Sex and Vanity

George put his arm around her and continued to speak in a soft, steady voice: “The old man was British, and his wife arrived at the piazzetta right as we revived him. She had been down the street shopping at Ferragamo. By the time I left, he was sitting up in a chair, getting treated by the doctor while his wife scolded him for running off…”

*1 One of Capri’s most spectacular natural wonders, the arch is actually the remnant of a cave that collapsed millions of years ago during the Paleolithic age.

*2 Over the centuries, there have been many theories about the cave, which was most certainly a sacred space in ancient times, with some archaeologists believing that it was used in ancient Mithraic rituals (google that), while others think that it was a temple dedicated to Cybele, the goddess of wild nature and fertility. Whatever the truth might be, many teenage locals believe it’s the best place to get stoned, or laid, or preferably both. Wild nature and fertility indeed.

*3 Consistently ranked one of the best public schools in New York City, Stuyvesant excels in math and science and counts among its alumni Thelonious Monk, Tim Robbins, Ron Silver, Lucy Liu, and many world-renowned mathematicians and scientists you’ve never ever heard of.

VIII

Marina Grande

CAPRI, ITALY

Charlotte was the first to arrive at the designated meeting place by the cathedral steps, where she found a man with a flamboyant, Daliesque mustache pacing impatiently. Baron Mordecai von Ephrussí (Wetherby / Dragon / Harrow / Magdalen College, Oxford), as he introduced himself, was an acclaimed author, art historian, antiquities consultant, and, currently, fellow at the American Academy in Rome, where he was—as he told anyone who mattered—working on “the definitive biography of Luchino Visconti.” The Baron claimed to descend from a long line of Franco-Prussian Jewish aristocrats, even though he was born and raised in England. He had a grand title, but was living off an even grander overdraft, and depended on the good graces of his friends, usually grand ladies of a certain age and status who enjoyed his wit, title, gossip, and expertise on pre-Napoleonic Limoges, not necessarily in that order.

Sizing up hi

s outfit of white-and-blue-striped seersucker trousers, crisp white button-down shirt conspicuously monogrammed with the initials MVE just above his left midriff, navy polka-dot cravat tied around his throat, and Cleverley wing-tips, Charlotte knew exactly how to engage with him. After a quick greeting and exchanging polite chitchat about the gorgeous weather, they did what everyone else in their crowd did and segued into the name game, with Mordecai launching the first volley:

“And what do you do, Ms. Barclay?”

“I’m an editor at Amuse Bouche.”

“Ah, Amuse Bouche. Superb magazine, superb.” Not as good as Bon Appétit, but perhaps I can sell her on my idea of writing about Empress Josephine’s obsession with îles flottante.

“Thank you,” Charlotte responded. I’m not going to ask him what he does. It’ll drive him nuts, and he’ll tell me within two minutes.

“You must live in New York, then. Tell me, are you by any chance related to Theodore and Annafred Barclay?” Mordecai asked.

Charlotte smiled. There it was. It only took him thirty seconds to ask. “Yes, Teddy’s my cousin.”

Mordecai smiled back. “What a small world! Such a lovely couple. When I’m not slaving away on my book at the American Academy in Rome, I’m the historical consultant for the Prince’s Trust International.” She’s a Barclay. Of course, only a Barclay can afford to look this unfashionable in Capri.

So I’m wrong. He told me what he does in under a minute. “The Prince’s Trust. Yes, Teddy’s been so involved with helping Charles, and of course Camilla and Annafred go way back.”

“I saw them at a dinner just last month at the Serpentine Gallery.” How dare you call their royal highnesses by their first names!

“Did you? I spent a lovely weekend at Highgrove with Teddy and their royal highnesses earlier this summer.” Eat your heart out, Mordecai.

“Highgrove is lovely in the summertime, isn’t it? Now, even lovelier is Pemberley. My cousins, the D’Arcys, keep it up rather well.” Try to top that, Ms. Barclay!

“So I’ve heard. How do you know Isabel and Dolfi?” He was probably their decorator.

“I have been great friends of her parents, for ages. Many years ago, I had the pleasure of working with Geoffrey Bennison on the Chius’ first house on the Bishops Avenue.”

I’m too good at this. “I loved Bennison’s work. He redid some rooms for my grandmother back in the late seventies.”

“He did?” Who the fuck is her grandmother and why don’t I know about those rooms?

At this point, Lucie arrived at the church steps, rescuing Charlotte from further interrogation.

“Thank you so much for going back and getting my sunblock, Lucie. I would have looked like a Maine lobster without it. Mordecai, this is my cousin Lucie Churchill.”

“Hello,” Lucie said.

“Enchanted.” Hmm. What a pretty Eurasian. “Tell me, how exactly are you two related?”

Before Lucie could answer, Charlotte jumped in. “Lucie is the daughter of Reggie Churchill, my mother’s brother.” Try that on for size.