He stared down at his long fingers, restlessly intertwining. “Passion is not something that I can give her. It’s the legacy of my own line. Goes all the way back to the first Roach, that.” Bleakly, but with great pride: “Our passion is directed elsewhere.”
He took a deep breath. “You are something new to her. Quite new, and she doesn’t know what to make of it. I’m not certain—who knows, really, what moves another?—but I think you stir up in her all the feelings of a young womanhood that she never had. She was thrown into the revolution at such an early age. Took to it, too, like a fish to water. Little enough chance, she’s ever had, to enjoy her life. And most men are too intimidated by her to do more than stare from a distance.”
That brought a smile to my lips. “It’s a bit disconcerting, when it dawns on you the lady could bend you into a pretzel.”
The Roach shook his head. “It’s not even that. It’s the fierceness in her soul. She could be a third her size, and she’d still terrify most men.”
I thought about that, and nodded my head.
The Roach scratched his beard. Even a hand his size almost disappeared in the great mass of hair.
“Anyway, the point I’m trying to get to is this. It was not until this morning, after listening to her talk about you through most of the night, that I finally realized what was going on. Of course, then I was furious.” His beard bristled. “I don’t like being used.”
“How are—oh. You think she’s trying to make me jealous?” I frowned. “I don’t think—no, I don’t believe that. It doesn’t seem—”
“You idiot,” he said. “Of course she’s not trying to make you jealous! What is she, some schoolgirl playing children’s games? No, she’s trying to drive you off, that’s what. Doesn’t realize it, of course. But that’s what it is, sure as I’m sitting here. And she used me to do it, and I am not pleased.”
He stood up abruptly. “I’m not sure why I’m talking to you about this,” he said, looking away. “Partly it’s because I refuse to be a part of it.” Again, the bristling beard. “Damn the woman! Let her solve her own problems!”
He looked down at me. “You really don’t understand, do you? Not surprising, you’re so like her. I can tell, even on such short acquaintance. Well, lad, I’ve done my duty by my own lights. I told Gwendolyn this morning that it’d be pure and simple movement business between us until she straightens out the knots in her own love life. I am not a tool. If she wants to chase you off, fine. Let her do it. If she doesn’t, that’s fine also. I will tell you, for whatever it’s worth, that I think you’re both fools—you more than she.”
He bestowed a world-class glare on me.
“Damn all romantics, anyway! Do you really think you’re prepared to give up all your dreams and ambitions?” He laughed, not very pleasantly. “Don’t deny it. Your branch of the Sfondrati-Piccolominis all have that madness. Want to shape the world’s great art, you do. Statues in the park, paintings on the great cathedrals, only the finest gold filigree! Can you picture Gwendolyn in a noble’s salon, arguing over the latest style?”
I avoided his eyes.
“Not likely, is it? And what about you? Are you ready to give that up? I don’t mean the company of the rich—I know that doesn’t mean anything to you. But if you want to muck around in fine art, you’ve no other choice, Benvenuti. Precious few patrons you’ll find, in Gwendolyn’s world.”
I was silent.
“Romantics! Stubborn and stupid, like no mule even dreams of being.”
At that moment, Gwendolyn came striding into the courtyard. When she saw us, she hesitated, then continued on into the tavern without a word or a glance.
My eyes followed her all the way in. When I looked back at The Roach, his expressionless gaze had returned.
“What the hell,” he said. “Whoever said life was easy?” He turned and followed Gwendolyn into the Free Lunch. I remained in the courtyard, seated on the bench. My thoughts were hard to describe. Stupid. Stubborn.