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茴香酒店 Hotel Pastis (连载6)

(2011-03-16 08:30:57)
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 茴香酒店 <wbr>Hotel <wbr>Pastis <wbr>(连载6)             在阿根廷门多萨一家酒庄就餐。

 

  Simon took his glass and went up the broad staircase and into what the decorators always referred to as the master suite. The scent that Caroline wore was still there, very faint, as he passed the line of fitted closets that had held her last few dozen dressed, the overflow from the dressing room. He pushed back the folding doors. Hangers had been dropped on the floor in a spiky pile next to discarded shopping bags from Joseph, Max Mara, Saint Laurent-glossy, crumpled souvenirs from half the boutiques in Knightsbridge. A pair of beige and black Chanel shoes, their soles of the heels; £250 tossed away because of an almost invisible scar.

  He put the shoes back and undressed, dropping his clothes on the four-poster bed. It was too big for Caroline’s new house, and he wondered idly who would be sleeping   it after him. He’d always hated the damned thing. With its pleats and ruffles and billowing curtains, it made him feel like a trespasser in a decorator’s boudoir. But then the whole house made him feel like that.

  He walked into the bathroom and met his reflection in the full-length mirror, a naked middle-aged man holding a glass. God, he looked older than forty-two. Tired eyes, deep creases either side of his mouth, a streak of grey in one of his eyebrows, silver tips beginning to show in his straight black hair. Another few years and he’d be pear-shaped  if he didn’t do somehting more than the occasional snatched game of tennis. He sucked in his belly and pushed out his chest. Right. Hold that for the next ten years, eat less, drink less- a lot less-go to  a gym. Boring. He exhaled, finished his champagne and ducked into the shower without looking at the mirror again, and spent fifteen minutes letting the water beat down on the back of his neck.

   The bedroom phone rang as he finished drying himself. ‘Chez Nous is open,’ Ernest said. ‘We can eat in half an hour.’

  Simon prt on old cotton trousers and a frayed silk shirt that Caroline had tried to throw away several times, and walked down to the kitchen barefoot. The tiled floor was cool and smooth, and the feel of it reminded him of holidays long ago in hot places.

   Ernest had set the table with candles and a shallow dish of white rose heads. A box of Partagas and a cigar cutter were beside Simon’s place, and the sound of a Mozart piano concerto came from the speakers recessed in the wall at the far end of the room. Simon felt clean and relaxed and hungry. He took the champagne from the fridge.

   ‘Ern?’ He held up the bottle.

  Ernest noticed Simon’s bare feet while the glasses were being filled. “I can see we’re in bohemian mood tonight,’ he said, ‘Quite the beachcomber, aren’t we?’

   Simon smiled. ‘Caroline would have had a fit.’(to be continued)

 

    赛蒙拿着他的玻璃杯,步上了宽阔的阶梯,进入设计师所称的主卧室。当他走过更衣室里摆不下而摆放在外面的衣柜,依然能闻到卡洛琳使用过的淡淡馨香。他推开衣柜的折门,衣架已经散乱一地,堆放在乔瑟夫、麦克斯麦拉(maxmara)及圣罗兰购物袋旁,这些都是骑士桥半数精品店所遗留下来原本体面而今皱成一团的纪念品。一双鞋跟鲜少磨损的香奈儿褐黑色的鞋子,侧躺在角落边。她为什么没有带走?赛蒙将鞋子拾起,发现其中一只鞋跟的皮面有个小小的割痕;竟然为了这几乎看不见的瑕疵,扔了这价值二百五十英镑的鞋。

    他把鞋子放回去,脱下衣服,放在四柱大型卧床上。这床对卡洛琳的新家而言太大了。他胡思乱想,不知未来谁会是这床的主人。他一向痛恨这该死的东西。它的褶边装饰与波浪般的床帘,让他感觉到自己就像是设计师闺房的侵入者。不仅如此,整个房子都让他有这种感受。

   他走进浴室,在全身镜里看见了自己的身影——一个手握玻璃杯的中年男子。天啊!他看起来比四十二岁还老。疲惫的眼神,嘴边深深的皱纹,一边眉毛现出一丝灰色,他笔直的黑发发梢也渐趋银白。如果他再不努力,只是偶尔打打网球,再过几年,他就会变成梨型身材的糟老头。他收小腹,一口气从胸腔呼出。对,就是这样。未来十年,都要保持这样的身材。少吃少喝酒(什么都要少),多上健身房。无聊!他呼出气,喝完了香槟,不再看镜子,走进淋浴间,就这样让水柱打在他的背上,整整十五分钟。

   当他把自己擦干后,卧室的电话响了起来。思尼斯说:“‘cheznons’开了,半小时后,我们就可以开饭了!”

   赛蒙穿上老旧的裤子及一件布边有些磨损的丝质衬衫(卡洛琳好几次都想把它扔掉),光脚下楼到厨房。铺了瓷砖的地板冰冷而光滑,这种感觉令他联想起很久以前在炎热地带度过的假日情景。

    恩尼斯在桌上摆了蜡烛及一盘装满白色玫瑰的浅碟子。赛蒙的座位旁摆着一盒巴特加雪茄(partagas),还有一支雪茄刀。莫扎特的钢琴协奏曲由房间尽头镶嵌在墙上的喇叭传来。赛蒙觉得自己神清气爽,而且饿坏了。他从冰箱中取出香槟。

    “恩?”他举起酒瓶。

    恩尼斯在倒酒时发现赛蒙光着脚。他说:“我可以看得出来,我们今晚的心情很波西米亚,好像码头的流浪汉,不是吗?”

    赛蒙笑着说:“如果卡洛琳在,肯定会发疯!”

(未完待续)





 

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