Chapter Forty-Six
It was the first Saturday in December, and the first thick snow of the season – the type to really settle, even in the village – was kissing the fantasy-like turrets of the Steinherr mansion and building fast. Inside, by the roaring fire of the study, Walter had called his children – bar Caspian, who was riding waves off Maui – for a family meeting before the Kivvi Christingle.
Vivian had been surprised her father wanted to go to the party, and had asked Lysander if there was cause for concern.
His return to Kristalldorf so soon after his visit for Walter’s birthday had caused Vivian further alarm.
What was going on that she didn’t know about?
Lysander said he was in Europe on business and had decided to stay for the Kivvi Christingle, but still, Vivian was astute enough to know something was awry.
‘What is it, Papa?’ Anastasia asked, walking in, wearing a crimson Valentino gown. She was surprised to see Dimitri already sitting in one of the wing-backed leather armchairs opposite Walter’s desk. ‘Kristaps said you wanted us all together?’
Dimitri looked away.
Vivian was sitting in the other armchair, wearing a black Saint Laurent suit that made her look more willowy, more ethereal, than usual.
Lysander was perched on a leather studded Chippendale sofa, arms folded. Anastasia was alarmed that no one else looked surprised to be convened for a family meeting one hour before they were going to a party.
‘What’s going on?’
‘While Zand’s back in town, I wanted to talk to you,’ Walter said. He had his steely, businesslike face on.
Vivian looked at her father, her blue eyes ablaze with concern.
‘Where’s Kiki?’ she asked.
Walter stifled a glance in Lysander’s direction.
‘She’s lying down. She has a migraine.’
‘Oh.’ Vivian looked sympathetic. ‘I guess she’s not coming to the party then?’
‘No,’ Walter said gravely. ‘No, she won’t be coming to the party.’
One hour earlier, Walter had served Kiki with divorce papers and asked how long her little side hustle had been going on. Over the past few days he’d done a deep dive into his wife’s porn content. Eden Roque had been a busy girl, shooting in Ibiza, Mykonos, Bel Air, and of course, Milan.
‘Did you use me for the jet-set lifestyle?’ he asked, almost hurt.
‘No Walter,’ Kiki said kindly. It was most certainly not a side hustle or a hobby. ‘I’d done it for a couple of years before you happened upon my blackjack table, I promise.’
Walter studied her.
‘I’ve made my own – very good – money, for the past seven years. It’s high-end feminist porn. Beautifully shot.’
‘Harlot!’ Walter spat, and Kiki gasped, before retaining her cool.
‘I promise I didn’t seek you out,’ she implored.
‘And the sick children in Lapland?’
Her defiance dropped. There were no sick children in Lapland. She started packing her things.
‘Well, what the hell’s going on?’ Anastasia asked, her chestnut mane tumbling over her breathtaking dress.
Walter sat back in his chair behind his desk.
‘Just before Zand heads back to New York, and before I get any further down this road than I want to …’
Anastasia sat on the sofa next to Lysander and crossed her long legs.
‘I want to talk about my exit strategy.’
The girls scoffed.
‘Please!’
‘Daddy …’
Lysander was silent.
Dimitri was almost robotic.
‘I’m seventy now, I need a plan.’
‘Please, Daddy,’ Vivian implored. ‘I don’t like this talk.’
Lysander looked at her as if to say, it’s OK.
‘I need a plan for how our family business will continue to thrive, long after I’m gone.’
Vivian went pale. Anastasia frowned. Lysander looked thoughtful.
‘What I’ve learned from three generations in this industry, is that hospitality always needs a figurehead. Conrad, Rocco, Bernie, Bill …’
Anastasia rolled her eyes. All men, she thought.
‘The Steinherr portfolio needs a figurehead.’
Vivian listened intently. Dimitri gently nodded.
‘And I think it’s fair to say that neither of you have enjoyed running the Anna Maria together.’
A shocked and petulant expression danced across Anastasia’s face; Vivian raised her hand while she spoke.
‘Daddy it’s not that I haven’t enjoyed running the Anna Maria, I love it!’
Walter raised his palm to stop her.
