Sex and Vanity(25)

“Pardon me?” Lucie said.

“I said you have a neck like a swan.” Paloma smiled.

“Really?”

“Yes, it’s long like Audrey Hepburn’s. So beautiful!”

“Er … thank you,” Lucie said, as always feeling a bit awkward whenever someone paid her a compliment.

“You must get it from your mother?”

“Hmm, I guess. I’ve never thought about it, but yes, my mother does have quite a long neck.”

“Where is she from?” Paloma continued to probe.

“Seattle.”

“I meant is she Chinese, Japanese, Korean?”

“Oh, sorry. Yes, she’s of Chinese ancestry, but she’s third-generation Asian American. Her grandfather was one of the very first Chinese students to graduate from Yale with a medical degree,” Lucie added, not wishing these ladies to think her mother was fresh off the boat.

“How interesting,” Paloma said, clearly not as curious about Lucie’s family history as she was with her 23andMe results.

Mercedes jumped into the conversation. “And your father, what is his ancestry?”

“English, Scottish, and Swedish,” Lucie replied as patiently as she could. Why was it that only other Asians interrogated her about her background?

“You must thank your mother for your beautiful features, then. I thank mine every morning when I look in the mirror. It’s because of my Chinese blood that I haven’t needed a face-lift yet!”fn1 Mercedes giggled.

“You’re part Chinese?” Lucie asked.

“Yes, of course. My sister and I are torna atrás—we have Chinese, Spanish, and Filipino blood. You know, most Filipinos have mixed blood. We are all mestizos, like you.”

“I had no idea.”

“Now, tell me, dear, how long have you been modeling?”

Lucie laughed out loud at the preposterousness of the idea. “Me? I’ve never modeled.”

Mercedes gave Paloma a look before turning back to Lucie. “Really? All this time we thought you were that girl in the new Chanel perfume ads.”

“I swear it isn’t me.”

“It sure looks like you! Now, why don’t you model? Our cousin Kris owns the top talent agency in Manila, and she would recruit you in a heartbeat!”

“We should also recruit that one coming down the stairs,” Paloma said, gesturing.

Lucie turned around and saw George Zao bounding down the marble steps, followed by his mother. It was the first time she had seen him since Casa Malaparte. Before she could help herself, she found herself smiling at him and then almost immediately wanted to kick herself. Why did she grin at him like that? She felt like a total idiot.

“Rosemary, George, what a surprise!” Auden said cheerily as he clapped George heartily on the back.

Mordecai gave the late arrivals a quick once-over. Who on earth was this woman, and what possessed her to think she could join his group wearing those flamingo-pink sweatpants? “Madame, I don’t seem to recall you signing up for my tour?” he said haughtily.

Olivia was about to spring to their defense, but Rosemary gave Mordecai a confused look. “We didn’t sign up for anything—we were here for breakfast.”

“You’re friends with the Murphys?” Olivia asked, almost smirking.

“Yes, old friends. Tom and my husband owned a company together.”

Mordecai’s interest was instantly piqued. “Oh, really? Which one?”

“I can’t remember … was it the oil company? The refineries? No, it was the shipping company. Yes, they owned a fleet of tankers together, the largest fleet in the Pacific.”

Mordecai did an abrupt one-eighty and he smiled at Rosemary solicitously. “Well, Mrs. Chao—”

“It’s Zao,” Rosemary corrected.

“Yes, Mrs. Zao, I was just at the start of my historical tour. Geraldine might have told you that I was the one who found this villa for them. You are most welcome to join us …”

“Oh, we don’t need a tour. We’ve stayed here many times; this is like a second home for us. Gerri insisted that I try her new float tank after breakfast, and now I’m going down for a Thai massage on the beach,” Rosemary declared before padding off with the ease of a longtime houseguest. George followed after her, and as he passed Lucie, he murmured in that low, quiet voice, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Lucie said, feeling the sudden rush of blood to her cheeks.





CHAPTER TEN


The High Garden at Villa Lachowski



Capri, Italy


The group had just finished Mordecai’s encyclopedic tour of every precious nook and cranny of the remarkable property, and for their patience they were rewarded with a sumptuous lunch held on the enchanting terracotta-tiled terrace, where wisteria vines wrapped around every column and the most arresting view of Positano stretched out before them like a perfectly retouched postcard.

“I’m having sensory overload. I’m not sure where to look—at the breathtaking view, at these adorable hand-painted majolica plates, or at this glorious feast!” Charlotte said as she sat down in her cushioned wicker chair, assessing the meal on the table with approval. Along with a chilled lobster and saffron bisque and a classic Caesar salad featuring cured Amalfi anchovies, the Murphys’ chef also brought out huge platters of strozzapreti tossed in a creamy sea urchin sauce and a delectably light mortadella, pistachio, and lemon pizza.