Tidal Shift
Page 10
Renate fiddled sulkily with her voluminous silvery gray blouse. “Well, you know best. I just expected more openness and trust…after all, I came to Sylt especially to support you. I know what I’m talking about, particularly when it comes to a family argument. People don’t like it when you try to change things. To be frank, it seems you and I have different ideas about how to treat friends who only want the best for you.”
For a brief moment, Inge was tempted to say that she would have gladly skipped hearing all the details about Renate’s ex-husband and his new wife, but she bit her lip. Renate really was a great help to her, she had never been friends with a woman like her before, and she was learning a lot. In an attempt to appease her, she laid her hand on Renate’s.
“Okay then. Listen, I’m going across to the mainland the day after tomorrow. I’ll be back in the evening, and then I’ll tell you everything. It’s a promise.”
“What are you doing on the mainland? Where are you going? Alone?”
“Renate. Please. I’ll tell you on Friday.”
“Excuse me, are these two seats taken?”
The two men who had suddenly appeared by their table were in their midsixties, wearing jeans and polo shirts, and had pullovers slung over their shoulders. Renate switched on her beatific smile and gestured toward the two free seats.
“Go ahead, we were just finishing up with our girls’ talk anyway.”
Inge wasn’t quite as enthusiastic to see them. The two men turned out to be from Düsseldorf and were on the island on business. They were staying in the Miramar in Westerland and came to the restaurant at least once a day to eat scampi. They gushed about how the bracing climate was superb. Inge rolled her eyes. Walter would have said they were show-offs, although he would still have asked what line of business they were in, seeing them as potential accounting clients. Inge watched Renate with interest. Her bad mood seemed to have disappeared, and she was on a full-charm offensive. Out of politeness, Inge accepted their invitation to have a wine spritzer, but a short while later she made her apologies and set off back to Petra’s guesthouse on foot. Renate hadn’t protested, but Inge had been much more offended that neither of the two men had offered to accompany her. How ungentlemanly, she thought as she brushed her teeth later. What self-satisfied boors.
Inge had already laid out the clothes she wanted to wear the next day. Petra had brought her up a cup of tea; she really was a sweet girl. “I have to go to the mainland tomorrow,” she had explained. “To Niebüll. There’s just one more thing I need to sort out regarding Frau Nissen’s affairs, and then everything will be in order. And after that I’m meeting an old friend.”
It wasn’t a complete lie. Petra, who had only just turned thirty, would be sure to see the fifty-year-old Mark as being old, at least in one sense. And she hadn’t been at all curious, simply asking whether she could give her a lift to the station, an offer which Inge had gratefully declined.
She looked down at the street below. It was just before eleven in the morning. When they had said good-bye the previous evening, Renate had mentioned popping by before lunch.
At that very moment, a dark blue Porsche pulled into the driveway. Before it was properly parked, the engine jolted and stalled. Inge couldn’t help but be amused that someone with such a fine car could drive it so badly. Filled with schadenfreude, she pushed the curtain back a little to see who the expert driver was. The door opened, and out climbed—Renate. She was wearing wide-legged white linen trousers, an orange tunic, and a matching orange hair band. It was fluttering wildly in the wind. She raced up to the front door. Inge went to meet her.
“Good morning, Inge.” Renate was already standing in the hallway by the time she came down the stairs. “The door was open. Pack a bag, my dear, we’re going to the beach.”
“You want to go for a walk on the beach? Sure, but I don’t need to take anything with me for that.”
Renate laughed. “Me, walking? Are you crazy? No, Horst and Peter, you know, the lovely gentlemen from yesterday evening—oh, we had so much fun, I’ll tell you about it later—anyway, they gave me a hot tip. We’re going to List, to the beach sauna. So, fetch your things. We can rent hand and bath towels there, so you just need cosmetics, underwear, and something to read.”
