AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She also wanted to know who had given him the Rilke poems, but that was not the point.
“I grew up poor,” she said. “My father was a longshoreman, and he worked a lot, so we weren’t out on the streets, but things were always tight.”
“That’s why you got along so well with Leon Bachmann.”
“Maybe. I know you think of me as the Big Bad Wolf, but I have a lot of respect for unions.”
“Is that why you listened to him about hastening your first trip to Riems, and about moving out of the palace?”
“Mostly that was a question of understanding that he was right.” She hesitated, wondering if she should say the rest. Well, hell. “That’s what I meant in the car on the way from the airport, about getting the lay of the land. There are often—usually—forces at work that I can’t know about until I arrive. What Leon said about the mood at the Riems plant made sense. I just didn’t know about it.”
“I didn’t know about it, either,” he said, and she was pretty sure what he was trying to say was that he hadn’t been holding back that information.
They lapsed back into silence. It was still companionable. Eventually, he said, “I’m not ashamed of my family’s modest circumstances.”
“Of course not. Why should you be?”
“Well, it was quite the scandal. My mother lost a lot of friends. Many people couldn’t get over the fact that we had to move to an apartment.”
“Apartment living is normal in New York. I’ve lived in a bunchof apartments. We moved a lot, either because my parents thought they had a lead on a slightly less dumpy place, or because the rent would go up too much. It was only three years ago that we bought a house.” He nodded as if he appreciated what she’d said, so she kept going. “My mom was pregnant with me when she met my dad—he adopted me—and she’d been living in a shelter because her parents kicked her out of the house. So she never took for granted having a reliable roof over her head, and she taught me not to, either.”
“Yes,” he said quietly. She waited for more, but there wasn’t any. She started to think about Mr. Benz’s family. Like hers, they might not be rich when it came to material things, but as cliché as it sounded, they were clearly rich in other ways. The affection and goodwill between them had been palpable. “Why do your mother and sister wear headphones when your brother is playing his music? Why doesn’t he wear the headphones?”
Mr. Benz smiled. “Something about sound quality, needing to really hear the sound in its purest state.”
“Your mother and sister are good sports. At least Armend has good taste. Who doesn’t like Britney Spears?” She was partly baiting him, but she smiled thinking back to her own boy-band phase.
He rolled his eyes. “Aren’t you too old for Britney Spears?”
“Is anyone ever too old for Britney Spears?”
“I... don’t know.” She lifted her head. His brow was deeply furrowed. He looked utterly bewildered. “Ms. Delaney, you are something of a mystery.”
She didn’t tell him that she’d been thinking of him the same way—as a puzzle she couldn’t crack. “Do you think maybe your sister was right and you should start calling me Cara?”
“Doyouthink so?”
She shrugged. “At least while we’re truce-ing.” She looked around. “Which I assume we are. I don’t think we would be sitting here chatting in a hot spring otherwise.”
“Very well, then, Cara. And you must call me Matteo.”
“Matteo,” she echoed, and it felt strange in her mouth.
They smiled at each other sort of goofily for a moment before Mr. Benz—Matteo—went back to talking about his brother. “Armend is very talented musically. The twins were only six when we moved to the apartment, but in those days he had access to the best music teachers, and he was something of a prodigy. I always thought he would become a musician. I never thought about the production end of things, but it seems a good fit. In addition to having musical talent, he’s always liked to build things.”
“It’s honestly probably less of a gamble than wanting to be a pop star.”
“Yes. I just need to...” He frowned. “Get him set up. He wants to move to LA, but I’m trying to talk him into Stockholm. I understand it’s somewhat of a hub for popular music production, and it’s more... realistic than America.”
It seemed likely that Mr. Benz, like her, was supporting his family. No, thatMatteowas supporting his family. Her brain was having trouble making the switch to first names. “Your younger siblings are quite a bit younger, yes?” The way he interacted with them had been half brotherly, half paternal.
“Yes. My older sister is three years older than I. The twins are ten years younger. I think my mother thought another baby might mend things between her and my father. This was before she knew what was actually happening. She didn’t understand thatshe couldn’t fix his problems, that his long absences weren’t about their marriage, but about his gambling. But of course a baby never solves marital problems anyway. And she got two for her troubles. Though I sound as if I’m saying they weren’t wanted, which isn’t the case at all. The twins are the light of her life. Of mine, too.”
In some ways, it was a bit odd to think of the buttoned-up Matteo using “light of my life” in reference to other people. But in others, it was beginning to seem less odd. She really had misjudged him initially.
“We lost things when life changed,” he said thoughtfully, “but they were just that—things. Experiences, too, I suppose. Travel and fine dining and such. But life was so much easier with my father gone. I think we would all agree that it was a more-than-fair trade-off. My mother is happy. She has a job she finds meaning in, as do I. My older sister is happily married with two children. The twins aren’t at Oxford or Cambridge, but they’re being educated.”
He sounded a tad defensive, and she imagined that in his circles, he encountered his fair share of snobs who viewed his family’s changed circumstances as a tragedy.
