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I waited, hoping he would be one of those polyglot cabbies, but this was provincial Germany and he merely smiled over his shoulder at me then started the engine. We left the town, driving in a sedate, infuriatingly slow fashion. So close, so near to Stefan, and still I doubted my reasoning. Too late to turn back.
The nausea bloomed in my belly. I stared out of the window and the street lights vanished. A vacuum of darkness swathed the vehicle. I couldn’t see the landscape or make any sense of where I was. Minutes ticked by before lights returned.
We entered the small village and the place looked deserted. Alongside the road, a few cars were parked, but I saw no pedestrians on the street. A ghost town had more activity.
The taxi slowed, swerved, and the driver did a U-turn in the empty street.
I peeked out of the window. The house looked vast in the semi-darkness. Three stories high and six individual windows lined each story, all shuttered. Not a glimmer of light peeped out from behind those slats.
I swallowed hard. The place seemed deserted.
The cabbie coughed. He pointed at the illuminated display. I fumbled in my purse, digging out the strange euro notes, and thrust one at him.
“Danke.” He smiled.
I held my holdall in one hand and approached the oak door. An imposing double door with iron rings for handles. Not a sound came out of the house. I turned, about to suggest to the driver that he should wait, when I realized it was too late. The car drove off, heading back to town.
“Shit,” I exclaimed under my breath.
I pulled the doorbell and in the distance, I heard clanging.
By now, my nervous state had almost taken me to the brink of panic. Exhausted, close to tears and feeling foolish, I stepped back. Nobody came. I glanced up and down the street—there was no sign of life anywhere, no public houses, nothing.
I rang the bell again. Tears of desperation pricked my eyes. Would I end up sleeping rough on the cold streets?
A bolt slid back. I stared at the doorway, transfixed by the sound. The hinges creaked, a gap appeared and a small amount of light burst through the crack.
I squinted. Somebody stood in silhouette and I tracked my eyes around the outline. The tall figure straightened. I recognized the masculine shoulders and ruffled hair.
“Callie!” Stefan flung the door wide open.
I almost collapsed in an exhausted heap at his feet. I couldn’t speak. Words vacated my mind.
He grabbed the holdall out of my hand before I dropped it. “Come in.” He waved me into the dimly lit entrance hall.
The door banged shut behind me, echoing up the stairwell. The interior of the house seemed even bigger. On the other side of the hallway, a doorway lit up brightly. The front of the house may have been swathed in cold blackness, but the rear had warmth and welcomed me.
I followed Stefan as he led me into the back room, a kitchen, complete with a central island and breakfast bar, contemporary in style and well equipped with modern appliances.
I stumbled slightly, my tired feet refusing to walk any farther.
“Sit.” He pulled out a stool.
I dragged my aching limbs over it.
In the kitchen, I finally had a good look at the man I’d traveled hundreds of miles to see.
The bags remained under his eyes, accentuating his dark features. His eyes shone fiercely, though, as if he was feverish. Stubble had grown about his goatee, blurring the edges. He wore casual clothes with a crumpled shirt untucked—not his usual neat appearance. He looked as shattered as I did. What I could see, without doubt, was delight in his features and a spring to his step. He bustled around me, switching on the kettle, chattering away in an excited fashion. “You must be hungry. Thirsty. You look freezing too.”
Not cold, I didn’t tell him. I shivered with nervous energy.
“Hot chocolate,” he suggested, opening a cupboard. “Belgian hot chocolate to warm you up.”
He laid out a mug, spooning the powder in. “What are you doing here?” he blurted,
clearly unable to contain his curiosity any longer.
I hesitated. Was this the best time to explain my strange journey? My head buzzed with excitement at seeing him, but with it was a splitting headache, born out of fatigue and hunger.
