Sketches of a summer rush E-Book

Emil N. Mauritz

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 583

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

The story of a couple who meet at work, both in their early fifties, both married and with families at home. At the time they meet, there is no indication of a future affair; for a long time, it remains a purely professional, fleeting friendship, without any interest in getting to know each other better. This only begins to change with the pandemic. While he is ready to start something new and is not afraid to take risks, she remains reserved and tries to defend herself against the feelings that arise. It is only after a long period of courtship that she finally succumbs to his charm and lets herself fall and be carried away by her feelings. Both plunge into a fierce, intense love affair that is ultimately doomed to failure.

Leseprobe

Dedication

For P., of whom this story tells

And for my family, who put up with all this, and yet did not abandon me

Introduction

The following story is based on events that touched me so much that I decided to tackle my first book in order to preserve this incredible time of butterflies in my memory forever.

The book is not intended for a public audience, rather it was written for P. and myself:

"For me, so that I never forget them,

and for P., so that she will always remember it!"

Previous history

The first time I saw P., I encountered an unassuming, reserved woman in her mid-forties, without any magnetism or charisma, more withdrawn than striking, looking serious, with a rare smile around the corners of her mouth and long black hair cut in bangs that were freshly dyed every four weeks to suppress the gray strands.

Usually dressed in tight-fitting blue jeans that deliberately emphasized her attractive figure, a matching shirt or shirt and a silk scarf that was never missing - but in my opinion rather superfluous - which changed daily, but was always wrapped around her neck in the same way. In winter, P. regularly wore long, dark, worn leather boots, knee-high, whereas in summer she wore sandals or - somewhat more rarely - open shoes with heels or sports shoes.

I would never have thought at the time that this inconspicuous and rather colorless woman would turn my emotional world so completely upside down years later and divide my life - which had been anything but boring up to that point - into a before and after.

At the time, I was working as a sales manager in a Swiss industrial group that specialized in specific ni cation markets in the sensor and communications sector and, as a global leader in the segments it addressed, supplied customers from all regions of the world. I was brought back there by a former colleague shortly after he had taken over as head of the division. The job provided me with the kind of intensive travel that I had wanted since my younger years and had subsequently learned to appreciate, but which meant that I was rarely in the office but often on the road. I was attracted not only by the variety and responsibility of the job as Sales Manager, but also by the opportunity to join the management team and actively steer the fortunes of the business unit. So I resigned from my former employer and took up my new role in February 2016.

P. joined the company just a few months after me, placed by a headhunting agency for senior executives, and was to take over the management of the back office. Her calm manner and serious charisma as well as her broad knowledge of introducing new IT platforms qualified her perfectly for this challenge, and she had already proven her ability to lead a team in her previous jobs. She was not initially expected to join the management team, but a year after joining the company, P. was rightly offered the opportunity due to the results she had achieved during this time.

When she joined, there were now five of us leading the division. However, P. was the only female member, and this was in a company where women had only been found in simple positions in sensor assembly and final testing up until then. My perception of P. hadn't changed much as a result, but it did mean that I met her more often from then on and, above all, that I now had more direct contact with her than in the days before. I now learned to appreciate her as a colleague and regularly chatted with her over a cup of coffee in the morning or - although still rather rarely - over lunch with my colleagues from the management team.

Two years after we joined the company, the parent company decided to focus on its core business, to change its focus and, as a result, to separate from our division. Our unit's business was doing well, but the cross-subsidization to other areas of the company left little more than a black zero at the end of the year.

In order to appear in a better light in front of the press and regional dignitaries, the Group offered to buy out the entire sensor division by means of a management buy-out and set up an independent company that would be completely spun off from the parent company, but would be allowed to take over all customers, projects and products as part of the start-up capital. The alternative of closing down the entire division and putting around fifty employees, most of whom had been with the company for many years, out on the street would have been more difficult to communicate to the public.

Of the five members of the management team at the time, only four were prepared to embark on this adventure , while the fifth withdrew and changed companies as he did not think we were up to the challenge. With only four of us left, our private financial resources were nowhere near sufficient to take this step alone, so we started looking for potential external investors who, although they had no personal connection to the company, had enough financial arguments to take over the majority of shares.

Initially hesitant, I soon realized that this would be a unique opportunity in my life, and so I joined the remaining colleagues and negotiated our new employment contracts with the investors, which became much more attractive than before due to the new situation. This was most likely the beginning of an even closer collaboration with P., which meant that from then on I got to know her even better and, above all, differently than before.

The initial phase of the new organization was marked by a long series of workshops imposed on us by the majority shareholders in order to redefine the company's direction, formulate the strategy of the segments, set up the work teams in a fresh way and reformulate all processes - and despite our knowledge that the old strategies and directions were actually correct and only needed to be reconfirmed, Despite our knowledge that the old strategies and directions were actually correct and only needed to be reaffirmed, it took us a long time to realize that these training packages were imposed on us solely in order to get money that had already been invested out of the company as quickly as possible and thus minimize the main shareholders' risk of loss.

However, it also led to even closer cooperation with the management team, sometimes with a great deal of friction between them, which proved to be very stressful at times. The workshops usually lasted two days, with an overnight stay away from home and joint team-building activities after work. We often ended the evening with a glass of wine or a beer or two, but usually not with the full team; only the hard core went to a nearby bar after dinner, the others preferred to go to their rooms.