“I don’t know…” Inge chewed on her lower lip nervously. She hadn’t been to a sauna outside of her oh-so-familiar spa resort for years. Not since the little one around the corner from her house had closed. She used to go there every two weeks with three girlfriends. Always on Wednesdays, the women-only days. And only in winter. She had never been to the beach sauna Renate was talking about; it had opened just a few years ago, long after she had moved away from the island.
“What is it?” Renate was looking at her impatiently. “We’re wasting the day standing around here.”
“Is it a mixed sauna?”
“Hopefully,” answered Renate. “I hate cliquey women-only places. And besides, I want to have some fun. And I thought you grew up on Sylt? You can’t be a prude, surely, not with all these nudist beaches everywhere?”
Inge realized she was being silly. “No, no, it’s fine. It’s just that I haven’t been to a mixed sauna in ages. I’ll fetch my things.”
A little later, Inge was climbing into a Porsche for the first time in her life. After closing the door, she looked around admiringly. “What an impressive car. I had no idea you owned a Porsche…talk about affluent!”
Renate rammed the key into the ignition and turned it roughly. The car jolted and stalled immediately. Luckily, Renate hadn’t parked too close to the wall. She started it again and, this time, remembered to engage the clutch.
“It’s not mine. I borrowed it for a week.”
“Really?” Inge stroked her hand over the shiny console in awe. “Who would let you borrow a Porsche?”
Renate looked at her impatiently. “Car rental companies. Who do you think?”
“Ah, I see. You had to pay for it.”
“Of course. And it costs a small fortune, but who cares.”
Inge turned around and looked at the backseat, upholstered in the finest leather. There was a huge beach bag plunked down in the middle of it. Leopard print, of course.
“And how much does it cost for a week?”
Renate pulled out without looking at the street. A cyclist, forced to swerve at the last moment, shook his fist and cursed at them.
“I don’t care how much it costs. The bill goes to my ex-husband. He’s always paid for my rental cars. I don’t think he even notices. And after all, it’s not like I can drive to Sylt in a Golf.”
“You can’t?”
“Oh, Inge, sometimes it seems like you’ve never been outside Dortmund.”
They drove along in silence. Inge’s gaze fell on the lighthouse in the middle of the dunes; it was where she had had her first kiss. With Lothar. She hadn’t thought about him in years. The sea was glistening behind the lighthouse. But before she had time to point it out to Renate, they had already sped past it.
“You drive very fast.”
“Inge, it’s a Porsche. They are fast.”
Renate turned on the radio, tapped through all the channels, and stopped at one that was playing jazz.
“My ex-husband hates jazz.” With a contented laugh, she turned the volume up higher. “He’ll be sixty in October, and he’s having a party in a hotel where the owners are friends of ours. I’ve booked a jazz band and told them not to tell him. I said it’s a surprise.”
“And his friends are doing that?”
“Of course. They were touched that I’d do something like that for him. They said it was so rare for people to be nice to one another after a divorce.”
“But he doesn’t have to let the band play. So it’ll end up being embarrassing for you too.”
Renate laughed. “Unfortunately, he’ll have to, because the brother of his new squeeze is in the band. The brother thought the idea was really sweet too. By the way, they don’t normal
ly get many gigs because they’re actually pretty bad. But I’ve sworn him to secrecy, and if he says anything I won’t pay them. Sometimes in life all the little pieces fall into place—like that! Isn’t life grand?”
Inge agreed, because at that moment they were approaching Westerheide, and the bay was stretching out in front of them, dotted with picture-perfect cottages perched on mounds of grass. The cottages were all made of red brick with thatch roofs culminating in red brick chimneys on top. “Look, it’s a unique landscape, isn’t it?”
Renate threw a fleeting glance to the right and nodded. “It’s water. So where do I need to turn off?”
“Just a bit farther and then take a left. There’s a sign for the West Beach, Ellenbogen.”
