to be in the middle of a heated argument about something. She saw his friends and nodded.
“Those two guys will never forgive me for absenting myself unless they see me drinking champagne with you.” said Tristan and laughed.
“What is it about him?” This was the question the artist, some seven metres away, was asking of Marcus at this moment.
“What, about Tristan?" said Marcus.
“Yes,” replied the artist, “he’s so completely different from the people you meet these days.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I hardly know him, but I get the impression that he never really lets anyone get near him.”
“It’s not that.” Marcus contradicted him, smiling. “It’s just that he can’t stand listening to idle chatter. This superficial chit-chat about women, money and power he finds intolerable. An awful lot of it goes on in the bank, as you well know,” Marcus leaned back and looked around him, “and in places like this.”
“And the women?” said the artist with a wry smile. “If all the chatter is getting on my nerves, I go to the women. But I guess he doesn’t let any of them really get close to him.”
“Oh yes he does, and how.” Marcus laughed out loud. It was a short and meaningful burst of laughter that instantly combined both confidentiality and betrayal in one sound. “He makes them laugh, charms them, gives them hope with a look and finally wins them over. It’s as though he’s dancing with them, he knows so well how to go along with their every movement, even before they know they’re being led. I’ve never known a woman that hasn’t fallen for him.”
Marcus paused and turned thoughtfully towards Tristan, who was chatting with the woman in the red evening gown.
Then Marcus sighed and continued, with a smile:
“But h ow can he help it if the next morning he no longer fancies the woman he’s kissed?"
“Do you mean, he doesn’t like to commit himself?” asked Cirrus.
“Every man is searching for a woman he has something in common with; someone who, in a way, is a reflection of himself. Tristan is no exception. Each of the women he gets involved with and who I get to know reflects one facet of his character. It always turns out, however, that it is just that – one facet. The moment this dawns on him he drops her. Often it’s only the physical attractiveness that they share with him. If that’s all it is it probably won’t last more than one night. If it’s more than that, it could be a few weeks before he turns away in disappointment. But I’ve never known one to stay with him for longer than a month.” Marcus raised his arm and tried to beckon to Tristan and his companion to come over.
“Please take no notice of them,” whispered Tristan, as he touched Isabella seemingly inadvertently and joined her in looking out at the city.
“What do your friends do?” asked Isabella.
Tristan took the two glasses from the waiter, who had returned, pressed some money into his hand and passed Isabella her glass.
“One of them’s an artist,” he replied.
“An artist? I love art!” she exclaimed.
He raised his glass and looked deep into her eyes: “Then here’s to the fine arts!”
She repeated the toast and for a moment was transfixed. Tristan took a sip and had to make an effort not to cough. He could not believe that this stuff was from France.
“Is this really champagne?” asked Isabella, who had no way of knowing what Tristan thought of it, as he was keeping his facial muscles totally under control. This couldn’t possibly be champagne – at best it was Italian sparkling wine.
“It tastes like Prosecco!” she continued, visibly amused and chuckling quietly.
Tristan joined in her laughter and said: “There you are, you see, I tried to impress you and save money at the same time. I know that waiter. Whenever I order champagne he always pours me Prosecco instead. But you’re the first person to have caught me out. It takes a true Italian to do that!”
Abruptly she stopped laughing and narrowed her eyes.
But he just laughed and shook his head, then drank the rest of his champagne. He put the glass back on the Indian waiter’s tray and said to him: “Okay, my friend, and now bring us the right one!”
The young waiter looked surprised and hesitated for a second, then Tristan went on:
“Bring us a Prosecco, there’s a good chap.”
Now Isabella laughed out loud too, prompting some of the guests to look across to them questioningly. Speaking softly, Tristan said to them: “Whatever you do, don’t touch the champagne.”
At that moment, the onlookers fell back to make way for a tall, well-built South American, who went straight up to Isabella. She embraced him and he kissed her in a familiar way on the cheek. Then he exchanged a few words privately with Isabella. With his arm round her, he finally turned to Tristan and asked: “And you are...?”
“This is Tristan,” interjected Isabella.
“Pleased to meet you!” Tristan offered to shake hands with the swarthy giant and went on: “I’ve been keeping Isabella company, so as not to leave such a delightful young lady waiting on her own.”
The South American raised his eyebrows, but did not reply.
“Oh well, my work here is done; I’ll have the two Proseccos brought to you.” With these words, Tristan took Isabella’s hand and drew her gently but firmly to him. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and said: “See you soon!”
“See you soon,” she replied with a smile.
Tristan nodded to Isabella’s companion and went back to his friends. On the way he met the waiter, slipped him a little money and put his business card under one of the Prosecco glasses. Then he told him to serve the drinks, and returned to the table where Cirrus and Marcus were sitting. It was no surprise to find that these two were now accompanied by three fashion models, as well as three bottles of champagne. He greeted the girls, one of whom had such dark red hair that he almost envied Cirrus his choice. When Tristan joined them Marcus looked up from an animated conversation with two brunettes and called out: “Ah, we were looking for you! Meet Michelle, Sam and Sasha!”
Tristan greeted each one of them in turn and soon afterwards found himself in a conversation with Sasha, a twenty-two-year-old photographic model from Ekaterinburg. As she excitedly told him all about her latest photo-shoot in Paris, in her broken English, he was gazing at her nose, which really was a delight. She was covered with freckles and screwed up her face in such a bizarre fashion every time she laughed that Tristan brought it to her attention.
Sasha had already had two glasses and obviously couldn’t take much more, so Tristan didn’t hesitate to start counting her freckles with his finger. While doing this he gently held her neck with his other hand and ended up with his face so close to hers that she tittered nervously. But when she became aware of the envious glances she was attracting from her two friends, she stopped and pursed her lips invitingly.
Tristan noticed this, grasped her chin and turned to face the other two.
“She’s got more freckles than there are stars in the sky tonight, Marcus.”
Thereupon Cirrus burst into loud laughter and Tristan asked him to count them for himself.
“Look for yourself,” he said, then took Sasha’s hand and the redhead’s at the same time and passed one of them over to Cirrus, while carefully removing the other from the proximity of his friend. The redhead sat down next to him.
“Hello Sam,” said Tristan and glanced at the corners of her mouth, which had turned up with pleasure. Her sparkling white teeth flashed him a smile.
“You