P., like me, always belonged to this hard core, and it was at these events that I suddenly came to regard her as a very funny and upbeat, warm-hearted and amiable colleague and gradually began to take her to my heart. The three or four of us would then smoke a hookah together, or we'd go to a cigar lounge, order gin in cellar bars and listen to jazz musicians perform well-known songs.

Later, after we had also retired to our rooms, I sometimes thought about P., imagined her in her tight jeans, imagined what it would be like if I visited her in her room, thought about calling her and asking her to join me for one last glass from the minibar; but it always remained with these brief thoughts before falling asleep - it never became anything more.

Throughout my life, I was a communicative and extroverted character, but mostly shy and reserved in matters of the heart, which never changed significantly as I grew older and more self-confident. I would never have had the courage to even hint to P. that I had felt attracted to her for some time. The path to most of my previous relationships was paved by the later partner, a glove that was dropped, but which I usually picked up quickly and gladly and cultivated further. One of the few exceptions to this is my relationship with my current wife; in this case, the initiative was undeniably mine, as she herself is still much more reserved than I am.

But it wasn't just my shyness that stood in my way, there was also the fact that P. had been married for years and had raised two children who were now in their teens and still living at home. In addition, her husband was vaguely known to most people in the company, as he picked her up from work from time to time, usually on days when her car was being serviced and she had therefore taken the train to work. Sometimes he would come up to the coffee room and have a small espresso, chatting about trivial matters with those present until P. had shut down her laptop and packed up her things . I also had a wife and a family at home, but we attached great importance to our private lives, so people at work knew little about my wife, let alone our daughters. Despite this - or perhaps because of it - a relationship with P. was a very nice idea, but it was far from reality.

During one of these workshops, P. was practically stripped of her entire team in a reorganization experiment and her area of responsibility was turned completely upside down. And this happened with such cold-blooded matter-of-factness that it drove P. to the brink of tears, she was practically unable to comment on it and - completely silenced - let the whole misery wash over her. In the evening, you couldn't tell much more about her, but she was very quiet and withdrawn, rarely smiled and reminded me again of the woman I had seen at the beginning of our acquaintance. I felt for her, I was also sad about what had happened, but I couldn't really help her, as the evil was also affecting me and my area, not in the same way as P., but I also had to swallow my toads and tried not to choke on them. And so it wasn't until a week later, when we were all back in business, that the full extent of the unpleasant incident became apparent.

At that time, I still had a single office; my former colleague had already left the company a month ago, leaving me as the heir to the entire empire, but I wasn't sad about that. I appreciated my peace and quiet when I had to call and negotiate with customers abroad, and I could now do this undisturbed.

One morning in the week following the workshop, P. unexpectedly entered my study with tears in her eyes and an envelope in her hands. After some initial hesitation, she cried herself out, saying that she had never expected what had happened, that she did not want to and could not continue under such circumstances and that she had been disappointed by all of us to an irreparable extent.

"There's no place for me in this company any more," she sobbed, "and this after all the effort and sacrifice I put in, which in the initial phase of the company upheaval regularly had me working until 10 o'clock in the evening, while other colleagues on the board slunk off, disappeared home in the afternoon and left us alone with the problems. I didn't see my children for days on end because they were already in bed when I got home from work in the evening and weren't even awake at five in the morning when I set off for the office again." Tears ran from under her glasses, smearing her face, even though P. rarely wore make-up. It hurt my heart to see her like that, I felt my eyes glaze over too, looked down at the floor and searched for words.

"You weren't there either," said P., "but it was a bit different for you, you were either in hospital because of your shoulder or on a business trip, so you can't really help it, but I was still alone. And now this is supposed to be the thanks I get?" She turned around and said that she had written the letter that night and now wanted to present it to the management. "It's my resignation," P. explained, although I could almost have guessed that.

Nevertheless, I was still shocked and couldn't believe my ears. Now that I was beginning to like and appreciate P. more and more and had taken her firmly into my heart, she wanted to leave? I closed the door in her face and held her back, started talking to her, consoling her, using all the arguments I could think of to stop her from taking this step, fraternizing with her against the others, agreeing with her and admitting that I sometimes felt like this too, but carried on regardless.

We talked and talked. In the end, she said that she would think about it again tomorrow, wouldn't hand in the letter today, but wouldn't destroy it for the time being. When she came back to my office the next day, she thanked me and confessed that I had made her change her mind and that she would stay with the company. "Thank you for listening to me yesterday, for comforting me and taking me seriously. Without you, I would be gone now ..."

In the months and years that followed, she occasionally brought up this story and again said that it was me who had held her back back then. She made me very happy with such statements; it seemed as if I had taken on a very special role in her life.

At some point, Covid-19 came along and changed the world. Even our office no longer remained the way it used to be: only the people in production were in the company every day, as the machines could not be operated from home. However, the large distances in the halls ensured that this was never a problem and infection could be avoided at all times.

In the offices, however, things were different: It was all about smaller and more cramped rooms and more employees working in them. The management decided to move most of them to the home office. Only one of us from the management team was present in the office at any one time, who changed every day. A work schedule was drawn up, which was updated weekly, bottles of disinfectant were made available on all desks - and the obligation to wear masks was introduced.

