Lies and Weddings(73)
“This is absolutely crazy! I’m NOT pregnant!” Eden cried.
“Is that what you’re planning to tell Freddy? Come now, every baby deserves a chance. Beatrice, let’s go.”
“No. I’m staying right here,” Bea said in a quavering voice.
“Beatrice, if you don’t come with me this instant, I’m cutting off your Coutts account.”
Bea looked pained, but she remained in her seat as tears streamed down her face.
Arabella turned around in fury, promptly colliding into a man holding an iced latte. The coffee exploded all over Arabella’s blouse.
Arabella shrieked in horror as the man apologized and clumsily began blotting Arabella’s chest with the tiny square napkin that had been folded around his cup.
“Stop molesting me!” Arabella screamed, before turning back to the girls. “See what you’ve done!”
“You should go,” Eden said quietly to Bea.
Bea got up reluctantly and followed after her mother as she stormed out of the café without another word. Arabella didn’t need to say anything else; her mission was accomplished. Within minutes, the story would spread to every household far and wide, and Eden Tong would never be able to show her face anywhere in Greshamsbury again.
Skip Notes
* As the Caffè Nero website states, “You’ll find us to be a bunch of dynamic and diverse people who are respectful and supportive of one another.”
VIII
BOULEVARD OAKS
HOUSTON, TEXAS ? A FEW DAYS PRIOR
The long branches of live oaks planted along both sides of South Boulevard arched across the sky to create an incredible canopy of foliage that cast geometric sun-dappled patterns onto the pavement, giving the street an almost fairy-tale quality.[*1] Thomas had come here straight off the British Airways flight from London, and he didn’t recognize this elegant neighborhood at all—not that he would; in his two years spent in Houston almost three decades ago, he hardly saw anything aside from his apartment and the treatment rooms within the sprawling MD Anderson Cancer Center.
As he walked up the curved driveway of the classic Georgian redbrick house, a hulking man in a black suit with a telltale earpiece opened the front door, his jacket flapping open wide and providing a clear glimpse of the SIG Sauer tucked into his waistband holster. Thomas was wordlessly ushered through the grand foyer with its gracefully curving staircase and into the library, which was now command central for the team of doctors who managed the care of their esteemed patient. The lead physician, Dr. David Biekert (Armand Bayou Elementary/Clear Lake/Cornell/MD Anderson UTHealth), looked up from his laptop and smiled broadly. “Thomas Tong! Man, it’s been way too long.”
“Good to see you, Dave,” Thomas said, beaming. “How’s our patient?”
“Feisty as ever and not listening to a damn thing we say. Yesterday he demanded to play a round of golf at River Oaks, at high noon in eighty-five-degree weather.[*2] He had Olaf carry him from his golf cart to every hole. He’s paying the price today.”
“When was his last infusion?” Thomas asked.
“Monday.”
“Really? And he was able to stand on a golf course yesterday?”
“What can I tell you, Thomas, the sonofabitch is messing up all our stats. If you told me five months ago when he arrived in a coma that he’d still be here today, I’d have said you were smokin’ somethin’.”
“It’s a testament to the miracles you’ve been performing on him here.”
“Nah, I think he’s just sticking around for the pizza. It’s pizza day today—you’re in for a treat.”
“Can I head in?”
“Enter at your own risk,” Dave said, grinning.
Thomas went through the double doors into what had once been the formal living room, overlooking a stately Italianate lawn with an infinity pool that seemed incongruously slick compared to the rest of the house. The living room had been converted into a medical suite cum trading floor with a hospital bed set up in front of a bank of huge TV screens, each showing stock market live feeds from around the world. A shrunken man lay in the bed with his fingers on a keyboard and an oxygen tube at his nostrils. He wore a clunky headset over his bald head, an angry keloid scar with the shape of a gasoline cap protruding from the left side of his forehead. Three nurses sat in chairs just behind him, ready to jump at his every command, as he spoke into his headset in a slow, slurred voice, pausing to catch his breath between sentences: “Farhad said, ‘Rene, come on…you have so many power plants…sell me one, pleeeeeeeease?’ I said, ‘Seven billion…you can have it tomorrow’…and he said, ‘Five point five…you can afford to give me this one…I saved your ass on the Doha deal.’ I said, ‘You stingy prick…trying to cheat me even now…this is not a negotiation…At seven billion I’m giving it to you…I already gave you…my mistress…she calls me up every day and whines…that you won’t buy her…a megayacht. If you want her to…keep putting her tongue up…your sandy asshole…while she finishes you off…call up Vitelli and order her…a two-hundred-and-thirty-footer…so she can sail around Sardinia…with her head held high.[*3] If you buy her a new yacht…spend, say, three hundred mil…I’ll make it six point two…you’ll still be saving half a billion…Final offer.’ That cockroach took the deal…Heh.”