Reading the words – seeing it in print – made Richard’s stomach twist in knots.
A doctor from Georgia, he thought. Of course that’s who she would marry. A Viscount from Britain – a future Marquess – wasn’t good enough. But a doctor from Georgia? Richard shook his head and closed his eyes. Pull yourself together, man.
He knew she was getting married. Rebecca even dared to send him an invitation, which he politely declined. All very civilized, he thought. But a part of Richard had hoped, somehow, that the wedding would get called off. That someone would stand up and object or Rebecca would ditch John at the altar and show up on Richard’s doorstep.
“You alright, sir?” asked Tricia, poking her head into his office.
Richard snapped the magazine shut to hide its contents. “Yes, perfectly fine. Thank you.”
“Okay. Don’t forget you’re due in the conference room in five minutes.”
“Shit. On my way.”
****
By the time Richard arrived in the conference room for his client meeting, the only seat remaining was next to Penelope Stuckey.
As if today couldn’t get any worse, Richard thought.
Penelope looked over at him and smiled. “Good morning. I wasn’t sure if you were going to join us.”
“Just some last-minute preparation,” Richard lied. He started reading the papers in front of him in an effort to ignore his colleague.
Penelope made no secret of the fact that she had a crush on Richard. Distantly related to the newly minted Duchess of York, Sarah Ferguson, Penelope thought her royal connections made her a great match for Richard, Viscount Arrington. She often found excuses to stop by Richard’s office, and when he told Tricia to make her leave, Penelope started visiting while his assistant was out at lunch.
“I like your tie today,” the young woman offered. “It reminds me of your eyes.”
Richard looked down at his red tie. Right, because red and blue have so much in common. Their boss picked that moment to enter the room, saving Richard the trouble of responding to Penelope. As soon as the meeting ended, though, she resumed her pursuit.
“Since we’re working together on this client, I was wondering if you’d like to grab lunch with me tomorrow. We can talk about the portfolio . . . or not.” Penelope stepped closer to Richard and batted her eyelashes.
“Sorry, I can’t. I have lunch with my sister tomorrow.”
“Aww, that’s so sweet. What about one day next week?”
Richard sighed. She’s going to make me say it, isn’t she? “I’m trying to focus on my career right now,” Richard said. “I’m flattered, but I’m not interested. I’m sorry.”
He turned and walked toward his office, not wanting to deal with whatever counterargument Penelope would throw at him. Sitting down at his desk, Richard threw the alumni magazine in his rubbish bin. Work, he told himself. Work is the antidote.
THIRTY-SIX
The next morning dawned bright and beautiful – a gorgeous summer day in England’s capital. Birds were chirping, children were playing, and it was 1:00pm in the afternoon before Rebecca crossed Richard’s mind. An improvement, he supposed, since thoughts of her usually began before breakfast. The time span was starting to expand, though. Working such long hours didn’t leave as much time or space in his head for Rebecca. She was always there . . . just not in the forefront. Richard’s friends noticed the change more than he did. He was happier, less explosive, and more likely to live in the present and think of the future.
It didn’t take much for Rebecca to return, though. Today’s culprit? Tulips. Rows upon rows of tulips in Kensington Gardens where he was meeting his sister for lunch.
“Tulips are my favorite,” Rebecca said. “Tulips are right in the middle: classy and beautiful but sunny and fun too.”
Richard smiled at the memory. “You are a tulip, Becks,” he whispered to himself as he walked through the garden. “Classy and beautiful; sunny and fun. Not too serious. Not too happy.”
“Who are you talking to?” asked Sarah. She snuck up on Richard while he was lost in his daydream.
“Hmm? Oh, nobody. Myself. Happens when you get older,” he added with a wink and a smile.
“Yeah, you’re super old. Everything is downhill after twenty-four.”
Richard laughed, slung his arm around Sarah’s shoulders, and walked them toward the restaurant. It had become somewhat of a Friday tradition to meet his sister for lunch near Kensington Palace when the weather was nice.
“Sarah is the one person in the world who can understand what it was like with my parents,” he had told Geoff a few weeks earlier. “Plus, it’s nice to spend time with a girl around my age who isn’t trying to get something from me.”
As for Sarah, she loved the impact that his time in America had on her brother. He’s much more respectful toward me now, she thought as the pair sat down at a table on the outdoor veranda. Not quite feminist, but he treats me like I’m a person and an adult.
She smiled and leaned forward in her chair. “So . . . before we get to me, what’s the story with you?”
“How do you mean?”
“I went by your office a few days ago to pick up the keys to the house, remember?”
Richard nodded, half listening while gazing at the nearby flowers.
“You were in a meeting and your assistant was at lunch, but this other girl came over to help me find them. Tall, blonde, very pretty, very into you.”
Richard responded with a growl. “Her name is Penelope Stuckey. And there is no story.”
“I don’t believe you, big brother.”
“You should, little sister. Penelope may want there to be a story, but there isn’t. And won’t be.”
“Why not?” Sarah asked. “She’s pretty. Friendly. Obviously keen on you.”
