Chapter 20
Charlie Richmond’s house on Chestnut Lane was indeed the biggest on the street, an imposing modern white building, and the party was impossible to miss because of the sound of jazz music wafting into the air.
People were arriving, at the same time as me, cabs pulling up, and they were all entering through the open front door.
As this was a party for Charlie’s father, I had assumed this was going to be what Mom referred to as a ‘cheese and Chardonnay’ gathering, the ones with canapés, glasses of chilled white, that kind of thing, but this was like a Gatsby-style bash, a full-on house party, guests ranging from thirties all the way up to my grandmother’s age.
On the way, I had picked up two bottles of good wine and, before I stepped inside, I gave myself the usual pep talk – ‘shoulders back, breathe and big smile’ – and stepped inside the front door. Thankfully, I spotted Charlie straight away and he turned and smiled.
‘Kerry-Anne!’ He flung his arms around me.
‘The guest of honour.’ Charm fully activated, he took my arm.
‘It’s so good of you to come,’ he was saying.
‘I thought to myself, she’s not going to want to come to one of the Richmond family parties, not when she is so busy investing…
’ His eyes were glassy and he fell into me a little, as though he’d lost his balance.
‘Well, not investing,’ I murmured, as he righted himself. ‘Advising.’
‘Same thing. Funnelling money and all that – investing, accumulating. What my family have been doing for generations…’
Charlie now had his hand on my back, ushering me through to the hall.
‘You need a drink. Dad insists on champagne on occasions like this. I mean, what else would you be doing on a Monday in May? Dad’s not one for scrimping when it comes to his birthday.’ He shot me another smile. ‘Mine, not so much.’
I was beginning to understand why Henry, Lucy and Jules were all wary of Charlie.
I felt a little overwhelmed by him, and perhaps a little controlled.
Charlie was now whisking me through into a large drawing room, where a long table was laid with a white linen tablecloth, champagne coupes and ice-filled silver buckets, the size of baby baths, containing bottles of Bollinger.
He whipped one up, along with two glasses, and filled them.
‘Delicious,’ he said, knocking his back in one. ‘Don’t you think?’
‘Absolutely.’ I smiled back at him. Back at home, I would have been fine with all this, chatting to some entitled rich kid, but I wasn’t sure if it was Henry’s, Lucy’s and even Jules’s reticence about him which made me wary.
But also I felt changed a little, even after only a couple of days in Sandycove, and the things I was comfortable with before now did not sit well.
Perhaps it was the shorts I was still wearing and the fact that my hair had now fallen into au naturel waves.
I felt different, the salt air on my skin, my face feeling red from the sun, and I liked it.
After skimming on the sea, I felt lighter as well, not weighed down as much, as though my shoulders were being lifted up.
‘So, how is the investment going with the old women?’ Charlie seemed amused. ‘They’re a bunch of gasbags, you know that, don’t you? My grandfather says they are all insufferable, always moaning about something or other. One of them, Fiona?’
‘Finnuala. But I’m not investing, just advising.’
Charlie ignored me. ‘Well, she’s the worst, apparently.
My grandfather was involved in a consortium to build this like gorgeous seafront development, penthouses, a private gym, concierge, and the women protested.
I mean, who doesn’t want more houses? Look, I’m just warning you. Don’t get involved. And that Fiona…’
‘Finnuala.’
‘Well, she went and tied herself to a tree because it was going to be cut down because it was in the way of widening a road. What does she want? Small, winding roads? Or a nice, safe dual carriageway?’
I felt very protective over my knitters and I decided to change the subject. ‘I was sailing in the bay earlier. It was so beautiful.’
He nodded, as though disinterested. ‘They are now in one of our old warehouses,’ he said. ‘The guy who was doing the leasing for us has let it to them. It doesn’t seem right, does it? They aren’t a business… and you know old people, always falling over.’
He was drunk and obnoxious. ‘I am sure it was all done fair and square, and they will pay their rent,’ I said. ‘And none of them are falling over.’ I wanted to leave.
‘Dad was talking about it earlier with my grandfather,’ Charlie went on.
‘They are furious about it. You know, after all the protesting and all that, and then they get the use of one of our warehouses. I mean, Dad rarely tells me what is going on because I’m not involved.
He despises nepotism, which is very admirable of him, but I’ve always thought if he despises it so much, why did he take over the family business?
’ He laughed. ‘Maybe it’s me he despises! ’
He laughed again, and for some reason I thought of Milhouse and his relationship with his father. Both men were desperate to impress and perhaps a little desperate to be loved.
‘You know,’ went on Charlie, ‘the Richmond Laundry was a pretty big deal once upon a time. We used to have a laundry in Sandycove, but we’ve moved out onto an industrial estate a few miles away.
But Dad has really focused the business on the hospitality industry these days.
’ A man walked past whose sleeve Charlie grabbed at. ‘Dad! Dad!’