‘I need to put a sole heir in place, ready to run everything if – when – I die.’
Anastasia looked at her brother next to her, arms folded but relaxed, and the penny dropped.
‘What?’ she gasped, looking between Lysander and their father.
‘He knows nothing about this business!’ she scolded. ‘He turned his back on being a hotelier when he went to New York to defend American sleazebags!’
Lysander shook his head and stayed calm.
‘Wrong tree, Anni,’ he mumbled quietly.
Dimitri squeezed the bridge of his nose.
‘No, I’m going to put Vivian in charge as the Steinherr figurehead, to represent the family.’
Anastasia stood abruptly as she gasped.
‘WHAT?!’
She stormed over to their father’s desk and leaned one hand on the plush leather writing surface. She pointed her other hand at her sister.
‘Why her?’ she spat.
Vivian flushed a shade of flattered.
‘Daddy!’ she said wide-eyed, as pleasantly shocked as her sister was wildly so.
Lysander kept his arms folded and looked at his shoes.
‘But what about me?’ Anastasia’s angry voice wobbled. Walter looked at his eldest daughter, equal parts vicious and beautiful, and his smile grew.
‘My wealth will be left to all of you Anni. Even Caspian. But Vivian will become director of the Steinherr hotel group. You can take your pick of which hotel you want to manage.’
Anastasia shook her head, as if co-managing the Anna Maria with her dreary sister had been enough to put her off running a hotel at all.
‘I don’t want to manage a goddamn hotel!’ she snapped, as if she was going to burst into tears any second. ‘I just wanted –’
‘No!’ Walter bellowed, cutting her off again, which only added to Anastasia’s frustration and fury.
‘You have children Anastasia, Vivian doesn’t …’
Vivian felt that cut like a knife. For a loving man he could be so clumsy. So steely.
‘Vivian has more time to oversee everything. You can pick and choose, as you always have.’
‘Yes but –’
Anastasia shook her head and suppressed her tears. She was so incredulous she couldn’t get her words out. She should be the face of the Steinherr empire. How could her father show such favouritism, to wide-eyed na?ve Vivian, who didn’t even have the balls to fire substandard staff?
‘Enough!’ bellowed Walter, shocking the entire room. He had lost his patience to the point that now seemed as good a time as any to tell his daughters his other plan for the business.
‘While we’re at it, I’m going to put the Seven Summits chalets on the market.’
‘What?!’ Anastasia and Vivian both said in unison.
‘But Daddy, I don’t think they’ve appreciated at all in the past eight years. And you haven’t made any revenue from them,’ beseeched Vivian.
‘You’re just selling? Without consulting us?’ spat Anastasia.
‘The timing is right,’ Walter declared.
Anastasia shook her head and watched all her plans evaporate.
The events. The high-end hire. The fashion shows.
The private suites for her to escape to and conduct her trysts.
The ridiculous wealth the family could have made from them.
Thirty thousand francs a day. And her father was probably going to sell them at a loss.
‘Dimitri has drawn everything up …’
Anastasia shot her husband a look.
‘I’m going to announce it to Kivvi at the party myself,’ Walter said, defiantly.
Anastasia turned her wrath on her husband.
‘You knew?’
Lysander and Vivian exchanged a look. Dimitri remained steadfast.
‘I work for your father …’
‘You’re married to me!’ Anastasia barked, and stormed out. Out of the study, out of the wing, and out of the mansion, slamming the huge front doors in her wake.
Walter glanced between Lysander, Dimitri and Vivian, looking a little bewildered.
‘Well, that went well,’ quipped Lysander.
Dimitri stood up, excused himself, and went to see if the children were ready.
‘Daddy, I’m totally honoured,’ Vivian said, with an apologetic smile. ‘And I will make sure everything is OK with Anastasia, I promise. She can have any job she wants.’
Walter nodded, he knew it would all be fine in the end. He just didn’t know when his end would be. Dr Blitzer had said months – a couple of years perhaps if he took the chemo he was refusing – but not much time.
‘Right, let’s go to this party!’ Walter declared, sounding more jolly than Lysander could have predicted.