“She’s keen on anyone with a title.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Would you stop with your conspiracy theories? If you insist on believing that all women who fancy you only do so because of your rank or money, you’ll never be married.”
“Not all women,” Richard muttered under his breath.
“Right,” Sarah said sarcastically. “I forgot about Saint Rebecca . . . ”
“Don’t!” Richard shot back, slamming his fist on the table. “Don’t ever talk about her like that.”
“Okay, okay,” his sister replied, holding her hands up in the air in surrender. She looked around at the other people eating in the restaurant. “Don’t make a scene.”
Richard snorted and glared at his sister.
Beyond the anger, Sarah saw pain in his eyes. She softened her tone. “I’m sorry, Richard. Truly. At some point, though, you will have to accept that she’s moved on. And that it’s time for you to move on too.”
Richard swirled his water glass in his hand, watching as the liquid rose and fell around the edges.
“Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps it is time. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready yet.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
Later that night, Richard met Geoff for drinks at Wedgies nightclub in Chelsea. It wasn’t Richard’s usual scene, but Geoff convinced him to step out of his comfort zone. Although neither man needed to work for an income, Geoff had embraced the trust fund life and gave a friendly greeting to the bouncer at the door of the club.
“Welcome back, Mr. Kirkland,” said the security officer.
Inside, neon lights flashed through a haze of cigarette smoke and a DJ spun a remix of Queen and Madonna. A pretty brunette escorted them past the dance floor and up a flight of stairs to Geoff’s usual spot. Richard looked over at the table next to them and saw a man and woman taking turns snorting cocaine.
“How often do you come here?” Richard asked.
“I don’t know. Once a week, maybe. But enough about me,” he said. “Tonight is about you. You’re going to get drunk, get laid, and wake up with the wonderful realization that this city is chock full of beautiful women who would love to love a future Ma
rquess.”
Richard shook his head. “I don’t think one night of drunken debauchery can cure a broken heart.”
Geoff’s face turned serious. “As your oldest friend, I promise to stand by you through as many nights of debauchery as you need. No matter how many pints we have to drink or women we have to screw, I’m here for you.”
Richard couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m sure you are. And thank you, but no thank you. I’ll have one drink and then I’m headed home. It’s been a really long week.”
****
One drink turned into five, and by the time Richard made his way home he could barely stumble up the stairs to his bedroom.
“Mrs. Schonberg is going to pitch a fit,” he mumbled as he undressed and fell into bed. His housekeeper, an older German woman, hated it when he left clothes lying around on the floor.
“You vill never find a vife if you live like a slob,” Richard mimicked her accent and favorite saying.
He rolled over onto his back and put his hands behind his head. “Why do I need a wife?” he asked aloud. “Maybe Sarah and Geoff are right. Maybe it is time to move on. Becks is clearly enjoying her life – why shouldn’t I?”
The next night, Richard returned to Wedgies. The night after that, it was Annabel’s. The famous, exclusive nightclub in Berkeley Square was more to Richard’s taste, and he recognized a number of faces from Eton and Cambridge among the crowd. So this is where all of my friends have been hiding, he thought as he sat down and ordered a double whisky, neat. It wasn’t long before a cute blonde in a tight miniskirt asked Richard if she could join him. Mary seemed like a sweet girl at the club, but she turned into a naughty vixen when they left and went to her apartment. Richard woke up the next morning with the young woman’s arms wrapped around his waist, and he knew his lonely nights were over. This is so much better than moping around my house by myself.
****
For the next several weeks, Richard accompanied Geoff to whatever bar or nightclub was most popular, ordered a few drinks, and went home with the prettiest girl he could convince to sleep with him. But the disco lights, overpriced drinks, and rampant drug use weren’t Richard’s scene. He was a social smoker in college but quit his final year, and he never tried the hard stuff. I hate needles and I hate things going up my nose, he thought one night as he watched a tray of powder being passed around the table next to him. There has to be a better method than this.
In September, Richard pulled strings as a Viscount and arranged a long-term reservation for a room at The Savoy Hotel. He had gotten tired of sleeping in strangers’ homes, and there was no way he was going to bring his conquests back to his house in Belgravia. They’ll get one look at the address and never leave, he thought. The room at The Savoy was the best of all worlds: he had a clean, safe location where he could bring his dates. The girls never saw his real home. And he could keep clothes and toiletries there to get ready for work the next morning. It’s perfect.
By the time the new year of 1988 came along, Richard had also selected a handful of upscale yet lowkey places where he would go on the hunt. The thrill of the chase was the most exciting part, and the bars in Mayfair, Soho, and Covent Garden were full of young co-eds and gorgeous tourists looking to have a night or two of fun.
Two nights was Richard’s preference, and as the months went by his nighttime activities started to resemble actual dates with dinner and sometimes dancing. The caliber of women he pursued changed as well, moving from the easiest of yeses to a more sophisticated crowd. Richard liked the challenge. Sometimes they ended up at The Savoy on the first night, and sometimes the woman made him wait. They were always there by night two, though. They don’t call me the Lord of the Ladies for nothing.
