“Well, except for the fact that you’re lying, that sounds very reasonable.”
He didn’t know what to say. He glanced in the direction of the newspaper, which was now very far away. Her already serious voice grew even thornier.
“You know you owe me fifteen more years, don’t you, Dad?”
The number stung his psyche, and awakened the familiar knowledge of having been a terrible parent. It had been lying dormant for three years, since a happy May evening when she suddenly appeared on his doorstep and explained that she had one week in Copenhagen, and that it seemed most practical and economical for her to stay with him. Said it as if nothing could be more natural. Then she invaded his apartment and his life—an unknown sixteen-year-old girl, pretty, vivacious, full of life … his daughter.
There was nothing to do but lie down on his shield and hope for mercy, but the words didn’t really want to come. To apologize seemed silly, and to promise reform and a new, healthy lifestyle was easier said than done. To top it off, he was not the type who found it easy to share his emotions. He launched into a couple of vague promises, until she suddenly shook off her seriousness and changed the subject.
“Let’s get back to that another time, Dad. Tell me, have you gotten used to the digs? This is quite a sophisticated little cottage Nathalie has.”
This topic was also explosive, even though it was slightly less personal, and if he hadn’t known better, he would have suspected that she’d brought it up deliberately now that he was on the defensive. But she wasn’t like that. It was only he who thought of conversations as a form of strategic play with winners and losers—a bad habit that he dismissed somewhat too conveniently as a professional disease and the result of many interrogations. He tried not to let himself be provoked.
“Yes, this is magnificent.”
“Why did you get so sulky the day before yesterday when we arrived?”
“Because the Countess is my subordinate, and the whole thing was somewhat overwhelming.”
“But you knew it was hers.”
“Yes, my lovely girl, I did, but the Lord only knows I was not clear on the standard. This luxury villa would get the euro signs spinning in the eyes of the most exclusive vacation renter, and the fact that we’re getting it for small change is unethical and probably also illegal.”
“She’s rich. So what? Anyway, enough with the ‘girl.’”
“And then the refrigerator is stuffed with enough food to see us through an atomic winter.”
“But we won’t be here for an atomic winter, we’re only going to be here for two weeks. You can just cut back on eating, of course. It certainly wouldn’t hurt you to draw on your reserves for a while.”
“No food, no drink, no smoking; what’s next?”
She heard him and continued her lecture.
“Did you know that the flagstones on the terrace are hand-painted Italian stone and that the marble in the entrance hall is called ?landsbrud?”
“How do you know that?”
“From Nathalie, of course.”
No one else referred to the Countess as Nathalie, and it sounded strange to his ears. Nathalie von Rosen was admittedly her given name, but everyone, including herself, referred to her as the Countess.
“Have you been here before?”
“As it happens, yes.”
“This gets worse and worse.”
“Then you’ll think this is even worse, because I have brought a gift along for you.”
“A gift? Who is it from?”
“From Nathalie, but I was going to wait a few days before giving it to you.”
There was nothing feigned about his look of bewilderment.
“You know, Dad, sometimes you are simply incredibly dense. This isn’t that hard to understand, and—if you ask me—she’s got a thing for you, and if you just took the slightest care of yourself and dropped fifteen or twenty kilos, you could make a great couple.”
The room filled with the small, sharp sounds of bare feet on the whitewashed Pomeranian pine, and she was gone, before he had a chance to comment on her absurd idea.
The gift from the Countess was brilliant. Like a parrot on its perch, Anna Mia settled onto the armrest of his chair (when she returned) and watched closely as he unwrapped it. Aron Nimzowitsch, Mein System, the first edition from 1925, with a dedication from the master himself—a treasure that transported him into a state akin to ecstasy. Meanwhile, Anna Mia managed to read over his shoulder.
“What does she mean, ‘Thank you for your help’?”
He turned the card over, too late.
“Don’t you have any manners? You don’t read other people’s letters, do you?”
“I do. What did you help her with?”
“That doesn’t concern you!”
They sat for a while in silence, she on the armrest and he in the chair.
“Tell me, how well do you two know each other?” he asked.
“Who? Me and Nathalie?”
Her feigned nonchalance was laughable.
“Yes, of course.”
“That doesn’t concern you.”
They were back to square one.