by Kwan, Kevin
CHAPTER EIGHT
Marina Grande
Capri, Italy
Charlotte was the first to arrive at the designated meeting place by the cathedral steps, where she found a man with a flamboyant, Daliesque mustache pacing impatiently. Baron Mordecai von Ephrussí (Wetherby / Dragon / Harrow / Magdalen College, Oxford), as he introduced himself, was an acclaimed author, art historian, antiquities consultant, and, currently, fellow at the American Academy in Rome, where he was—as he told anyone who mattered—working on “the definitive biography of Luchino Visconti.” The Baron claimed to descend from a long line of Franco-Prussian Jewish aristocrats, even though he was born and raised in England. He had a grand title, but was living off an even grander overdraft, and depended on the good graces of his friends, usually grand ladies of a certain age and status who enjoyed his wit, title, gossip, and expertise on pre-Napoleonic Limoges, not necessarily in that order.
Sizing up his outfit of white-and-blue-striped seersucker trousers, crisp white button-down shirt conspicuously monogrammed with the initials MVE just above his left midriff, navy polka-dot cravat tied around his throat, and Cleverley wing-tips, Charlotte knew exactly how to engage with him. After a quick greeting and exchanging polite chitchat about the gorgeous weather, they did what everyone else in their crowd did and segued into the name game, with Mordecai launching the first volley:
“And what do you do, Ms. Barclay?”
“I’m an editor at Amuse Bouche.”
“Ah, Amuse Bouche. Superb magazine, superb.” Not as good as Bon Appétit, but perhaps I can sell her on my idea of writing about Empress Josephine’s obsession with îles flottante.
“Thank you,” Charlotte responded. I’m not going to ask him what he does. It’ll drive him nuts, and he’ll tell me within two minutes.
“You must live in New York then. Tell me, are you by any chance related to Theodore and Annafred Barclay?” Mordecai asked.
Charlotte smiled. There it was. It only took him thirty seconds to ask. “Yes, Teddy’s my cousin.”
Mordecai smiled back. “What a small world! Such a lovely couple. When I’m not slaving away on my book at the American Academy in Rome, I’m the historical consultant for the Prince’s Trust International.” She’s a Barclay. Of course, only a Barclay can afford to look this unfashionable in Capri.
So I’m wrong. He told me what he does in under a minute. “The Prince’s Trust. Yes, Teddy’s been so involved with helping Charles, and of course Camilla and Annafred go way back.”
“I saw them at a dinner just last month at the Serpentine Gallery.” How dare you call their royal highnesses by their first names!
“Did you? I spent a lovely weekend at Highgrove with Teddy and their royal highnesses earlier this summer.” Eat your heart out, Mordecai.
“Highgrove is lovely in the summertime, isn’t it? Now, even lovelier is Pemberley. My cousins, the D’Arcys, keep it up rather well.” Try to top that, Ms. Barclay!
“So I’ve heard. How do you know Isabel and Dolfi?” He was probably their decorator.
“I have been great friends of her parents for ages. Many years ago, I had the pleasure of working with Geoffrey Bennison on the Chius’ first house on the Bishops Avenue.”
I’m too good at this. “I loved Bennison’s work. He redid some rooms for my grandmother back in the late seventies.”
“He did?” Who the fuck is her grandmother and why don’t I know about those rooms?
At this point, Lucie arrived at the church steps, rescuing Charlotte from further interrogation.
“Thank you so much for going back and getting my sunblock, Lucie. I would have looked like a Maine lobster without it. Mordecai, this is my cousin, Lucie Churchill.”
“Hello,” Lucie said.
“Enchanted.” Hmm. What a pretty Eurasian. “Tell me, how exactly are you two related?”
Before Lucie could answer, Charlotte jumped in. “Lucie is the daughter of Reggie Churchill, my mother’s brother.” Try that on for size.
“Ah yes, Reginald Churchill.” How intriguing. And good lord, this means Charlotte’s a Churchill and a Barclay. Must be swimming in pots of money.
Lucie couldn’t help but frown. She knew Charlotte dropped her father’s name only when she was trying to impress people. She was wondering what the story was with this Mordecai fellow, and she soon understood.
