Meet Me in Venice (10 page)

Of course there were flowers everywhere because Grizelda
said she couldn’t live without them and besides Nice was the flower capital of the world. So there were always roses—white or palest pink of course—and swags of blossoming cherry or mimosa and lilies, as well as a favorite fluffy-topped plant that Grizelda called “cow parsley” and Mimi called “Queen Anne’s lace” (“that’s because I’m more refined than Grizelda,” Mimi said). And of course there was Mimi’s teacup-sized Yorkie, called Lalah, and Grizelda’s miniature poodle, Schnuppi, who in the chilliest months of winter was to be seen in a mink jumpsuit complete with a little hood from which its topknot poked becomingly.

Today, because Preshy was bringing her new boyfriend to meet them, Grizelda and Mimi had gone all out and the penthouse was filled with enough flowers, Mimi said, to stock a florist shop. Jeanne and Maurice, the couple who had worked for them for more than twenty-five years as houseman and cook-housekeeper, and who Grizelda and Mimi considered “family,” had prepared a special dinner, setting the smaller round dining table for four with an embroidered white organdie cloth, the Vietri china and Christofle silverware.

Preshy’s phone call had come just last night. “I want to bring someone to meet you,” she’d said in a kind of breathless excited voice they had never heard before. “His name is Bennett James, he lives in Shanghai and I’ve known him two months.”

“Shanghai!” Grizelda had exclaimed, with visions of losing her “daughter” to a city at the other side of the world.

“Two months!” Mimi had boomed. “And this is the first time you’ve mentioned him?”

“Sorry, I was too busy.” Preshy giggled, then added, “Anyway, you’re meeting him now. And I hope you’re going to like him, because I certainly do.”

And now they were on their way.

“We have to make a good impression,” Grizelda said to Mimi, tweaking the centerpiece of white gardenias floating in a crystal bowl.

“It looked quite all right before you put your hands on it,” Mimi said crossly. It had been her job to do the flowers and she considered her work perfect.

Grizelda gave her a look. “Mimi, I do good flowers. You do good music. Each to his own.”

“Then next time
you
do them,” Mimi said, smoothing back her well-groomed platinum hair.

“Today, I simply did not have the time.”

“Too excited, I suppose.”

Grizelda sighed. “Well, it’s not the first time Preshy’s brought a boyfriend home, but it’s the first time I’ve heard her sound like this.”

“High on love,” Mimi said with a grin.

“And no doubt on sex,” Grizelda added.

“As long as it’s
good
sex,” Mimi said and they both laughed.

“What do you think? Do we look intimidating enough?” Grizelda twirled for Mimi, while the two dogs, sitting on the sofa, watched, alert to the excitement. She was wearing a white Saint-Laurent pantsuit with a gold necklace and an armload of clanking gold bracelets. Her red hair waved sexily over one eye and swung around her shoulders, exactly like the fifties movie actress Rita
Hay worth, who, even at an age she refused to admit to, Grizelda still liked to think she resembled. Her green eyes—greener thanks to contacts—twinkled with amusement at her own vanity.

“We look as good as the Lord and expensive plastic surgeons and cute personal trainers can make us,” Mimi said crisply. “And that’s better than most.”

She was wearing silver gray, a simple dress that skimmed her still-pretty knees and fluttered over the ample bosom that had delighted audiences at the Follies so many years ago. Diamonds dangled from her ears and clasped the low V of her décolletage.

“I really got the feeling from Preshy this is important though,” Grizelda said. “What if he’s The One?”

“Then we just have to hope he passes the von Hoffenberg—Moskowitz test.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“She’ll probably end up with him anyway. And you’ll cut her out of your will.”

“She’s not in my will, you know that. And so does Preshy. Of course I’ll leave her my jewelry, but apart from that she can make her own way in the world.”

“Hmm,” Mimi said. She wasn’t quite sure about not leaving her Oscar von Hoffenberg’s money, after all there were no other descendants, but that was the way Grizelda wanted it.

Jeanne came in to light the dozens of gardenia-scented votive candles in crystal holders lined up along practically every surface. “Everything’s ready, madame,” she said, in French, of course. They always spoke French in this household.

“Bien, merci, Jeanne. “
Grizelda smiled at her old friend. “Tell me,
Jeanne, what do you think? Is this the special one Preshy is bringing home to meet us?”

