my credit card, but I’ve got a gorgeous navy dress and new make-up to show for it. I set about the lengthy process of making myself look as attractive as possible, even adding some hastily bought tinted moisturiser to heighten my tan. The final outcome is better than I could have hoped for and as I study my reflection, I grin happily. The Swiss water has been amazing to my hair and it sits in bouncy long curls, framing my oval face. The dress accentuates my cleavage in a delicate way and stops just above the knee, making me appear slimmer and taller than I really am. My eyes are complimented by lashings of mascara and my mouth is tinted with nude lipstick. Jay had always said I reminded him of a curly-haired Rachel Weisz and it strikes me tonight, that perhaps he was right after all.
‘That’s as good as I’ll get,’ I mutter aloud, padding across to my makeshift wardrobe to collect my coat. I glance at the clock and am happy to see that I’ve just ten minutes until our agreed meeting time downstairs. My stomach does a somersault as I consider, for the hundredth time, that he might not show up and this has all been in vain. Then I rebuke myself – it’s his loss if he doesn’t and if that’s the case I’ll just go to the hotel restaurant and treat myself to some lobster and champagne.
And try not to have a meltdown and cry into my bubbles.
I bravely collect my purse and walk to the door, giving one final plea to whoever is out there in the sky to make sure I don’t get stood up.
Emir is leaning against the un-manned concierge desk as I head out of the lift and even from this distance I can see that I wasn’t wrong in remembering him as drop dead gorgeous. I breathe a sigh of relief that he’s actually there and as I fidget one last time with my dress, he spots me and breaks into a smile.
‘Hi.’ He leans in to kiss my cheek and I’m overcome with a waft of his strong woody aftershave. ‘It’s good to see you again. You look very nice.’
‘Thank you.’ I survey his outfit choice and reluctantly notice it’s a bit more casual than I was expecting. Gone is the business suit I’d first seen him wearing and in its place are jeans and a wine-coloured jumper. I suddenly feel a little overdressed but the thought is swept away as he grabs my hand and ushers me confidently out of the hotel.
‘I’m parked a little out of the way, near to my office – it’s a thirty-minute drive to my hometown of Zug, but the restaurant is booked for seven so we’ve plenty of time.’
We make chit chat as we walk to his car and I discover he’s a director at a multinational insurance company and has lived in Zug for over eight years. He’s also been single for all eight of them and I can’t help but wonder why. As we approach a gunmetal-grey Porsche, he gets out a key fob and unlocks the vehicle.
‘This is me.’ He gestures to the passenger side. ‘Excuse the mess as you get in. Just put the files on the floor.’
I try not to look shocked as I open the car door and see the interior littered with what appears to be paperwork and food wrappers, and instead scoop his files onto the footwell as instructed.
‘I’m good at what I do workwise but I do have a tendency to be untidy outside of the office.’ He grins, and I notice that both the leather dashboard and gearbox have what appears to be some kind of sticky drink covering them.
‘I can’t say I’m the same – I’m a bit of a clean freak.’ I don’t add that it’s already annoying me to have to sit amongst such a dirty interior in my new dress.
‘Clean freak or control freak?’ he asks with a chuckle as his mobile ringtone interrupts us. He answers with Bluetooth and I’m immediately surrounded by a loud female tone, speaking in what I recognise as Spanish. I try not to feel disdain as he launches into conversation, occasionally glancing sideways at me as he clearly tells the woman at the other end of the line about me. I hear my name mentioned twice and notice by the car display that almost twenty minutes has passed by the time he ends the call.
There is no explanation of who was calling or an apology when he finally turns to look at me and begins to point out the passing sights. I can’t deny they’re beautiful views, but it bothers me that he doesn’t find it rude to answer a long call in another language without a simple ‘excuse me for that’. I wonder if I’m being pedantic or overly ‘English’ and try to get back into the excitement I was feeling at the beginning of the date. But it’s already rapidly seeping away, replaced by a dread that perhaps he’s just going to be like all of the other disastrous dates I’ve been on lately.
We approach a sign for ‘Zug’ and I feel relieved that we’ll soon be out of the car. As we drive further into the area, I notice a glistening lake on my right side and a mountain in the distance ahead.
‘Welcome to the town named “Train”.’
Puzzled, I look at Emir for explanation.
‘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