“Now, I think we are just waiting for Mr. Beebe, Ms. Lavistock, and the Ortiz sisters, and then I can call ahead to let the Sultanah know we are ready. She will meet us down at Marina Grande, and then we will all proceed together to Positano to tour the villa.”
“The Sultanah?”
“Yes! Today, we have the honor of my great friend the Sultanah of Penang joining us on our little outing.”
“What is a sultanah?” Lucie asked.
“My dear, she is Malay royalty of the highest order. She is the royal consort to the Sultan of Penang. She is the queen! Now, we are already in breach of royal protocol by keeping her waiting, but if Mr. Beebe had the decency to be more punctual …”
At that moment, Auden Beebe appeared at the foot of the steps with Olivia and the Ortiz sisters, holding an umbrella over the ladies so gallantly that Mordecai could no longer complain.
“So sorry we’re late. It’s all my fault—I forgot my Leica and had to rush back to my room,” Olivia said breathlessly.
The party made its way to the funicolare for the short journey down the mountain, and then Mordecai led them to the pier where they were to be picked up for their excursion. They stood along the empty dock for a few minutes, and Olivia, tiring of the sweltering sun, glared at Mordecai. “I thought you said the royal Shahtoosh was meeting us here?”
“I sent the Sultanah a text as soon as we arrived at Marina Grande. She’ll be along in a few minutes. Her majesty must always be the last to arrive, you understand,” Mordecai officiously explained.
“Should I call her ‘Your Majesty’ too?” Lucie asked.
“First of all, protocol dictates that you should never speak to the Sultanah unless she speaks to you first. You may address her as ‘Your Majesty’ the first time you greet her and, subsequently, ‘ma’am.’”
Olivia looked at Auden and Charlotte, rolling her eyes.
“I take it you have a history with Monsieur le Baron?” Charlotte whispered to Olivia.
“If he’s really a baron, then I’m Marie fucking Antoinette. Yes, Mordecai and I go way back. He made my life hell at first when I worked at the Fondation Pierre Bergé one summer, but then his attitude changed the minute he found out who I was related to,” Olivia whispered back.
Just then, a large black Mercedes pulled up to the pier, and two bodyguards dressed in dark sunglasses and black suits emerged. The taller one marched down the dock and gave the group a quick once-over before tapping his earpiece and muttering, “Kami bersedia untuk ratu!”fn1
The other bodyguard opened the back door of the limousine, and a small, chubby woman in her late seventies wearing a flowing Pucci caftan and matching Pucci hijab emerged. As she walked toward the dock, Lucie could already see the massive canary diamonds sparkling from her head scarf, and she quickly recognized her as the lady in the bejeweled headdress who had walked past the sandal shop the other day.
“Let’s form a line to receive her. Now, the Malays prostrate themselves to the knees and bow their heads all the way to the floor when they meet their Sultanah, but I think a bow or a curtsy will suffice here,” Mordecai said in a jittery voice.
“For fuck’s sake, Mordecai, I wouldn’t curtsy even if she were the Dowager Countess of Grantham,” Olivia quipped.
Ignoring her comment, Mordecai bowed deeply and was about to address the Sultanah when she breezed right past him and hugged the Ortiz sisters excitedly. “Paloma! Mercedes! I didn’t know you were coming! When did you arrive?”
“Sunday. We were in Paris first,” Paloma (Saint Scholastica / Ravenhill Academy / Universidad Complutense de Madrid) said.
“For our fittings, you know,” Mercedes (Saint Scholastica / Ravenhill Academy / University of Hawaii) added.
“You know these ladies?” Mordecai said in surprise.
“Know them? Of course! Mordecai, these girls own about five thousand of the Philippines’ seven thousand islands. I am nothing compared to them!” the Sultanah (privately tutored till the age of ten / Cheltenham Ladies’ College) exclaimed.
“Oh, come on, you are royalty. We are commoners,” Paloma said.
“We are just housewives!” Mercedes added.
“Uh-huh, sure!” The Sultanah rolled her eyes, turned to Mordecai again. “Talk about Paris, these girls and I used to go to all the shows together … Scherrer, Féraud, and my favorite … Jacqueline de Ribes. How I wish I could still fit into her dresses!”
“And remember, we used to hang out at Régine’s!” Paloma said excitedly.
