The Book Publisher's Son

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 2

After the burial ceremonies, guests met together in the massive tent for the reception. Once inside, I couldn't hear myself speak for the noise as the people guzzled champagne and devoured the canapés. Making polite conversation was impossible. It was worse than a pub on a Saturday night.

"Enjoying meeting Dad's former world?" Liz said, sidling up to me.

"I might if I weren't for the din."

"You're not missing anything. They're ninety-five percent business friends and a few of the people he grew up with – the few still alive, that is." She turned towards the exit. "Ready to go?"

"Sure," I said, "lead on."

"I'm to drive the two old dears back to the villa ... So I'll round them up and meet you at the car."

I made my way through the pulsating throng of guests. All expensively dressed and showing plenty of pricey jewellery. Their cars equally top-of-the-line. A cross-section of Business Germany. Considering his beginnings as a lowly bookbinder, Johannes had come a long way! Had become a respected name in the world of book publishing and a patron of the literary arts.

I found Liz's car easily, but she hadn't arrived yet. As the rain had passed on, I chose to take a walk, to avoid the crowds and noise. And Lukas and Meg who, group-hopping, played hosts to the crowd. But I did nearly bump into my mother again. She, though, was too busy talking to a small group of men who looked like bankers or lawyers. Too engrossed to see me.

I decided to wait for a better opportunity to speak to her privately. All told, I'd had no chance so far. And I had questions I needed answering.

It was late afternoon when we arrived back at the villa. Liz disappeared with the two old-timers into the bowels of the house, and I was left on my own. I strolled idly around. The rooms downstairs were deserted. No staff. They were presumably helping out at the funeral reception. No guests either. I expected they were swilling down the finger food and caviar with bubbly.

Nothing appeared to have changed since I went away some ten years ago. My father had rebuilt the interior – no expense spared – when he bought the villa. The middle floor was converted into apartments for the family and the top floor into accommodation for guests and a suite of offices.

Mother had had each set of rooms designed differently and done out in different colours. Oil paintings and decorative accessories hung in the halls or were placed at strategic points throughout the house. The furniture was handmade. All was as I remembered it.

I took the wide staircase to the first floor. On the one side, our parent's apartments. In the centre the rooms belonging to the two girls. On the other side Lukas's and mine. I tried what was once my door, but it was locked.

Strolling down the hallways brought back some old memories, some happy, some not so happy. One whole wall was devoted to family portraits, group photos and shots of us at various ages. Reflecting on those times, I wondered where the years had gone. Even my years in South Africa had flown by.

Wandering back downstairs, I suddenly heard voices and picked out Mother arriving with her group of businessmen.

"Ah, Tom," she said, turning to them. "Our eldest, Thomas."

We shook hands politely, they murmuring their condolences.

"I'll see you later, at dinner," she said to me and ushered them along towards the library in the back.

Almost immediately Lukas appeared from a side hallway and made to follow them. "Hi," he said to me in passing. "Taking the unguided tour, are you?"

"I haven't been away that long,” I chirped. “And what are you up to?"

"I'm with Mum ... at the meeting."

"They looked like bankers."

"They are ... Well, got to rush."

He strode off, his body language as pompous as ever.