They Thought I Was Dead: Sandy’s Story

66 Autumn 2011

Other than not serving alcohol, Schloss Leichtigkeit offered pretty much all the facilities I guess you might expect to find in an upmarket hotel. Indoor and outdoor swimming pools, gym, spa, treatment rooms, meditation rooms, games room, library, tennis court, bicycles available to borrow, children’s play area, and a whole ton of other stuff I barely took in, as I walked alongside Julia Schmitt on our guided tour.

My mind was elsewhere. Thinking about a drifting boat. And thinking about my meeting with Hans-Jürgen Waldinger in less than an hour.

Bruno and I were conspicuous as newbies, by still being in our own clothes rather than the white uniform tunics of everyone else. I was getting a little tired of endlessly and self-consciously saying I love you or, whenever I chose, ich liebe dich, and having it equally endlessly said back to me.

Bruno, despite his hand locked with mine, was in his own little world, occasionally glancing up to me but not commenting.

I kept looking at my watch, wanting plenty of time to look my best before Hans-Jürgen Waldinger came to our suite. The man I had been thinking about often for the past four years, the man I really thought in my strung-out, stripped-out, messed-up mind might be the man I would connect with like a doting uncle and be there to support me emotionally and spiritually for life, and who had sounded so happy to hear from me just a few days ago.

What should I wear? How much make-up should I put on? How should I smell? I didn’t have a huge choice of outfits — I’d packed a few dresses, a couple of pairs of jeans, some blouses, a skirt, my favourite shoes and trainers, and that was just about it in the style department. Of course, when we got back to the room, our tunics might have arrived, as Julia had said they were on their way. But I guess I wanted to look stand-out special for our first meeting in four years.

It was already 4.15 p.m. but, instead of heading back towards the schloss, Julia was leading us further away, insisting on showing us the acres of organic kitchen garden that enabled the head chef, formerly from a two-starred Michelin restaurant, to be self-sufficient in vegetables and herbs for our cuisine.

We finally arrived back at our suite with just twenty minutes to go before the great man was due. The mean-minded part of me wondered if Julia had deliberately left me so little time to get ready. I looked down at his face on the brochure again. It was framed by his flowing, centre-parted wavy brown hair, the similar length, covering his ears, as before, that seemed to be so much a part of his persona. And those intense — but kind — eyes, tiny smile creases on each side visible through his arty glasses.

With Teutonic punctuality, there was a ding of the bell on the dot of 5 p.m.

It was like a starting pistol had fired inside my heart, sending all my blood cells racing to see which could complete a full circuit of my body first. I was shaking and feeling clammy, and suddenly sick with nerves. I took a few tentative steps towards the door, then stopped to check my appearance in a tall mirror. I really did care about how I looked when he saw me, I wanted him to really like and care about me, to share some of his wisdom with me, to be something of a best friend.

I’d opted for a white blouse, tight jeans, my favourite platform-heeled sandals to bring me up a little towards his height, and a couple of sprays of Jo Malone on my neck and behind my ears. I dabbed some beads of perspiration from my brow, and as I reached the door, walking softly, I stood for some moments. Then I took in two deep breaths before opening it with a big, welcoming smile.

Hans-Jürgen, dressed in his white tunic, had more lines on his forehead than when I’d last seen him, deeper creases in the corners of his eyes, and his beautiful chestnut-brown hair had been infiltrated by a lot more grey than I remembered. But his blue eyes looked at me just as intensely as they had before. That penetrating gaze, as if he was reading my soul, was just as intense now. Even more so. And he smelled, very faintly, of a very attractive cologne.

He was beaming. Looking so genuinely happy. He took each of my hands in his own and squeezed them lightly. ‘Sandra! So good to see you. So very good!’

His voice was so much part of his charm, too. That almost mellifluous broken English. Warm, so cultured.

He simply released my hands and stood, looking down at me. ‘So good!’ he repeated. Then he totally broke the spell by shooting a glance at his watch, before looking back at me again. ‘All is good? Julia is taking care of you?’ He glanced at his watch again and rocked on his white trainers.

I could sense he was on the verge of moving off and this was not in my script. ‘Well, yes, but—’

‘Something is wrong?’

‘Won’t you come in — have a coffee or something?’ I had a terrible plunging sensation deep inside me. This was just not what I had expected. But then, what had I expected?

He looked at his watch yet again, then at me. ‘So Nicos? This has not worked out with my friend?’

‘Not exactly,’ I said. ‘No. Long story. You were right, the warning you gave me about him — if you remember?’

‘Ja.’ He shook his head. ‘He gave a very big donation if we would look after you in East Grinstead those years ago. I was not sure we should take it, but then I saw you and I was glad we did.’

