Anna’s presence doesn’t help. She is as striking as the first time I saw her, maybe more so, now that the shock has worn off. Nowadays the Brandenburgs lead a reclusive life, shunning the media and rarely making public appearances. The mystery around Anna makes her even more captivating. I’m not saying she exudes warmth, but there’s something magnetic about her.
She meets my gaze and I try not to blush.
‘Luca, it’s wonderful to have you here,’ she says with a sincere-sounding joy. ‘I should have led with that. It’s not every day that you get to meet your grandson. I . . .’ She halts, shaking her head. ‘Your grandfather should be here for this. I’ll fetch him myself.’
Seconds later, she too is swallowed up by the manor, leaving only a whiff of citrus perfume in the salty air.
I turn to Dad. ‘Can you not?’
‘What?’ he says defensively.
‘You’re prickly.’
‘Am not.’
‘Like a hedgehog with goosebumps. You take offence at every word she says and insult her whenever you can. I’m nervous enough as it is, and you’re not helping.’
He breathes out loudly through his nose. ‘Fine. But she’s just as bad!’
‘Maybe, but you’re not fourteen!’ I hiss.
Anna returns and as she crosses the patio, the grace in her step is unparalleled.
‘Any second now,’ she claims, and plucks a bottle from a cooler. ‘Wine, anyone?’ She fills our glasses before we get a chance to protest. As she sinks back into her chair, blonde hair swinging, her face lights up. ‘There he is!’
I turn my head, setting eyes on my grandfather for the first time. Once again I’m reminded how much he looks like Dad. They share the same facial features and a wavy shock of hair, though Graham’s is silver where Dad’s is a deep brown. Next to them I’m the odd one out, which stings more than it should.
‘Could it be, my own grandson?’ he exclaims, and stops right in front of me, bypassing Dad without a glance. His blue eyes gleam, set off by a green polo shirt so dark it almost matches his black chinos and loafers. Insecurity sweeps over me. I don’t have the slightest idea what to do, how to act. My body gets up of its own accord, but that’s as far as I get. Do I shake his hand, do I hug him? How do you greet the grandfather you’ve never met?
‘Let me look at you,’ he says and takes both my hands in his with a self-assured grip. In my mind he was ten feet tall, but Anna, with her long legs and the neck of a swan, towers over him, over all of us. Graham might be shorter than me by a couple inches, but with his air of confidence, he feels like a giant.
He takes a step back and scans me from head to toe. Ispent hours panicking over what to wear, but in the end I opted for my favourite high-waisted trousers, a faded blue vest, and the pearl on a chain from Simo, which I remove only to sleep. If I couldn’t impress them, at least I’d feel at home in my clothes.
‘A true Brandenburg, if ever I’ve seen one,’ Graham decides.
‘It’s great to meet you,’ I manage, my voice sounding way too high-pitched in my ears.
‘And you,’ he says almost conspiratorially, pulling me close again. He still holds my hand as he turns to Dad.
‘Matthew,’ he states, and his voice is a noticeable few degrees cooler. ‘It’s been a long time.’
Dad watches us, his father and his son, with a detached expression. He made no effort to dress up, and I count at least two coffee stains on his T-shirt. His jaw shifts, and I know he’s fuming. ‘It has,’ he agrees, but leaves it at that.
Graham marches to the seat across from me, not without planting a kiss on his wife’s head. Something in me melts at this tender moment, and once again I’m glad to fall back into my chair.
‘How nice to have all my boys gathered around me,’ Anna says, and I think I hear her voice waver. ‘A rare occurrence.’
‘Yes,’ Dad replies, ‘which makes me wonder—’
But I don’t find out what he wonders, because a flock of kitchen staff streams out on to the patio. They create an artwork of the dining table, placing an assortment of foods in front of us that can only be described as a feast. Chilli-and-honey-coated halloumi, steaks twice the size of my palms, roasted mini potatoes drowning in herb and garlicbutter, salmon crowned with lemons and coconut flakes, and a platter of charred watermelon, pear and fig. As a final touch, Susie puts the flowers in a delicate blown-glass vase, and as quickly as the staff appeared, they’re gone again. My eyes almost pop out of my head, but nobody else seems impressed.
‘Eat!’ Anna orders. I’m the only one who follows her invitation. Graham picks at his salmon with little enthusiasm, Anna only slices the tiny potatoes in half, and Dad is too busy scowling.
Having Graham Brandenburg sit across from me is intense. Not only does he exude confidence, he’s extremely handsome. It’s a weird thing to note about your grandfather, but the man is basically a stranger, and I’m not trying to be self-congratulatory. If there’s a Brandenburg gene that gives you flawless skin and the power to squash someone with a single look, it passed me over.
I’m relieved I finally have something to focus on that isn’t my grandparents or their bougie home. Personally, I don’t understand people who don’t eat food when it’s offered and, most importantly, free. I dig in, steering clear of the meat and fish, and take a generous helping of everything else. I have no qualms when it comes to food – why hold back when you can just . . . not?
‘So, Luca, tell me – you go to school still, don’t you?’ Graham asks.
