by J. L. Ryan
"Oh look, it's Duckie," whispers Bee as we stepped out onto the sidewalk. "Look sharp."
"Alexander's great aunt?" I whisper back.
I have been provided with a chart of Alex's family tree. It is populated with women with nicknames like 'Duckie', 'Muffy' and 'Bunny.'
"Beatrice, Alex's little secretary, nice to see you," announces the well-dressed older woman grandly.
Duckie is a legend in New York society. She heads her own family dynasty from her marriage to Calvert Caldwell, head of a pesticides business. An unglamorous business, but the money in the billions certainly is not. Her grandson Duke is Alex's best friend.
Duckie turns her attention to me and looks me up and down. I wilt under her laser light beam and generations of society breeding.
"You must be the fiancé," Duckie drawls.
I square my shoulders and dig deep. "Yes, I am. How do you do Mrs. Caldwell," I say politely.
Duckie doesn't respond. "Hurrumph" she says.
Duckie then turns on her heel and simply walks off down the street, presumably towards her favorite lunch spot Le Sandwich. A place that of course doesn't 'do' bread.
"Don’t mind her, some of the Carlyle's can be a bit…difficult," says Bee sympathetically.
What kind of family have I gotten tangled up in? Thankfully it is only for three months.
CHAPTER 3: All Happy Families Are Alike
The big family dinner introduction is tonight. Standing in front of the elegant mirror in my spacious room I try to calm my nerves.
"Looking good brings confidence," I say to myself. Tonight I am relying on Grammie's mantra.
I head out to the living room where Alex is waiting. I catch my breath as I walk in. He looks so handsome in a blue and white striped open necked shirt and pressed slacks. The blue in the shirt picks out his eyes.
Alex stares at me. I feel worried. Do I look bad?
"Tallulah, you look incredible," Alex says breaking into a grin.
Relieved, I smile back. "Thank you. Bee said a classic Chanel little black dress never fails."
I am wearing a simple chic dress from our shopping trip. I have accessorized simply with shining pearl earrings, necklace and bracelet. I readily admit I take my New York style inspiration from Audrey Hepburn.
My feet are getting used to their first pair of Christian Louboutin heels.
"Well then, Sir," I say in my best Southern Belle voice, "shall we?"
We drive out to Connecticut to the family's main estate, the legendary 'Carrington.' It is nice to drive with Alex behind the wheel of his own Mercedes, not a chauffeur. We chat easily and I entertain Alex with the story of my encounter with Duckie.
"Duckie isn't so bad," says Alex with a laugh. "She plays the Imperial Queen but she can be warm if she decides she likes you. If she approves of you, you can be her acolyte."
"Lucky me!" I cry, "Does being Duckie's follower involve bread-less lunches at Le Sandwich and doing the heavy lifting for charity events?"
Alex slaps his thigh in laughter. "Oh Tully, you sure catch on fast!"
I grow quiet as we pull into the drive of Carrington. Huge shady trees line the drive along with discreet lighting. The drive seems endless.
The estate appears to stretch to endless ends. I wonder if Carrington is bigger than all of downtown Hunter. The car purrs to a stop in front of the house.
Alex throws me a glance. "Are you ready for this?"
I meet his eyes. "I am ready. This is business, right?"
Alex says nothing for a moment. "Perhaps we should practice that kiss again?"
But before I can respond he is out of the car and striding to the door where a butler has appeared.
What is he playing at, I think furiously as I follow.
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Entering into the cocktails room I ignore the butterflies in my stomach and remained determined to hold my own.
A small group of adults are milling around. I quickly glance at the women and feel relieved I am dressed well. Thank you Bee, I say in a silent prayer.
"Alexander!" A smiling woman dressed in pink Herve Leger notices our arrival.
"Hello Aunt Daisy," Alex says with genuine enthusiasm.
"And this must be your lovely bride!" Daisy cries.
Kisses are planted on my cheeks, my hands grasped and a beaming smile bestowed upon me. Automatically I feel I like this woman.
"Tallulah, this is my Aunt Daisy, my Uncle's Jock's wife." I nod and smile and try to keep my family tree straight.
Daisy is the wife of Jock, the charming yet defensive 'family relationships' manager. Whatever that job is.
"Alexander, how very naughty you are hiding your girlfriend away until engagement," chastises a very, very thin and very uptight seeming woman.
