Marie swallowed. To the best of her knowledge, Franco had leafed through that book once, the first time, and then never picked it up again.
Why couldn’t he simply tell his father that enough was enough? The glass door shivered in Marie’s hand as she yanked it open and walked through the palms and the citrus trees.
“I grew up in a family business as well. I know how your nearest and dearest can get their claws into you. If I hadn’t insisted on having some time to myself I would probably never have designed a single new globe!” she had told him accusingly just the other night. He had spent the whole day down at the harbor, even though he had promised to help her look through a stack of children’s fairy-tale books for designs to use in the nursery.
“That’s different,” Franco had retorted. “Father has nobody besides me he can completely trust. I can’t put my own interests over those of the family.”
Wasn’t it in the family interest for him to take time to look after the vineyards?
Marie nodded to a gardener who was gathering up the fallen leaves from around a lemon tree. She headed straight for the white wicker chairs that were arranged in the middle of the orangery, under a vaulted dome. She sank down into a rocking chair.
The orangery had been the count’s wedding present to his bride, since she loved gardening. The two of them had been terribly disappointed when they discovered that the countess always developed a piercing headache whenever she spent more than just a few minutes there. Nobody had ever figured out why, since she never suffered any ill effects when she was outside in the garden. Over the years the orangery had been demoted to a place where the gardening staff nurtured tender seedlings before planting them outside, and where the more sensitive plants were brought in for the winter. Marie was the only one who used it for its original purpose as a greenery-filled sitting room.
She put both hands on her belly and rocked gently back and forth, her eyes closed, surrounded by the scent of ripening citrus. Remembering the exercises they had taught her at Monte Verità, she held her stomach in as she breathed in and then relaxed it as she breathed out again. When her anger at Franco had finally ebbed, she picked up Wanda’s letter and read on.
What I most admire about Richard’s work is the self-confidence that shines through every piece. When I told him that I had seen some similar pieces in New York at an exhibition of Venetian glasswork, he just gave me a look! He told me that the similarity was quite intentional, and that he wanted to apply Lauscha’s techniques to the Venetian style to create something quite new. Something all his own. To me he seems like a man rowing, who dips his blade deep in the water and pulls strongly at the oar, his eyes fixed on land, knowing exactly where he is headed . . .
How can someone so young know so precisely what he wants to do? You can’t imagine how embarrassed I was when Richard asked me what I had studied or learned as a trade! I muttered something about having been to business college and I hoped he would leave it at that. Should I have told him that my job is being a dutiful daughter? A man like him would just despise me for that. A man like that doesn’t want a girl who’s a china doll, he wants . . . I have no idea what he wants, perhaps I should ask my dear cousin Anna? When I found out at supper that day that Richard Stämme is ‘Anna’s Richard,’ I almost dropped my spoon. If he’s really courting her, then why does he never visit? After Harold and I were introduced, he was always turning up at our door and bringing me flowers or a box of chocolates. Don’t they do that sort of thing in Lauscha? You understand of course that I don’t want to intrude, but I would be interested to know just what the story is behind Richard’s relationship with Anna. Perhaps you know a little more about this?
“Oh dear! Wanda, Wanda, you’ve fallen for him . . .” Marie muttered, smiling.
“. . . like a man rowing, who dips his blade deep in the water and pulls strongly at the oar . . .” In all the weeks she had been in New York, she had never heard Wanda describe Harold in anything like such glowing terms. Rather, she talked of him almost disdainfully, as though she were laughing at the lengths he went to for her sake.
Richard Stämme—Marie wasn’t in the least surprised that Wanda should take a shine to him. The young glassblower was not just confident and talented but also very good-looking—even though he could never afford fine clothes and his long hair was always badly cut. He was something of a lone wolf. People always wanted to spend more time in his company than he allowed. Marie knew from Magnus that the other glassblowers were always finding ways to invite him to come down to the tavern for an evening’s drinking but that Richard preferred to stay at home and work on his designs. He made a living by working in larger workshops when they needed extra help filling their commissions. Johanna had given him jobs from time to time when the Steinmann-Maienbaum workshop was at full capacity. That was how Anna and Richard had first met.