Lies and Weddings(44)
“No, by the time you arrived in Greshamsbury things were all good. Arabella had turned things around remarkably. She transformed Greshamsbury, and after Min Hogg blessed the house and Derry Moore took his photos, many of those who’d snubbed us were clamoring to be let back in. I was in awe of what Arabella had achieved, and I began to believe in her vision to take things to the next level and go global. If Rocco Forte could bloody do it, why couldn’t we? I have no one to blame but myself—I was the one who decided to double down and indulge her every whim. It was our revenge against the establishment. I thought I was being bold and visionary, unlike my father, who did fuck all. So many old families like mine just let their fortunes wither away; I wanted to set things up right for future generations. I thought I was being brilliant, but I’ve really shat the bed, haven’t I? For Arabella and the girls and especially for Rufus. I’m not sure how I’ll ever be able to look him in the face.”
Thomas leaned back in his chair and gazed into the flickering flames for a few moments. He realized that he had misjudged his friend. He had always assumed that Francis was born into a charmed life and took it for granted that everything would always work out for him. He’d thought that all this time, Francis was like a well-bred ostrich with his head in the sand, ignoring the circling lions that were waiting to kill.[*2] But it turned out Francis was not as oblivious as he had seemed, that he was a desperate man trying to do all he could for the family he loved.
Thomas took a deep breath. “Bloody hell, I’ll talk to Rene. I can’t promise much, but I will try. It wouldn’t be in his interest for you to become insolvent.”
A glimmer of hope flashed through Francis’s eyes. “You’ll call him?”
“No…I think I’ll need to put in a personal appearance for this.”
Francis could hear the hesitancy in his friend’s voice. “Look, I know how hard it must be for you…to…to do this. You’ve done more for me than I deserve. Whatever happens, I’m enormously grateful.”
Thomas simply nodded.
Skip Notes
*1 Augie and Maxxie’s honeymoon consisted of a shaman training retreat in Peru, led by Gopal Das, of course.
*2 In reality, it would be difficult for a lion to kill a grown ostrich. Lions are terrific sprinters with a top speed of over eighty kmh, but they can only maintain this speed for very short periods. Ostriches may only manage seventy kmh, but they have much greater stamina and could outrun a lazy lion. BUT…lions are skilled predators and could ambush the ostrich in a sneak attack. However, the ostrich has two extremely sharp claws on each foot, allowing it to, hypothetically, disembowel a lion with a single well-placed kick. All this is rather moot, because lions don’t particularly enjoy the taste of ostrich. They much prefer antelope or zebra, served very rare.
II
GRESHAMSBURY HALL
GRESHAMSBURY, ENGLAND ? THE NEXT MORNING
The email from the Countess of Greshamsbury’s secretary stated:
Arrive at 10:00 a.m. sharp. Take the upper driveway and park in any of the spaces to the left of the mews. You will be met at the front door and given a tour of the public rooms, approx. forty-five minutes.
The countess will meet with you at 10:45 a.m., and you will have approx. fifteen minutes for the interview.
After the interview, you may tour the grounds at your leisure for approx. sixty mins. Mud boots are advisable.
The countess will not be talking about the wedding.
Cosima Money-Coutts (Broomwood Hall/Stowe/St. Andrews), who was writing a feature on Greshamsbury Hall for Cabana magazine, did precisely as she was instructed and pulled her Saab into the first parking spot next to the mews. She walked across the driveway, noting the immaculately raked gravel, and as she was about to approach the front door, which was flanked by a pair of bronze wolves by Harumi Klossowska de Rola, a set of French doors along the side of the house suddenly opened up.
“Miss Money-Coutts?” an imposing blond man who looked as if he had stepped off the cover of a paranormal romance novel inquired with an easy grin.
“Ye-yes,” Cosima stuttered, disarmed by his piercing green eyes.
“Good morning. I’m Hemsworth. I’ll be giving you the tour today.”
“Thank you,” Cosima said. An Aussie. I’m in trouble.
“Come in through here,” Hemsworth said. Cosima entered a room that was bathed in soft morning light and furnished in a stunningly simple manner, with low-slung sofas slipcovered in white linen and matching tufted ottomans scattered about the space, billowing curtains of gray shot silk, and Venetian plaster walls that glowed the loveliest shade of rose. A pair of Irish setters lazed on one of the ottomans, barely deigning to notice her. She was not expecting such an intimate, inviting space to be her first impression of Greshamsbury Hall.
“The countess has a way with color,” Cosima remarked, quietly marveling at how the massive chartreuse and rose art deco–patterned carpet perfectly echoed the radiating hues of the Judy Chicago lithograph Mary Queen of Scots over the mantel. “Is the rug an heirloom?”
“It’s from Shanghai, from the thirties. The countess rescued it from a private club that was about to be refurbished,” Hemsworth noted.
“Marvelous. This is the drawing room, I presume?”