I now only saw P. sporadically and even on the rare days when we were both present, contact was greatly reduced. The affection I had felt for her fizzled out, the status quo took over and P. became a colleague like others, personal conversations with her were the exception. Nevertheless, I didn't miss anything, I didn't feel any loss or longing for the past.

The new life settled into the rhythm of PCR-2 tests and corona vaccinations - the news channels on all channels reported only and exclusively on new infection figures, statistical averages, mortality rates, quarantine measures and a multitude of other newly created clinical metrics. A new parameter was defined and used practically every week. People themselves became both victims and spectators, the monotony paralyzed public life, people stayed at home and waited.

Before the pandemic, I was regularly on business trips, visiting customers and partners, looking for and acquiring projects on all five continents. This changed abruptly with the new virus: there were practically no more business trips, meetings were held via new online media platforms and personal customer contact became a rare exception.

And so time passed, the year 2020 drew to a close and everything remained the same. Anyone who thought that things would return to normal in the new period that began was fundamentally mistaken. It was not until the summer that the infection figures began to fall, further serious waves were no longer feared and a gradual all-clear was given for all our lives.

In the autumn of 2021, it was expected that the world of work would definitely return to normal. The management thought about reintroducing the Christmas lunch with all employees - as a sign of solidarity and a new beginning.

The Christmas dinner that fell through

When the coronavirus measures were gradually eased in the summer of 2021, the mask requirement was abolished and working from home was once again declared an exception, more and more people met up in the coffee room during breaks to talk about current issues of a public and personal nature. People laughed together again, occasionally shared a croissant with other colleagues, arranged to have lunch together and, from time to time, a small group would drive to the nearby town after work to enjoy a glass of wine with cheese and olives and a cigar to ring in the end of the working day.

The small group mentioned above regularly included P., who liked to accompany me and another colleague to these drinks receptions and clearly enjoyed the conversations in the group of three. She laughed a lot, as we all did, her eyes shone brightly, and I felt the long-forgotten spell sprouting up in my chest again. She often talked about her children or her youth in Eastern Europe, regularly showing solidarity with the third person in the group, who had also grown up behind the Iron Curtain, making me feel like an outsider in such situations, a child of prosperity who seemed to have known no hardship or hardship. They never meant any harm or even turned against me, and yet I often kept quiet in such cases, contributing very little to the conversation.

I would have loved to have been the entertainer, the one to tempt P.'s lips into smiling - or smirking, as she called it. It didn't suit me at all not to be able to take on this role at such times. As a rule, this role was intended for me and was tailor-made for me: I have always been very quick-witted and often astonished my colleagues with my seemingly fantastic leaps of thought during a conversation, which often resulted in many voices laughing and eyes watering with laughter. On such occasions, I would watch P. very closely out of the corner of my eye, wanting to feel her reactions, wanting to find out whether and how she liked it - only to quickly look away again as soon as she turned her eyes to me. Not that I couldn't or wouldn't have looked her in the eye otherwise - we often did so for long seconds - but on these occasions I didn't want it to appear as if I was trying to put my entertainment efforts in the best light for her sake.

That summer, I began to notice - or at least I imagined I did - that P. was always happy as soon as she saw me, that she sought my closeness - discreetly and unobtrusively - and yet I couldn't miss it, that she blossomed when I joined her for coffee and, whenever possible, stood next to her at the bar table and enjoyed lingering there. There were more and more seemingly unintentional fleeting touches between us, a brief tap on the shoulder, a whispered brush of her fingers across the back of my hand, an accidental collision when washing up the cups, each time immediately followed by a brief furtive crossing of our eyes. I then thought I saw that her eyes seemed even brighter at such moments, her movements seemed even more graceful and her voice sounded even softer than usual.

And I fell into the game without a care in the world, suddenly felt this strong attraction again between people who like each other, between like-minded people, between conspirators, and didn't fight it, let myself drift and enjoyed the moments.

I belong to the class of characters who immediately respond to love with love in return. As soon as I sense that a woman desires me, it only takes a short time before I reciprocate this desire and not only allow myself to be drawn into the maelstrom of this budding affair, no, on the contrary, I voluntarily throw myself into this current, turn into a happy victim, become an adventurer and world conqueror. This was already the case in my younger years and has caused a few minor arguments with my wife, although she is actually an open-minded person with a very understanding knowledge of a man's needs. I'm not suggesting that she would approve of a fling, but she has never denied that flirting with the opposite sex can boost a man's self-confidence and sometimes also prove beneficial for a long-term relationship, and she has conceded and forgiven me for this pleasure on one occasion or another. With increasing age - I am now, as I write these lines, in my 54th year - this thirst for adventure has intensified, but this does not particularly worry or amaze me; I am firmly convinced that it would be no different for all my fellow men who are presented with such opportunities.

It also seemed to me that P. already knew exactly what was going on inside me and that she enjoyed provoking me and turning my emotional world upside down. I soon noticed that she began to wear more clothes that she knew would emphasize her figure even more and show off her feminine charms even more.

By the beginning of fall, the breeding ground for an erotic adventure was sufficiently prepared in me, if not saturated. So it was that I began to think about how this conjured up desire, based on the assumption of commonality, could finally be transformed into an intoxicating yet quiet and discreet affair. We had both been married for years and had our families: a joint adventure could only exist if it remained invisible to all those not involved, even work colleagues were not allowed to know or suspect anything about it - this was an absolute taboo, the breaking of which would nip the whole thing in the bud.

