Chapter 18
‘The inferiority of her connections.’
Ibarely had time to grab the sheet and yank it up over us when Bunny Fuller walked into the bedroom, entirely unbothered.
She was dressed in head-to-toe black – cashmere roll-neck sweater and palazzo pants – despite the Californian sunshine.
Her wrists jingled with chunky silver bangles, and a matching statement necklace hung over her chest like ceremonial armour.
Her silver bob was pinned back with a tortoiseshell Alice band, part schoolgirl, part grande dame.
I would soon learn this was Bunny’s everyday look. Formal and understated.
‘Darling Florence,’ she cooed, depositing a massive orchid plant on the nearest chest of drawers. ‘Welcome to the Fuller family!’
Before I could figure out how to respond, naked as I was, under a sheet, in her son’s bed, she crossed the room and perched herself right next to me.
Close. Really close. Then, with French-manicured fingers, she took my face in both hands, tilting it side to side like a jeweller inspecting a diamond.
She was way older than my mum, but she’d clearly had work done. Her face held that taut, semi-surprised look. Chase had mentioned the facelifts on the boat, as though it were a family anecdote, like someone having had measles.
‘Well,’ she said, satisfied, planting two air kisses on my cheeks, ‘Chase Senior and I are thrilled. You’ll meet him tomorrow.’
‘It’s… very nice to meet you,’ I managed.
She threw her head back and let out a loud laugh. ‘Oh my God, that accent, Florence. They’re just going to love you at the club.’
The… club?
Before I could ask, she rummaged in her cavernous Hermes handbag and extracted a heavy black-and-orange book, which she deposited in my lap. The Social Register.
‘This is the only phone directory you’ll need now. I’ve already sent them the update to include you under our listing.’
Chase groaned behind me. ‘Mom, can you not?’
‘I can, Chase,’ she replied. ‘Herb at The Chronicle will run the engagement notice after the party. If he runs it before, it’ll mess up your club membership. And you know how your father feels about that.’
She plunged back into the handbag, pulled out a tiny red silk pouch, and tipped two enormous green gemstones into her palm. They gleamed dully in the light – large, uncut-looking things with a soft haze across the surface.
‘Now,’ she said brightly. ‘Pick which one you want for your ring.’
I looked at Chase. He’d lit a cigarette and blew me a smoke ring. I’d imagined him taking me to Tiffany.
‘They’re cabochon emeralds, suitable for a Fuller engagement,’ Bunny explained. ‘I got them in Hong Kong last month. There’s only one jeweller who can set them properly, Mr Lee. You’ll need two baguette diamonds on the sides. I’ll drop the stone off this afternoon. Thursday pick-up.’
I picked the smaller one, with a soft white flash in the centre, more out of panic than preference. Bunny scooped up both stones, returned them to the pouch, and stowed it back in her bag.
‘Lovely. Now, tomorrow evening you’ll come up to the house for dinner. Make sure you leave work on time, Chase, your father can’t eat late. Pablo will make Chicken 21.’
She checked her watch and headed for the door, calling over her shoulder, ‘You’re just charming, Florence.’
And with that, she was gone.
‘Welcome to the Fuller family,’ Chase said, stubbing out his cigarette. He kicked off the sheet, revealing he was still very much aroused. I’d assumed the Bunny visit would have had the opposite effect.
By 6pm, I could barely keep my eyes open. We’d spent the day by the pool drinking vodka tonics, lying on sun loungers, and having sex. I fell asleep out there. Chase carried me inside and put me to bed.
The next morning, sunlight streamed in through the open shutters. Chase was gone. On the bedside table was a note and a set of keys:
Gone to work. I’ll pick you up at 5.30 for dinner. x
Of course he had work. I’d half expected him to still be here, as if our lives were one long holiday.
I found orange juice in the fridge and a bag of something labelled ‘Thomas’ English Muffins.’ They didn’t resemble any muffins I knew. I followed the instructions and toasted one. The butter was pale and sweet.
With breakfast and Bunny’s book in hand, I stepped out onto the deck. The air was cool, pine-scented, with the quiet hum of the pool filter in the background. I thought of grey, soggy mornings back in London.
I opened The Social Register. It read like a who’s who of money, status and old American families. Homes were listed in multiples. There were yacht names, club memberships, even foundation trusteeships. I found the Fullers: Chase Senior, Bunny, Chase Junior, Brady and his wife, Martha.
Now I was going to be in the book. Florence Elliot from Yorkshire in the pages of America’s social bible.