement—I would plead for time off, unpaid if necessary. Bridget had been shifting buckets of flowers around, ready to close up the florist, when I burst through the door, breathless.
Bridget’s response to my rambling request had been to take me by the hands and immediately announce that I could take as much time as I needed to sort myself out. I’d cried in her arms with relief, then panicked. I’d no idea how to book a flight or anything.
“Passport?” she’d asked.
Yes, I’d replied, not a problem. It had been six years since I’d last used it on a family holiday to southern France. We’d driven through the Channel Tunnel as my father had hated flying. Bridget had sat me in front of the office computer and we’d trawled for suitable flights to Munich. I’d maxed out one of my credit cards. The cost of the flight was extortionate for the distance. I might have fared better flying to the States. I’d booked a single, rather than a return. Exactly how long I would be out there depended on unpredictable factors—finding Stefan for starters.
Early Friday morning, I’d dashed around the house packing my holdall, leaving notes for the absent Talia. I’d rung my mother—no answer—then remembered she’d gone to Edinburgh. It would mean speaking to my sister, and I’d chickened out of that confrontation. I would text Mum…at some point.
I’d emptied my bank account
of cash, all my readily available savings, and headed for the train station. From there, I’d caught the Express to Stansted Airport and checked in. The whole experience was novel and confusing. The bustle of the airport, crammed with a mixture of business people, tourists and holidaymakers, almost overwhelmed me. I’d held onto my desire to see Stefan, as with each stage of my journey, I’d come close to backing out and heading home defeated.
Now, sitting on the narrow economy seat, I was grateful for the other passengers and their chatter of normality while my befuddled mind questioned my sanity. What the fuck was I doing? Beyond arriving in Munich, I had the vaguest of plans. A train to the city station, another to a town in the heart of Bavaria, then a taxi to a small village and what? What if he wasn’t there? I’d barely any money left to book a hotel, and I’d reserved another credit card for the flight home.
“Stupid, stupid,” I muttered to myself.
“Drink?” The flight attendant loomed over the spare seat.
I shook my head. I’d hardly eaten anything for the last twenty-four hours. My stomach churned with anxiety. I was the proverbial fish out of water. In my handbag, I’d stuffed a German phrase book, purchased at the airport, and my mobile.
I hadn’t texted Stefan to warn him of my arrival. What to send? Hi, I’m coming for a chat? He might be at the hospital tending to his sick father, and me the last person he wanted to see. I’d told him to get lost, my last words to him. How to explain my sudden change of heart and irrational, impulsive need to fly across Europe to see him?
“I’m nuts!”
“We’ve got peanuts,” said the attendant, politely mishearing my words.
I had to eat something. I bought a packet of salted peanuts with my euros and nibbled on them while the plane descended through the clouds. I slid the blind back up and stared at the landscape emerging below.
I drifted in a haze of weariness. I’d achieved little sleep the previous night as I’d battled my demons of doubt and anxiety. Images of Stefan had plagued me and they re-materialized as I watched the white, fluffy clouds. Try as I may, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I wanted to be angry with him, but Magda’s calm voice haunted me. Her intriguing explanations of Stefan’s behavior popped in my head and they instigated emotions I didn’t want to feel. Yearnings for his body, his passionate displays of sexual prowess, kept me focused on my plan. I couldn’t go back until I’d seen him, spoken to him and heard what he had to say. Then, and only then, would I decide to forgive him or not.
* * * *
I arrived at Wolfratshausen in the dark. A bizarre name for a town and it conjured up images of gothic horror movies with vampires. As the train pulled up, it crossed my mind that there may not be taxis at the station. I’d made various assumptions about my journey, and so far, they’d been accurate. German trains ran on time—thankfully. I had no problems with connections, finding my way around platforms and deciphering display boards. My luck held out until I stepped off the train.
I ached, my head throbbed and my feet protested at standing again. I’d spent much time in the last few hours standing, waiting for connections. My stomach rumbled, but my appetite remained on the precipice of nausea, not hunger.
The street lights lit up the front of the stationhouse. Some of my fellow passengers were greeted with smiles and embraces, others with a formal handshake. People clambered into waiting cars, and I stood on the curbside, wondering if there were any taxis.
One car remained, its interior lit up, and inside sat a middle-aged man. I stepped closer and spotted the placard on the roof of the car. My luck was holding out.
He took my luggage and placed it in the boot while I climbed into the back seat.
From my coat pocket, I pulled out a piece of paper. Stefan’s father’s address written in Magda’s neat handwriting. I passed it to the driver and he peered at the paper, nodding.
He spoke to me in German. I shrugged. “English.”
“Ah.”
I waited, hoping he would be one of those polyglot cabbies, but this was provincial Germany and he merely smiled over his shoulder at me then started the engine. We left the town, driving in a sedate, infuriatingly slow fashion. So close, so near to Stefan, and still I doubted my reasoning. Too late to turn back.
