Lies and Weddings(109)

“What other good news do you have for me today?” Thomas said with a grim laugh.

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings. Just wanted to give you fair warning.”

“Thank you, Diego. I’ll see what I can do.” Thomas ended the call, downed his scotch, and got up from his armchair with a small groan. Now, where did he put his Barbour? He needed to go to the Big House and see Francis at once. He walked into the kitchen and found his waxed cotton jacket draped over a chair. He put it on as he walked out the back door and took the shortcut through the boxwood maze up the hill toward Greshamsbury Hall.

When he was almost up the hill, he could hear the rumble of a car coming down the lane. The car seemed to be moving faster than usual for a country lane, and Thomas nearly didn’t have time to get out of the way before an old mud-covered Land Rover came speeding up. It was Francis behind the wheel.

“Ah, just the man I was looking for!” Francis said jovially.

“I was on my way up to see you.”

“Hop in, I’ll drive you back down!” Francis said as Thomas got into the passenger seat. “I just had a call from a fellow named Louis Philippe. Rather amusing chap.”

“Amusing? That’s not a word I’d ever use to describe him.”

“He was jolly and chattering a mile a minute.”

“Must be the cocaine talking.”

“Har har, very funny. Anyway, the cocaine wanted to know all about Greshamsbury Hall.”

Thomas felt a chill go down his spine. “I hope you didn’t tell him anything…”

“Well, he was mainly interested in knowing whether we had a wine cellar, and how many bottles we had put down, that sort of thing, so I didn’t see much harm in telling him.”

“He isn’t supposed to call you directly.”

“Oh, I don’t see the harm now that his father’s gone. He was very charming, and he’s got quite a thing for tawny port, it seems, so I invited him to dinner tomorrow.”

Thomas closed his eyes for a moment in utter dismay. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“Of course I did. He’s in London, staying at his flat in Knightsbridge, so I told him to pop over. Did I do something wrong? You’ve gone white as a sheet.”

“Francis, he’s coming to case the joint. See how much Greshamsbury Hall might be worth to him if he were to liquidate everything tomorrow.”

“Aw, he’s not going to do that! Why would he want to call in the loans now when he’s got billions at his fingertips? The boy’s just inherited everything lock, stock, and barrel!”

“No he hasn’t. He’s being forced to abide by the rules of a very restrictive trust.”

“Don’t I know how that feels! We can swap stories.”

“Francis, you don’t know the boy like I do.”

“Well then, I’d like to. Look, we’ll put on a charm offensive. I’ll bring out a fine bottle of Taylor Fladgate, Margaret will cook up a storm, and Arabella will wow him with her—”

“Fuck! Arabella. The thought of Luis Felipe at her table…it’s not going to go well, Francis,” Thomas said grimly.

“Course it will! She’ll be thrilled to entertain him and eager for the strapping young heir to meet Beatrice.”

“Not a good idea. You don’t want Bea anywhere near him, trust me. He’s an alcoholic, for starters.”

“Come on, you know alcoholics only exist in America.”

“You don’t understand. Luis Felipe is almost certain to arrive hammered, high, tripping on toads, or all three. We must prepare Arabella; she’ll need to exercise the utmost restraint. I should prescribe her some Xanax before the dinner…”

“Oh, she’s got plenty of that.”

“All the same, I’ll come up to the house with you to give Arabella the lay of the land.”

“Don’t worry so much, Tom. Leave it to us. We’ve had Fran Lebowitz to dinner, don’t you remember? If we can charm her, we can bloody well charm anyone.”





XIII


Greshamsbury Hall

GRESHAMSBURY, ENGLAND ? THE NEXT EVENING




The earl, as usual, was wrong. Arabella was not the least bit thrilled by the idea of receiving Luis Felipe Tan at Greshamsbury Hall, and she was outraged that her husband had so recklessly extended the invitation without first consulting her.

“This is a mistake,” she said.

“Mistake or not, we must do this, Arabella. We must charm the young man, and you’re so good at that sort of thing.”

“I will not be available tomorrow evening. There’s a Pick Your Own Offers promotion at Waitrose.”

“He’s worth a hundred billion dollars, Arabella. Maybe more. Don’t you think Bea would like to meet him?”

“My goodness! You’re going to pimp out your own daughter just because he’s a billionaire? What kind of father are you? Bea is going to marry a gorgeous Greek prince that I’ve picked out just for her.”

By the next day, Arabella had softened a bit and grudgingly accepted that she needed to offer the barest hint of civility to the man who had such outsized control over her present fate. She peeked out the window to see his matte black Sikorsky S-76D helicopter land on the Great Lawn, and she noted that it took two of his bodyguards three minutes to cajole the visibly inebriated young man out of the aircraft. Let him sober up a bit, Arabella thought. After making him wait in the drawing room with Francis, Rufus, Thomas Tong, and Gopal Das for thirty minutes, Arabella finally deigned to come downstairs, making an entrance in an oddly casual Catherine Walker pantsuit flanked by Bea and Augie.