Epilogue #3
“Golly,” Enzo says dryly. “Thunderbolt city.”
“Four Weddings and a Funeral,” chorus Charlie and Nadja.
When I finally pull away, Luke’s eyes gleam like the Australian sea, and the coiffure Darya worked so hard on is already beginning to come loose. “I love it,” I say, looking mistily up at him. “I love everything about this, Captain Macarthur.”
“Hey, princess.” He grins at me. “You’re welcome.”
He turns me around to face our audience, and I swallow another urge to cry as I see Roman and Darya beaming back at me, juggling their twins.
Darya’s father, Sergei, is leaning on a cane, supported by Rosa, his wife, with a firm hand on Aleksander.
Abby and Dimitry are next to them, with their two boys.
Mak is standing by Leon, Dimitry’s father, both of them looking like an advertisement for a Silver Fox edition of Esquire magazine.
Alexei Petrovsky, grim faced as ever, is hovering at the back of the crowd with several of the men I recall from the night he came to the Quartier.
Some distance away stands an unsmiling Ofelia, looking remote and elegant in black silk, with a slit high enough on one thigh to give Roman a heart attack and wearing dark sunglasses that cover most of her face.
Mickey Stevanovsky is leaning up against a table, chatting with Lars Andersson and his youngest sister, Masha, who seems to have become almost a teenager overnight.
Liana and Tommo are standing amid a crowd from London that is comprised of all my inner staff and Luke’s ex-army friends from Macarthur Securities.
To my surprise, Dame Agatha Chalmondeley is standing among them, face flushed and looking remarkably pretty in a slim-fitting summer dress.
I stifle a very inappropriate laugh at her dimpled smile when Rocco slips through the crowd and hands her an enormous gin and tonic.
“She’s here with Rocco?” I murmur to Luke.
“They’ve been hot and heavy ever since the Winter Ball, apparently.” Luke bites his lip to hold back his laughter. “According to Rocco, she has, and I quote, ‘the most fascinating feast I’ve ever eaten.’”
“Oh, dear lord.” I almost spit out my champagne.
Enzo waves at me, his other hand firmly in Andrew’s.
Formerly Lowbridge’s private secretary, Andrew has recently found a far better appointment as Agatha’s.
Lowbridge himself has retained his position, but now exists entirely at Agatha’s pleasure, which no doubt has increased her enjoyment almost as much as Rocco’s tongue.
Sophie walks toward me, hand in hand with Bryan, the young Scottish ex-soldier from Luke’s troop. “I’m so happy to be here,” she says, smiling. Her confidence has grown daily ever since she watched Bryan roll Bogdan Kozlov’s corpse into the North Sea.
“And I’m so glad you’re here.” I kiss her cheeks, holding both her hands in mine.
“Tetya Ana would be so proud of you,” Sophie says quietly. Our eyes meet, and just like that, we’re eight years old again, running through Tetya Ana’s house, playing hide-and-seek.
“And of you.” I squeeze her hands. Sophie has taken over almost all the operations at Sophie’s House and even been featured in several magazines.
She’s also been slowly taking over the Quartier. When I shift my attention completely to Pigalle Madrid, she will take over, and I can’t imagine anyone better suited to the role.
“Bryan is taking me to Malaga tonight,” she says, and her smile warms my heart. “We’re going to have drinks down on the beachfront, then stay in a villa there.”
“How wonderful!” I hug her, then watch them walk away, my heart full of both joy and relief.
Sophie and I have been talking in small pieces, our respective stories unfolding over time. We’re family, but also strangers. We’re bridging the gap slowly but surely.
“Auntie Zin!” Ollie skids to a halt in front of me, his eyes shining as he holds out a glass. “Max an’ me made a special cocktail for you.”
“Well, thank you, Ollie.” Bending down, I take an extremely tentative taste, then my eyes widen. “That’s delicious, Ollie. Seriously. What’s it called?”
Max dashes up beside his brother. “It’s the Spicy Whisper! Remember?”
“I do.” I struggle not to laugh. “And it’s a much improved recipe, boys. Well done.”
“They might have had some help,” Liana says dryly, appearing at their side. “From your friend Paddy.” She nods at the grinning Irishman beside her, who has his hand firmly clasped around Charlie’s.
“Thought you’d like it, Auntie Zin,” he says, giving me a broad wink.
“Never, ever repeat that,” I warn him.
“Don’t you worry, Zin.” Charlie slaps Paddy briskly on the ass. “I’ll keep him in line. Anatoly sends his love, by the way. He said, and I quote, that ‘someone haf to make sure de place does not fall apart vhile everyone party.’”