The right opportunity then presented itself completely unexpectedly, the idea was born out of nowhere.

In October 2022, all coronavirus statistics showed stable, low levels; further waves were suspected, but the expected extent no longer raised any alarm bells. The federal government and cantons also relaxed the last remaining measures and the status quo finally seemed to have been restored.

This encouraged the management to consider holding another Christmas dinner for the entire workforce towards the end of the year. The colleagues responsible were tasked with developing an idea and planning and implementing it. After two years of canceled celebrations, they wanted to devote a little more financial resources to it. It was to be a special event that everyone would remember fondly and pleasantly. When the planned activities were presented and explained to us for the first time, I had no idea what hopes I would later begin to place in this evening, what fantasies I would set in motion and how strongly I would cling to them after a few weeks.

The Christmas aperitif and subsequent meal were to be held at a farm in the vicinity, a farm that regularly hosted such events, had its own vineyards and vines in addition to rustic venues and offered products that were at the top of the drinks and food menu on such occasions. It was also emphasized that the operators were happy to turn a blind eye and that the police hour should not be seen as too set in stone. Although the staff would also withdraw after midnight, guests would still have access to wine and other drinks, and all late-night consumption could be added to the bill the following day. I also heard that there were rooms in the courtyard - only a few, but still comfortably furnished - for those of us who didn't want to rush to the last bus.

This gave me the idea of reserving these few rooms, three in number, for us - the cigar lounge group - well in advance. In my imagination, I could already see us sitting alone on the long wooden benches in the barn, the three of us decanting another bottle of wine and eagerly awaiting the hour when only P. and I would be left. I imagined what it would be like then, both of us slightly drunk and freed from our last inhibitions - how we could finally give in to our mutual desire and finally retire to one of the two rooms.

The longer I thought about it, the more I liked the idea, I just had to find a way to make this idea palatable to my two friends and sell it to them so that nothing would stand in the way of its implementation. To my great astonishment, this turned out to be much easier and simpler than I had initially feared.

Neither of them - but mainly P. - needed much persuading, the plan immediately met with their undivided approval, albeit for different reasons. I was sure that P. had seen through me straight away, I couldn't fool her, experience had taught me that enough, and I was glad of it. The conspiratorial looks on their faces when I presented my proposal to them both spoke volumes - I would never be able to forget their eyes from back then as they scrutinized me in detail and at the same time encouraged me to go on and explain the details. Our friend's motivation was to be found elsewhere. Although I knew that he would accept and join us, I suspected that he simply liked the idea of spending a night away from home and indulging in the fun with us. However, I still don't know the real reasons, so any further guesses would be pure speculation. It was certain, however, that he neither knew nor even remotely suspected the ulterior motives in my breast. Let it be said in advance that the end of this story puts this assertion in a completely different light and that I may have been grossly mistaken.

These dreams didn't last long, however, as external circumstances changed abruptly and brought me back to cold reality. Less than two weeks after the preparations had been completed, the number of infections skyrocketed again and the news reported a new variant of the virus, which was supposed to be less acute but much more contagious. Although the government did not issue any new measures, it did urge extreme caution and a reduction in larger events and occasions - also with regard to the traditional Christmas parties held by stores and companies. The advice was to only spend the festive season with close family and to avoid all types of parties and celebrations.

After some discussion and deliberation, this advice was ultimately followed by the management decision: the Christmas dinner was canceled and all reservations canceled.

The employees were put off: There was to be a spring party instead of the Christmas dinner, sometime in March next year, when the virological situation had returned to normal. I myself tried to present this decision to the staff in a positive light, but inwardly I was extremely frustrated and the long-awaited opportunity to get closer to P. went up in smoke.

The spring festival

At Christmas, I went to the mountains with my family for the annual skiing trip on the slopes where I grew up. In contrast to other years, there was finally a lot of snow, the roofs of the houses seemed to be crushed by its weight and the temperatures were below freezing even during the day. The ice rink was in excellent condition and enjoyed numerous visitors every day. After skiing with my wife, I also regularly found myself on the rink in the evening for an ice hockey match with my childhood friends. Traditionally, we spent New Year's Eve in the hotel restaurant of my oldest childhood friend and the New Year began - as it has for years - in the hotel bar, with live music and dancing until the early hours of the morning.

My only brief contact with P. these days was limited to a New Year's text message with good wishes for 2022, but otherwise I remained immersed in my winter world and enjoyed the snow-covered landscape and the winter calm.

When I met her again in the first working days of the new year, all my feelings for her were suddenly present again, and the desire to get to know her better awoke from its hibernation with a new and unprecedented intensity.

The financial year got off to an excellent start, the first major orders were received before the end of January, the corresponding contracts were negotiated and signed, and the mood in the company was relaxed and easy-going.

In February, the pandemic eased again, the planned spring party was discussed again and set for March. I was really looking forward to it, my plans from the previous year came back to life in my dreams and were refined and embellished - until I found out that the venue planned for the Christmas party would no longer be available at that time and the festival organizers started looking for a new venue. To my great disappointment, they decided on a multi-purpose hall in the center of the village, with excellent bus connections until midnight, but no overnight accommodation. All my plans and dreams burst like soap bubbles and left me at a loss for the time being.

