Snow White Must Die (Bodenstein & Kirchhoff, #4)(22)
“Apropos men,” Quentin put in. “How’s it going with you, Esa? Any news?”
She smiled. “A lady takes her pleasure and keeps her mouth shut.”
“Why didn’t you bring him along?”
“Because I knew that you would pounce on the poor guy and dissect him mercilessly.” She then nodded in the direction of her parents and the rest of the relatives, who were spellbound as they watched the action in the arena. “And the whole clan too.”
“So there is somebody,” Quentin persisted. “At least tell us something about him.”
“No.” She held out her empty glass to her younger brother. “Why don’t you see about getting us a refill?”
“Why is it always me?” Quentin complained, but obeyed out of long habit and left.
“Are you and Cosima having problems?” Theresa asked, turning to Oliver. He gave his sister a startled look.
“No. Why would you think that?”
She shrugged but didn’t take her eyes off her sister-in-law. “Something is different between the two of you.”
Oliver knew his sister’s infallible intuition. There was no point in lying that he and Cosima were not getting along.
“Well, last summer after our silver anniversary we had a small crisis,” he admitted. “Cosima had rented a finca on Mallorca and wanted to spend three weeks there with the whole family. After a week I had to leave, because a difficult case came up. She took offense at that.”
“Aha.”
“She accused me of leaving her all alone with Sophia, even though that wasn’t the original plan. But what could I do? I can’t just switch gears to be a full-time parent and play the househusband!”
“But you should be able to manage three weeks of vacation,” Theresa replied. “I don’t want to meddle, but you are an official. In your absence wouldn’t there be someone to cover for you?”
“Do I hear a hint of contempt for my profession in your voice?”
“Don’t be so touchy, dear,” his sister tried to mollify him. “But I can understand why Cosima was angry. She has a job too, and doesn’t really fit the traditional kids-kitchen-church role, in which you, the old macho man, would prefer to cast her. Maybe you’re even happy that she doesn’t go off on expeditions anymore and you have her completely under your thumb.”
“That’s not true at all,” Oliver countered, looking upset. “I have always supported her in her work. I think what she’s doing is very admirable.”
Theresa looked at him, and a mocking smile spread across her face. “Nonsense. You can say that to everyone else, but not to me. I’ve known you too long.”
Feeling caught, Oliver said nothing. His eyes wandered over to Cosima. As usual, his big sister had effortlessly succeeded in putting her finger on the sore point. She was right this time too. He was actually relieved that since Sophia was born, Cosima was no longer going off for weeks at a time to travel all over the world . But he didn’t like hearing it from his sister.
Quentin returned with three glasses of champagne, and their conversation drifted to other, less charged topics. After the riding demonstrations were over, Marie-Louise opened the buffet that her coworkers had set up in the anteroom of the stables. People began moving toward the inviting-looking cocktail tables, the long rows of tables with white tablecloths and benches with comfortable cushions, and the arrangements of fall flowers. Oliver ran into relatives and old acquaintances he hadn’t seen in a long time; there was plenty to talk and laugh about. The mood was relaxed. He saw Cosima talking with Theresa and hoped that his sister wasn’t inciting her against him with some of her feminist slogans. Next year Sophia would be starting daycare, and then Cosima would have more time to herself. She was working on a new film project that took up a lot of her time. In a sudden urge of goodwill Oliver resolved to start coming home earlier and to keep weekends free to give Cosima a respite from all the childcare. Maybe then the tension would ease that had existed between them ever since the big fight on Mallorca.
“Dad.” Rosalie tapped him on the shoulder and he turned to see his older daughter. She was studying to be a chef at the Schlosshotel with Jean-Yves St. Clair, the star French chef. Today she was in charge of the buffet. She was holding Sophia by the hand. The child was smeared with a brownish substance from top to toe, and Oliver hoped it wasn’t what it looked like.
“I can’t find Mom,” Rosalie said, agitated. “Maybe you could change the little princess. Mama must have some spare clothes for her in the car.”
“What’s that all over her face and hands?” Oliver managed to free his long legs from under the table.
“Don’t worry, it’s only chocolate mousse,” said Rosalie. “I have to get back to work.”
“Okay, come over here, little piggie.” Oliver grabbed his younger daughter and took her in his arms. “Look what a mess you are.”
Sophia braced her little hands against his chest and started thrashing about. She couldn’t stand having her freedom of movement restricted. With her little peach cheeks, soft dark hair, and cornflower-blue eyes she looked good enough to eat, but it was all an illusion. Sophia had inherited Cosima’s temperament and knew how to get her way. Oliver carried her out the stable door and crossed the courtyard. He happened to glance to the left through the open door to the smithy and to his astonishment saw Cosima pacing back and forth with her cell phone to her ear. The way she was running her hand through her hair, cocking her head and laughing, surprised him. Why did she have to go outside to make a call? Before she could catch sight of him he hurried on, but a faint feeling of suspicion remained deep inside him like a tiny barb.