"Miranda, how lovely to see you this evening," Alex says with a distinctly cooler tone than Daisy receives.
Ah, Miranda 'Miri' Carlyle. Wife of Senator Hartford Carlyle, Presidential contender and tetchy family member whose family wishes he had stayed behind the scenes, but whose ego wouldn't let him. Hartford is the third son of Alex's Grandfather and Alex's uncle.
"Miranda, this is my fiancé Tallulah," Alex introduces me.
Miranda compresses her lips together into something resembling a smile. "Well Tallulah, Carrington must be quite a change from the trailer park!"
I choke my champagne. "Excuse me," I splutter ungracefully. Alex looks stunned.
"Well Alex found you in a trailer park didn't he?" Miranda looks innocently at us. Butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.
"No, Miri," Alex says grimly, "We met when I was visiting South Carolina on business and Tully was my waitress." Ah yes, our rather dull how-we-met story.
"Oh yes, silly me. You've dated so many women Alex I can't keep up," trills Miri as she moves away to greet another family member.
Thinking of Duckie I wonder if they teach Carlyle women the insult drop and heel turn.
Alex leans in and kisses me softly on the cheek. My spine tingles. "Don't mind her," he murmurs, "she's just jealous you look so beautiful tonight."
I grab his hand and squeeze it gratefully. I've only met three family members so far, if you can count Duckie as an introduction, and I am beginning to see why the price tag for this job was sky high.
Male family members descend on en masse. The familiar faces of billionaires take me aback. Hearty greetings are exchanged between Jock, Hartford and Alex. Looking at Hartford I can see what is meant by 'Presidential'.
Pembrey, Alex's cousin and Hartford and Miri's son, thrusts forward a hand,
"Pembrey Carlyle, a pleasure to meet the woman who has captured my cousin's heart," he says with a seemingly forced grin.
Pembrey. The failed businessman and failed heir. Given Alex's reluctance to take up the mantle Pembrey had a shot at running the family business. That experiment ended badly when Pembrey sent an important subsidiary of the family bank into bankruptcy, costing thousands of jobs, a big drop in the share price and acres of bad press.
Pembrey is now relegated to 'special projects', which seems to involve investing in vague tech start-ups.
"Thank you, it is a pleasure to be here," I respond.
Pembrey keeps holding my hand, "Well don't overstay your welcome, we do have hounds!" Pembrey laughs as if his joke is tremendously funny.
I withdraw my hand, confused.
"Oh Pembrey," fake laughs another very thin woman. "Alinda, wife darling, please my sense of humor is legendary in this family," protests Pembrey.
The smile on my face is beginning to hurt.
"Tallulah we are so happy to have you join the family," says Alinda with all the sincerity of a used car salesman.
"Hopefully the pitter patter of tiny feet soon?" Alinda asks enquiringly. "The more heirs the better," jokes Pembrey, taking a big slug of his drink.
I suddenly click. They are considering that the trust structure of the Carlyle family changes when a child is born into the family.
It is a case of the fewer children in each generation the bigger the pool for each child.
My having heirs to Alex, which is not going to happen of course, would reduce the pool for their own children, three children Alex described simply as 'truly awful kids.'
""Ah not yet," I respond distractedly as a stylish woman in Victoria Beckham swoops in to kiss me on the cheek.
"Darling! SO lovely to meet you, I've heard all about you," beams the woman.
"No you haven't," I hear Pembrey mutter.
Alex, who has remained quiet during the exchange with Pembrey and Alinda, brightens. "Hello Prinny," he says dropping a kiss on her cheek.
"Tully this is my darling Aunt Prinny, Princess of the Carlyle's and endless husband haver," Alex says with a naughty grin.
"Oh you," laughs Prinny, "so bad."
This must be Victoria Carlyle, only daughter of Alexander Senior. Four husbands to date, multiple rehabs' and one amazing wardrobe and sense of style that sees her regularly photographed for Vogue. Only while doing her charity work, of course.
We make chat about our outfits and I begin to relax a little. Prinny tells me she is called Prinny as short for "Princess, because that is what I am." I nod understandingly.
And then Alexander Senior walks into the room and I suddenly realize where Alex inherits his sense of presence. It is like the room suddenly stands still and looks a little sharper and at the ready.
"Well now, enough chat, let us have dinner. Tallulah you will sit next to me." With that Alexander Senior is gone; perhaps that is where the women inherited their ability to drop a comment and walk away without waiting for a response.