The nausea bloomed in my belly. I stared out of the window and the street lights vanished. A vacuum of darkness swathed the vehicle. I couldn’t see the landscape or make any sense of where I was. Minutes ticked by before lights returned.
We entered the small village and the place looked deserted. Alongside the road, a few cars were parked, but I saw no pedestrians on the street. A ghost town had more activity.
The taxi slowed, swerved, and the driver did a U-turn in the empty street.
I peeked out of the window. The house looked vast in the semi-darkness. Three stories high and six individual windows lined each story, all shuttered. Not a glimmer of light peeped out from behind those slats.
I swallowed hard. The place seemed deserted.
The cabbie coughed. He pointed at the illuminated display. I fumbled in my purse, digging out the strange euro notes, and thrust one at him.
“Danke.” He smiled.
I held my holdall in one hand and approached the oak door. An imposing double door with iron rings for handles. Not a sound came out of the house. I turned, about to suggest to the driver that he should wait, when I realized it was too late. The car drove off, heading back to town.
“Shit,” I exclaimed under my breath.
I pulled the doorbell and in the distance, I heard clanging.
By now, my nervous state had almost taken me to the brink of panic. Exhausted, close to tears and feeling foolish, I stepped back. Nobody came. I glanced up and down the street—there was no sign of life anywhere, no public houses, nothing.
I rang the bell again. Tears of desperation pricked my eyes. Would I end up sleeping rough on the cold streets?
A bolt slid back. I stared at the doorway, transfixed by the sound. The hinges creaked, a gap appeared and a small amount of light burst through the crack.
I squinted. Somebody stood in silhouette and I tracked my eyes around the outline. The tall figure straightened. I recognized the masculine shoulders and ruffled hair.
“Callie!” Stefan flung the door wide open.
I almost collapsed in an exhausted heap at his feet. I couldn’t speak. Words vacated my mind.
He grabbed the holdall out of my hand before I dropped it. “Come in.” He waved me into the dimly lit entrance hall.
The door banged shut behind me, echoing up the stairwell. The interior of the house seemed even bigger. On the other side of the hallway, a doorway lit up brightly. The front of the house may have been swathed in cold blackness, but the rear had warmth and welcomed me.
I followed Stefan as he led me into the back room, a kitchen, complete with a central island and breakfast bar, contemporary in style and well equipped with modern appliances.
I stumbled slightly, my tired feet refusing to walk any farther.
“Sit.” He pulled out a stool.
I dragged my aching limbs over it.
In the kitchen, I finally had a good look at the man I’d traveled hundreds of miles to see.
The bags remained under his eyes, accentuating his dark features. His eyes shone fiercely, though, as if he was feverish. Stubble had grown about his goatee, blurring the edges. He wore casual clothes with a crumpled shirt untucked—not his usual neat appearance. He looked as shattered as I did. What I could see, without doubt, was delight in his features and a spring to his step. He bustled around me, switching on the kettle, chattering away in an excited fashion. “You must be hungry. Thirsty. You look freezing too.”
Not cold, I didn’t tell him. I shivered with nervous energy.
“Hot chocolate,” he suggested, opening a cupboard. “Belgian hot chocolate to warm you up.”
He laid out a mug, spooning the powder in. “What are you doing here?” he blurted,
clearly unable to contain his curiosity any longer.
I hesitated. Was this the best time to explain my strange journey? My head buzzed with excitement at seeing him, but with it was a splitting headache, born out of fatigue and hunger.
I watched him stir hot water into the mug. His pleasure seemed genuine. What of my own reaction? Relief at finding him prevailed, but was I pleased to be in his company?
Stefan handed me the steaming mug.
My hands shook and I stared at the swirling liquid. “Thank you,” I croaked.
He pulled up the stool opposite me, perched on the seat and leaned his elbows on the granite surface of the breakfast bar, before him a half-eaten platter of various cheeses. I’d interrupted his supper. I eyed the food, aware of the growling in my stomach.
So far, he hadn’t touched me. Whether he wanted to or not wasn’t clear. His eyes twinkled under the spotlights. I cleared my throat. “How’s your father?”
“Better. They did something to his pacemaker,” he explained. “I’m hoping he will be home soon. I’m trying to arrange a live-in caregiver for him, but… He’s a stubborn man.”
“Good. I mean, I’m glad he’s better,” I said. Things between us would have been so much harder if Stefan’s father had been at death’s door.
“Callie… I thought you never wanted to see me again,” he said softly.
“That was Tuesday. Then, on Wednesday, Debbie told us you’d left for Germany. I…was concerned.” I ducked my head down and took a sip of hot chocolate. The creamy liquid slid down the back of my dry throat, warming my belly.
“Concerned?”
“A little. Enough for me to revisit our…conversation. What you told me about Monday.”
He scratched the stubble about his face. “What prompted you to fly out here? My father?”
As much as I wanted to sink into a bed, I couldn’t leave him uncertain, questioning my appearance without an explanation. As for me, I had to have it out then and there. I had to find out the whole truth about Stefan.