A new plan was needed - and it didn't take long to come up with the idea. I quickly found a possible alternative, the difficulty was much more in explaining it to my colleagues in a plausible way and making it palatable.

About fifteen minutes by car from the multi-purpose hall chosen for the festival, there is a picturesque medieval town with cobbled pedestrian streets lined with stores, spread over several alleys and corners, right at the foot of the castle hill, on which, perched high on a rock, a historic and very well-preserved castle complex overlooks the town center. The historic center is home to many small bars, restaurants and cozy hotels, including the cigar lounge where we spent the evening from time to time.

I soon found the arguments to conclusively explain to my friends why, after the party there, the three of us should take the evening into its second phase and why we should then take a room for the night in one of the hotels. The next day, we could have breakfast together and then drive back to the venue to clean the rented room ready for handover and remove any garbage and used crockery. I would arrange everything, they wouldn't have to worry about anything other than bringing their toiletries and pyjamas for the evening; I would even take care of the drinks if the hotel bar closed after midnight.

For the second time, I was feverishly awaiting the set date, picturing the details of the evening over and over again in ever new colors. I was convinced that it was going to be a hit, all the signs, seen through my rose-colored dreamy glasses, pointed unmistakably to it.

When the day finally arrived, I drove to the office early in the morning, my belongings packed and my favorite jeans and shirts with me. As always, P. had also dressed up for an event, swapped her glasses for lenses and had her hair freshly styled and colored at the hairdresser the night before. Even prettier than usual, she was waiting for me in the coffee room in the morning to deposit her suitcase in my car. She would drive to the multi-purpose hall earlier in the afternoon and prepare everything together with the good soul of the office. My colleague and I wouldn't arrive there until around five o'clock, together with the other employees who didn't have any organizational tasks to do.

My colleague's bag was also loaded into the car, as we only wanted to drive to the town in one vehicle, as it was to be expected that a glass or two of wine would also be enjoyed during the spring festival. As usual, I was happy to sacrifice myself as the driver, as I was better able to control and influence the whole process.

After an extensive starter buffet for a standing aperitif, during which a magician performed his first entertainment tricks and magic tricks to lighten the mood of all the guests, dinner was served. We from the management team were responsible for entertaining the staff so that we could talk a little more to those colleagues who we saw less often in our day-to-day work and therefore hardly knew - at least this was very much the case for me; as Head of Sales, my presence in the factory and in the ready-to-wear department was much rarer than that of my other colleagues. There was a lot of laughter, the breaks were enriched with more sleight-of-hand tricks, watches disappeared from wrists as if by magic without the wearers realizing it until the end of the evening. The new owner family from Austria had also arrived the day before to spend the party with us and demonstrate their closeness and interest in our business. People were busy changing places in order to exchange a few words with all colleagues if possible, everyone seemed to be satisfied and enthusiastic, the party turned out to be a complete success.

The hours passed more quickly than I had expected, and the departure time was well past the hour I had anticipated. I was already worried that we would find the hotel reception deserted if we wanted to check in later than planned. I loaded a few bottles of wine into the car so that we wouldn't be left high and dry if we found the hotel bar already closed.

As the rows began to thin out, I urged us to leave: "We don't have to stay until the end, we won't be cleaning up today, we can do that better tomorrow morning. And our fairy godmother will be able to lock up the hall too, she doesn't need us for that." Moreover, we were not the first of the management team to leave the party; as usual, the head of accounting was the first to leave. So we left the managing director behind together with the owner family and a few employees and made our way into town.

We were already expected at reception and received a very friendly welcome. The concierge handed us the keys and explained that two of the rooms were on the same floor, while the third was one floor up. I had the presence of mind to grasp the situation immediately, grabbed the two keys for the lower floor and slipped the third to my colleague: This was the only way I would be able to accompany P. to her door and persuade her to have a last nightcap in my room at . Neither P. nor Theo, as the third member of the group is called, noticed anything of my intentions, we took our things to our rooms and then met up again in the lobby to head for the cigar lounge. I asked the nice lady, who turned out to be the landlady, if we could possibly use a table in the restaurant after our return to the hotel to round off the evening. She very kindly offered us a small separee, which she wanted to prepare for us, and assured us that we could sit there for as long as we liked.

The cigar lounge was very busy. We were lucky enough to get the last corner sofa, ordered a bottle of red wine and looked for two cigars in the humidor, which we smoked with relish while chatting about all sorts of things. We laughed a lot, told each other stories from our lives, talked about everything and everyone - and I sought out P.'s fleeting touch at every available opportunity, be it with my hands, arms, legs or feet; but only when Theo's attention allowed it; nobody except P. and I were ever supposed to notice.

We left after midnight and returned to the hotel. A cozy fireplace room was already waiting for us there with a round table set in white, the wine glasses placed uniformly next to three small plates and a few small bowls and platters with salty cookies and dried meat in the middle of the area - none of which we had explicitly ordered, but declared as a small gift from the hotel. We couldn't believe our eyes - we couldn't have done better. So it goes without saying that we stayed there much longer than I had intended and wished; if my original plan had gone according to plan, I would have retired to a room with P. much earlier if she had agreed to it. Nonetheless, we let the evening wind down slowly, and only when the second of the bottles of wine we had brought with us had given up its last drop did we break down the tents and go to our rooms.