“These girls really know how to party!” the Sultanah said with a loud cackle. “Now, Mordecai, please introduce me to all these lovely people.”
Mordecai quickly made introductions all around, and Lucie found that the Sultanah couldn’t have been more down-to-earth and friendly. Lucie found herself transfixed by this beautiful woman with huge eyes that were further accentuated with heavy Elizabeth Taylor–style eye shadow.
“It’s so nice to have you youngsters around. Thank you for joining us dinosaurs on this adventure!” the Sultanah said to Lucie and Charlotte with a warm smile, before turning to Mordecai. “So where’s Queen Mary?”
“Queen Mary?” Mordecai cocked his head.
The Sultanah gestured at the empty dock, her kiwi-fruit-sized emerald ring flashing in the sun. “The big boat you were telling me all about?”
“Ah, yes! Har har, very funny. The yacht should be arriving at any minute, Your Majesty.” He turned to the rest of the group and announced, “My dear friends the Murphys, who own Villa Lachowski, have the most stunning yacht that they are so graciously sending here just for the Sultanah. It was decorated by Alberto Pinto, and it’s one of the ten biggest yachts in the world.”
Right as he uttered those words, a pair of black rubber dinghies sped into the harbor and pulled up alongside their dock.
“Meester Epussy?” the boatman in the first dinghy asked in thickly accented English.
“You mean Baron von Ephrussí? Yes, that’s me,” Mordecai said in his most snotty tone, snapping to attention.
“Okay, how many?” the boatman asked gruffly.
“Er … are we supposed to get on these little boats? Are they going to take us to the yacht?” Mordecai asked, confused.
“No yacht. We go to villa now.”
“In these rubber dinghies? You must be joking!”
“No joke. We go now, okay?” the boatman insisted, clearly annoyed.
“Please call your boss, or whoever manages the Murphys’ fleet. There’s been some mistake. They were supposed to send the big yacht, not a tiny dinghy!”
“Mordecai, these aren’t dinghies. These are Goldfish Rib Boats. They are high-performance speedboats and really quite expensive,” Auden explained, highly amused by the situation.
“Goldfish, catfish, angelfish, I don’t care what they are. Her Majesty cannot ride all the way to Positano on this bloody thing!”
“Actually, I would love to ride on this thing! It looks like such fun!” the Sultanah chimed in.
Mordecai’s jaw dropped, not quite sure what to say.
“The queen has spoken! Let’s get on with it. Andiamo!” snapped Olivia. “Your Majesty, allow me to help you aboard.”
The Sultanah got into the first boat with one bodyguard, Mordecai, Olivia, and Charlotte, while Lucie, the Ortiz sisters, Auden, and the other bodyguard rode in the second boat. Because of the way the Goldfish was designed, there were no proper seats. Instead, there were upright patrol seats that resembled back braces for the passengers to lean against, while gripping on to handlebars in front of them for support. The Sultanah, who stood right behind the boatman, said to him, “I’ve seen these before at a military inspection parade. My army uses them for tactical missions. I hear they go very fast.”
“Yes, very fast,” the boatman replied, as he piloted slowly out of the marina.
“Let’s see how fast it can go! I have a need for speed!” the Sultanah gleefully declared.
“Okay. Hold on tight!” the boatman said as he revved up the engine and the Goldfish took off like a rocket.
“Jesus Mary!” Mordecai shrieked, almost falling off the back. He gripped on to his handlebar tightly, not quite believing how fast the boat was going. As soon as they were out on the open sea, the boat began bouncing on top of the waves so violently that it seemed like a roller coaster ride gone out of control. Mordecai held on for dear life as the boat zipped across the Bay of Naples at what seemed like warp speed.
“Slow down! Slow the fuck down!” Mordecai screamed, but between the wind and the roar of the engine, it was impossible for the boatman to hear him. His knuckles were white from gripping, and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold on before he was flung out of the boat. Mordecai watched helplessly as the Sultanah kept getting jolted several inches into the air every time the Goldfish hit wave after wave. One big wave and she would be tossed like a rag doll into the Mediterranean. Why weren’t they given life jackets? Suddenly, the headlines that would surely go viral around the world flashed before his eyes:
SULTANAH OF PENANG DROWNS OFF THE
AMALFI COAST:
BARON VON EPHRUSSÍ TO BLAME.