The man turned around, his eyes finding Charlie’s, his mouth not moving. Charlie seemed unabashed.
‘Dad, let me introduce you to Kerry-Anne Daly, from Boston. She’s the one investing in the old women and their knitting.’
‘Advising. Not investing,’ I said again.
His father was handsome like his son, his hair still blond, his face brown and slightly lined. He flashed a smile and held out his hand. ‘William Richmond. Welcome to Sandycove. So it’s you advising the women?’
I nodded. At least he got it.
‘Well, it’s unconventional, that much I’ll say,’ he went on. ‘But I bet the women are glad to have you. Someone sensible…’
I laughed. ‘Well, I can’t promise to be—’
He cut me off. ‘Has Charlie been entertaining you? You should ask him to bring you out sailing. He’s such a good sailor.’ He turned to Charlie with a look on his face.
Charlie laughed. ‘Dad’s teasing me. But I am getting better. And my new yacht is nearly ready…’ He glanced at his father. ‘Ready for the regatta.’
William turned back to me, as though Charlie hadn’t spoken or wasn’t there.
‘I have sailed and owned some of the finest boats ever in these waters, but my son is scared of water. He’s been taking lessons.
Can you believe it? The rest of us just absorbed it, knew how to sail before we were even born, just naturals. But this changeling…’
Charlie laughed, good-naturedly. ‘Well, I was good at other things.’
‘Were you?’ His father seemed to consider the fact.
Charlie seemed suddenly smaller beside me, all the air of confidence had seeped out.
‘I just prefer an engine on my boats. But I have Fleetfish now and she’s nearly ready.
They are just…’ He hesitated again. ‘Trying to attune or tune or do something with the placement of something or other… you know every adjustment counts if I am to win the…’ He cleared his throat. ‘The inaugural Oliver Richmond Cup.’
William mumbled something which sounded like, ‘Believe that when I see it.’
‘There’s a new winner’s cup this year,’ said Charlie. ‘The old one was named after someone no one had heard of and so it was decided that it should be in honour of my grandfather.’
‘We’re not quite there yet,’ said his father, in a low voice.
‘Just waiting for the regatta committee to get their arses into gear and sign off on it. But it should all be finalised in the next couple of days.’ He turned to me.
‘Well, make sure Charlie looks after you and all that. He’s not the most domesticated of animals. ’
And with that, he was gone.
Charlie turned to me, laughing. ‘That’s the big man. Impressive, isn’t he?’
I nodded in an approximation of agreement.
‘As I said, Dad’s very anti-nepotism and it’s not because he doesn’t want me around. He says that I should do my own thing.’
‘It’s probably a very sensible idea.’
‘Well…’ He looked at me. ‘Look, I was told you’re an investor…’
‘An advisor,’ I said again.
‘And I wondered if you would invest in me. I am planning on setting up my own business. A T-shirt printing company. I thought I could print things on them, like… like… I don’t know, Sandycove Sunsets or…
Sandycove Beach, perhaps, in a cool font.
If you think jumpers and hand-knitted monstrosities sell, what about T-shirts?
Cheap to produce and name one person in the world who doesn’t wear one.
Everyone wears them, don’t they? Can’t lose. ’
‘But you can’t compare a hand-knitted sweater with a cheap printed T-shirt,’ I said.
‘For a business to succeed, it has to be doing something that no one else is doing. You have to create a sense of want for the customers. It’s all about desire and a story.
’ I smiled at him, hoping he’d drop the idea that I might want to advise him.
‘If you don’t have desire, what do you have?
You just have an object, a nothing, something which will be on landfill soon enough.
But to create something special, you have to be able to feel its specialness, its unique qualities. ’
Charlie looked puzzled. ‘I just want to have a T-shirt printing business. It’s actually quite simple. And I need money. Investment. That’s what you do, isn’t it?’
‘Who told you?’
‘Milo, he’s Diana Duffy’s grandson and she thinks he’s a layabout, but he heard Diana and his mother talking about the knitting circle and he twigged it was you yesterday in the pub. He’s clever like that, whatever his grandmother thinks.’
‘Well, he misunderstood. I find investors.’
‘Well, find one for me!’
‘If I hear of anyone who wants to invest in a T-shirt printing business, I will let you know.’
Charlie’s face darkened. He looked at my glass, as though he was regretting giving me champagne.
‘Is that why you invited me to the party?’
‘Yes. I mean, no.’ He shrugged. ‘I was just trying to make a few contacts, that’s all. I’m a Richmond, you see. We’re entrepreneurs.’
And I suddenly felt so sorry for him, whatever Henry and Lucy thought of him. ‘If I find you an investor, I will let you know. It’s important to have a dream and that’s an amazing start.’
He looked quite pleased. ‘Yes, it is, isn’t it? I’m going to find Dad and tell him I have a dream. I’m just like Martin Lewis King.’