by Sofie Cramer
“Sure!” Hilke says, at the same time Sven says, “No thanks.” Clara looks first at one, then at the other, and suddenly all three let out an embarrassed laugh.
“Just a sec,” says Clara and waves Katja over.
“Yeah, so, um . . . thanks for the invite,” Sven Lehmann says a bit awkwardly as Clara takes a glass of prosecco from the tray and hands it to his colleague.
“You’re welcome. May I introduce my friend—and at least part-time business partner—Katja Albers? Katja, this is Hilke Schneider and Sven Lehmann.”
“So you’re the one who wrote that great article?” Right away Katja engages the two guests in a conversation. Soon enough Andy joins in as well, and the four of them start chatting away. But Clara isn’t in the mood for small talk. Plus she has to look after the other guests.
There are some questions that Clara hasn’t even started to think about how to answer yet. Like where she gets her ideas; if the Lüneburg scenes are available as a calendar or coffee mug; if there’s a catalog; and when she would start offering painting classes, which had already been mentioned in the local paper.
About an hour later Hilke comes up to Clara to ask about a painting that she’d like to buy but that doesn’t seem to have a price tag next to it. They quickly agree to a sum that is much larger than Clara expected it would be. Hilke Schneider on the other hand seems like she can hardly believe her luck.
“All right, now I get to head home with a real bargain,” she says and gives Clara a very warm smile. Then she suddenly adds: “By the way, I was lying to you earlier . . .”
With a mischievous look on her face she glances over at Sven Lehmann, who is still chatting excitedly with Andy and Katja. A shudder goes through Clara’s body—she knows what’s coming. In less than five seconds this hellishly attractive woman is going to confess to her that she and Sven Lehmann aren’t just colleagues but also a couple. She’s probably seven weeks pregnant and about to step before the altar with her darling man.
“Uh . . . oh?” Clara asks, not sure how to respond.
“I do really like your paintings. But I’m not your biggest fan. That title goes to someone else . . . ,” Hilke says with a smile and casts another meaningful glance over at the others. Then she announces politely that she has to get going now—but with a friendly wink, she wishes Clara all the best for the future.
Clara follows her, half dazed, so that she can say goodbye to Sven as well.
“So, yeah, um . . . your colleague just said she was about to head out.” Clara cuts into the conversation, hoping ardently that the general hum of voices will cover up how shaky her voice sounds. As Hilke Schneider heads for the door carrying her painting, Katja and Andy discreetly step back and go help themselves to some prosecco.
“I’d actually had something very different in mind for the next time we saw each other,” Sven says all of a sudden, his tone fairly blunt.
“Oh yeah? Different how, if I may ask?”
“Well, fewer people around, for one thing.”
“Aha, so you are interested in meeting up again after all?”
“What do you mean ‘after all’? I did say I’d like to do it again sometime. I can’t remember ever rescinding my statement.”
“But you didn’t insist on it, either.”
“Well, okay then: I insist!” Sven can’t believe he just said this.
“So what do you propose?” Clara can’t believe she just said this.
“Well, just that: Let’s do it again sometime.”
“Good, then how about next Friday? Meet at the train station—the same late train, the same bar, the same white wine. Only this time I’ll be drinking and I get to ask the questions!”
“Is that a promise or a threat?” Sven asks and gives Clara a teasing look.
“Both!”
They smile at each other and say goodbye, shaking hands again. It seems to Clara that, unlike a normal handshake, their hands remain touching for about two pleasantly tingling seconds too long.
sven
That Friday evening, with butterflies in his stomach, Sven heads for the not very inviting train bathroom for the third time. The conductor just announced that Lüneburg was the next stop, but he just can’t bear it any longer.
When he looks into the mirror, he asks himself if it wouldn’t have been better after all to wear a button-down shirt instead of a sweater. But Hilke—not that anyone had asked her—had been adamant that Clara was definitely more into the laid-back type and not the stuffy office twerp. Hilke also approved of his choice of aftershave. Until that moment Sven had been entirely unaware of the fact that his colleague even knew he wore aftershave. But now he’s wondering if he might have put too much on.
The mere thought of sitting across the table from Clara again fills him with a feeling of nervousness that he simply cannot let show when they first see each other. He’d better start out with a compliment that totally floors her right from the outset and makes clear that he’s so entranced at the sight of her that he’s not fully in command of his senses.
clara
Clara stands waiting at the train station, weak in the knees, and wonders if this date is actually about to happen. No text, no email, no phone call—since last Sunday there had been no contact, nothing at all that she could seize on as proof that the conversation she’d had with Sven Lehmann after several glasses of prosecco would actually lead to a date.
The station loudspeaker has just announced that the train from Hamburg will be arriving shortly. It’s exactly like last time, only this time she’s not just nervous, she’s super-mega-nervous. This time she’s not just worried about what she’s going to say, she’s also even more worried about how she looks.
