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Michael De Vere had always been a womanizer. Even as a teenage boy, he’d had a whole raft of girlfriends on permanent rotation. Summer knew that about him. She’d gone into this thing with her eyes wide open. But like a fool, she’d thought he could change. Worse, I thought I could change him. Talk about a cliché.
Yesterday, right before she left for the airport, he had telephoned.
“I’ve been thinking. Why don’t you stay with your folks at the Dorchester for the first couple of nights. I’m going to be snowed down here with last-minute preparations. You’d have much more fun flexing Arnie’s AmEx on Bond Street than hanging around my flat in Oxford while I work.”
Summer had agreed—what else could she do without making herself look desperate?—but inside, her heart sank. She and Michael hadn’t seen each other for months. But instead of counting the hours until they reunited, he was putting her off.
If he’s changed his mind about me, why doesn’t he just break up with me? Why drag out the torture?
She hated Michael for this, but she hated herself more for not having the guts to call him on it. Summer didn’t know when, or why, or how it had happened. But she had fallen so deeply in love with Michael De Vere, she was as helpless as a kitten blown into a lake, splashing and mewling to no avail as the waters rose around her.
“Next stop, London Victoria. The train will terminate here.”
Would Summer and Michael’s relationship terminate at the Kingsmere summer party? Or before?
She couldn’t bear to think about it.
Michael De Vere was in a foul mood.
“I don’t care, Ajay, okay? The frame was supposed to be here yesterday.” Shouting into a walkie-talkie, he paced the grounds of his family’s estate like a hungry tiger looking for lunch. “I’m sitting here with a hundred grand’s worth of flowers, enough to fit out a Royal Navy fleet, and a melting ice sculpture delivered two days early, and I have no motherfucking marquee. I’m not paying you a penny unless your guys are here within the hour.”
Kingsmere’s grounds looked glorious in June, a riot of apple blossoms and roses and scented buddleia bursting with life and color. At six o’clock, the house was bathed in a honey glow of late-afternoon light, as warm and inviting as it was architecturally magnificent. Teddy had bustled outside earlier, a proud Mr. Toad observing the party preparations at Toad Hall without actually understanding a bit of what was going on. What Teddy saw were gratifying numbers of lithe young people scurrying hither and thither with silverware, china, balloons, and the like. He’d been apprehensive about allowing Michael and Tommy to organize such a prestigious event, and one on which so much De Vere family honor rested. But the boys had been nothing if not diligent, showing up before dawn this morning to check on the delivery of the fancy Porta Potties and generally running what appeared to be a tight ship.
Michael smiled at his father and gave a confident wave. Little did Teddy know it was the wave of the proverbial drowning man. With less than seventy-two hours to go until his mother’s A-list guests started arriving, Michael De Vere was standing in a garden full of workmen, food, and props, with no freaking tent. Meanwhile Alexia, who’d returned from her trip to Paris looking as white as a sheet, had gone completely AWOL, holing up in London and not returning Michael’s calls. Roxie was being more than usually needy as the prospect of an evening in the public eye drew nearer. And to top it all, Summer had landed in England today, and naturally expected to spend some quality time with him.
Michael thought, I’m being cowardly. I should be straight with her, not just keep putting her off with no explanation. But there was only so much stress he could take. It was an odd feeling, longing to see someone and dreading it at the same time. Work was a welcome distraction.
His cell phone buzzed. Michael read the text and grinned, checking his watch.
“In a hurry, are we?” Tommy Lyon, Michael’s partner and best friend, said archly. “I hope you’re not thinking of sloping off.”
“Give me a break. I spent half the night here last night,” Michael said reasonably.
“Working on the pagoda? Yes, I saw that. You seem to have spent the moonlit hours digging a big hole and filling it with concrete. Looks fabulous, by the way.”
“Ha ha.”
The “pagoda” Tommy was referring to was supposed to have been the centerpiece of Kingsmere’s three-hundred-year celebration. Teddy De Vere had ordered the construction of a Greek Revival pillared folly out near the lake, but the project had been beset by one problem after another, from poor drainage to sinking foundations. In the end, Michael had taken over. This late in the day he’d been forced to implement a policy of damage control, pouring concrete over the half-finished foundations. With luck, the concrete should be dry by tomorrow. Then Michael and Tommy’s landscape guys would cover it with huge potted olive trees, string up a few fairy lights, and voilà, an impromptu Florentine garden.
“I won’t be long,” Michael assured Tommy. “Forty minutes. An hour, tops.”
“Is that all you give them these days?” Tommy teased. “Poor girl. Whoever she is, she has my sympathy.”
Michael made a face.
“Just cover for me, would you?”
“All right. And if your girlfriend shows up, wondering where you’ve got to?”
“She won’t. She’s in London. Shopping.”
Tommy Lyon watched his friend hop onto his new Ducati motorcycle and speed off down the drive. One of these days, Michael’s wicked ways were going to catch up with him.
Tommy Lyon didn’t know how he did it.
Arnie Meyer had booked a table for three at Scalini. The spaghetti alle vongole was the best in London, you could order a bottle of Sangiovese and get a second for free, and it was close enough to Harrods for Lucy to roll out of Marc Jacobs evening wear without bothering to go back to the hotel in between. Knowing Summer would be tired and hungry after her flight, Arnie made the reservation early: seven-thirty.
What with all Lucy’s shopping and excursion plans, Arnie Meyer felt as if he’d barely spent five minutes with his wife since they got to London. He was looking forward to tonight’s dinner. Summer’s presence would be an added bonus.