He gave me an intense look and smiled again. ‘So glad to see you here!’ Then he looked at his sodding watch again. A big fancy thing, all cogs and innards, with no conventional dial. I don’t know how he figured out anything from it, let alone the time.

‘I have an important telephone call in a few minutes, but I wanted to welcome you in person. I’m afraid I must go to a meeting in München tonight. Perhaps you might dine with me tomorrow tonight?’

‘Well, I do have a date with Tom Cruise, but I could cancel him.’

He held his hands in the air. ‘No, please do not — we can see us on another time, perhaps?’ he replied, totally missing the joke.

‘Tomorrow will be fine,’ I said.

‘You are sure?’

I nodded.

‘If there is anything you need, please ask Julia, OK?’

I hesitated. But he was in a hurry. I had waited four years, another twenty-four hours was not, as a friend of mine used to say, going to change the price of fish.

‘All’s good.’

He gave me a look that told me he could see all wasn’t good. Then he was gone. Without even saying the clinic greeting that he loved me.

I closed the door, feeling very alone. Hans-Jürgen had been pleasant. Charming as he had been previously. But distant. Distracted by something. It sure hadn’t been the big reconnection I’d thought it might be. And he hadn’t given me the impression he’d spent the past four years thinking or caring about me, either.

Something inside my head was shouting at me to get real. The words Nicos liked to use.

I sat back down and stared at his face on the brochure again. Then I thought about Roy. It was just gone 5 p.m. here, which meant just after 4 p.m. England time. What was he up to on this September afternoon? Was it sunny in Sussex, too?

He was at work, no doubt. But although I kept a frequent check on the Argus online I’d not seen any mention of him for some while.

In those last days before I’d left him, Roy was very excited about work — he’d been told by his line manager, the Head of Major Crime, that he should apply for the position of Detective Chief Inspector and had a good chance of getting the promotion. But the last time I’d seen him named in the paper he was still just Detective Inspector and that’s how he was also titled on the Sussex Police website. So something hadn’t worked out. And I suddenly felt a little guilty that I might be part of the cause of that.

How the hell are you? I wondered, my heart suddenly heavy.

I was missing him, dammit, despite everything. I kept denying it to myself, but I was missing him more all the time. Thinking back to the life we had and realizing that it actually had been, most of the time, pretty good.

Apart from that little issue of my gambling debt.

Apart from that, Mrs Kennedy, how did you enjoy your trip to Dallas?

I should have come clean with Roy. He would have sorted it out, he’d have found a way, he was one of life’s copers, he would always find a way to deal with anything. That was one of the things I’d loved about him, how safe he made me feel.

Shit, I missed him. I missed our beautiful home.

Are you looking after the garden, Roy? Or have you let it go to rack and ruin? You were never very green-fingered, were you? You were fine with mowing, you always said that relaxed you. But beyond that you were happy to leave the garden to me. Oh, and you did care for Marlon, the goldfish. You were diligent with him, changing his water, giving him fresh weed and always remembering his food.

Are you on your own, or do you have a new person in your life?

Do you still wonder what happened to me, after all these years? Over four years now. Gosh. Do you still think about me or have you moved on?

What would you say if I rocked up on your doorstep with my son — who might or might not be yours?

Would you greet me with a huge hug, or would you just stand there coldly and tell me to sod off?

How would you react if I told you I missed you? That I’ve missed you every damned day since I left you?

That the only reason I’ve not contacted you is out of fear? Fear that you might be so angry and disgusted with me. Fear that you might have found a new person and that you would reject me. Fear that it would be so pointless, that we would get back together and then the whole damned spiral would start over again. Fear that whatever we had together would never have been enough.

I was in no mood to go to the restaurant — or Refectory as it was called — so a little while later I ordered a meal for Bruno and myself from room service. God, how much I could have done with some wine, or something stronger, to accompany it.

Half an hour later two young men, each holding a massive tray, one looking broken by the climb up the steep stairs, delivered Bruno’s second cheeseburger of the day, and a Dover sole for me. Discreetly on the tray beside my fish, potatoes and beans was an envelope.

I opened it after our two servers had departed, telling me they loved me. It contained a note from Julia Schmitt, along with four white tablets. Oh, thank God. Yes. Yes. YES!

I sat there for a long while after reading this, while Bruno ate his burger, messily and happily, and I let my fish go cold. I had never, ever, in these past four years, missed Roy so much and wished I was back with him. Wished so much.

I looked at my phone. It would be so easy to pick it up and dial his number.

Except, I panicked briefly, I had forgotten it.

Then it came back to me.

But I left my phone on the table. And, instead, stabbed my fork into my stone-cold fish.