“He’s not getting Mummy’s Battenberg lace doilies, that’s for sure,” Victoria muttered under her breath.
“Super. The Bings will be thrilled, and I know it hasn’t been easy for all of you to reach this decision, but I can tell you that you have made a superb deal. This is a record-breaking amount for real estate, and I don’t think you would have realized a price like this from anyone else on the planet. Great-aunt Su Yi would have been pleased.”
Nick rolled his eyes, while Victoria and Alix nodded.
“You’ll let them know, Oliver?” Felicity asked.
“Of course. I will call Jack right after we get off the phone, and then I’ll e-mail Freddie Tan to begin drawing up the contract.”
“Okay then, goodbye.” Nick turned off the speakerphone.
The ladies sighed collectively. “It’s done,” Felicity muttered, as though she had just drowned a litter of puppies.
“It was the right thing to do. Ten billion dollars! Mummy would be so proud of us,” Alix said, dabbing her eyes with a rolled-up tissue. Felicity looked at her sister, wondering if what she said was true. Would her mother ever be proud of her?
Nick got up from the table and walked out the French doors into the garden again. Rachel was about to go after him when Alix placed a hand on her arm. “He’ll be fine,” she said to Rachel.
“I know he will,” Rachel said softly.
···
I just put four billion dollars into his pocket and that fucker didn’t even thank me, Oliver thought after Nick had abruptly hung up. Then he picked up his phone again and called Kitty’s cell phone.
“Kitty? It’s done. The Youngs have accepted the offer…Yes, really…No, no, you can’t move in next week, it’s going to take a few months at the very least to get the deal done…Yes, they will sell some of the furnishings…Of course I will tell you what’s worth acquiring, don’t worry…I don’t think we can pay them more to move out tomorrow. This has been a home to the family for more than a century, Kitty. They need some time to get things sorted and dismantle the estate. The silver lining is that you’ll have time to plan the new interiors…Henrietta Spencer-Churchill? Yes, I do know her, but Kitty, why would you want the same designer who’s already doing Colette’s new house?…I know she’s related to Princess Diana, but I have an even better idea…I can think of only one person in the whole world I would trust with a redo of Tyersall Park. Can you meet me in Europe next week?…No, not Paris. We’re going to Antwerp, Kitty…No, it’s not in Austria. Antwerp is a city in Belgium…Oh, you’ll swing by London to pick me up? How awfully kind of you…Perfect. Look forward to it.”
Oliver hung up the phone and stared into his computer screen for a few minutes. Then he clicked on iTunes and scrolled through his albums until he found a song. He clicked play, and Puccini’s “Nessun Dorma” came blasting on.*2 Oliver sat in his chair and listened to the first few verses of the aria. As it reached the crescendo, Oliver suddenly leapt out of his chair and started dancing madly around his flat. It was a wild, Dionysian release, and then he collapsed on the floor and started sobbing.
He was safe. Safe at last. With the commission earned on the sale of Tyersall Park, the long nightmare of the past two decades was finally over. His 1.5 percent commission on the Tyersall Park sale would garner $150 million, enough to pay off all his student loans and his parents’ crushing debts. They wouldn’t be rich, but at least they would have enough to survive. His family could be restored to a proper level of respectability again. He would never, ever have to fly economy again. As Oliver lay on the carpet of his London flat, staring up at the cracked plasterwork on the ceiling that had needed fixing ten years ago, he cried out in joy, “All’alba vincerò! Vincerò, vinceròòòòòòò!”
* * *
*1 Cantonese for “so long-winded.”
*2 The Pavarotti version, of course.
CHAPTER THREE
THE PENINSULA HOTEL, LOS ANGELES
“It’s as baffling to me as it is to you,” Alex Leong said, stirring the ice cubes in his scotch glass with his finger. “Astrid’s never left Cassian for this long a period before. I can’t imagine what’s going through her mind.”
From his chair on the rooftop bar, Charlie gazed out at the palm trees that seemed to line every street in Beverly Hills. He didn’t know if Astrid’s brother was truly sincere or putting on a performance, especially since he knew that Alex—long estranged from his parents—was especially close to Astrid. Trying a different tactic, Charlie said, “I’m worried Astrid’s had some sort of breakdown and she’s unable to get help. She’s been MIA for five weeks now. You’d think your parents would be the least bit concerned.”
Alex jerked his head indignantly, his Persol sunglasses reflecting against the setting sun. “I am the last person to answer this question, since I haven’t spoken to my father in years.”
“But surely you know them well enough to know how they might react?” Charlie pressed on.
“I was always the black sheep of the family, so I suppose I was more prepared when my parents took out the knives. But Astrid has always been the darling princess. She’s been raised her whole life to be absolutely perfect, to never put a wrong foot forward, so it must have really hit her hard when things didn’t go so perfectly. Astrid’s scandal makes me look like a saint at this point—I can’t begin to imagine how they must have reacted, the things they must have said.”
“She did tell me that her parents ordered her to go into hiding. But if they adore Astrid as much as I know they do, I don’t understand how they could be so coldhearted. I mean, she’s done absolutely nothing wrong! None of this was her fault,” Charlie tried to reason.
Alex leaned back in his chair and grabbed a fistful of wasabi peas from the little bowl on the table. “The thing you have to understand about my parents is that the only thing that matters to them is their reputation. They care about appearances more than anything else in life. My father has spent his whole life crafting his legacy—being the elder statesman and all that shit, and my mum just cares that she’s the queen bee of the establishment crowd. So everything in their world has to be according to their exacting standards. They excommunicated me for defying their wishes and marrying a girl whose skin tone was just one shade too dark for them.”
“I still can’t believe they disowned you for marrying Salimah. She’s a Cambridge-educated pediatrician, for God’s sake!” Charlie exclaimed.