Sex and Vanity

“Ah yes, Reginald Churchill.” How intriguing. And good lord, this means Charlotte’s a Churchill and a Barclay. Must be swimming in pots of money.

Lucie couldn’t help but frown. She knew Charlotte dropped her father’s name only when she was trying to impress people. She was wondering what the story was with this Mordecai fellow, and she soon understood.

“Now, I think we are just waiting for Mr. Beebe, Ms. Lavistock, and the Ortiz sisters, and then I can call ahead to let the Sultanah know we are ready. She will meet us down at Marina Grande, and then we will all proceed together to Positano to tour the villa.”

“The Sultanah?”

“Yes! Today, we have the honor of my great friend the Sultanah of Penang joining us on our little outing.”

“What is a sultanah?” Lucie asked.

“My dear, she is Malay royalty of the highest order. She is the royal consort to the Sultan of Penang. She is the queen! Now, we are already in breach of royal protocol by keeping her waiting, but if Mr. Beebe had the decency to be more punctual…”

At that moment, Auden Beebe appeared at the foot of the steps with Olivia and the Ortiz sisters, holding an umbrella over the ladies so gallantly that Mordecai could no longer complain.

“So sorry we’re late. It’s all my fault—I forgot my Leica and had to rush back to my room,” Olivia said breathlessly.

The party made its way to the funicolare for the short journey down the mountain, and then Mordecai led them to the pier where they were to be picked up for their excursion. They stood along the empty dock for a few minutes, and Olivia, tiring of the sweltering sun, glared at Mordecai. “I thought you said the royal Shahtoosh was meeting us here?”

“I sent the Sultanah a text as soon as we arrived at Marina Grande. She’ll be along in a few minutes. Her majesty must always be the last to arrive, you understand,” Mordecai officiously explained.

“Should I call her ‘Your Majesty’ too?” Lucie asked.

“First of all, protocol dictates that you should never speak to the Sultanah unless she speaks to you first. You may address her as ‘Your Majesty’ the first time you greet her and, subsequently, ‘ma’am.’?”

Olivia looked at Auden and Charlotte, rolling her eyes.

“I take it you have a history with Monsieur le Baron?” Charlotte whispered to Olivia.

“If he’s really a baron, then I’m Marie fucking Antoinette. Yes, Mordecai and I go way back. He made my life hell at first when I worked at the Fondation Pierre Bergé one summer, but then his attitude changed the minute he found out who I was related to,” Olivia whispered back.

Just then, a large black Mercedes pulled up to the pier, and two bodyguards dressed in dark sunglasses and black suits emerged. The taller one marched down the dock and gave the group a quick once-over before tapping his earpiece and muttering, “Kami bersedia untuk ratu!”?*

The other bodyguard opened the back door of the limousine, and a small, chubby woman in her late seventies wearing a flowing Pucci caftan and matching Pucci hijab emerged. As she walked toward the dock, Lucie could already see the massive canary diamonds sparkling from her head scarf, and she quickly recognized her as the lady in the bejeweled headdress who had walked past the sandal shop the other day.

“Let’s form a line to receive her. Now, the Malays prostrate themselves to the knees and bow their heads all the way to the floor when they meet their Sultanah, but I think a bow or a curtsy will suffice here,” Mordecai said in a jittery voice.

“For fuck’s sake, Mordecai, I wouldn’t curtsy even if she were the Dowager Countess of Grantham,” Olivia quipped.

Ignoring her comment, Mordecai bowed deeply and was about to address the Sultanah when she breezed right past him and hugged the Ortiz sisters excitedly. “Paloma! Mercedes! I didn’t know you were coming! When did you arrive?”

“Sunday. We were in Paris first,” Paloma (Saint Scholastica / Ravenhill Academy / Universidad Complutense de Madrid) said.

“For our fittings, you know,” Mercedes (Saint Scholastica / Ravenhill Academy / University of Hawaii) added.

“You know these ladies?” Mordecai said in surprise.

“Know them? Of course! Mordecai, these girls own about five thousand of the Philippines’ seven thousand islands. I am nothing compared to them!” the Sultanah (privately tutored till the age of ten / Cheltenham Ladies’ College) exclaimed.

“Oh, come on, you are royalty. We are commoners,” Paloma said.

“We are just housewives!” Mercedes added.

“Uh-huh, sure!” The Sultanah rolled her eyes, turned to Mordecai again. “Talk about Paris, these girls and I used to go to all the shows together…Scherrer, Féraud, and my favorite…Jacqueline de Ribes. How I wish I could still fit into her dresses!”

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“And remember, we used to hang out at Régine’s!” Paloma said excitedly.