Lies and Weddings(46)
“Er, I suppose. Now, I must ask…what in the world is that wall finish made of?” Cosima asked, peering at the gloriously patinated surface behind the leatherbound volumes.
“Those are the original walls. We took it right down to the timber and this was what we found. Apparently the walls were originally all covered with gilt, and these are the remnants of it.”
Cosima moaned in ecstasy. “It’s glorious! Like warm treacle! You’ve succeeded in preserving a great manor house while propelling it decidedly into the future. In fact, I see the title of my piece: ‘A Stately Future!’?”
“Thank you.” Arabella smiled Buddha-like, basking in the praise.
“Lady Greshamsbury, I have to confess that before coming, I’d heard so many stories, I had certain preconceptions in my mind. I was prepared to be…unmoved. But Greshamsbury Hall is a revelation. It’s been quite a while since I’ve seen a stately that seamlessly integrates the avant-garde with the historical in such a timeless, unaffected way. I thought I’d be visiting someplace dripping with, to quote the Baron Alexis de Redé, ‘the kind of luxury of which Americans are so fond,’ but I feel as though I’m at Villa Necchi Campiglio in Milan or Dominique de Menil’s house in River Oaks.”
“My god, Dominique! I’m not worthy of the comparison,” Arabella said mock bashfully.
“Why not? The relationship you’ve created between your art collection and a living, breathing family manor house is rather inspired.”
“Well, for me, it begins with the art. The art sets the tone and the structure in every room.”
“But your choices are so original, so sui generis. In most of the houses we visit, I glance at the walls and everything looks like it came straight out of a Christie’s catalog. Everyone collects the same ten artists, the same furniture—it bores me to death. Here, I find myself confounded and surprised by the choices you’ve made every time I turn the corner.”
“Well, anyone can have a James Turrell swimming pool or a flock of Lalanne sheep. I wanted to do something unexpected here. I wanted to celebrate the artists who challenge me.”
“Now, hasn’t your son, Rufus, become an artist as well? No doubt he’s been inspired by what’s on the walls of his home.”
Arabella flinched almost imperceptibly. “Rufus does dabble in art, but he is involved in many exciting projects preparing him to be the future earl.”
“Well, whatever he may be doing, you’re clearly one of our leading lifestyle oracles, and everyone’s dying to see your new resort in Hawai—” Cosima stopped mid-syllable, realizing her faux pas as she saw Arabella’s face freeze up. “I’m sorry, er…I mean, everyone’s dying to…know which designers have inspired you.”
Arabella visibly relaxed. “Ah, well, Rory Cameron, Geoffrey Bennison, and Edward Tuttle have always inspired me.”
“Superb, but are there any designers you love who are perhaps alive?”
“Oh yes. Let’s see…I love Cathy Vedovi, the Misczynskis, and Rose Uniacke, of course. Fran?ois-Joseph Graf, Serdar Gülgün, and Lorenzo Castillo never fail to astonish me, and I think Remy Renzullo, Child Studio, and Fabrizio Casiraghi are doing some very exciting things these days.”
“Quite.”
The sound of tires crunching on the gravel could suddenly be heard as the Irish setters rushed out the front door barking excitedly. Arabella glanced out the window and saw Bea emerging from an Ardennes green Range Rover. Hemsworth scurried around with other footmen unloading vast amounts of luggage. Bea entered through the front door and walked into the drawing room as the dogs jumped up on her excitedly. “Noel, Liam, I’ve missed you so much,” Bea cried as she kissed them both.
Arabella smiled tightly at Cosima. “Would you give me a moment?” She crossed the Great Hall into the drawing room and found Bea sitting on a sofa struggling to remove her Gianvito Rossi boots.
“Where the hell have you been?” Arabella demanded.
“What do you mean?” Bea looked up in surprise.
“You were supposed to fly straight back to England from Hawaii!”
“Oh. Was I? We stopped off in Penang for lunch. You know, Penang truly has the yummiest food—the char kuey teow is second to none.”
“And your char kuey teow took five days to eat?”
“May I remind you that I was on Cousin Aurelius’s plane? And you know what the etiquette is when you’re a guest on someone else’s jet—you have to go wherever they want to go, and Aurelius suddenly had a hankering for some Penang street food, so we diverted the plane. Then after lunch in Penang, Aurelius wanted to drop by Dubai for a party. So we stopped over and that’s where we met this marvelous fellow, Turki, who invited us to an art exposition in the middle of the Arabian desert, in AlUla. Mummy, you would have loved it. The art installations were set among these fabulous tombs from the Nabataean civilization, and there was an incredible resort there that Turki insisted we stay at for a couple of nights. I think Turki’s family built it.”
“Stop this Turki nonsense! How dare you!” Arabella shouted.
“I’m sorry?” Bea looked taken aback.
“How dare you abandon ship and leave the scene of the crime! You let your eyes off the prize!”