Despite complaining about the condition of the old road leading through the dunes, Renate still didn’t make any effort to slow down. By the time they finally turned into the parking lot, Inge’s tailbone hurt from all the bumping around.
“Okay.” Renate retrieved her leopard print bag from the backseat. “Where’s this ‘beach sauna’?”
Inge knew her way around. “We have to go up that path there. The sauna is right on the beach.” She paused, puzzled by Renate’s big bag. “What on earth do you have in there? I thought toiletries and underwear were enough, and that we could get everything else we need here?”
Renate fiddled around trying to lock the Porsche. “Please, what would I look like in a rented terry cloth robe? I always bring my own. It’s all right for you—you don’t care about that kind of thing.”
“No, I don’t.” Inge wondered whether she should be insulted. Sure, Renate was a good ten years younger than her, but Inge did have nicer legs. And Renate didn’t have to constantly act as though Inge were the plain Dortmund housewife and she the ultimate femme fatale. Somehow, she had seemed nicer in Bad Oeynhausen, but Inge pushed the thought away. She made up her mind to enjoy the sauna, and she felt relieved that she hadn’t told Renate everything.
Chapter 16
* * *
After the conversation with her father, Christine had gone back to bed. The bed was warm and cozy, and Johann had been perfectly happy to stay there with her instead of going jogging, joking that she could give him a more fun “workout.” It seemed he had completely suppressed their conversation from the night before, and it was eleven in the morning before they finally came down to the kitchen.
Luckily, no one else was there. Charlotte had left a note for them saying she had gone shopping in Westerland, and Heinz had scribbled under it, “Me too.”
After breakfast, they cleared the table and took the rest of the coffee out into the yard. Johann looked up at the sky, which was deepening to a bright cerulean blue.
“It’s going to be a really beautiful day. We’re going to that beach sauna, right?”
Christine nodded. “Of course. It’s so relaxing there. It’s always been fairly laid-back when I’ve gone. No annoying people. You’ll love it.”
“Sounds perfect. Come on, let’s pack our things before Heinz comes back and decides to join us. It’s already half past eleven.”
Christine turned on her way back into the house. “Heaven forbid! He loves going there and would think it’s a great idea. We have to leave right away!”
Renate was snorting like a horse and walking slower and slower until Inge eventually stopped to wait for her.
“God, how much farther is it?” Renate switched her leopard print bag to her other shoulder, then carefully wiped the sweat from her forehead. “By the time we get there, I’ll be dripping with sweat and not even need a sauna. Is my eye makeup already smudged?”
She peered at Inge, opening her eyes wide. Inge shook her head.
“It’s okay.”
“What do you mean…it’s okay? Am I smudged or not? Couldn’t you perhaps take one of the handles on my bag? It’s not like you’re carrying anything.”
Inge took a deep breath, put her raffia bag in her other hand, and reached out for the leopard strap. Had Renate been this taxing during the spa break? Perhaps she just hadn’t noticed. She looked over at the last stretch of the dune path leading to the beach sauna. It was only a few more yards to the top.
“We’re almost there.” She set off again slowly. “Just a little bit farther. And you’re not smudged. Why did you put makeup on anyway? You’ll just sweat it off in the sauna.”
“I don’t even go to the mailbox without my makeup on.” Renate followed her, a step behind. “You never know who you’ll run into.”
So, it sounded like she really expected her new friends Horst and Peter would be there too. Inge had feared as much.
The beach sauna was located in a valley among the dunes and consisted of several wooden huts laid out in a U-formation. There were beach chairs in the middle, and tables and benches in front of each of the huts.
Inge noted with relief that many of the sauna guests, who were reading or chatting at the tables in their terry cloth robes, weren’t that young either. She was still in pretty good shape, but that didn’t mean she was overly keen to lie down next to a luscious, tanned size six.
