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“Yes, but several of us worked closely with Mr. Wiener in pastmonths. You’ll forgive me for being blunt, but I have to question whether a colleague of his will have the same grasp of the situation.”
Ms. Delaney blinked and waited a beat before saying, “I’m not Bradley Wiener’s colleague; I’m his boss.”
Noar sat up straighter in his chair, startled. Matteo tamped down a spike of irritation. Like Noar, Matteo didn’t want Ms. Delaney here. ButunlikeNoar, Matteo had never implied that she wasn’t qualified to do her job. This was why striving to be cordial and fair, even in the midst of one’s distaste for a situation, was a good policy. Less chance of putting one’s foot in one’s mouth. Matteo might not be succeeding in that endeavor, but hewastrying.
“I’ve been working on this file from day one,” Ms. Delaney said, and there was that blasted word again.File. “I’m not fluent in German as Brad is, and for that I’m sorry, but otherwise, I can assure you that I’m up to speed.”
Up to speed.He still hated that phrase.In through the nose, out through the mouth.
Ms. Delaney looked at him suddenly, before returning her attention to Noar. Did he still have sugar on his face? He performed a very undignified swipe of his face with the back of a hand.
“Yes.” The king looked pointedly at Noar. “You will recall that Ms. Delaney was involved in the tendering process last year and led CZT’s bid for this project.”
He spoke in a manner that silenced Noar. The king had a way of making a statement that was, on the surface, a neutral statement of fact, but imbuing it with a kind of palpable, withering disdain. He hadn’t pulled out that tone for a while, not since the princess’s husband first came on the scene.
With Noar chastened, the meeting unfolded as expected, beginning with some preliminary business unrelated to Ms. Delaney—approving the minutes from the last meeting and reappointing the members of the health and safety committee. Ms. Delaney watched with great interest that must be affected. But then, perhaps it wasn’t the content of the meeting that interested her. Perhaps she was attempting to get a handle on the players. That’s what Matteo would be doing in her place. She did seem to be looking at Noar whenever the opportunity presented itself, and she would look at him for a beat longer than was called for. It caused Matteo to do the same. The man did not look happy.
“Is there anything we need to add to the agenda before we begin?” the king asked as they reached their main item of business—Ms. Delaney and her modernization mission.
“Yes,” Ms. Delaney said. “I’m wondering if it would be possible to visit the Riems facility earlier than I’m scheduled for? I’d rather not have visits to the two factories scheduled so far apart. While I understand the logic of grouping trips to Riems, I’d like for everyone to hear an introduction from me more or less at the same time. I don’t want the folks in Riems to feel that they’re an afterthought. I’d be more than happy to make as many trips as it takes to make sure we get off to a good start.”
“Yes, of course. It’s a good idea. Mr. Benz can take you whenever you like.” The king shot a questioning look at Matteo, who nodded. What else could he do? He had thought collecting Ms. Delaney at the airport and organizing today’s meeting would be the end of his nannying duties, and taking Ms. Delaney to Riems was the absolute last thing he had the time or the desire to do right now. But he would manage it somehow. He always did.
“Perhaps we could go on Friday?” she asked, looking down at her phone. “I’d really like to get there this week.”
“We do have the artisans breakfast Friday,” Matteo reminded the king, who waved a hand dismissively and said, “We’ll muddle through that without you.”
The meeting commenced with the group going over last year’s annual report and answering a steady stream of questions about it from Ms. Delaney. During a break, she stayed where she was, making herself available for informal chats with board members, who flocked to her like flies to honey. She never even got out of her seat.
She never ate any of his food.
Chapter Four
Matteo finished his workday, as he always did, by checking in with His Majesty. It wasn’t a formal meeting—it never appeared on the king’s schedule—but it had become a tradition, and for Matteo, a valuable opportunity to gauge the monarch’s mood. Much of the intelligence that informed Matteo’s work arose from these meetings.
When they were both in residence, their end-of-day check-in generally took place in the palace library, where the king tended to sit for a while before dinner, and indeed that was where Matteo found him. He dipped his head and lowered himself to the chair by the fire across from the king.
“How was the rest of the board meeting?” After the break in the meeting earlier today, Matteo had decided his time would be better spent working on his second, seasonal job—since his presence wasn’t adding anything to the meeting, he might as well seize on the unexpected few hours of time to get some work done.
Instead of answering, the king said, “You never knew my mother.”
“No. I never had the pleasure.” Matteo was three decades the king’s junior and had only been working for him for five years. But of course he knew of the queen mother, and his parents had always proudly displayed Christmas cards from her—and they had actually been fromher, not merely generic cards from her office. Matteo’s late grandmother and the king’s late mother had been close friends at school and beyond. And Matteo’s parents had always been invited to the palace’s annual Cocoa Ball. Sometimes, when Matteo thought about all the hard times, he held on to the memories of watching his parents—before his father’s troubles—dress for the ball. The family would have lunch together on Christmas Eve, then his aunt would come to stay, or, when they were a bit older, they’d be left in the charge of his older sister. His parents would make the long drive back home after the ball, to be home for Christmas morning, even though they were always welcome to stay at the palace. That was something he and his siblings had been proud of—their parents were invited to stay at the palace. But his mother had always drilled into them that they were not supposed to say as much to other people, because it was conceited. It made other people feel lesser.Kindness costs nothing. And in this case, she would add,And sometimes the kindest thing to say is nothing.
But sometimes, these days, Matteo marveled that he worked at the same palace he’d watched his parents set out for every Christmas Eve. He could have chosen tolivein that palace, but he’d surprised himself by opting instead for his apartment over the stable. Or perhaps it wasn’t a surprise. Perhaps he was his mother’s son. He liked to think so. He liked to think he had internalized some of her guidance, not only about how to treat people butabout how to be in the world. What to value and how to preserve things that matter in a world full of disposable, fleeting pleasures.
“My mother was a very straightforward woman.” Matteo had to shake himself back into the present. “You could say a lot of things about her, and my late wife did”—the king smiled fondly—“but you always knew where you stood with my mother.”
“That’s admirable.”
“You think so?”
“Well, I suppose the answer to that depends on where you stood with her.”
The king laughed. “I’d like to invite Ms. Delaney to dine with us this evening.” Matteo took a moment to make the jump to yet another seemingly random topic. “Will you join us?”
“Of course.”
“Ms. Delaney reminds me of my mother.”
