‘Zug means train in English.’ He shrugs his shoulders and grins as I raise my eyebrows. ‘Yes, rather strange name, huh?’ He points in the distance and I follow his gaze. ‘This road is Chammerstrasse and if you look to the left in a moment, you’ll be able to see my apartment building just up ahead.’
We pass a small church, lit up prettily against the evening dusk. The town seems quaint, peaceful and very well-kept, and the bustling busyness of Zurich is nowhere in sight. It’s barely five minutes later when Emir parks the car and we get out, heading across cobbled stones through narrow streets with imposing buildings reminiscent of gothic times; pastel coloured facades and windows adorned with shutters.
‘This is a pretty town,’ I say, trying to watch my step as my heels threaten to get stuck between the cobbles.
‘This is one of the historical squares, the Italian restaurant we’re going to overlooks the lake. I’m certain you’ll like it – it’s just here.’
We arrive at a small wooden door and are greeted by a waiter dressed fully in black. We follow him and climb a winding staircase which opens into a large spacious dining area. There’s not a wall in sight as the front half is surrounded by windows looking out onto the moonlit lake water.
We’re shown to what appears to be the prime-situated table in the busy restaurant and I can’t help but be impressed at the elegance of the surroundings and the gentle ambience, not to mention the clientele. I had thought this would be a casual Italian but ‘fine dining’ springs to mind instead. As we are seated the waiter turns to Emir.
‘Your usual, Sir?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ Emir nods and I wonder what the usual is, hoping it isn’t something I won’t like.
I don’t have to wait long as a bottle of red wine appears almost instantaneously beside us. I watch as Emir samples a taster and approves with a smile, before turning to me. ‘It’s a reserve, very good red, you’ll like it.’
Not wanting to be rude or share that I’m not particularly fond of red wine, I try my best to look pacified as the waiter fills my glass. I was rather hoping for a glass of white but as I taste, I’m pleasantly surprised by the subtle fruity flavour.
‘I’d recommend the lobster linguine with truffle oil or the wild boar.’
‘Hmm, OK.’ I stare down at the menu I’m handed and immediately see the pumpkin ravioli option and decide there and then, that’s what I’ll be having.
After a few more minutes’ small talk, the waiter returns to take our order and I’m more than surprised when Emir pipes up my selection for me.
‘Two lobster linguine please.’
‘Er, actually I’m going to go with the ravioli,’ I say with a polite smile that I know doesn’t actually reach my eyes.
A flicker of irritation flits across his face as he shrugs. ‘Fine, do as you please.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, I will.’ Although I’m grinning as I say this, I can’t help but feel put out by his change in demeanour. That’s when I realise that this is going to be yet another totally wasted evening. By the time the food arrives, we’ve had a further twenty-five minutes of chit-chat and I’m no longer enthralled by his movie star looks or his suave clothing. Emir is proving himself to be rather self-indulgent and, quite frankly, a little boring. I’ve managed to glean that he travels endlessly for his work and his salary allows him to do as he pleases, materially speaking. Yet, I can’t fathom for the life of me why he even wanted this date. We’re like chalk and cheese in everything we’ve been discussing. The thing about him that reminded me of Jay is long gone. This one is all about himself.
I pick at my pumpkin ravioli which, as it turns out, is nowhere near as good as the lobster linguine he practically forced me into sampling to prove his point. Still, I won’t be letting him know that. He’s been rabbiting on about some conference he’s just been a guest note speaker at and it’s just as I finally pay decide to pay him some attention, that my ears prick up.
‘Bermuda? Oh, my friend lives there. She’s a lawyer, works in a firm over there. She’s originally from the same town as me though.’ I picture Tilly and suddenly feel wistful for our many Saturday lunches. We used to be so close and yet since her relocation to Bermuda four years ago, I haven’t made much of an effort to keep in touch. There’s always something that comes up and makes me forget to reply. I make a guilty mental note to message her later.
‘It’s a beautiful place. You should visit sometime.’
I notice the bottle of wine is fast emptying into Emir’s glass and as the conversation moves into work talk, the wall clock behind him is a constant taunt of all the things I could have been doing with my evening. It’s clear to both of us there’s little mutual ground and if it wasn’t for his love of over-sharing insurance chit-chat, we’d already be in dangerous awkward silence waters.
I think about Tilly and Bermuda again, not to mention his previous comment. Of course, I should visit. Why didn’t I think of that before?
I make it politely through another hour of small talk, when Emir graciously decides to relieve me of my hopefully-not-evident boredom by ordering the bill. It’s dark outside as we leave the restaurant and make our way towards the lake, Emir pointing out small points of interest along the way.
‘My apartment is just a short walk from here,’ he says, taking my hand and making every part of my body stiffen. With reluctance, I realise I’m going to have to say something fast. This is not good. Gone are the thoughts of a passionate, guilt-free, one-night stand. As hot as he is – and it’s been seven months since I’ve had any sort of action – I just want to go back to my hotel, take off my make-up, and dress, and jump into my oversized hotel bed alone with my book and a cup of tea made with the complimentary refreshment teabag I’ve been saving. I almost laugh aloud at myself. This is the Everly Carter that has spent the last three days convincing herself she needs excitement and change, and here it is, handed on a plate, yet…
‘I’m sorry, as much as I’ve had a wonderful time, I’m going to head back to my hotel.’ The words are out of my mouth before I’ve had time to talk myself back into making the most of wild, no-strings sex with a rich, willing man.
Emir looks surprised but recovers quickly. ‘Of course. Well, I’ll drive you back if you want to go. That’s no problem.’ He runs his hand through his hair and I can see from his miffed expression that it’s the last thing he wants to be doing. I realise in that moment that he never expected to have to take me home. He just assumed I’d be staying. He’s clearly not happy.
‘No, I don’t expect you to do that. I’ll take a taxi; you bought me a lovely dinner and that was more than enough.’ I point to the nearby waiting taxi before I lean forward and give him a swift thank you kiss on the cheek.
I watch as he takes a step backward, already planning his rapid exit. ‘OK then.’ He appears at a loss for words as he scratches his chin. ‘Well, it was nice meeting you Everly. Enjoy the rest of your holiday.’
I barely have a chance to reply before he turns and walks away. Quietly sighing with relief, I walk in the opposite direction, wondering why I’ll never learn my lesson when it comes to men. Is it me, I wonder? Am I drawn to men with low self-esteem because I want to fix them, to subconsciously fill a void within myself? That void which seems to be caused by a longing to do something more fulfilling with my life, which until now, I’ve been ignoring…
Settling myself in the back seat of the taxi and wondering with a stomach full of dread how much Mastercard will have to fork out this time for the fare, I muse on the two more positive outcomes of the evening. First, my realisation that I no longer need to waste time on inappropriate men. There’s no point searching for love until I’ve filled my own emotional needs and found a new purpose; a new mission to provide the satisfaction that I’m lacking. After all, how am I going to attract a healthy, balanced partnership if something inside me isn’t addressed first?