‘No—and why should he have?’ Bastian challenged me. ‘Perhaps in America things are done differently, but here birth and family matter. I did my duty by Matteo, but he never saw that.’
I shook my head. As much as Bastian Arides’s broken state touched me, Matteo’s sad childhood moved me more. ‘Perhaps because you ignored and insulted him.’
‘Ignoring him was the best I could do. He reminded me of all I’d lost. Seeing him was too painful. It made me too angry.’ He bowed his head. ‘I admit it makes me weak, but it is the truth nonetheless. And in any case Matteo was not an easy person to love or even to be around. He was always lashing out, trying to irritate me or anger me. He was suspended from school six times, and was finally expelled. Did he tell you that?’
I shook my head, and Bastian continued.
‘In his teens he started with the drinking and the women, knowing those had been his father’s vices. He taunted me with them, was as public as possible, knowing it would bring me shame. I don’t suppose he told you that, either?’
‘Not precisely, but I know he’s had a reckless past. You’re the one assigning motives.’
Bastian let out a weary sigh, his thin shoulders slumping. ‘I know I sound as if I’m justifying myself, and perhaps I am. But I want to make amends now. My son died not knowing my forgiveness, and my daughter-in-law slipped away from this world like a shadow, without a word of farewell. My own wife died many years ago, from cancer. I want to leave this world in peace, knowing I have done my utmost to reconcile with those I’ve hurt because I wasn’t strong enough to love them.’
My throat tightened at the emotion in his face and in his voice. No matter what Bastian Arides had or hadn’t done in his life, he was at the end of it now, and I couldn’t help but feel a grudging compassion for him. ‘And you told Matteo all of this?’
‘Yes, but he wasn’t having any of it. He told me he’d see me in hell. I suppose that is where I’ll be going.’
‘Don’t,’ I implored. He sounded so despairing. ‘Give him time. He’ll see sense, I’m sure. You can’t expect him to change so quickly—’
‘I don’t think he will, my dear. I think, perhaps, it is too late. Too late for Matteo to forgive or to change—at least in regard to me.’
His words echoed hollowly in me, because it was what I feared as well. Too late. It was too late for Bastian...and too late for us.
‘Will you talk to him for me?’ Bastian asked, leaning forward to touch my hand. ‘He might listen to you.’
‘I’ll try, although I’m not sure he will.’
Bastian gave a small smile. ‘I have seen photographs of the two of you in the press. He looks like a man in love.’
I let out a little hollow laugh, even as his words offered me a faint flicker of hope. ‘I’ll do my best,’ I promised, both for Bastian’s sake and my own.
If Matteo couldn’t forgive a dying man, what hope could there be for us to have a truly loving relationship?
I spent the rest of the day in a ferment of sorrowful anxiety, wondering when I’d see Matteo again and if I’d have the courage to speak to him when I did. He’d been like a stranger since we’d been in Athens. I felt as if I didn’t know him at all...and I was afraid that I didn’t.
Finally, that evening, he appeared in our bedroom. I’d spent the day alone, eating in my room, feeling like a prisoner in this lonely old house. Part of me longed to return to Amanos, to the comfort of friends and work and a busy, happy life, without all the emotional highs and lows I’d been see-sawing between over these last few weeks.
Matteo didn’t say anything when he caught sight of me curled up in a chair by the window, the shutters open to the velvety evening. It was properly spring now, so even the night air was warm. Inside our room, though, it felt cold. Far too cold.
‘Where have you been, Matteo?’ I tried my best to sound merely curious and not accusing. ‘I haven’t seen you all day.’
‘I’ve been busy,’ he returned shortly, and then disappeared into the bathroom. A few minutes later the shower started running.
I took a deep breath, willing myself to be strong enough for the conversation ahead... Whatever it took. Whatever it cost.
After what felt like an endless twenty minutes, and yet was all too short a time, Matteo emerged from the bathroom. He didn’t look at me as he pulled on a pair of trousers and a casual polo shirt.
‘Matteo...’
My voice wobbled and I almost gave up right then and there. His back was to me, and everything about him prickled with defensiveness and even irritation. He did not want to have this or any conversation with me.
Then I remembered what kind of wife I wanted to be. How I wasn’t going to
give up on us at the first, admittedly high hurdle. So I took a deep breath and, feeling as if I were throwing myself off a cliff, plunged ahead.
‘We need to talk.’
* * *