Jeanne had met a dozen young men Preshy had brought home over the years. “Preshy’s comfortable in her own skin, madame,” she said. “I don’t believe she’s thinking of giving up her independence just yet.”

“Hmm, we’ll see,” Mimi said.

They were expected any minute and in fact right then the concierge called to say they were on their way up.

Followed by the bouncing dogs, the women hurried into the foyer, staring expectantly as the elevator door opened. And there they were; Preshy, casual as always in jeans, a white linen shirt and an oversized handbag, her big eyes smiling, her wild gold hair tumbled from the wind. And Bennett James, knockout handsome in a blue shirt open at the neck, a dark blue blazer, immaculately pressed pants and soft suede loafers.

Grizelda thought if first impressions were anything to go by, this was a winner. And Mimi thought he was too good to be true.

Bennett smiled warmly as Preshy introduced him. He said how pleased he was to meet them, Preshy had talked about them so much. He patted the excited Lalah, who was jumping up at him, and said how beautiful Schnuppi was, and that she was obviously much shyer because she was keeping a wary distance.

They took him to the silvery white living room, wafted in on the scent of the flowers and the gardenia votives, and he exclaimed at its beauty, and at the way the voile curtains softened the light and said how charming they looked blowing in the breeze.

“Like a Matisse painting,” he said, accepting a glass of champagne (the lesser Jacquart, not the expensive Cristal: Grizelda was saving that for later,
if
he passed muster).

Maurice had poured the champagne and now Jeanne came in with a tray of hors d’oeuvres. Preshy went to hug them; she introduced them to Bennett, who said he was happy to meet anybody who’d known Preshy for twenty years and maybe they had some true-life stories to tell him. They all laughed and Grizelda took a seat on the white brocade sofa. Schnuppi jumped up next to her and Lalah snuggled on Mimi’s knee on the sofa opposite, with the chrome and glass coffee table in between.

Grizelda patted the sofa and said, “Come and sit here, Bennett, why don’t you, and tell us all about yourself.”

“There’s not that much to tell.” He glanced at Preshy on the tufted white ottoman, watching them. “Not really much more than, no doubt, what you’ve heard from Preshy already.”

“In fact we’ve heard nothing, only that you live in Shanghai.”

“I do. And unfortunately it’s a long way from Paris.”

Preshy’s eyes met his. He knew she was enjoying watching her aunt put him through his paces, and besides, she knew what was to come.

“And what exactly do you do there, Bennett?”

Jeanne offered him the tray of hors d’oeuvres and he took a small square of
socca,
the chickpea pancake that was a specialty of the Nice area, with a smear of goat cheese, speared with a tiny black olive.

“I own James Exports. Actually I manufacture parts for the furniture business in the U.S. We make the wooden components
that are then assembled in North Carolina by the major furniture companies.”

“And is that profitable?” Mimi asked, looking as innocent as she could while obviously trying to find out his worth.

“Profitable enough,” he replied, smiling.

“You needn’t worry, I think I know everything there is to know about him,” Preshy said, taking a sip of her champagne.

“Well we certainly don’t,” Mimi said in her booming voice that Preshy thought could shatter glass at twenty paces if she really let it rip. “I’d like to know what you think of our girl, Bennett.”

He gave her a smile and that long intimate look that endeared him to women. “I think your girl is wonderful, Mimi. In fact the reason I’m here is that I very much want to make her
my
girl. I’ve come to ask your permission, Aunt Grizelda, Mimi, to marry Precious.”

“Oh my Lord.” Grizelda clasped a hand to her heart. She hadn’t really expected things to move this fast. She glanced at her niece. “And what does Preshy say?”

“I’ve said yes, of course.” Preshy could contain herself no longer. She stuck out her left hand with the diamond sparkling on the third finger. “But Bennett insisted on coming to ask your permission.”

Grizelda and Mimi leapt up to examine the ring, sending the dogs yapping out of their way. Grizelda’s eyes met Mimi s: the ring was just small enough for good taste and just big enough to be expensive. They were thinking the same thing. That they loved the old-fashioned touch of a man asking permission to marry
their beloved girl; that he was the right age, good-looking, charming, cultured and apparently well enough off.

