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Lucie laughed lightly. She wasn’t used to hearing her cousin gush over anyone like that. Arriving at the top deck, they were mesmerized by the panoramic views of the Gulf of Salerno stretching to the horizon as far as the eye could see. A woman in her early forties with a mass of pre-Raphaelite curls leaned against the green metal railing in front of them, taking pictures with her camera. Turning around, she grinned at them. “Oh, good, I’m glad I’m not the only one who didn’t get the memo about wearing our tiaras tonight.”
Lucie smiled, thinking that the lady looked very cool in her black jumpsuit, black ankle boots, and black denim jacket. She wondered if her outfit was designed by Rick Owens. “Is that a Leica?” she asked, pointing at her silver-and-black camera.
“My grandfather’s, from the thirties,” the woman replied in a husky British accent that Charlotte and Lucie both immediately registered as posh.
“I’ve always wanted a Leica. I’ve just begun using an old Nikon from the seventies that my uncle gave me.”
“Where is it?”
“I left it back home. I guess I’m so used to my phone that I didn’t think to take it with me,” Lucie said a little sheepishly.
“That’s the problem with smartphones. No one thinks to use a real camera anymore. Capri would have been the perfect place for your Nikon—you can’t take a bad picture on this island. It’s like India. Anywhere you point, you get an amazing shot.” The woman handed Lucie her camera. “Here, try it out.”
Lucie held up the camera’s viewfinder to her eye and looked out at the ocean. In the near distance below them, an enormous, sleek yacht idled in the calm bay, and she could just make out a few figures standing on the top deck and the name of the boat: Odin.
Charlotte, having nothing to do, stuck out her hand at the woman. “I’m Charlotte Barclay, and this is my cousin Lucie Churchill.”
“I’m Olivia Lavistock [Willcocks / Lycée Français / American School of Paris / La Fémis]. You’re New Yorkers, I assume?”
“Yes. Is it that obvious?” Charlotte asked.
“I could spot you two from a mile away. The way you dress, the way you walk.”
Charlotte gave her a once-over. “And let me guess, you’re from London?”
“You’re partly correct. I grew up in London, but I’m American and live in LA these days.”
Charlotte tried again. “Then I’m guessing you work in entertainment?”
“Guilty as charged. I make films.”
“Anything we might have seen?” Lucie asked, putting down the camera.
“Probably not. I directed a short that won an award at Venice many years ago, and I worked in Paris for a while for Claire Denis and Eugène Green. Everything I’m working on right now is in development. Speaking of which, I saw you both at the hotel earlier today at lunch. It was like a scene straight out of a Merchant Ivory film! What happened? Did Madame Zao succeed in convincing you to take her rooms?”
Charlotte paused for a moment before answering. “As a matter of fact, she did, and we are very grateful.”
“Lucky you! So, how is the view?”
“It’s okay,” Charlotte said.
“It’s pretty incredible,” Lucie said, talking over her.
“Well, I wish I had complained about my room in front of Madame Zao! Isn’t she a character? I love it! There aren’t enough characters these days, especially among the rich. Everybody with money has become so cookie-cutter—they dress the same, collect the same ten artists, stay at the same hotels around the world, and even eat at the same restaurants. They all want to be miserable and dissatisfied in the same place.”
“Do you really think that’s true?” Lucie asked.
“Why don’t we do a little experiment? What neighborhood do you live in?”
“The Upper East Side.”
“Oh, that’s too easy. On the Upper East Side, the only places the rich will eat at are Swifty’s, Orsay, Café Boulud, Elio’s, and Sette Mezzo. Lunch at Sant Ambroeus or Via Quadronno, and if you’re vegetarian you go to Candle
79. Going downtown means only going as far south as Doubles. Am I right or am I right?
Lucie gasped. “How on earth did you know?”
“I cheated. My father lives on Ninety-First between Lex and Third. His wife only ever wants to eat at Swifty’s.”