THIRTY-EIGHT
In the summer of ’89, Richard met a tall blonde named Jenny. She worked as a nursery teacher, and they frequented the same sandwich shop near his office and her school. After several weeks of flirting, Richard asked the young woman if she’d like to have dinner with him.
“Absolutely,” Jenny replied with a smile.
Their first date was at San Lorenzo, an Italian restaurant made famous by the Princess of Wales. She and Prince Charles were dining there the same night, which impressed Jenny to no end. “I love Lady Di,” she cooed in delight. But even the proximity to royals couldn’t persuade Jenny to go to bed with Richard that night.
“I think it backfired,” he told Geoff the next day. The two friends had met up for a lunchtime game of tennis. “She was more focused on Charles and Diana than she was on me. I looked like chopped liver compared to them.”
“Maybe next to Diana,” Geoff replied, “but definitely not Charles. I say this as a confident heterosexual man – you’re much better looking than he is.”
Richard laughed out loud. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“Where’s date number two?”
“I think Kensington Place,” Richard replied between backhands. “It’s new and trendy but less pretentious.”
“Where you can shine in comparison,” Geoff concluded. “I like it. Can’t wait for the report after. From what you’ve said, this Jenny girl is a knockout.”
****
Dinner at Kensington Place was everything Richard hoped it would be. Modern British cooking, a bustling crowd, and no royals in sight. When they finished their meal, Richard and Jenny walked hand in hand through Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park before catching a cab to The Savoy.
Richard nodded a greeting to the front desk staff. He knew they all thought he was a rake, but he didn’t care. They would do the same thing if they were me.
He led Jenny back to the hotel bar and ordered them a bottle of wine. The conversation was easy and relaxed, and Richard realized that he enjoyed Jenny’s company. Maybe more than any woman since – ”
A shadow crossed his face.
“Are you okay?” Jenny asked. “You look pale.”
“Hmm? Oh, yes, I’m fine.”
Richard smiled and picked up the wine to pour his date another glass. He was about to ask if she wanted to order a second bottle when the tall blonde smirked and said: “I guess this is it for us, huh?”
Richard stared back at the girl, confused. “I don’t understand.”
“This is our second date.”
“Yes . . . and I thought it was going rather well.”
“Me too,” Jenny replied. “Absolutely. But this is our second date, and you don’t ever go out with a girl more than twice.”
“That’s not – ” Richard started to argue then paused, thinking back over the past two years and his torrid run through London’s ladies.
Jenny smiled. “It’s fine. I knew that before our first date. You’ve done the same thing with three of my best friends.”
“Why did you still go out with me?”
She shrugged. “All of your girls say they have a great time. And you are fun to be around. Plus, I guess, well, I guess we all kind of hope that we’ll be the one who breaks the pattern and wins you over.”
Richard sat back in his chair and gulped down the rest of his wine. A large pit appeared in his stomach, and he got the same nervous, nauseated feeling that he used to have before being punished in boarding school.
After a long silence, Richard sat up straight and let out a deep breath.
“Jenny, you’re a lovely girl and I would be honored if you would have dinner with me again this Saturday.”
“Because you genuinely like me or because you’re trying to prove a point and not feel bad?”
“Does it matter?” Richard asked.
Jenny smiled, shook her head, and reached across the table to hold Richard’s hand. “Thank you, but no thank you. I don’t want a pity date.”
THIRTY-NINE
Richard escorted Jenny to the taxi stand in front of the hotel, kissed her on the cheek, and sent her home. As her car drove away, he sighed. Definitely not what I was hoping for this evening.
“One for you as well, Lord Arring
ton?” asked the doorman. He worked most evenings at The Savoy and recognized Richard as one of its frequent guests.
Richard looked back toward the hotel bar and then up into the night sky. “Not tonight, Simon. I think I’ll walk.”
Richard left the hotel and walked down to the Victoria Embankment at the riverside. He shuffled his feet along the concrete path and was in no hurry as he made his way home.
I didn’t realize I had a reputation, he thought. Richard’s mind replayed all of his activities for the past two years. “How could you not have a reputation, you wanker? Those girls see you coming from a mile away.” And yet they still go out with me. And sleep with me. He shook his head. Women.
By the time he reached Westminster Abbey, Richard had started trying to justify his two-date rule. One date gets boring, he thought. You say the same things on every first date, and at three dates people start to get ideas about futures and feelings. Two dates are perfect. A little variety, a little fun. Richard grinned. A little more fun upstairs if she’s willing – and they usually are.
He glanced over at the church and winced. “Sorry, God. I guess you got your payback, didn’t you? Making me the talk of London.”
Richard stopped walking and leaned against the Abbey’s rail. The Palace of Westminster was to his left, with Westminster Bridge beyond that. Behind him was St. James’s Park and the stark contrast of his present and his future: the glitz and glamour of Mayfair’s clubs next to the stodgy government buildings of Whitehall. Richard knew that one day he would have to take his father’s place in the House of Lords and deal with the Whitehall bureaucracy. “But not tonight,” he said. “Not tonight.”
Every Star in the Sky Page 9