Five times she had sought Katja’s assurance that a pair of jeans and a simple, casual top would really be the right outfit for this evening. Katja also told her on the phone not to overdo it with the makeup—he’s sure to be more into the natural type. Her heels, on the other hand, should be on the high side, since otherwise if he tried to kiss her she would barely come up to his Adam’s apple.
The mere thought of this makes Clara’s heart beat twice as fast. She’d rather not even try to imagine anything beyond that. She decides to send another reassuring text to Ben really quick, because if she doesn’t she’s worried she’ll collapse right there on the spot.
Oh, Ben, you’ll always be in my heart. No matter what happens tonight. I promise!
* * *
• • •
Eyes closed, Clara breathes in slowly, relishing the aroma of fresh coffee. She stretches out on her magnificently soft couch and surrenders herself to the warm feeling that fills her entire body. It must be the weekend!
Oh God! But what’s going on? Why does she smell coffee and hear the sound of her coffee machine gurgling away? What are those rummaging noises in the kitchen? And where did this funny feeling in her stomach come from? This feeling like her life has gone from black-and-white to color and from cold to warm? But more than anything she asks herself: How’d I get this pounding headache?
Right, it was probably all the carafes of pinot grigio and the bottle of sparkling wine that she and Sven opened when they got back to her apartment late last night.
Clara tries to recall all the wonderful moments from yesterday evening and the ensuing night, letting them play out in slow motion before her mind’s eye. Are her disjointed memories really accurate? Or could something horribly embarrassing have happened?
Did I say anything about Ben? Clara asks herself—and in an instant she’s sitting bolt upright. But she’s pretty sure that aside from mentioning her past a few times in a vague way, saying only that it was difficult and often still very present in her mind, she had avoided, as best she could, putting Sven off with her gloomy life story.
She does remember, though, going to the bathroom for the last time at the b
ar, looking at her reflection in the mirror, and trying to be strict with herself, grinning all the while and slurring her words, saying she must not, under any circumstances, take Sven home with her. But somehow, a short time later, they were marching off not in the direction of the train station but of her apartment. Clara quickly went from room to room in her head trying to think if there were any reminders of Ben in view. But most of the mementos were hidden in drawers, closets, or boxes anyway. If there was anything like a shrine to his memory, it was only in the bedroom. There was the photo on her nightstand, the song lyrics on the corkboard, an unwashed T-shirt, and the duvet cover on the left side of the bed that she’d never changed . . . All very good reasons not to let things go that far and to make Sven spend the night on the couch.
There’s still a banging and clattering to be heard in the kitchen, though it’s not particularly loud, as if Sven were trying very hard not to wake her. Clara isn’t sure if she should get up, walk to the kitchen, and put her arms around him from behind or stay on the couch and let herself be surprised.
She pulls the wool blanket up over her nose, closes her eyes, and enjoys the feeling of simply knowing that someone is there. Just like she did all night long. It was simply wonderful—this mix of tingling excitement and a strange sense of familiarity.
First their hands had brushed against each other on the table, seemingly by accident. And later, on the couch, as they lay wrapped in each other’s arms, simply holding each other, it was as if a spell was lifted. A spell that Clara didn’t even know had been in effect. And even if she would have liked to give herself to Sven and enjoy to the fullest the wonderful sensation of feeling desired and at the same time protected, last night it was much more important to her to just enjoy being close to him and feel his gentle breathing on her neck, until at some point in the early hours of morning, nestled closely against each other on the couch, they had fallen asleep.
sven
On the way home from the train station, Sven thinks constantly of Clara, of her shining eyes and the sensuality she radiates—but he also, suddenly, has to think of David. Just a few months ago he thought his buddy was nuts for making such a big deal about meeting a woman. And now, clearly, the same thing had happened to him.
I’m head over heels, he thinks. And everything that was unimaginable to him a short time ago suddenly seems within easy reach. Like a path laid down in advance—there’s no other road to take.
Even if he would have gone to bed with Clara the moment he got to Lüneburg if he could have, and even if the mere thought of sleeping with her fills him with a feeling of deep desire, he actually thought it was very sweet how she had held back—and held him back, too.
And really he felt like he needed to first take in every word she spoke, every gesture, every smile. As if he first had to bring to life, one by one, all the fantasies that he had formed in connection with Clara. Even if in her circumspect way she already seemed so familiar to him, every time he actually saw or touched this woman, a new world opened up, a world he wanted to explore down to the last detail. The less Clara revealed about herself, the stronger the need within him grew: the need to know everything about her. Yesterday she had been very guarded in speaking of her past. Sven had to be careful not to let himself get carried away and say something he shouldn’t have. He’d been able to find an at least halfway plausible-sounding explanation for the mix-up involving the text that Clara, thinking that she was texting him, had sent to the money-grubbing teenager from the Altona train station. She seemed to believe his story, at any rate. After working so hard to gain her trust, he didn’t want to lose it again right away. And so he just claimed that the phone he’d called her from was his work phone, which he only carried with him for appointments outside the office, otherwise he just left it in a drawer in his desk and ignored it. Sven is just lucky that Clara didn’t immediately ask for his personal cell phone number. In that poignant, romantic moment on the couch, it would have been impossible for him to invent a good reason why he couldn’t give it to her right then and there.
