CHAPTER 1
A Math Lesson Courtesy of the Prodigal Son
Leopold Davenport – Paradise Bay, Santa Valentina Island
Most people have it arse backward. They work for forty years or so, usually at a job they hate, wearing down their bodies and minds along the way. At the end of it all, they’re too old and decrepit toreally live(read: skydiving, scuba diving, cliff diving—any sort of diving, really, summiting the K1, making the most of a trip to Rio during Carnival, etc.). I, however, am doing the exact opposite. I’ve decided to take my retirement first, and for as long as possible, while I’m still young enough to enjoy it all. At some point, should I stumble upon the perfect career, I’ll spend a few years doing work I love while bettering the world until I grow tired of it. Then I’ll bid adieu to the workforce and go back to the life of leisure.
Up until now, my plan has worked out brilliantly thanks to the generosity of my parents,Lord Alistair and Lady Bunny Davenport. You’ve probably heard of them. He owns Davenport Communications, the largest media, telecommunications, and something or other company in all of the UK. Or is it in all of Europe? I can never remember because I really don’t care. Hmmm, I should correct what I said about my parents being generous.Motheris the benevolent one (when it comes to her youngest son—that’s me—anyway). Father, not so much. Until very recently, we’ve managed a peaceful co-existence where he pays for my life and otherwise ignores me while I ride the razor-thin line that exists between complying with his lowest expectations and embarrassing him to the point where he feels he must react.
As a teenager, I developed something called the Alistair Pain Ratio, or APR. So long as my “childish behavior” doesn’t exceed a level one, I’m golden. Basically, the APR is an equation used to calculate my father’s desire to pretend I don’t exist vs. his desire to avoid public humiliation. For those at the back of the room, it looks like this:
Leopold’s Latest Screw-up = Level of Humiliation ÷ Ability to Pretend Leo Doesn’t Exist
Alistair’s Ability to Pretend Leo Doesn’t Exist is always a remarkably strong factor of 10 on the scale. Yes, when Alistair sets his mind to something, he seldom falters. If the Level of Humiliation (LOH) is greater or equal to 10, bringing the Leopold’s Latest Screw-up (LLS) to a factor of 1 or more, I’m fucked (IF).
Based on twenty-seven years of careful trial and error, I discovered the following brings me to a quotient of 1+ (or IF):
On the front page of theWeekly World News= 3
Mentioned on the Avonian Broadcast News Channel (ABN) = 5
His golf buddies aware of LLS = 12
Warrant a conversation with his wife/my mum = Level 15
You get the idea.
Should the IF quotient reach a 1 or more, he engages in an attempt to stop the behavior. This time, as far as I can calculate, I’m at an unprecedented Level 50, which means not only being banned from my parents’ home, which has happened dozens of times before, but also a very surprising ban from the entire Kingdom of Avonia for a minimum of six months. As a side note, if you’ve never been to Avonia, it’s a lovely little island just north of Belgium and east of England. You should go sometime. It’s quite a lovely place. Like England, we have our own monarchy, and they’refarmore interesting than those tossers to the left of us.
Anyway, back to this silly ban imposed by my father. Poor bugger thinks this’ll break me, which goes to show he really doesn’t know his youngest son. Not even the slightest bit. If he did, he’d realize I’d turn this whole banishment thing into an extended vacay in paradise. So suck it, Alistair, because I’m having a marvelous time.
Truth be told, I’ll have fun no matter where I wind up. And I’m not just saying that. I once turned an overnight stay in a jail cell in Bali into what the papers dubbed “the party of the century.” Even the chief of police had a grand time. In fact, he enjoyed himself so much, he not only had me released at dawn, but he dropped the charges and gave me a lift back to the resort, where we spent the day drinking by the pool. We’ve stayed friends ever since. Last year, I was one of the groomsmen at his fourth wedding.
For two days, I’ve been at my brotherPierce and his girlfriend, Emma’s, luxurious, ultra-private beachfront villa on Santa Valentina Island. Trust me, there are worse places for a guy to have to live in exile than the Caribbean. I sleep late, then lounge by the pool and work on my tan while Pierce’s housekeeper, Mrs. Bailey, prepares my meals and does my washing.
It’s been a little dull so far, but only because I haven’t bothered to get out there and meet people, and my big bro is a total bore. He’s a famous author (yes,thatPierce Davenport, theClash of Crownsguy) so he spends all his time holed up in his office, tapping away at his computer—yawn. Emma’s a blast, but she’s also a very busy chef at the resort her family owns. It’s just up the bay from the villa, so she cycles off every morning, only to return late in the evening, needing to get off her feet.
Not that I’m complaining. Santa Valentina Island, known as the jewel of the Benaventes, is one of the most lush, beautiful places on earth. The water is crystal-clear turquoise, the sun is always shining, and the women are always in bikinis. I caneasilyfind ways to amuse myself for six months until I’m allowed back home. The trick will be not annoying Pierce so much that he kicks me out, which could be a slight problem, because when I’m bored, I tend to find creative ways to amuse myself. And since Pierce has a giant twig up his arse, he doesn’t like people touching his things.
But that’s okay because I’ve decided to spend most of my time enjoying nature, so as not to be tempted to do something ill-advised, like take the Samurai sword off the wall to slice that big, juicy watermelon sitting on the counter at the moment. Just the thought of it is fun, isn’t it? Live-action Fruit Ninja. I can almost hear the satisfying swish of the sword as I slice through it in one quick blow. But since that would make a mess I don’t want to clean up, and the sword was a gift from the 126th Emperor of Japan, Naruhito, I shall distract myself by going for a swim. After a refreshing dip, I’ll have a bite to eat, then a nap by the pool. After which I’ll venture into town, find a pub, and turn Santa Valentina into Ibiza for the next six months. Which reminds me, I have to call Mother, because it seems as though my credit cards are frozen, and cash is always helpful at party time. Bunny’ll feel sorry for me and front me some play money. But first, a dip in the sea.
I walk down the wide, sunbathed hall toward the kitchen in my swim trunks, a snorkelling mask, and a pair of flippers. It’s a bright, beautiful morning, and I’m going to go to hit the ocean to see what I can find. Hopefully, some gorgeous lost tourist who has wandered away from the resort…
“What the hell are you doing?” Pierce asks from his position behind the kitchen island.
I pop the snorkel out of my mouth. “I’m going for a swim.”
Pierce closes his eyes. “And you’re planning to walk down the steep steps to the water in those things?” He opens his eyes and points to the flippers.
“Thought it would be a fun challenge.” I pop the snorkel back in my mouth and head for the sliding doors.
“At some point, we’re going to have to talk about why you’re here, Leo, and for how long.”
Waving my hand back at him, I continue, my flippers slapping the white tile floor.
Pierce’s mobile buzzes on the counter and I hear, “Bunny Davenport calling.”
Oh, yay! It’s so much better that she’s calling me. Now it won’t seem like I’m only calling for money. Hello, Amex.
