want to kiss her, he thought to himself. Want her laughter to belong to me – when the little lines vanish as though by magic and the white teeth smile at me. Is kissing this mouth the longed-for promise? Does kissing someone mean anything any more? For someone who is as free with their kisses as I am, that would be more than I have a right to expect.
He smiled nervously.
Have I only ever kissed women I loved? Definitely not. If I had, I should probably have died of thirst. Do you let the buds of youth fade because you’re too serious about love? Should you not be content with affection, which can grow into love later? Those who keep the first kiss for their true love have bartered a passionate yesterday for a safe tomorrow. They were too fearful to risk falling. Wouldn’t follow their dreams. If they acted in this way, they could never be disappointed or hurt. Because if you let your counterpart carry on regardless, embraced by your own dreams and wishes, disappointment can be the result. Does this mean you regret the kiss when the cocoon that holds the illusion together bursts open?
At that moment the sound of water from the shower stopped and his visitor stepped out. Seconds later her naked body appeared in the mirror behind him, the white skin covered with hundreds of tiny droplets of water.
“Hi handsome, what’s all this about then? If I’d known you had to get up so early, I wouldn’t have come home with you,” said the stranger, resting her head on his shoulder and trying to make eye contact. He felt the material of his jacket soaking up the dampness of her chin.
“Yes you would,” he replied, without looking at her. He adjusted his tie once more, then he turned round and wiped a droplet of water from the tip of her nose.
“The bank calls, you can go back to bed. Just close the door behind you when you leave. There should still be some sushi in the fridge for breakfast.”
She pulled a face. Her blue eyes and pouty mouth had really affected him – yesterday. Now she looked rather tired. He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, then picked up his black briefcase from the chest of drawers and went out; he had almost completely shaken off the gloomy thoughts of that morning. Outside the lift they came back in force, but once he had said hello to the lady next door and the porter and entered the lift he began to wonder whether he ought to feel ashamed of that passionate yesterday. After so many disappointments, should he simply bid farewell to all hope?
No, no! Each morning, when you wake, you should hold fast to your dreams before they escape. Keep them safe till the day has fully dawned. Each day afresh. And if the world tries to destroy your dreams, hacks away at them till they bleed, then protect them with everything you’ve got. Give them the night for healing and guard their presence with you – each day anew. You must never betray them, never lose hope of love. Or your heart will die. At that moment he thought of her wonderful body, and how it had been silhouetted under the bed sheets that morning, while she was still asleep.
He sucked his cheeks in a little between his slightly parted teeth, looked up at the polished metal door of the lift, and a captivating smile crept over his face, making his elderly neighbour sigh.
II
She heard the door shut. He had gone and she was alone. But she was not overwhelmed by any feeling of loneliness or of regret that he had left her so soon. Yesterday they had got to know each other in a trendy bar. He was good-looking, in top physical form, his smile irresistible. Moreover, he had charm. Hearing him talk reminded her of one of those stars of the films she was so fond of. Every phrase had been just right. So why shouldn’t she go with him? True, she had only known him for a few hours, yet the temptation had simply been too great. She went into the kitchen to look for some juice. The apartment was smart, furnished with every facility imaginable. Over there, next to the door, was a symmetrical area let into the marble floor, filled with black pebbles, with three bamboo plants that reached right up to the ceiling. The shower-room, where, as well as the shower itself, she had been targeted by spray from all four walls. The living room with the glass front, through which the early morning sun shone – and through which there was a marvellous view on to the London streets and surrounding area. And the black leather couch, where she was now sitting cross-legged and naked, drinking her orange juice. She had left the sushi in the refrigerator untouched – she didn’t care for this exotic stuff. Her glance fell on the wall shelving filled with CDs and records. She found everything unusually neat and tidy for a man’s apartment. Not one of his dark hairs, which would have shown up on the white floor, was visible – and even the toilet seat had been down! She could not immediately put into words the feelings all this aroused in her, so she pushed the thought to one side.
Marie put the glass down. She went back into the bedroom to get dressed. As she stood at the foot of the bed the word she had been looking for suddenly came to mind: sterile. That was the word that described the atmosphere in Tristan’s living room so precisely. The apartment was not welcoming, but rather too clean and tidy – at least to her way of thinking. She could scarcely imagine how anyone could live here. Although at first sight everything looked modern and stylish, she found the coldness she sensed there frightening. She wondered who did the cleaning here – but she comforted herself with the thought: He’s a man. Men are only concerned with necessary and practical things and have no time for accessories like candles, plants and so forth. He probably has a hyperactive Mexican cleaning lady, too. Her friends were fortunate in that respect – Miranda, a small, stocky mid-forty-year-old from Puerto Angel even smoothed the bedclothes over the children after they had gone to sleep.
Then her thoughts returned to this man, who she scarcely knew and with whom everything had happened so quickly. Tristan came across as sensitive and charming; she would not have believed it possible that she would ever meet a man like that. The night had been fantastic; until yesterday she had never experienced such waves of ecstasy. He always seemed to know exactly what she was thinking and wanting. It went beyond words – he was right on her wavelength. It was as if there was a transparent connection between them, something that was completely new to her. But, it wasn’t every day that she went home with a stranger either. After dressing she picked up her handbag from the sofa and walked towards the door of the apartment. She opened it and cast a final glance back into the living room. With a satisfied smile she closed the door behind her.
The warm feeling she had experienced vanished as soon as she stepped out on to the street. One glance at her watch was enough to transform her inner calm into anxiety. It was a quarter to nine. She looked around for a taxi, but of course there was none in sight. It was as though they were all conspiring against her. She had to be at work at nine o’clock, so she hurried down the street and turned into a quiet side-road. After an eight minute walk she finally found a taxi and asked to be taken to Brompton Road. When she arrived at the store, completely exhausted, and made her way to the perfume department, she was greeted with a wink from her work-mate Angelina.
“I’ve already told them you had a doctor’s appointment and would be late. So you’re excused and there’s no need for an awkward meeting with Mr Howard.”
“You’re a sweetie, Angie. You’re always looking out for me. – Shall we have lunch together today?”
“Great idea – if you’re paying.”
They laughed.
“See you at one then. Ciao.”
Marie moved on. She started arranging new items on the shelves, then carried on stacking the rest of the shelves. Lunchtime arrived in a flash, because she kept thinking about the evening she spent with Tristan, and all the sweet nothings he had whispered in her ear. She had already forgotten those troubling thoughts about his apartment and now she just enjoyed the lovely memories of the previous night. Of course, she knew only too well that it had been no more than one single night and that he might well be flirting with another woman at this very minute. All the same, she wasn’t the type to give up so soon.
She had left him a short and open-ended note on the kitchen table, hoping that sooner or later he would contact her again. Marie was still rather old-fashioned in this way; she never made the first move, but always waited for the man to take the initiative.