with Marcus and Tristan over lunch, slapped Tristan on the back and chatted with him about what they’d been up to the previous night. Of course, they also asked Marcus about his weekend, but they soon changed the subject when they got tired of his stories about the joys of family life. It was beginning to become clear that the worlds of the two men were out of sync and drifting apart from each other. At first this was scarcely perceptible, but after a time it became impossible to ignore, so much so that now and again they seemed to detect a glimmer of sadness in the other’s eyes when they met each other’s gaze. Marcus in particular was no longer the man he was when Tristan first met him. He had lost the ability to perform the balancing act that had enabled him to fulfil his family commitments at such a young age and still remain stable and contented through all the ups and downs of his professional life in the City. He was now more quiet when they ate out together, and at his workplace too he seemed less at ease with himself and the world. On one occasion, Tristan recalled, after a telephone conversation, he had banged on the table, glared at Tristan, quivering with rage, and stormed out of the room. This was decidedly unusual and was not in the least like the Marcus of old. A few weeks later Tristan happened to hear Marcus saying goodbye to his wife on the telephone. Tristan had pricked up his ears as his friend’s voice sounded strangely tetchy and as dark as the hammering of a piece of rusty metal. Three months later Marcus finally asked Tristan if just the two of them could go for a meal. Tristan agreed – he wanted to hear what was so oppressing his friend and had given him those dark rings under his eyes.
“It’s over,” said Marcus after a period of silence. “Amy and I are taking some time out, but I don’t think we shall ever get back together again.”
Tristan was shocked and profoundly shaken by this unhappy turn that his friend’s life had taken.
“She’s changed so much, Tristan. At one time our love was marked by freedom and mutual trust, but now I can’t do a thing without Amy trying to control me. It’s finished."
Tristan had said that he was sorry. That he couldn’t believe that this was really the end, but could see that they both needed some distance.
“Yes, we do. Let’s go out together this evening, Tristan, just the two of us. That’s what I need most right now. I love you, man!"
With these words he had thrown his arms around Tristan.
Tristan looked at himself in the mirror. The memories echoed in his head. He had finished shaving. He applied a little eau de toilette and looked round at Sam. She stood there with her arms crossed, gazing at him with a dreamy look on her face.
“Let’s make tracks,” he said, threw his jacket over his shoulders and grabbed the keys.
“Tristan!” Marcus stood up and took a few steps towards him.
Tristan went up to him and greeted him with a warm handshake.
“What happened to the pretty redhead,” Marcus asked him with a brief smile.
“I dropped her off at home; she wasn’t hungry.”
They sat down. Marcus beamed.
“You know, Cirrus wasn’t too happy you pinched that girl off him. She was the one that caught his eye, and she was the reason why we invited the three young ladies to join us in the first place.”
“I’m sorry about that. Is he furious?” Tristan laid his jacket over the chair.
“I don’t know, but he can’t really be furious; he’s too crazy about the idea of drawing you.”
“Come on,” Tristan made a dismissive gesture and sat down, “don’t start that again.”
“Aren’t you going to tell me something about her?” asked Marcus, “What’s she like? For a moment I thought you’d make a fine couple.”
“Oh, Marcus,” sighed Tristan, brushing his hand across his right eye, “there’s nothing to tell. What do you expect me to say? She’s pretty, that’s all. I could hardly manage three minutes conversation with her without getting bored.”
“So you had to kiss her.” Marcus laughed. “You had to kiss her so that she’d stop boring you. That’s what I so love about you!”
Marcus raised his arms and stretched, with an expression of visible amusement in his eyes. Then he yawned and continued in his dark gravelly voice: “Tristan, the woman who can win your heart has yet to be born!”
Involuntarily, Tristan yawned as well, then picked up the menu and said: “Anyway, I think I’ll have a large salad and a Jägerschnitzel. How about you?”
They ordered, and Marcus began to talk about his meeting with his wife. He had not taken the girl from the night before home with him – the only one of them not to. He had risen early and driven out in his four-by-four to see his family, who lived in the suburbs. He and Amy continued to let the children think that Daddy had only moved out temporarily. But it was becoming more and more obvious that this was just an illusion that was likely to be shattered at any moment. Amy had bitterly reproached her husband in the kitchen, when she found out that he’d gone out the night before. She herself had not got involved in London’s nightlife again after the separation, preferring to devote herself to her children. She reproached herself for letting her children suffer the same fate as the majority of their schoolmates, and consequently appeared even more self-sacrificing. And yet she could not, on her own, offer her children the home life that an intact family could provide. The more she understood this and read the unspoken question about their father in the wide eyes of her children, the more embittered she became. The idea that Marcus was going out again as if nothing had happened was driving her mad. At the breakfast table it was only with difficulty that she was able to conceal her anger from her children. At this point Tristan noticed the shadows of anxiety in Marcus’s face, and instantly changed the subject.
“The woman I met before I came back to your table – did you see her?”
“Yes,” Marcus seemed grateful to Tristan for banishing the demons from his life, “she was charming.”
“She was, wasn’t she?” Tristan raised his hands to add weight to his words. “I was under her spell from the first moment I saw her. It was as if sirens were calling me to her. There was no escape from their voices. Then I spoke with her, and everything she said was so absolutely right. Every word seemed to fit and...” Tristan motioned Marcus to lean towards him, “I felt as if she could read every one of my thoughts.”
“Tristan!” Marcus clapped his hands, “Now you’re singing a different tune! What made you come back at all?”
“Her companion suddenly turned up. But I shall see her again. I left her my card, and she gave it back to me with her number on it just before she left the bar.”
“Well, if that isn’t the beginning of a fairytale love affair...” murmured Marcus ironically and moved back slightly to enable the waiter to serve him his knuckle of pork and mashed potatoes.
“Just you wait. Some day I’ll find the right woman. You’ll all be amazed.”
Silently, Marcus cut into his knuckle of pork and enjoyed the aroma of the hot meat that wafted up.
“What’s happening on Monday, isn’t someone coming to see us?” he asked after a short pause.
Tristan thought for a moment as he chewed, then he remembered: “Oh yes, we’re having a visit from some pension fund managers. They want to discuss a few investments with us and have some fun in the evening.”
Marcus raised his eyebrows, then with the hand that was holding the knife he began to draw little circles in the air, asking: “No, really?” He laughed out loud. “Oh, how I love this; it’s the same old routine every time! They come in their pristine white shirts, trembling with anticipation of their one big day. We run round after them because we know they’ve got millions of pensioners in their pockets – and they’re proud of it. Naturally, it’s all charged up to our bank: business lunch, nightclub and prostitutes. If the dear old pensioners