Alistair looked at Drake, “Aye, he’s weird. Christ, they’re coming our way.”
“Smile, Brother. He’s going to be Sophia’s brother-in-law,” Tavish nudged Alistair.
Drake’s eagle eyes raked over Alistair’s and Tavish’s attires and smirked, “Look, my love. I’ve never seen such manly looks in skirts.”
Alistair reined in his temper. “This is a kilt.”
Alistair and Tavish, as was their father, were dressed in a Bonnie Prince Charlie jacket and a black three buttoned waistcoat, white shirt with a stiff, turn down collar and tie, wearing the MacCraig kilt, with a silver pin, a formal furred sporran with silver chain strap. The only difference between Alistair and the others was that his tie was silver silk and a fly tartan plaid was pinned on his left shoulder with a huge silver and emerald brooch with his father’s ducal crown, setting off his green eyes. An extraordinary jeweled sgian dubh was tucked in the sock of his right leg.
“Oh, yeah. I know. It’s just so...” Drake leered at Tavish and Alistair, “barbarian. Skirts and knifes. Don’t you think, Carolina?”
“Everything is so beautiful, Alistair. The flowers and the garden... Amazing, really.” Carolina looked at Alistair with an apology in her eyes.
He smiled at her, “Sophia is amazing. She-”
“Oh, yeah, she is! She followed my advice, didn’t she?” Drake interrupted.
Alistair raised a black eyebrow, “Your... advice?”
Drake signaled to a waiter to be served with Malossol Sevruga caviar. “Yeah. I told her she had to hire the best wedding organizers. I even emailed her a list of them.”
Carolina looked down at him, surprised. “You did? You didn’t tell me.”
“It was nothing,” Drake waved his hand in the air dismissing her surprise. “I like to please beautiful damsels in distress.”
Alistair’s temper bubbled and spilt. “Sophia’s not-”
“If you would excuse us,” Tavish grabbed Alistair by the arm, “I just saw our father signaling to us. Please, make yourselves at home.”
“Of course,” Drake smirked as if he knew he had irritated Alistair. “Let’s grab some champagne, Carolina.”
Carolina and Drake walked away under the intricately designed pavilion, which guided them to the back lawn of Airgead and to the loch.
“MacCraig,” Ethan stretched his hand to greet Alistair. “Congratulations.”
Christ! What happened to you, Ashford? “Thanks, Ashford. Did you had a good trip?”
Ethan’s navy tailored suit paired with a Gucci navy tie couldn’t hide that he had lost weight and that his eyes were unlit, depressed.
“Yeah, thanks. It was kind of you to have an airstrip and a heliport available for the guests.” Ethan had had a serious talk with his image in the mirror while he shaved and got dressed for Sophia’s wedding this morning. But nothing could scare away the sadness that was etched in his face and voice. “You remember my friend, Paola.”
“Of course,” Alistair nodded at the beautiful woman not really paying attention to her. Sophia was the only woman that occupied his thoughts. “How are you?”
Paola smiled at him and said, “Congratulations on your wedding. Your place is amazing. And the decoration is stunning.”
“Yeah. Really impressive,” Ethan muttered taking in the orchestra playing classical music and the amazing flower arrangements of white roses and orange blossoms in tall cylindrical vases. White rose petals were scattered alongside the aisles and around the vases. I wish I were in your place, MacCraig. “Nervous?”
What do you think? “Not, really.” Aye, it’s an everyday achievement to marry a woman like Sophia.
Cheer up, Ashford. Don’t show your feelings. “You lucky bastard.” He eyed Alistair with a smile on his worn face. “You take care of her.”
“I will, believe me,” Alistair answered, with a smile on his lips. Fuck, Ashford. Why do you insist on hounding Sophia? “By the way, thanks for the painting. Sophia loved it.” You son of a bitch. Now she will remember you every time she looks at that fucking painting. He raised an eyebrow. “It was a wild guess, if I may say.”
Wild guess? You still don’t know your bride’s tastes? “On the contrary. I know that you and Sophia like art. So I thought a painting would be a great gift.” His voice had a tone of longing. She loved it when she saw it the first time we made love. “You decided to marry quite hastily, no?” Is she pregnant?
“Do you think?” Alistair looked again at the Patek Phillip Sky Moon Tourbillion Sophia had given him as a wedding gift. Christ! Eleven thirty. It’s almost time. He raked his hand through his hair nervously and looked at the closed doors of the castle. “Well, thanks again. It was very generous of you.”
So clueless, MacCraig. Ethan gazed seriously at Alistair. “Sophia is the one who is generous and special. She deserves the best life can bring her. Again, I wish you happiness.” Make her unhappy and you’ll rue the day you were born.
Sophia is the key to my happiness. Alistair watched with a frown as Paola and a dispirited Ethan walked to the chapel, sitting on the third pew. A thought struck his heart as an arrow. That’s what losing Sophia does to a man. Ruination.
England, Oxfordshire. Le Manoir aux Quat’Saisons.
Saturday, July 15th, 1996.
9.39 p.m.
Le Manoir was set in a fifteenth century old manor house with its own extensive grounds close to the center of Oxford. The gorgeously appointed gardens and meticulously maintained manor house had all of Ethan’s closest friends and teachers gasping from the moment they came into view as they arrived for the party Niarchos was throwing to celebrate Ethan’s graduation with First Class Honors.
The wood paneled private dining room, La Belle Époque, bustled with laughter and crystal clinging.
Niarchos ate the delicate Scottish langoustine tartare and observed with a sharp eye the expertly orchestrated service, refilling wine glasses and serving the entrées. Everything was exactly the way he had requested.
Plots and subplots formed in Niarchos’s mind as the evening passed and he observed Ethan and his guests and reviewed his plans to turn his grandson into one of the most important and influent men in the world.
At twenty-three, Ethan was very different from the thin, wide-eyed, depressed teenager that had arrived in Greece. No one would be able to overlook Ethan now. He had polished himself into a handsome and confident man.
“Grandpa,” Ethan approached Niarchos, who was smoking a cigar in the inner garden.
Niarchos smiled, proud of his grandson, the most special person in his life. “Where is your girlfriend?”
“She has already retired.”
“This place is amazing, isn’t it?” Niarchos dragged on his Cuban cigar.
“Yes, everyone was impressed. With the hotel, the gardens. With the superb food.”
“First impressions count, Ethan. Remember that every day.”
Ethan nodded and shoved his hands in the pockets of his tailored trousers. “I want to thank you, Grandpa.” There was a bitter sweet taste in his mouth. A lingering hurt still made it difficult for him to thank his grandfather. “For my studies and for this party. Thank you. For everything.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Ethan. Everything I own is yours.” Niarchos lounged on the bench with an expression of pleased speculation, puffing a cloud of smoke in the warm air. “Have you thought about my offer?”