CHAPTER NINE
Villa Lachowski
Positano, Italy
Lucie closed her eyes and savored the mist from the waves against her face as the boat sped along. She had a sudden, vivid flashback to the times her father took her sailing in his catboat. They would drive down to the little dock on a hidden inlet off Springy Banks Road and sail out of Three Mile Harbor into Gardiners Bay, and Lucie would sit at the bow, holding tight on to the leather strap nailed into the deck like he taught her to. Out on the bay, rogue waves would crash against the bow, splashing her all over, but she would laugh and laugh, just like her father did.
Her father was always happiest on the water, and he would bound barefoot along the edge of the wooden boat like the nimblest acrobat, expertly maneuvering the sail and the rudder, always in those scuffed chinos and his faded orange anorak. Lucie wondered whatever happened to that anorak. Was it still hanging in the closet in the mudroom at East Hampton? She would have to look for it when she was back. As they rounded the bay, the village of Positano came into view, rising into the cloudless blue sky like an apparition. Lucie stared up in awe at the gleaming white buildings hugging a vertiginous cliff like an enchanted wonderland straight out of a Tolkien novel. No wonder everyone called it the jewel of the Amalfi Coast.
Beyond Positano’s crescent beach, the Villa Lachowski commanded its own rocky promontory, and Mordecai’s boat was the first to arrive at the villa’s private dock. A cluster of men in topaz-blue polo shirts and crisp white shorts stood ready to assist the arriving guests, and the Sultanah was the first to climb out of the Goldfish, giggling like a schoolgirl. “That was amazing! I haven’t had this much fun since I went with my granddaughter to Burning Man!”
“I’m g-g-glad you enjoyed that, Your Ma-Majesty,” Mordecai stammered as he wobbled out of the boat, trying to steady himself on dry land.
“What a beautiful day for a boat ride! Did we lose the others?” the Sultanah wondered.
“I think the others took the scenic, arrive-alive route,” Charlotte remarked, looking rather green herself.
Soon, the second Goldfish could be seen approaching at a leisurely speed from around the cove, and its passengers alighted on the dock looking more relaxed and far less windblown than the early arrivals. Mordecai did a quick head count of his flock, genuinely relieved that the whippet-thin Ortiz sisters hadn’t been blown off-deck.
“Excellent, excellent, we’ve all m
ade it here in one piece, more or less. Now, if everyone’s ready, we shall be received by Tom and Geraldine Murphy, the owners of this magnificent villa,” Mordecai said, as a tall gentleman dressed entirely in black came strolling down the dock toward them.
“That’s the estate manager,” Mordecai told everyone. “Ah, Stephane! Comment allez vous? Are Tom and Gerri up at the villa?” Mordecai was a bit perplexed that his friends hadn’t appeared at the dock to greet their royal guest.
“Monsieur Murphy is in London, and Madame Murphy sends her regrets. She was called away to Sardinia on urgent business this morning,” replied Stephane with a courtly bow.
“What a pity! Sardinia—she must have taken the yacht then?” Mordecai inquired.
“No, she took the Wally.”
Mordecai looked puzzled. “So … why didn’t you send us the yacht?”
“Monsieur le Baron, you insisted that your group had to be picked up at eleven fifteen sharp and back in Capri by three p.m. The Goldfish was the quickest way to get you all here. The yacht would have taken an hour each way,” Stephane patiently explained, clearly accustomed to his persnickety guest.
“Brilliant move, Mordecai,” Olivia remarked.
Ignoring her, Mordecai silently cursed himself for insisting on the time restriction. They missed their opportunity on the yacht, and now they would miss seeing the main salon, where there was a fabulous framed photograph of him posing with Geraldine Murphy and Princess Diana that he was dying for the group to stumble upon.
“Now, I have to go into town, but Allegra is ready to give your party the tour,” Stephane offered.
“That won’t be necessary—I can lead the tour. After all, I know this place like the back of my hand,” Mordecai declared, feeling a bit more himself again. He led the group to the staircase carved out of the rocky side of the cliff, and they began the leisurely climb up. The property consisted of six pristine white villas situated on a series of spectacular terraces that cascaded down to the sea, and each terrace was a distinct wonderland devoted to the indulgent whims of its privileged owners.