P. walked ahead of me along the corridor - our colleague had already taken the stairs upstairs - looking for her key. I slowed down my steps and summoned up all my courage. As she fumbled with the keyhole, I touched her shoulder and turned her around to face me. She looked at me in astonishment, but smiled. I touched her belt buckle and asked if I could spend the night with her. At that moment she looked even more seductive than usual, the buckle emphasized her lap, the jeans were cut so that they ended just above her sex and emphasized her delicate curves in the area of her bottom and hips. P. did not have protruding hips, but a well-trained, slim and not typically feminine body. Only her small, shapely breasts separated my upper body from hers. I could see her cleavage, smelled her sweet perfume and looked into her brown eyes.

"I don't think that's a good idea," she said quietly, "we're both married and have our families." "If you'd rather, you can come to my room, we could have a drink from the minibar ." I tried to keep my hopes up, not wanting to be discouraged. "Andrea, I can't do that, I can't. Whether it's with me or with you."

I gently stroked her shoulders, along her back towards her bottom - and felt no resistance, on the contrary, I knew she was enjoying it. I whispered to her for minutes, told her that she looked irresistible, tried to change her mind, but to no avail: women are often more consistent in such things than men, it remained with the friendly refusal, I realized that further insistence would only be counterproductive.

It was around 3:30 a.m. when I was finally in my room, alone: the evening had been nice, but in the end it hadn't lived up to my expectations; my dreams remained unfulfilled. I lay in bed, determined not to give up just yet. Other opportunities would arise, women want to be wooed and that takes time and perseverance. I picked up my cell phone and texted her the following coded message: "YR26fmL!"

A little later, a winking smiley came back - I was convinced that P. hadn't understood me and that she would ask what I was trying to say the next day. But the question never came! It wasn't until some time later - when we were already together - that I approached her and wanted to know why she had never asked me about it. She smiled and said: "I knew what it meant, so why should I ask?"

I entered the breakfast room at 8 a.m. on the dot, as agreed with my friends. I was the last one! They were both already sitting at a small table in a Swiss stone pine alcove, chatting animatedly, greeting me as usual in a friendly manner and instructing me to help myself to the buffet. When I sat at the table, I didn't know where I was and mostly kept quiet, keeping my eyes lowered. I rarely looked at them to find out what everyone knew and thought. Had P. already told the whole story? Did my colleague also know about my advances? And if that wasn't the case - which I strongly suspected - how would P. behave towards me now? Would she be offended or even reject me?

But during the whole morning - first at breakfast, then when the four of us tidied up the whole room, washed dishes and disposed of empty bottles - we didn't say a single word about what had happened. We talked and joked as usual, but consistently avoided the subject. Although P. later refused to let me drive her home after work - she said her husband would pick her up - I knew that although I hadn't gained anything, I hadn't lost everything. More opportunities would arise and I was determined to take advantage of them and keep trying my luck.

And the next opportunity should present itself within a few weeks.

In the mountains

For some time, the management team had been discussing a team event that would bring us closer together as a management circle away from the day-to-day business, also on a private level, and at the same time provide space and time for the annual strategy workshop. A long ski weekend together was to provide the stage for this, far away in the Alps, in a mountain village with an international reputation, in which Martin, responsible for accounting, owns a vacation apartment and therefore knows the slopes, hotels and restaurants very well. Arrival was scheduled for Wednesday evening, followed by a strategy workshop on Thursday and skiing with colleagues on Friday and Saturday. Four hotel rooms in the village center had already been reserved for us, our colleague would stay in his apartment and serve us the evening aperitif on his terrace.

Two years ago, I decided to indulge my passion for Swiss folk music and signed up for a Schwyzer Örgeli course, a wooden bellows instrument played and made exclusively in Switzerland, similar to a hand organ, but dichromatic in design and smaller and more manageable in all its dimensions so that I could easily take it with me to an event. Initially, I learned and played on an instrument borrowed from my sister-in-law, but I was soon so enthusiastic about it that I decided to order my own organ and have it built . Each of these instruments is made to the customer's wishes in terms of design and appearance in small manufactories; you won't find such unique pieces in regular music stores.

After examining three different organ builders, I decided on one in the Emmental and ordered my piece of jewelry after hours of configuring it. The waiting time was quoted as 18 months, and it was ready just in time for the planned team event and I was informed that I could pick it up at any time.

The factory was not far from the route we would be taking to the mountains. So I came up with the idea of inviting the two colleagues who were going on the ski weekend with me to visit the factory and share my enthusiasm for this old wooden craft with them. Both P. and Theo were immediately taken with this idea, and the owner of the factory was also looking forward to our visit, as he hoped that it might lead to more potential customers.

This event was now on the calendar, shortly after the spring festival. On Wednesday morning, we packed our suitcases and skis into my car and set off after lunch. We drove through snow-covered winter landscapes in bright sunshine, my colleague in the passenger seat and P. in the back. The whole journey I looked for her in the rear-view mirror, catching it now and again, but mostly through her blue sunglasses; there was no way of interpreting her emotional state. It was only when we were guided through the factory together that I felt her search for closeness again, our eyes lingering longer than usual, deeply absorbed in each other's gaze.

