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The music room haunted me. All those books, so evidently his. I couldn’t let it lie unspoken. “The books in the music room. Are they yours?” I broached, peering at him from under my fringe.
Instead of a frown, he chortled. “Of course they’re mine.”
“But they’re here,” I pointed out.
“Because I’ve read them all. They’re in here now.” He tapped a temple with a finger. “I chose to study in Cambridge, small digs in the college. So I only took the pick of the collection. The rest stayed here. Mum doesn’t have a big house. Dad has loads of space. Silly girl. You and your questions. Do you think I’m going to up sticks and move back here?”
I didn’t answer as my face grew hotter. I’d been foolish with my overthinking again. Sometimes explanations were much simpler than the ideas concocted by my overactive imagination. I concentrated on the road ahead, which had entered a wooded region. I glimpsed what I thought to be water glinting through the trees. Stefan, having ensured that I was stuffed with a cooked breakfast, had insisted that I bring a jacket, even though the air had warmth and the sky was clear blue. The weather front with its overnight rain had dispersed, leaving a glorious spring day. I’d also watched him pack a light lunch in a rucksack. A picnic in the woods, maybe?
We drove past more houses, increasingly luxurious in appearance and size. We entered a small town and the trees thinned to open up the view. What lay before my eyes took me by surprise—a lake—vast in scale, shimmering under the sun and dotted with sailing boats. I could make out the far shore, but the lake disappeared in either direction to the left and right.
“Wow. What is this place?”
Stefan slowed the car, letting it crawl alongside the waterfront then past what appeared to be a ferry station. “Lake Starnberg. When I was a child, Dad brought me and Hans here to sail and swim.”
He drove on past a few shops and cafés, out of the small village and back into the woods. Now and again, I caught sight of the water.
“Where are we going?” I repeated my earlier question.
He smiled with a small shrug.
I growled under my breath with frustration.
He turned off the main road and drove down a narrow track. At the far end, the lake reappeared, and with it, a wooden jetty and boathouse, both shaded by overhanging trees.
“This belongs to your family?”
“Yes. Although it is little used. Hans comes down here occasionally for a long weekend of sailing, when it suits him,” he snarled the last few words. “Dad hasn’t the strength on his own. A local man comes by and checks on locks and contents, keeping things ship-shape.” He parked the car, switching off the engine.
The first thing I noticed as I stepped out of the car was the breeze. A cool flow of air that picked up the ends of my hair and tossed them about. The sun might have been bright and warm, but the air felt nippy—too cold. I reached into the car and retrieved my jacket.
Stefan took my hand and led me up the wooden jetty. The gray boards looked weathered and weak. I tentatively put a foot on the first one.
“They’re fine,” he said, noting my reticence. “Everything is well maintained.”
I ignored the creak and followed him down the narrow pier until the water lapped underneath the jetty, surrounding us. Stefan pointed down the lake and I turned to see what he was showing me. I stopped in my tracks and grabbed his arm. Before me, in the distance, rising up out of the ground, the snow-capped mountains of the Alps—a stunning view. They looked crisp and clearly defined, and I wanted to reach out and touch them. “Incredible. They look so close.”
Stefan nodded. “It has to be a clear day like today, or else they disappear into the clouds. You’re lucky, they’re usually hidden.” He crouched, choosing a spot on the jetty to sit, and patted the board next to him. I joined him, my legs dangling over the side, nearly touching the clear water. I could see stones and rocks on the bottom of the lake.
“You come here sailing?” I shaded my eyes from the sun and observed the distant sailing boats.
“With my brother and father. Mum, she hated being on the water, and by the time I was old enough to learn how to sail, she’d long gone. I spent many a summer tacking back and forth across the lake.”
I snuggled closer to him, and he put an arm around my shoulders.
“Good times, for you and Hans. Not so now?” I ventured to ask, remembering the heated phone calls last Sunday.
Stefan sighed and swung his legs underneath him. The tips of his shoes brushed the surface of the water, sending out tiny ripples. “I fell out with Hans a few years back over a relationship my mother began with a man. Hans considered him to be unsuitable—a potential money grabber with no proper job. I kept my counsel, believing Mum would see it for herself eventually. Hans practically shunned her, refusing to visit while they lived together. He demanded she leave this guy. Ironic, yes?” Stefan turned to me, his eyes sparkling with not humor, but anger. “I’m the controlling one, aren’t I? However, it was my brother who pushed her away.”
“Your mother is still with this man?”
“No. She did boot him out in the end, and it was her choice. Hans gloated from afar. I sympathized.”
“It must have been tough, knowing you didn’t like this man.” I squeezed his hand, sensing the tension in his body. “I think… You don’t like to see Hans take charge of your mum because it is a trait you have and maybe… You’re uncomfortable with your own self-image.” I tried to phrase my words carefully, not wanting to offend him.
Stefan pursed his lips, but didn’t disagree with my viewpoint. “Except, I held back.”
