Chapter Thirteen
Walter and Lysander stood on a terrace in the middle of a small island in the middle of an Italian lake and watched the bride and groom having their photographs taken by what looked like an entireVogueentourage. White peacocks weaved among the guests who sipped Louis Roederer and a string quartet played Vivaldi.
‘Edoardo doesn’t look well.’
Walter observed his friend, the father of the bride, having his photo taken with his family. His expression was one of pride and nerves, his skin pale, his grin stilted. Maybe it was the pre-speech nerves. Walter remembered them well from Anastasia’s wedding thirteen years ago in Kristalldorf. Lysander’s wedding had been less pressure, as Megan’s dad did a wonderful speech at long floral trestle tables on a beach in The Hamptons.
At best, this wedding would go in the society pages ofTatlerorHola!At worst, a small photo in the European gossip rags, and only because Dua Lipa was being flown in as the evening entertainment, rumour had it among the younger guests.
‘Probably thinking of his legacy– handing it all over to that chancer,’ Lysander said, nodding to the groom, whose teeth were too white to be natural.
‘Edo’s no fool!’ Walter said in his booming voice. The two men stood side-by-side watching the families being directed under the red-orange foliage of larch and azalea. Walter wore a suit made by his tailor in Zurich; Lysander wore Armani. Both clutched their champagne flutes to their buttoned chests. ‘And nor am I…’ he added, turning to his son.
‘What’s up, Dad?’
Walter tried not to become irritated by his son’s Americanisms. He dug deep to remember that Lysander was schooled there. He had married an American. Hell, he’d probably lived over there longer than he ever lived in Switzerland by now, so he tried to go easy. He wanted to talk to his son about succession, without letting him know he was ill.
‘I might start slowing down a bit, I need to be thinking aboutmylegacy. Who’s going to take over, when I die.’
‘Jesus, Dad! Weddings sure make you cheery.’
‘I’m seventy now –’
‘Seventy and a day. And I’m pretty sure you’ll be working until you’re ninety-nine, at least!’ Lysander tried to lighten the mood.
Walter gave a rueful look.
‘Your sisters aren’t taking to the Anna Maria like I thought they would.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I gifted them the hotel to see if they could pull together, but it’s only driving them further apart.’
Lysander gave his father a doubtful look.
‘Didn’t you gift them the hotel to see who would come out on top?’ He said it with fond remonstration.
Walter shook his head and tried to ignore the barb.
‘Well it’s not working.’
‘They were both working at midnight!’
‘Vivian was, Anni, I don’t think so. Vivian didn’t see her there last night anyway…’
‘Oh, I thought she–’
‘You know how she struggles to stick with any one thing, how flighty she can be,’ Walter explained.
‘Right …’
‘I suppose I always knew Vivian would make a better go of it, but I hoped Anastasia would learn from Vivian’s focus and drive. All I’ve done is pit them against each other. Even more.’
‘So why don’t you give Anastasia a different hotel to run?’
Walter shook his head.
‘Too risky,’ he said. Anastasia really didn’t stick at anything for very long. He couldn’t trust her with another major role in the business. Not on her own.
