Photo: © Stan Desjeux
* Music during reading (to feel better the atmosphere of this chapter I recommend this song in the background)
Something vibrated in the seat of the sports car driven by a handsome dark-haired man. He stopped at a stop light, reaching for the cell phone behind his back. An unknown number was calling his friend who just took the flight to London. Maybe it’s him looking for his phone, the guy thought, swiping to answer the incoming call.
‘‘Michael?’’ Said a sweet female voice on the other side of the line.
‘‘Yes…,’’ he didn’t know why he had answered that, and although he was still in time to retract, he did not.
‘‘It’s Ava, you gave me your phone last night and… we just have seen each other again this morning.’’
‘‘Oh… I remember, I was waiting for your call,’’ continued the guy following a game which real consequences he did not assume. ‘‘How are you?’’ He asked, being clear in his mind that he knew Sommer enough, that someone who used to switch women without thinking twice and who would not mind sharing another of his whims with a good friend, ‘‘or look … you better tell me in person, I’m inviting you to dinner tonight and I’m not taking ‘‘no’’ for answer.’’
‘‘…following a game which real consequences he did not assume.’’
Things were going in such fast and unpredictable way that she didn’t even have time to assimilate them in her head, but that fear of losing him again without even having him made her accept his offer as if it were under the effect of a hypnosis. Specifying their meeting point, she hung up the phone and began to come back to reality little by little. Even understanding that she did not know anything about her (already) date for tonight, all the possible obstacles that made her decision irrational were erased. Despite that carelessness, she had a strange sensation that she couldn’t explain. The spontaneity of that call didn’t allow her to imagine what that conversation would be like, the words he would say, what his voice would sound like… a confusing feeling flooded her — her heart was telling her what the mind was still unable to understand.
‘‘…a confusing feeling flooded her — her heart was telling her what the mind was still unable to understand.’’
She grabbed a sinuous bottle designed by René Ott, who almost 100 years ago found inspiration in the rolling hills of the Côtes de Provence to store the ‘drink of the gods’, and poured the pale ‘‘elixir’’ in pink tones and golden reflections, which reminded her of the most beautiful sunsets, the kind in which you can breathe calmness. She was toasting with herself for the long-awaited meeting that had not yet taken place. A real encounter. That fine and subtle flavour of Ott, the result of the perfect balance between garnacha, cinsault, syrah and mourvèdre, tasted like the Mediterranean, and took her to the lavender fields and rocky coves surrounded by crystal clear water, which dazzled under the sunshine like the purest diamond; It tasted like the meetings with her friends where the sound of laughter was lost between the saxophone melody.
While the young woman continued savouring the soft citrus and orchard flowers enveloped in spice notes of that rosé born in the Château de Selle, a Boeing was flying over France. The Nordic-looking guy had already realized the small loss that from his point of view had an easy solution. He was glad that it was his personal phone and not the one he used for work. He was trying, unsuccessfully, to focus his attention, taken by the girl that he couldn’t reach in Madrid, towards the businesses and important meetings that were awaiting him in the British capital. If only we could change the thoughts that we have in our head in the same way we change the song of our playlist.
‘‘If only we could change the thoughts that we have in our head in the same way we change the song of our playlist.’’
She put the glass of wine on an elegant art-deco design night stand and opened the doors to a spacious closet filled with dresses, skirts and blouses of all the styles, fabrics and colours. Some garments still had the label on, but female logic is often incomprehensible to many men: ‘‘It doesn’t matter if you have five dresses or fifty, have worn them 10 times or 100, if it is already on the hanger in your closet — it is not new, and therefore — you have nothing to wear.’’ She sat on the bed looking at the wardrobe like a film which plot you don’t understand, took another sip of rosé and made the decision to shop something for that special date. Despite not being a compulsive shopper like some of her friends, she knew the occasion was worth it; She can’t look just pretty, she must be stunning. Without much thought, she decided that the perfect outfit was yes to be found.
‘‘…but female logic is often incomprehensible to many men…’
The plane landed at London Heathrow Airport, and the same phone was ringing again in the glove compartment of a luxury car parked in a Madrid garage. Without getting an answer, Sommer dialled again, changing the digits.
‘‘Thanks for calling, ’’ an ironic answer was heard from the other side of the device.
‘‘Sorry, I couldn’t do it before, I had several unforeseen things before I caught the flight,’’ the young man answered his sister. ‘‘I don’t know where I left my personal phone, but if you need me, call me here until I make a duplicate of the SIM card.’’
After saying goodbye as if nothing had happened, the Nordic-looking got into a taxi towards South Kensington and began to check the several notifications, which he received while he was out of cover. Starting to read the message that his friend from Madrid left him, he felt a sudden stop of the car and everything darkened in his eyes.
* * *
Almost 1,300 miles away, at the same moment, the elegant bottle with curved lines fell to the floor of the terrace with a view to a quiet street, breaking into a hundred pieces and spilling all its content that was left to enjoy. Scared by the noise, the blonde girl came out to see what had happened and after seeing the panorama, with sorrow, she began to collect the crystals. She felt a prick on her ring finger from which began to fall drops of blood, dissolving in the pool of rosé that remained without being tasted. She had always endured those small and unimportant wounds well, words used to hurt her more. Finishing that unforeseen task, she looked at the clock that already reads 4:30 PM, and after hastily healing the cut, she went out the door searching for that dress to fall in love with and make other to fall in love with her.
‘‘She had always endured those small, unimportant wounds well, words used to hurt her more.’’
Topics: love story 2020 – romantic online novel new – rose French wine – Ott wine – rosé – rosé Côtes de Provence – Ott Château de Selle
TINA KEVICH 