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“Not quite. There’s this Belgian architect he’s currently obsessed with who does this wabi-sabi thing and only decorates in shades of mud. Like every wall should look like a rainy day in Antwerp. Cecil wants to fill the house up with antiques that look at least a thousand years old, and we’ll have to walk around wearing wooden clogs and burlap sacks as if we have seasonal affective disorder. He thinks that’s a cool look for a country house.”
“And what do you think?”
“I think it’s an interesting visual exercise, but I would probably want to murder him after a week. Anyway, it’s all moot, because the house isn’t ou
rs. It’s Freddie’s, don’t you know? This house has been passed down through the Churchill men for four generations.”
“How very…typical.” Auden sighed.
“Well, the good thing is Freddie loves it exactly the way it is, and he won’t change a thing either.”
“Until his wife gets a hold of it.”
“You know, I can’t imagine Freddie ever getting married, but I suppose it will happen one day. Hopefully she’ll appreciate the same things about it as he does: the creaky old floors, the sun-bleached wicker, Dad’s seashell collection.”
They arrived at the terrace overlooking the pool, where they found Marian and Freddie seated at an old French enamel-top fold-out table.
“There you are! I thought you had completely forgotten about lunch. I know how you two can go on and on about art,” Marian said.
“Apologies. I was blown away by Lucie’s latest series and completely lost track of time,” Auden said.
Freddie was already half finished with his lobster roll. “Sorry, I couldn’t wait. I was starrrrrrving. I just came from a full morning of tennis.”
“Is this all from Circle Pond Farm?” Auden said, admiring the spread in front of him. There were platters of fresh lobster rolls, macaroni salad, curry chicken, chopped kale salad, chocolate fudge brownies, and ice-cold bottles of freshly squeezed raspberry lemonade.
“Circle Pond Farm? Oh, you mean High Tits,” Freddie said.
“High Tits?” Auden asked, curious.
“Yes, it’s our nickname for the place,” Lucie said.
“My bad. I started calling it that years ago when Reggie first brought me out to East Hampton and I noticed that all the pretty girls working there wore tight T-shirts that really showed off their double Ds.” Marian laughed.
“It’s still the same girls, so it’s long overdue to be renamed ‘Low Tits,’?” Freddie said.
Everyone at the table laughed.
“So, Freddie, I take it you are preparing to defend your title in this year’s Dorset tennis tournament?” Auden asked, as he dished some macaroni salad onto his plate.
“You bet. It’s going to be a vicious year. I heard the Iselin brothers went down to Florida to some tennis camp run by a guy who once coached Nadal. Thankfully, Kip brought along his friend, this tennis ace who gave us some great tips. He’s the new guy renting Harry’s house on Lily Pond Lane.”
Lucie was just about to take a bite of her lobster roll. “Harry Stuyvesant Fish? What new guy? Cissinghurst’s being rented to my friends the Ortiz sisters!”
“Guess that didn’t work out. This dude’s there now. He just moved in last week.”
“Freddie, you’re confused. I set everything up with Harry to rent to the Ortizes. It was all settled last month.”
“I swear this guy said he had moved into Harry’s house. He’s here with his mom, and he finds the place ridiculously large for the two of them.”
“Oh, shit, did Harry change his mind again?” Marian snorted. “That Harry is so peculiar about his house. But then again, it was his mother’s place. Poor guy, I think he still feels haunted by her to keep everything like it’s a museum.”
Lucie frowned. “What’s the guy’s name, Freddie?”
“George. Don’t ask me his last name, I’ve forgotten it.”
“Perhaps he’s one of Paloma’s or Mercedes’s grandsons, helping them to get settled in?” Auden wondered. “Was he Filipino?”
“I’m not sure if he’s Filipino, but he looked Asian to me,” Freddie answered.
