“That Mrs. Zao could have come along on the tour,” Mercedes whispered.

“Are you not a fan?” Charlotte said with a slight smirk.

Paloma pursed her lips for a moment, before replying, “She is perfectly lovely. I just wouldn’t want to be on a two-hour tour with her, that’s all.”

Mercedes waved her hand in front of her sister’s face dismissively. “Oh, Paloma, stop being so polite. We just weren’t impressed by the way Mrs. Zao bragged about her husband’s companies. Not impressed at all!”

“Was it really bragging? She was asked the question by Mordecai, and she simply gave him an answer,” Olivia countered.

“It was the manner in which she said it. Did she have to boast that it was the largest fleet of tankers on the planet? I mean, our family founded businesses in the Philippines that go back to the eighteen hundreds, but we never would have mentioned it quite like that. My mother would have given us a tight slap!” Mercedes said.

“Mother could have taught that woman a thing or two about subtlety! Her style is just a bit too Hong Kong for my taste,” Paloma sniffed.

“How do you define ‘too Hong Kong’?” Charlotte asked as she tore off a slice of the pizza and carefully removed every bit of mortadella and cheese with her knife and fork.

Paloma pondered for a moment. “There’s a certain showy quality. The colors they choose to wear, and how they don’t mind being seen dripping in jewels at all hours of the day.”

“You call it showy, I call it flair. I suppose I have a penchant for extravagant, eccentric style. Mrs. Zao reminds me of Anna Piaggi or the Marchesa Casati,” Olivia said.

“Well, you should have seen the rubies she wore to go swimming yesterday. My jeweler would have had a heart attack!”

“And that son of hers, the silent one. No doubt he’s handsome, but have you ever heard him speak? It’s quite odd,” Mercedes mused.

“I think he’s just a little full of himself,” Charlotte commented.

“You know I read somewhere that beautiful men lack a conscience,” Mercedes interjected.

“Oh, what rubbish! He’s perfectly nice to me. I just don’t think he’s one for small talk,” Olivia said.

Lucie soaked in the ladies’ banter but said nothing. She couldn’t help but notice the Sultanah seated at the other end of the table, being fawned over by Mordecai. Even though she was wearing a blindingly colorful caftan and dripping in jewels, the Ortiz sisters didn’t seem to disapprove of her.

After lunch, the group dispersed to pursue various pampering distractions. The Sultanah and the Ortiz sisters treated themselves to the warm goat’s milk and honey manicures being offered in the spa (with Mordecai tagging along, of course), Auden went for a dip in the waters off the villa’s private beach, and Charlotte, Olivia, and Lucie decided to take advantage of the sun beds on the lower terrace. The Balinese beds were situated at the perfect vantage point under an alleé of tall umbrella pines, allowing the harsh afternoon sun to filter gently down to them while the crosswinds blew a cool sea breeze.

Lying on her belly and staring out at the azure waters from her plush silk mattress, Charlotte let out a deep sigh. “This is absolute bliss!”

“I’ve always found billionaires to be a miserable lot, but once in a while I think it might not be that bad to have enough cash to afford a place like this,” Olivia said with her eyes closed as she savored the sunlight on her face.

“You know, I almost married one with a place not too different from this,” Charlotte murmured lazily.

Lucie stared at her cousin curiously. “Really?”

“Yes. Raphaël. His parents had a villa in Cap-Ferrat, and we spent a few heavenly weeks there the summer after I graduated from Smith.”

“That was your hot summer romance, wasn’t it? We’ve all had at least one,” Olivia remarked.

“What happened?” Lucie asked, having a hard time imagining Charlotte engaged in a hot summer romance with anyone.

“My parents happened. Raphaël proposed and wanted me to move to London with him, where he was about to start a job at Rothschild’s. But Mom and Dad didn’t approve. And neither did Granny. They all thought I was much too young and he was a little too, shall we say … exotic.”

“Where was he from?” Lucie asked.

“He was born in Paris, to an extremely wealthy and aristocratic family.”

“So what was wrong with that?” Lucie pressed on.

“Do you really need me to spell it out for you? They were Jewish.” Charlotte mouthed the last part.

“Oh,” Lucie said quietly, her face clouding over. “Did your parents really object because of that?”

Charlotte sighed. “There were many reasons, but that was certainly a factor. It remained unsaid, but I know my parents. And I think you’re old enough now, Lucie, to realize how Granny can be sometimes. She used to refer to Jews as ‘the visitors.’ I was so confused whenever she said that until I realized what she meant when I took her shopping for cosmetics at Bergdorf’s one day. She whispered to me, ‘Time to change my regimen. The visitors have all discovered La Prairie!’”

“Oh dear God,” Olivia huffed contemptuously, while Lucie remained silent. Unlike her cousin, she had learned from a very early age precisely how her grandmother could be, and she preferred to block those memories out.

“What happened to Raphaël?” Olivia inquired.

“You know, the usual. Married some other blonde, had a bunch of kids, got divorced, got fat.”

Olivia snorted. “They all get fat, don’t they?”

“But when he was younger, boy, let me tell you … he was really something.”

Olivia raised an eyebrow. “How something was he?”

“Remember that guy in Sixteen Candles that Molly Ringwald was obsessed with?”

“Do I? I was obsessed with him too! God, what was his name? And what ever happened to him?”fn1

“I’m not sure, but Raphaël looked just like him, only handsomer.”

“Was he a good kisser? French boys are the best kissers, I find.”

Charlotte turned onto her back and glanced at her cousin. “Lucie, would you be a darling and go fetch us some drinks. An Arnold Palmer, maybe? I’m dying of thirst.”

“Me too. Get them to put some vodka in mine,” Olivia said.

Lucie rolled her eyes. “Okay, I get the hint.”

She got up from her bed, left the terrace, and relayed the drink orders to a passing spa attendant. She wished to explore more of the grounds but wanted to avoid running into George again at all costs. Since he was probably with his mother getting a Thai massage down by the beach, Lucie thought it best to head upward. She wandered into a beautiful greenhouse constructed of stained-glass windows where a profusion of orchids was being cultivated, and then found another terrace where built-in sofas along the walls were scattered with colorful kilim pillows. Every corner of the property seemed to reveal a stunning new surprise, and she felt as though she were exploring some sort of Alice in Wonderland dreamscape. It’s all too beautiful, she thought. I don’t think I could live in a place this beautiful all year long.

Following signs to the High Garden, she climbed the staircase behind the old villa and came to a glade of ancient tropical palms that created a lush, verdant grove. As she entered, she came upon a marble fountain gurgling next to a carved Etruscan bench. She sat down for a moment in this serene spot, enveloped in the greenery and the chorus of cicadas making their midsummer mating calls, trying to make sense of her thoughts.