The owner gave us a warm welcome and proudly showed us around the workshop, up and down stairs, through narrow storage corridors and low workbench rooms. Everywhere smelled of freshly sawn wood and glue, there was hardly any noise as most of the work was done by hand. He explained every step of the process to us, starting with the selection of the various types of wood, which he sourced directly from local farmers, through the storage and processing of the materials to the mortizing and tuning of the finished organs. We were shown how the inlays were glued and polished, how the wooden buttons were turned, how the reeds were fitted and mortised and how the leather straps were sewn. Everywhere we went, we were able to talk to the employees, who - delighted by our interest - were happy to provide us with information.

Both friends were enthusiastic, myself most of all, as I enjoyed seeing how interested they were in this new world for them. P.'s eyes lit up more by accident than design, and when one of these conversations turned to her home country, where the manufactory bought its reeds, her enthusiasm knew no bounds.

I noticed how P. crept closer and closer to me, standing very close to me when I made statements; the scent of her hair caught my nose, the random touches increased again, hands brushed against each other fleetingly, she sometimes leaned against me briefly and I gladly returned this search for hidden intimacy. However, everything had to go unnoticed and not attract Theo's attention. So it remained brief and inconspicuous physical contact, nothing more.

At the end of the tour, one of the employees played two Ländler waltzes for us. Everyone applauded, the owner seemed satisfied, as did his guests. I agreed that I would pick up the instrument on the way back, as it shouldn't be left in the car during the cold winter nights.

Then we continued our journey. We decided to take the more scenic route along the left bank of the lake and avoid the highway, stopped again for a coffee and finally reached our hotel about an hour later than planned.

Just like weeks earlier on the evening of the spring festival, the keys were already waiting for us, and just like then, P's and my rooms were on the same floor, while the other two colleagues' rooms were two floors below us. Coincidence or fate? Was this an indication that P. and I were meant to be together? I am anything but superstitious and yet: as soon as it comes to important matters of the heart, the wish becomes the father of the thought, then I begin to interpret even the smallest clues and circumstances as a sign of fate, as a sign from the gods that their favor is with me. I know it's humbug, but I hold on to it anyway! As we all know, hope dies last.

Later, we met Martin, who had already arrived at his apartment in the afternoon, downstairs in the hotel bar and then went to the restaurant together, which he had chosen and reserved for the evening. I ordered the chef's recommendation, a giant pork chop - the eye-catcher par excellence - and two bottles of red wine for all of us, which we emptied with relish over good conversations of a private and business nature, an espresso grappa and an obligatory limoncello offered by the hotel to round off the evening. The strategy workshop was scheduled for the next day. We didn't want to stay up late into the night. Martin retired to his vacation home, but the other three of us went to the hotel bar to enjoy a last nightcap.

I sat down next to P. on a corner bench at the bar, our colleague sat opposite us; we ordered a gin and tonic and resumed our interrupted conversation. The first drink was followed by a second, the conversation turned to private matters, we laughed a lot and I started to put my arm behind P's back on the backrest of the wooden bench more and more often. I wanted it to look as natural as possible, although it was far from accidental. After a while, when I was sure that Theo had no suspicions at all, I began to run my fingers tenderly over P's back, gently tracing small circles around her vertebrae, tracing the contours of her shoulder blades, playing with her long black hair as it flowed over her shoulders and occasionally caressing the skin on the back of her neck. I was initially prepared for P. to resist, to withdraw from me and reject my arm, to punish and reprimand me with looks. But none of this happened: P. seemed to visibly enjoy it, she laughed and talked even more than before, even inconspicuously moved a little closer to me and snuggled into my arm for a few moments, pretending to change position, before quickly leaning forward again, resting her elbows on the tabletop and continuing the conversation. All this happened without our colleague noticing, completely withdrawn from his gaze, avoiding any suspicion.

Months later P. confessed to me, at a time when we were already together, that these hidden touches, which took place in front of everyone's eyes and yet were not allowed to be noticed, we talked at the time about my fingers and their developing habit of gently caressing the inside of her thighs behind my office desk whenever she came to me to discuss some ERP problem, that she found these secret touches extremely sensual and eroticizing, and that they regularly gave her goose bumps. These caresses began that evening in the Bregen and continued throughout the time I was allowed to spend with P., in ever-changing dresses and colors. And even today, a long time later, I still long to get back there and continue the caresses.

After the second gin had been emptied - the clock was now striking midnight - our colleague also retired to his room. We followed his example - his guilelessness should never be overused. However, when we arrived at our room doors at , I tried my luck again - a little more sensitively this time than the night in the small town near the castle - and suggested that P. have another beer from the minibar in my room. It seemed as if P. had just been waiting for this invitation; she was all too happy to say yes, her eyes shining brighter than ever before that evening. She only wanted to go to her room for a moment for little girls, to leave her handbag there too, after which she would come straight over and knock on my door. This was the beginning of the third part of the evening, and it was to be no different for the next two nights in the mountains - the same ritual took place from Thursday to Friday and the evening after.

There was only one chair in the room. I asked P. to sit on my bed and moved my stool as close to her as possible. We opened the bottles of beer and clinked glasses, laughing. I gradually began to approach her on quiet soles, to charm and ensnare her, paying her the best compliments and not hiding my true intentions in the slightest. My fingers resumed their play, this time devoting themselves to her legs and thighs, my hands often resting on her knees, then sliding down to her calves and back again, tracing gentle figures over her thighs. P. didn't resist and willingly allowed everything - I thought I was on the road to victory. But my journey was to be long and arduous, only I had no idea at the time.

