“What do you think his strategy is?” the host enquired. Photos of Kate and myself appeared on the screen as William began to answer. Damn.
“It could be a distraction tactic, to draw attention away from the fact that a solid indictment against Richard Darlington has been submitted to the court,” William replied. The photo collage disappeared, and the moderator and William reappeared. “It could also be a message to Olivia Asterdam:I don’t need you.No one knows if they are currently on or off, and Olivia was recently spotted dancing with another man at a party. That must have been quite the blow to Henry’s ego.”
The host nodded, clearly impressed by William’s response. She let it sink in for a moment while she sorted her flashcards. “It’s pretty unusual for someone like Henry to date a woman who’s so outside of his usual circles. No one seems to know who she is, at any rate. As an expert, can you say how likely it is that this unknown woman is Henry’s one true love?”
“It’s very unlikely. It would—”
“Hey, I wanted to hear that!” Rakesh protested as I turned off the TV.
“You shouldn’t be watching that nonsense. Anyway, it wasn’t a date. Kate was hungry, so we got food,” I retorted, taking my placeat the head of the table. Vivian took a seat, and my mum perched on the empty chair beside her.
Rakesh raised his eyebrows. “So her name is Kate?”
I changed the topic before Vivian felt compelled to weigh in. She might have been my dad’s crisis manager, but she loved meddling in my business—apparently it was also part of her job. “Eighty-four days. That’s how long we have to get this year’s Pearl Gala off the ground. The gala takes place on the 27th of December, but because of how little planning time we have, some of the suppliers we’ve used in recent years are booked out. Rakesh and I are already looking for replacements. We’ve called this meeting to talk about which charitable organisation we want to support this year.”
“We could donate to one that supports victims of violence against women,” my mum suggested. “The press has often accused us of not taking a clear enough stance on the allegations against Richard. This way, we could speak out against sexual violence without making a public statement.”
“That’s a good idea,” Rakesh agreed.
Vivian shook her head firmly. “Absolutely not. Given how controversial a subject this is, it could look like we’re trying to buy forgiveness, with Richard paying to clear his name. I suggest we donate the money to an animal protection organisation instead. Everyone loves animals—it’s a safe, uncontroversial cause that no one can criticise. And Henry can play his vegan card.”
“We donated to an animal protection charity last year,” my mum said. “The unspoken guideline is that we never support the same charity cause two years in a row—it might make us seem biased. How about donating to a children’s charity instead?”
“Absolutely not!” Vivian objected again.
Rakesh frowned. “What’s wrong with helping children?”
“Children evoke too much sympathy. It might give people the impression that Richard is trying too hard to be liked. And the combination of sexual abuse allegations and children could lead to unfavourable search results.”
“So what do you suggest?” my mum asked.
“Animals,” Vivian replied.
“Absolutely not,” my mum mocked, prompting a scowl from Vivian. Rakesh attempted to stifle a laugh. I might have laughed too, if I’d slept for more than three hours and wasn’t nursing a headache.
I took a pill from the small box in my jacket pocket and washed it down with a big gulp of coffee. Only after returning the box did I finally speak. “I know that we usually donate to big international organisations, but what do you think about raising money for the homeless in London this year? I did a bit of research last night. The rate of homelessness has shot up in the last few years because of inflation and rising rents. The homeless shelters are overflowing, and even worse, they’re often not safe places for women and children.”
A silence followed. I considered it a small victory that Vivian was thinking about it instead of crowing, “Absolutely not.”
Rakesh broke the silence. “I think it’s a good idea.”
“Me too,” my mum said.
We all turned to Vivian. I could practically see the cogs turning in her head as she ran through every possible outcome and implication. Finally, she nodded. “That could work. Plus, it gives the gala a more humble feel. Richard could profit from that.”
I couldn’t have cared less about my dad when it came to the decision. I wanted to help Kate and people in similar situations.But if this is what it took to convince Vivian to agree with my idea, it didn’t matter. “Is everyone on board?”
“I think so,” Vivian said, sounding as satisfied as if it had been her idea.
“I’ll come up with a list of organisations we could work with by the start of next week,” said Rakesh, seeming to have read my mind once again. “Should I inquire to see if they’d even be willing to work with The Darlington, or does it make more sense to wait?”
“Reach out to them,” I said, just as Vivian told him to wait. I ignored her. “Reach out and offer a generous donation on our behalf. Make sure you emphasise that my father has no involvement in planning the gala, and remind them that, as always, the charity will remain the primary focus.”
“Of course,” Rakesh said, casting Vivian a smug look.
She turned to me. “Do whatever you want. Now that’s settled, let’s move on to something far more important in my eyes: the announcement. I’ve looked through the archives, and you’ve always announced the gala through a newsletter. That strikes me as too impersonal and detached. This year, I’d like to invite journalists to a press conference at the hotel to show we have nothing to hide.”
I shook my head. “My dad won’t be holding a press conference.”