The woman who walked over to greet them was indeed a tanned size six, but she was fully dressed—in a short denim skirt and an orange linen blouse—and she wasn’t competition; she was the owner. Inge recognized her at once. What was her name again? Gerda, Edith, Ela, Elke…No, Gudrun, she was called Gudrun. They nodded to each other.
“Good morning. Two for the sauna?”
“Yes.” Renate was looking around, but didn’t look too impressed. “Can we get something to eat and drink here too?”
“You can indeed. You’ve never been here before?”
Inge shook her head, while Renate answered, “I had a recommendation from two friends, businessmen from Düsseldorf, regular guests of yours, Horst and Peter.”
“Aha.” Gudrun didn’t show any sign of recognition. “Then I’ll quickly explain the layout to you. So, we have three Finnish dry saunas heated up, here at the front, over there opposite us, and to the left. You’ll find hot showers and changing rooms here on the left and over there, and the cold shower is in the middle. If you have any valuables, you can give them to me, and I’ll put them in the safe for you.”
“You only have cold showers?”
Inge didn’t understand Renate’s question, and neither did Gudrun.
“Sorry? No, we have hot water too.”
“In the thermal baths where I live, they have wonderful cold baths. I don’t like showers.”
Gudrun raised her eyebrows and pointed to the sea. “If you go across the dunes past the flagpole, there’s a cold bath. A huge one.”
While Renate paid—“My treat, I invited you. You can get the drinks”—Inge went over to the edge of the dunes. The wide beach and glistening sea stretched out in front of her. Squinting, she could make out two heads in the water. People really were swimming, probably sauna guests. It had been a good idea to come after all. Feeling content, Inge turned around and went back over to Renate.
A quarter of an hour later, Inge was standing next to the beach chairs they had rented and looking on in amazement as Renate took more and more things from the depths of her bag, spreading them out over the chairs. Alongside a variety of towels, moisturizers, glossy magazines, three pairs of sunglasses, massage gloves, and swimwear, she also laid out her bright yellow robe and then wrapped a siren-red sauna towel around her ample bosom.
“Right then,” she said contentedly. “Now we can make our first trip to the sauna.” She saw Inge’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“There isn’t enough room for us both to sit down.”
“That’s true.” Renate waved her hand at the tables and chairs in front of the wooden house. “We’ll sit down on those. Horst told me it’s easier to strike up conversation there anyway.”
“So why did you rent these?” asked Inge, who had been looking forward to some peace and quiet.
“I need space for my things.”
It was empty. Renate spread her hand towel out over the top bench and lay down on her back. She closed her eyes and took loud, deep breaths, in and out. Inge sat up straight and looked out of the window toward the flagpole. It was all very peaceful…apart from the panting above her.
“Are you finding it hard to breathe?”
The panting stopped. “It’s a conscious breathing technique. Oceanic breathing. You have to usher in the relaxation.”
The panting resumed. Then the door opened.
“Hello.” The man glanced at the hourglass that Renate had only turned over five minutes ago, then asked, “Could you make a little room for me up there?”
Renate swung her legs down so quickly that she smacked Inge in the head. “Oh, you’re sitting there, Inge—sorry, I didn’t even see you. Of course, make yourself comfortable.”
Inge slid forward a little to avoid him kicking her too. After a bit of a fuss, he finally settled.
But Renate didn’t leave him much time to relax. “Do you come here often?”
“Yes. We’ve been coming here regularly for years. It’s a lovely place.”
“It’s my first time here. Very nice, if a little basic.”
Inge couldn’t stand it when people talked in the sauna. Presumably not everyone felt that way.
“You think? I like it like that. It’s so close to nature.”
“Exactly, I love nature too,” Renate said hurriedly, as Inge quickly turned her head back to the window and concentrated on the view. “I haven’t been to Sylt for ages. The island has changed a lot. But that’s the way things go, I guess. I’m staying at the Ulenhof Hotel in Wenningstedt, by the way. I can highly recommend it. And you?”
Inge cleared her throat, but no one seemed to notice.