I noticed it for the first time when I wanted to hold P.'s hands and trace her life lines with my fingers. She immediately withdrew them from me, obviously crossing an intimacy boundary that I didn't yet understand. I tried again and again, but the reaction was always the same. Did it have something to do with the wedding ring on her finger? Was I approaching a symbol of her commitment in a way that was too intimate, was I getting too close to her relationship with her husband, by getting too close to this symbol of an alliance cast in gold, was I overstepping his area of entitlement in a way that was too obvious?

I realized that I was stuck and wouldn't get anywhere if I didn't deviate from my tactics and develop new ideas. My tender touch alone would not be able to unlock the lock. If I wanted to achieve more, it would also have to involve more sensitive topics at a conversational level; I couldn't do it with nice words and compliments alone. I increasingly began to shift the conversation to a more intimate level, asking about her feelings, unfulfilled desires, unfulfilled longings and dreams, not even stopping at questions with a sexual edge, erotic explorations of the world in which P. found herself and in which she thought and lived. Contrary to expectations, P. opened up to these topics willingly, almost enthusiastically, no amount of reticence hindered her in her explanations and answers. The room was full of tension, laughter gave way to serious reflection, and there were also minutes of sadness when certain memories came up: Things that hadn't gone well in past relationships, important aspects that were missing or at least severely neglected in current life.

And even though we sometimes went round in circles, neither of us wanted to break off the conversation, no matter what. The first bottles were empty, the minibar exhausted and the only place to replenish them was in P.'s room, in her own little fridge. Without hesitating for long, she got up, ran over to her room and came back with the stolen goods she had plundered. We laughed, as neither she nor I were real beer drinkers. We would much rather have shared a bottle of wine, but that wasn't an option. Then we continued the conversation, both intrigued by the turn of events and the new quality of the conversation, both eager to continue it in said vein, both ignorant but eager to see where it would all lead.

When my back got tired of the hard back of the chair, I tried to persuade P. to lie down on my bed with me, a request that she again categorically refused, even though I didn't understand it. I tried the argument that I could massage her feet that way. Although she confessed that she liked this, she stuck to a clear no.

"The feet are a melting pot of our nervous system, the whole body can be influenced and stimulated by touching and stimulating the sole of the foot," I explained to her. "Foot reflexology makes this fact its own and builds on it," I tried to convince her. P. laughed mischievously, knowing exactly what was intended, but again answered the question in the affirmative as to whether she liked having her feet touched naked and whether she would like to walk barefoot.

"I never wear socks when I'm at home," I revealed to her. "I need my feet to touch natural materials such as wood, stone, grass, water and sand. Not just in the sense of feeling and sensing the texture of a parquet floor, a grained wooden plank or an unpolished stone slab, no, it also means a lot to me in terms of the heat exchange between my body and the surface. In summer, when it's humid at night, I often clasp my toes around the metal frame of the bed to absorb the coolness of the iron with my feet." She laughed and nodded.

"Are you ticklish on your feet?" I asked again, to which she immediately replied in the negative. "Most people I know are," I said. "They don't like it when you tickle the soles of their feet with your fingernails, they can't stand it. I, on the other hand, don't mind it, on the contrary, I love it and could never do without it." I reached for the pencil on the bedside table. "When I can't sleep," I said, "I sometimes pick up a pencil and run its tip over the soles of my feet, not missing a single toe. It calms me down physically and winds down my body. I've often woken up and my sheets were suddenly smeared blue because I'd accidentally - or to be honest, deliberately - left the pen open and my feet and legs were scrawled blue all over after the massage." We laughed tears at this.

The tension between us was unbroken, it was literally sizzling. I wanted to touch her so much and began to wish I could kiss her lips.

"When you're traveling in South America and go to the hairdresser to get your hair cut, it's common to get a little pedicure at the same time, have your nails clipped and the calluses on your heels sanded off," I began another little anecdote. "It happened to me once that the lady from downstairs looked at me in bewilderment and asked if I knew that my feet were smeared blue and scribbled on! And I replied that I often write down my thoughts on my skin when I don't have a piece of paper to hand." P. laughed out loud and imagined how this young woman must have looked when I said this.

Then I began to ask P. for the kiss I had longed for. Once again I was rebuffed - once again I was faced with this invisible barrier and didn't know how to overcome it. I begged again and again, explaining to her how much my lips longed for hers, that it would only be one and that I would be satisfied.

"Just one kiss, P.! Just once to feel your lips, just once to let my tongue circle around yours, just once, please!" That night I learned that P. didn't like it when people tried to pester her with the word please. "Don't say please to me, I don't like it!" How often did she repeat this sentence later when I thought I could achieve something with it, that I could bring about a change of heart in one of my requests. As time went on, I learned to accept this. Although the word slipped out again and again afterwards , I corrected myself so quickly that it usually elicited an understanding smile from her and gave me a small Pyrrhic victory.

At some point, the tower clock struck four times and the minibar in P.'s room had also run out. We decided to call it a night. I walked her to my door. In the corridor, I tried to kiss her again, but I didn't succeed. I stroked her hair, then she closed the door and left.