But Sven knows that he can’t leave Clara in the dark forever. By the time they see each other again next Friday in Hamburg, he’ll think up a way that he can tell her the whole truth, a way that’s gentle but direct, so that there’s nothing standing between them.
With this resolve firm in his mind, he now runs up the stairs to his apartment. Right as he’s about to toss his jacket over the back of the sofa, his phone dings.
Sven first has to grin, but then he starts to feel a bit of a lump in his throat when he reads the text from Clara:
Oh Ben, I’m so happy, but I’m dying of guilt. Even if I’m on the verge of falling in love with someone else, I’ll never forget you!
The more distance there is between now and last night, and the more miles he’s put between him and Clara, the more doubts begin to assail Sven. What if she can’t bear the truth? Will she still look at him so dreamily once he’s confessed everything to her? Has he gotten himself into a hopeless situation? What if the attraction between them, which he’d thought was so plainly apparent at breakfast together this morning, was just wishful thinking?
Sven reads the text over and over again. Feeling unnerved, he decides to call Clara today and finally tell her everything.
As he’s headed to the kitchen—first things first, he’s going to make himself a cup of coffee—his telephone rings. Aside from his father, almost no one he knows still takes the trouble to call his landline. Most people either call his cell or get in touch by email.
Sven looks at the caller ID. Seeing that it’s a Lüneburg area code, he takes a deep breath, picks up, and says cheerily: “Hello, beautiful!”
“Hmm. Who might this ‘beautiful’ be, I wonder?” asks a skeptical but oh-so-familiar voice.
“For me there’s only one woman in the world worthy of the name.”
“All right. I guess I’ll believe you. But who knows?” Clara says teasingly. “Maybe you’re leading a double life . . .”
“Now why would I do that? Besides, if I were then I certainly wouldn’t have invited you over to my place.”
“Mmm, okay. You win this round. But how come I have to look your number up in the phone book?”
“Well, you know, I’m not going to serve you up all my secrets on a silver platter. You’re going to have to earn them, one by one!”
“And how do I do that, if I might ask?”
“Oh, the terms of the exchange are pretty fair. I provide secrets, you provide tender kisses, soothing neck massages, gentle caresses . . .”
“Right, right, and I’m sure you can think up a lot more besides that.”
“Oh, sure.” Sven can’t help but smile. “I had a really great time yesterday.”
“Me, too,” he hears Clara whisper into the receiver. And then she asks: “What’s all that racket you’re making?”
“I was just about to make myself a cup of coffee. Come on over, I’ll make you one, too.”
“Now don’t you start that again, you know I’m—”
“Up to your ears in work. Can I help you with anything?”
“No, stop it. Besides, you already helped me more than enough with the article you wrote. And that wasn’t even the best part about meeting you.”
Sven can’t help it; he’s just standing there grinning. He reaches for his favorite mug, fills it with coffee and a little milk, and heads for the couch to kick back and relax with his coffee and Clara’s voice.
clara
Clara can still hear Sven’s voice in her ear after their long phone conversation. And really all she’d wanted was to say a quick hello to Sven and then head to the studio to keep working on all the stuff that still urgently needed taking care of.
It was Katja who urged her to call Sven. And now Clara feels even more strongly that her sense of things is correct. This man is really serious about her!
But now half of Saturday is already gone, and Clara just can’t concentrate at all anymore. Finally she decides to take a break. She’ll go on a long walk and drop in on her grandparents.
There are so many thoughts to get in order. Clara feels like she could walk around the entire world and she still wouldn’t be able to sort out the buzzing chaos in her head. Everywhere she looks she’s reminded of Sven. Everything that seemed hopeless and full of despair just a few days ago has suddenly brightened up, and she can barely even remember this dark and crippling feeling. She feels more like she’s in a bright, colorful movie, where she’s playing the leading role but can still sit back quietly and enjoy watching the action unfold.
Even Katja has taken to claiming in recent days that when true love reveals itself, it does so in more of a calm, quiet way. And she’s also got a good example handy: Even if she’s seeing everything through rose-colored glasses at the moment on account of Andy, still, she says, for the first time in her life there’s a sense of calm inside her. A wonderful sense of calm. As if she had found peace.
Clara couldn’t follow Katja at first when her friend was talking about how she felt. She just couldn’t understand what was supposed to be so different about this thing with Andy as compared to the emotional roller coaster she went through with that guy Robert. Couldn’t it be over just as quickly? Robert had disqualified himself once and for all after Katja tracked down his wife and asked her fairly directly if the divorce Robert had claimed was imminent was really happening. It was the first the wife had heard of it. That settled things for Katja. She almost seemed relieved that after many long weeks of suffering the worst had finally happened and it was finally over with. After that at least she had certainty.