Her imitation of Anatoly’s gruff accent makes me smile.
“Luke.” Roman appears in front of us as Charlie and Paddy move away. “Good job, brother,” he says, embracing Luke briefly.
“Thanks for all your help.” Luke returns his embrace. “Roman helped make sure the renovations all went smoothly,” he says, turning to me.
“Thank you.” I smile at Roman.
“Pleasure.” He brushes off my thanks with customary brevity. “Can I steal your bride for a moment?” he asks Luke.
“Since I’m stealing the groom,” says Dimitry, clapping Luke on the shoulder, “you may as well. Congratulations, Auntie Zin,” he says, winking at me. “So,” I hear him say as he leads Luke away, “I hear you’re called McTasty these days?”
Roman, watching them go, chuckles. “He’s never going to hear the end of that one,” he says, topping up my glass. Walking me over to the low stone balustrade, he stares down at the beach below. “Nice spot, huh?”
“It’s amazing.” I look around, hardly able to believe it’s ours. “I still don’t know where we actually are, though,” I admit.
He laughs. “The locals call it Lugar Secreto.”
“The Secret Place?” I look around at the deserted cliffs and isolated beach. “That makes sense.”
“It’s about twenty minutes from Tarifa,” Roman explains, “on the southern coast of Spain. Unfortunately, at least as far as Darya is concerned, it’s also two hours from us.
She was very upset that Luke didn’t choose something closer.
But the man does love his surf,” he says, grinning, “and besides, I think he wanted you to have your own space. There’s a chopper pad, so you can always come up for lunch if you want.
More importantly, Darya can come to you for lunch, which, given the chaos in our household, is probably more to the point.
” He tilts his head westward. “And Mak has a place ten minutes away. I think he’s happy Luke will finally remove his Jeep and surfboards from his polished concrete garage. ”
I laugh at that.
“I was glad to hear about the Madrid club,” he says, glancing at me.
“It’s a good time for you to shift gears.
Get out of the burlesque game, focus on the political and business one.
And the EU is where it’s at now, especially after Brexit.
Sergei is trying to persuade Alexei to leave the US and move out here, set up business somewhere on this side of the pond.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to want to play the game. ”
I don’t miss his rather grim expression when he mentions Alexei’s name.
“How’s Ofelia doing?” I ask, watching him surreptitiously.
“Honestly?” Roman grimaces. “I really don’t know.
She’s been accepted at the Conservatoire in Paris for next year, and she’s being extremely stubborn about security and her living arrangements.
For all she tells me about her life, we may as well be strangers.
Children are great,” he says, shooting me a wry look.
“Adult children, on the other hand? Fucking nightmare.”
I breathe a mental sigh of relief. Whatever Roman’s reservations about Alexei, they’re clearly unrelated to Ofelia, which is a good thing for all concerned. And knowing what I do about her life, I think privately that the less Roman knows about it, the better.
“Actually,” he says, lowering his voice, “it’s Ofelia I wanted to talk to you about.”
My momentary relief slips away.
“She’s increasingly secretive. She’s not talking to Darya anymore, or not about anything important.
Or to Abby. She certainly doesn’t talk to me, and if she’s speaking to Mickey, he’s staying shtum.
” He gives me a slightly embarrassed look.
“She let slip that she has stayed at your apartment in London a couple of times.”
I pull on my best poker face. “A time or two, yes. Ofelia knows she’s always welcome.”
In fact, Ofelia has the code to my apartment, the only person apart from Luke who does. And she’s spent more than the odd night on my couch, staring at the wall, lost in heartbreak she clearly doesn’t want to talk about.
“I wondered.” Roman looks uncharacteristically unsure of himself. “Ofelia’s twenty-first birthday is coming up. She won’t even discuss a party, but Darya and I want to do something for her. Is there any chance you could—well—” Looking desperately uncomfortable, he cuts short.
I suppress a smile. “I’ll talk to her,” I say quietly. “Find out what she wants and see what I can do. Would you like me to help her organize it, if she’s willing?”
“Christ, yes.” Roman looks passionately relieved. “Anything, so long as it makes her happy and stops Darya worrying.”
“Of course.”
He refills my glass, gulps an enormous mouthful of whiskey, and we both stand there in companionable silence for a time, watching the waves break below.
“Who could ever have imagined us standing here, having this conversation,” Roman says eventually, “that night we met back in London all those years ago?” He turns his glass slowly in his hand, his eyes distant.
“Never in a lifetime could I have imagined coming to you for advice on how to manage my daughter.”