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“And what do you two do?” she asked nervously, changing the subject and hoping her own British accent was sufficient.
Rory answered for them. “Oliver here just paid for a lovely church and school in Grand Cayman. And Neri just bankrolled a new business school in Phnom Penh for kids interested in fintech.”
“I’m a philanthropist,” said Oliver, and she couldn’t tell from his tone if he was kidding.
Neri laughed again, and scratched at the skin beneath his tight beard. “Yes, Oliver is a philanthropist. But mostly he’s a dilettante who knows far too much about the queen’s corgis.”
Oliver nodded. “It’s true. I am rather an aficionado of all things royal.”
“And all things Diana,” added Neri.
“You Americans never understand. There are much worse hobbies.”
“Not for grown men.”
Now it was Oliver’s turn to laugh heartily. He seemed to enjoy the roasting. “I could make Diana a full-time job, but my business and charity interests can be demanding. I can’t do everything. Neri has just one business. I have many.”
She had no idea what to say, but knew she was supposed to say something. “What businesses are you two in?” she asked.
“Fintech,” answered Neri. “And resorts.”
“You know,” Oliver said, “forgive this boast, but I once met Princess Diana. It was Moscow, 1995.”
“Yes. You were so kind to the children we met at the hospital. And we delighted in the ballet together.”
He was beaming at the idea she knew this. “And we danced.”
“And I was charmed.”
“Not the way I was. For me, it was what I have come to call a Nutcracker moment—a fantasy come to life.”
“You’re making me blush,” she said. “Now, I have something for you. A small gift.” She handed him the tiara.
“We should have presents for the princess,” said Oliver, raising a single eyebrow lecherously. “But I will never say no to a gift from a beautiful woman,” he added, studying the crown. “I think it’s a replica of one she wore in 1989.”
“It looks a little small for your head,” Neri teased him, and he took it from his friend and pressed it onto his own skull. Oliver yanked it from his scalp and held it in his fingers for a moment, gazing at it as if it were the actual one Diana had once worn. He thanked Betsy.
“You’re most welcome,” she told him. “I hope it finds a lovely place to reside in your home.”
“It will,” he said. “This gift? It means a great deal to me.”
“Well,” said Rory, “should we get that photograph?”
And before she knew it, two photographers were in front of them, men with cameras so big they seemed to be from another era, and Rory backed away. But the two guests put their arms around her, Oliver’s on her shoulder and Neri’s on her waist, and the cameras actually clicked as if it were 1985. When they were done, the photographers showed the images to Rory in the viewfinders, Rory nodded, and then they resumed taking pictures of the various tribute performers, all of whom were grateful for the attention.
“Very nice to meet you, Princess,” said Oliver. “Or, I should say, see you again.”
“It was a great pleasure,” she said.
“Next time I see you, it will be in Grand Cayman, yes? The Maenads? I hear you’re coming.”
“That’s right,” she told him. “I can’t wait. It will be a treat.”
“I know just which cottage you’ll be in. We’ll have lots of time together.”
She smiled, and then Rory was leading her back toward the bar, where he parked her between Sinatra and Liberace. Then he joined Lara Kozlov in a corner a dozen yards away, where she and the men were huddling, while Damon went to the front of the room, stood on a riser before a Futurium banner, and took a mic off the stand.
“Welcome, welcome, welcome,” Damon said, and some of the entertainers started clapping politely. “I can’t thank you all enough for coming tonight. I can’t get over the amount of talent in this room. It’s a little overwhelming. Now, my name is Damon Ioannidis. I’m an engineer, but I’m also the chief operating officer of Futurium—your new favorite cryptocurrency.”
