Lies and Weddings(55)

*3 “My heart aches!” in Cantonese.



*4 Helen Fisher, an anthropologist at Rutgers who studies love and attraction, when discussing rocker Adam Levine in a Live Science interview: “His brow ridges are such that he could probably stand in the shower and keep his eyes open.”



*5 One of the complimentary diaries in fake leather that UBS sends to their clients as a holiday gift every year along with their insulated mugs.





VII



LE BOURGET AIRPORT

PARIS, FRANCE ? LATER THAT AFTERNOON




Seeing the runway lights flickering in the distance as the plane made its final approach to land, Rufus could feel the anticipation build. Only forty more minutes. From Exeter Airport, Greshamsbury was a thirty-five-minute car ride, so give or take a few added minutes for traffic, he’d be on the front steps of the cottage and seeing Eden again. He wondered whether he should book a table at the Shy Frog, their local gastropub, or he should take her someplace more special tonight? Was it too last-minute to get a table at Gidleigh Park? He wanted a quiet, beautiful place with spectacular food where they could talk with no interruptions this time.

As soon as the jet door opened, Rufus bounded down the steps and took his seat in the Range Rover waiting on the tarmac. The car drove a hundred yards around the corner and came to an abrupt stop.

“Monsieur St. Ives, nous sommes arrivés.”

“I’m sorry?” Rufus peered at the driver through his reflection in the rearview mirror, confused that he was speaking French.

“We ’ave arrived,” the driver said in English.

“Arrived where?”

“Deez eez your plane!”

Rufus looked out the tinted windows and saw a black and silver Bombardier Global 7500 outside a private hangar. A flight attendant in a chic navy suit stood by the steps smiling at him. He suddenly realized that the signs on the buildings all around were in French. “Où suis-je?” he asked urgently.

“Le Bourget Aéroport.”

“Fucking hell.” Rufus got out of the car and stormed toward the plane. He climbed aboard the jet, expecting to find his mother waiting. Instead, he found a pretty raven-haired flight attendant standing by the front galley holding a gleaming Puiforcat platter with a rolled-up towel on which was placed a single cymbidium orchid.

“Welcome aboard, sir. May I offer you a warm towel?”

“Thank you.” Rufus’s anger subsided as he sat down on the curved velvet sofa, flung open the towel, and enveloped his face in the soft fragrant steam. Just then, the toilet door opened and Rosina came out as the scent of Frederic Malle’s Portrait of a Lady wafted into the main cabin.

“Auntie Rosina!” Rufus said in astonishment.

“There you are! Good, good, we can go now.”

The flight attendant immediately shut the main cabin door as Rufus looked at his aunt in alarm. “Where are we going? Are my parents okay?”

“Everyone’s fine, don’t worry. We’re going to take a little trip together.”

“Where? Who else is coming?”

“Just the two of us.”

Rufus eyed her suspiciously. “Mum put you up to this, didn’t she?”

“Your mother had nothing to do with this, I promise. This was all my idea. Have a seat and I’ll explain,” Rosina said as she reposed elegantly in an art deco–style club chair[*1] while the flight attendant brought over two glasses of champagne and chilled bowls filled with strawberries and freshly whipped cream.

“Try this champagne. It’s an ancient vintage that’s existed since the time of Louis XV. I just bought the winery, the last one I’ll ever buy, actually,” Rosina said.

Rufus took a glass of the bubbly and sat down across from her. “I was supposed to land at Exeter, but somehow I’m in Paris. You realize this is kidnapping.”

Rosina laughed merrily. “Only little children get kidnapped. You’re too big to be kidnapped.”

“But you diverted my plane!”

“It’s my plane, dear, or did you forget that?”

Rufus glanced out the window with a sense of dread as the jet began taxiing down the runway and taking off.

“Look at me, Rufus. I’ve known you since you were in diapers, and I’ve always been very up-front with you, haven’t I? Remember the time you smashed my priceless Qianlong vase with a soccer ball but I didn’t get mad because you owned up to it immediately?”

“I do. And again, I’m sorry. Aurelius was betting me I couldn’t bend it like Beckham.”

“You’ve always been an honest boy. It’s unfortunate that your father has not been honest with you. It’s not his fault entirely—he comes from a world where he’s been taught never to express himself directly. I come from that world too, in a roundabout way. My great-grandfather was Eurasian like you and he was educated in England, you know.”

“I don’t think I ever knew that.”

“Sir Alistair Ko-Tung. He adopted the English ways so well that he became one of those impenetrable Englishmen and remained one even when he returned to Hong Kong, and it filtered down through the generations. But you are different; even as a little boy you always spoke exactly what was on your mind. You have your mother to thank for that. She’s not afraid to express herself.”