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“Didn’t Graham Greene stay here?” Auden asked.
“Yes, the villa is indeed famous because some of the most legendary people visited—Greene, Callas, Nureyev, von Karajan, they were all guests here.”
Olivia murmured into Charlotte’s ear, “I wish we had some tequila. We could take a shot every time Mordecai says the word ‘legendary.’?”
“I’d be drunk already,” Charlotte replied.
Entering the grand foyer, Mordecai continued. “Now, as we proceed through this imposing threshold into the drawing room, I want you to note the peculiar architectural homages to Sir John Soane that are evident throughout…”
Lucie admired her surroundings but did not have much interest in the peculiar architectural homages to Sir John Soane. She wished that Mordecai would allow them to enjoy the place without his commentary, as her eyes wandered from the de Chirico painting commanding the mantelpiece to the grid of Agnes Martin drawings along a wall and the enormous Cy Twombly canvas casually propped up on a long wooden bench.
“The art’s not too shabby, is it?” Auden commented.
“Not too shabby at all!” Lucie said, still astonished that she was standing just inches away from a Twombly.
“Didn’t you promise to show me some of your artwork?” Auden asked.
“Oh, sure. When we get back to the hotel this afternoon, I can show you some pictures on my iPad.”
“It’s a date!” Auden said.
As they proceeded from the drawing room into the library, Mordecai began methodically pointing out all the most expensive first editions and rare manuscripts in the Murphys’ collection. Lucie’s mind drifted for a moment until she noticed Paloma, the sister with the pixie-cut hair and more dramatically plucked eyebrows, mouthing something to her.
“Pardon me?” Lucie said.
“I said you have a neck like a swan.” Paloma smiled.
“Really?”
“Yes, it’s long like Audrey Hepburn’s. So beautiful!”
“Er…thank you,” Lucie said, as always feeling a bit awkward whenever someone paid her a compliment.
“You must get it from your mother?”
“Hmm, I guess. I’ve never thought about it, but yes, my mother does have quite a long neck.”
“Where is she from?” Paloma continued to probe.
“Seattle.”
“I meant is she Chinese, Japanese, Korean?”
“Oh, sorry. Yes, she’s of Chinese ancestry, but she’s third-generation Asian American. Her grandfather was one of the very first Chinese students to graduate from Yale with a medical degree,” Lucie added, not wishing these ladies to think her mother was fresh off the boat.
“How interesting,” Paloma said, clearly not as curious about Lucie’s family history as she was with her 23andMe results.
Mercedes jumped into the conversation. “And your father, what is his ancestry?”
“English, Scottish, and Swedish,” Lucie replied as patiently as she could. Why was it that only other Asians interrogated her about her background?
“You must thank your mother for your beautiful features, then. I thank mine every morning when I look in the mirror. It’s because of my Chinese blood that I haven’t needed a face-lift yet!”* Mercedes giggled.
“You’re part Chinese?” Lucie asked.
“Yes, of course. My sister and I are torna atrás—we have Chinese, Spanish, and Filipino blood. You know, most Filipinos have mixed blood. We are all mestizos, like you.”
“I had no idea.”