“As long as you love each other, I couldn’t wish for anyone better to take Preshy off my hands,” Aunt Grizelda said, and Bennett got up and kissed her on both cheeks. Then he kissed Mimi. And then he kissed Preshy.

Grizelda summoned Maurice and Jeanne to break out the good Cristal champagne and they raised their glasses to Preshy and Bennett’s future happiness.

“‘
I WONDER,” GRIZEEDA SAID THOUGHTFULLY
over dinner later. “Would you prefer to have the wedding here or in Paris?”

“Neither.” Preshy stroked Lalah, who was sitting on her lap, hiding under the fold of the tablecloth, hoping for handouts. “I want to be married in Venice, at the Santa Maria della Salute. You know it has special memories for me.” She caught Bennett’s eye and added, “And we want to be married as soon as possible.”

Grizelda looked doubtful. “Of course I’ll need time to prepare. Arrangements have to be made; the dress; the flowers; the invitations . . .”

“Next month,” Preshy said firmly. “And we’re leaving it all to you, darling Aunt G. Just tell us when and we’ll show up.”

“But where will you live? Not in Shanghai, I hope?” Mimi said.

“I’m keeping my business in Paris. We’ll live there and Bennett will commute to Shanghai.”

“That’s a hefty commute,” Grizelda commented, but Bennett told them he planned on spending less time in Shanghai, though he still had to travel frequently to the States.

“Don’t worry though,” he said. “I won’t leave Preshy alone long enough to get lonely.”

“It couldn’t be more perfect, could it?” Preshy said contentedly, lifting up Lalah and kissing her on her sweet black nose.

T
HERE
was no time to be lost and Grizelda plunged headfirst into the wedding arrangements. First she had to use all her influence, rounding up people she knew in Venice to get permission for the wedding to take place at the Basilica. Then, she had to call her friends at the Hotel Cipriani, where she had stayed many times over the years and where they knew her well, to arrange for the celebration dinner, and for the wedding cake.

She also called in a few favors and managed to rent the fourteenth-century Palazzo Rendino on the Grand Canal, owned by old friends (there were advantages to getting older after all, she thought: at least you could call in years of favors) and now the bridal party would stay at the Palazzo. She had immediately ordered her wedding outfit—a white Dior suit and an enormous
Philip Treacy hat for the ceremony, plus a long red lace Valentino dress for dinner the evening before.

She’d also had a fight with Preshy on the phone about the wedding dress because Preshy refused to wear white.

“You don’t have to be a virgin these days,” Grizelda said, exasperated, but Preshy just laughed.

“It’s not that, Aunt G, thank goodness,” she said, sounding giddy as a lovesick high school girl heading to her first prom. “It’s just that I don’t want to look like your typical bride in a strapless mushroom cloud of white tulle. I want to be different.”

“How different?” Grizelda demanded. “For God’s sakes, Preshy you have only three weeks. You’d better make up your mind fast. I’m flying to Paris tomorrow and we’ll sort it out then.”

Meanwhile, there were the flowers to be taken care of and right now she was driving along the precipitous Grande Corniche road, heading for the flower market in Nice. She’d been using the same man there for years and trusted him completely. Since it was a November wedding and roses were out of season, she would have him order those marvelous huge cabbage roses imported all the way from Colombia, and ask him to come personally to Venice to decorate the church and the reception, as well as do the bouquets.

Everything had to be perfect, and with only a month—now down to three weeks—she was as tight with nerves as if she were getting married herself.

Not that her wedding to Oscar von Hoffenberg had been anything like Preshy’s. First of all, they’d known each other over a year and their engagement had been announced properly in the
European and American newspapers. Then his parents had orchestrated the whole event, down to the last place card and who sat next to whom—which with various members of international royalty and ambassadors, clerics and cardinals, lords and ladies, her own friends and family members as well as theirs; plus the tenants and workers at the Schloss, had been quite a feat of organization. Grizelda had just sat back and let them get on with it.

She’d chosen the dress herself, though. She still had it, wrapped in acid-free paper in a cedar chest at the back of her vast walk-in closet. It was a plain white satin affair, cut on the bias by a master of that art, and it had sleeked around her young body so sexily that the wedding guests had gasped and Oscar’s eyes had popped. It had certainly helped make her wedding night an event to remember, though it had alienated Oscar’s prissy family forever.