I try not to down my drink from nerves, take a deep breath and prepare for the worst. Cocktails with these people have been enough to convince me this is not where I belong.
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"So tell us about your family, Tully," asks Daisy encouragingly.
So far I have been sitting quietly next to Alexander Senior who holds, of course, the head of the table. Alex is across from me on Alexander's other side.
"Well," I begin, "My father was in the military. He was killed in conflict. My mother passed away when I was born. Grandmother, who was a dressmaker, raised me. My Grandfather worked on the railroads and was a Justice of The Peace." I am proud of my loving, hard working family.
Miri speaks up, "Oh railroads, how interesting. The Carlyle family funded the Vanderbilt's foray into railroads. We do have quite an interest in it."
This is why the Carlyle's are called the 'family behind the families,' through their investment bank the Carlyle family backed Carnegie's investments in steel; Rockefeller and Standard Oil and the Astor's and their fur trade. The Carlyle's even owned at one time a large shareholding in JP Morgan through their own investment bank.
Alinda chimed in, "Wouldn't it be amazing if Tully's family had worked on a Vanderbilt railroad, back in the day? That's like working for us. From working for us to sitting with us, how amazing."
I look over at Alex trying not to roll my eyes. Alex seems so down to earth how could he have this family? Maybe his time in the army helped keep him on the level.
Alex grimaces and shakes his head slightly.
"That is an interesting idea, Alinda," comments Alexander Senior drily. Everyone sits a little straighter at the patriarch speaking.
"That would be much like how the Carlyle's owned most of the mid-west at one point. From your ancestors living on our land to you sitting here, how amazing," Alexander finishes drily.
Alinda looks furious but keeps her mouth shut. I smile my best smile at her. I think I like Alexander Senior; he seems to have a handle on the people at this table.
"Alex you must be excited to be getting married. This has come as quite a surprise to us, but we are all looking forward to the wedding," Jock, the good-natured man of the family, steers the conversation to safer ground.
I try to look in love as Alex chats with easy confidence about our upcoming marriage. I manage a contribution on planning to go to Paris for a couture dress. Like I just naturally go to Paris for couture.
The conversation moves easily back to business.
Pembrey is discussing some improbably vague tech venture he is investing in. "And then the app will tell you what you want to eat," Pembrey drones on.
"Barclay will be furious when he sees what I've made in tech this year," Pembrey boasts.
Barclay? My ears pick up at the name Barclay Carlyle. While Alexander Senior is a famous name the rest of the Carlyle's are a little less high profile - except for Barclay. Barclay is not much older Alex however he is Alexander Senior's nephew and cousin to Hartford and Jock.
There is famous bad blood between Barclay and the rest of the Carlyle's. Barclay's father was Alexander Senior's twin. The two ran the business together as would be heirs, until their father, the legendarily brutal businessman William, declared them too soft.
He declared only one of them could be head of the family - and they must fight it out.
The story goes that Alexander Senior promised his twin they would walk away from the family together rather than accept the deal, but then double crossed him and grabbed the mantle.
Barclay's father was furious and spent the rest of his life as a dissolute playboy. Barclay got his revenge on Alexander Senior's branch of the family by becoming a renegade and eccentric billionaire in his own right, creating cyber security software. He is always in and out of the news.
"You need to focus more on your own successes and less on what Barclay is doing. That man is out to get us," Hartford reprimanded his son.
I see the Presidential mask slip a little in Hartford's frustrated expression. Interesting.
I glance over at Alexander and Alex. They are just watching, cool as anything. I give up on trying to work out the family under currents at this table.
Pembrey catches my eye and delivers a beaming smile, "Now Tallulah, do you think you will be in shape in time for the wedding?"
The comment cuts all the deeper for it's normal easy delivery.
I push my chair back. "That's it!" I announce to the room. "I have had enough of this family's insults. I apologise for not being good enough for you all."
With that I take off my massive sparkling engagement ring and stalk out of the room, to go and find a corner of the garden to cry in.
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Chapter 4: The Garden of Eden
"Tully! Tully! Where are you?" I hear Alex calling as I sit in a small private rose garden trying to recover my dignity.
"There you are!" Alex cries as he comes across me.
Alex sits down on the garden seat and wraps his arms around me. Despite my anger at his lack of support at diner I can't help but lean into his reassuring embrace.
