A make-up artist jumped in to powder the mother of the bride.
‘What about you, son? How would you like to take over?’
Lysander almost choked on his champagne and put a fist to his mouth while he recovered.
‘Dad!’
‘What?’ Walter looked puzzled.
‘I can take a deposition from an ex-president but I know nothing about hospitality. Even Anastasia knows more than I do!’ Lysander said it with a sardonic laugh.
‘But you’re my heir. Have you never considered coming home?’
Lysander let out an exasperated sigh.
‘Home is New York.’
He tried not to hurt his father’s feelings, although it irritated him, that for a clever and powerful man, he could be so stupid sometimes: marrying Kiki in Las Vegas after an exceptional night at the blackjack table was one of his most foolish moves. And now this? Offering him the business when it was so stark he wasn’t the right choice.
‘I’ve always known there’s a job for me in the business if I want it, but I never have, Dad, I’m sorry but you know this. It’s why I went into law.’
Walter shook his head but stopped himself short of saying it out loud: why had his sons failed him?
He looked across at Viktor Kivvi, chatting to the head of a French luxury goods empire and his Colombian socialite wife. It gave him small comfort to know Viktor Kivvi didn’t seem to have obvious successors either. One of his sons ponced around with a fencing sword while the other bummed around Kristalldorf as if he were still fifteen. And the daughter really was just a child.
‘So what am I to do?’ Walter asked, feeling a little dejected.
‘Dad, it’s so obvious. Vivian. She eats, sleeps and breathes the business. She’s a wonderful host and a fair boss. She’s too kind for anyone in town to double cross, so people don’t mess around with her. It sounds like the Anna Maria is doing wonders, whatever you think.’
‘It is, it is…’
Lysander looked across at his father, a little disappointed by his everyday sexism.
‘Come on Dad, I’m your first-born son but that does not mean I’d be the right person to run the business. Seriously.’
Walter and Lysander paused as they watched Lumi Kivvi glide across the terrace in a long silver dress to join her husband and his group. She furnished her husband with a glass and he looked irritated by her in response.
Walter nodded, as if he were conceding a game of chess.
‘I know. I just wanted to check with you, that you’re certain the door is closed. It’s my dream for you all to take it on. Even Caspian, in his own way…’
‘Sorry, Dad. And it really is obvious. If you want to get things in place, I think Vivian is your woman. It won’t be easy, but perhaps you can carve out a different role for Anastasia. She seems so… frustrated with everything.’
Walter nodded and took a sip from his glass but curled his nose up at it. He preferred Laphroaig Scotch whisky to Louis Roederer.
‘Is everything OK?’ Lysander had the feeling his father was holding something back. He remembered Walter’s string of infections last winter, but he didn’t seem to have had one for a while. And his mental cognition seemed tip-top, even if his mood had been a little grumpy of late. ‘Is there something else on your mind?’
Walter looked across the terrace again and felt a lurch.
‘Yes. There is.’
‘Well, is it anything I can help with?’
‘Yes. Get me out of my marriage, will you?’
Lysander breathed a sigh of relief; finally his father was seeing sense.
Chapter Fourteen
