Chapter 3: Not a Single Penny

Celeste hugged me.

She let go of Adrian, came up three steps like they were nothing, and threw her arms around my neck.

Her perfume hit me so hard I almost gagged. Lily and tuberose, way too much of it. And under it, faint as a whisper, cigarette smoke.

"I've wanted to meet you for so long," she said into my hair. "Adrian told me everything in the car. You've been so good to him." She squeezed. "Thank you for keeping him safe for me."

‘For me.’

"Welcome home," I said.

She pulled back and held both my hands, smiling like we were old friends. Then she swayed. Hand to her forehead. A tiny, brave little laugh.

Adrian was up the steps in two strides. "Easy. I've got you."

"Don't fuss, darling. I'm fine." She leaned back into him and looked up at him, and he looked down at her, and the rest of us just stood there. Twenty-two staff and me, all staring at the gravel.

The driver brought a wheelchair. She sat in it, and Adrian pushed her himself through the front doors, bending down every few steps to whisper something that made her laugh. Her hand reached back over her shoulder. He took it.

I walked behind them.

When I was little, my dad used to stand me at his workbench with my eyes shut and a paper strip under my nose. ‘What's this one, Bee? Name it.’ So I notice things. I can't help it.

Her nails were long and nude and perfect, and the beds of them were pink. My grandmother died of cancer. At the end, her nails were yellow and her skin was like tissue paper. Pale and flaky. Celeste's hands looked like she'd come straight from a manicure in Monaco.

And on her left ring finger there was a pale line in her tan. Like a ring had been there all summer and come off last week.

Weird. I didn't know what it meant.

Finally, we got to the east wing. She looked around. "Oh my gawd, it's so pretty." Then she turned to the flower girl. "Could we get lilies? In every room? They remind me of the summer we met." She tilted her head up at Adrian and she smiled charmingly. "You remember?"

"I remember, love"

The flower girl looked at me. Then everybody looked at me.

Lilies. The one thing I'd kept out of this house for three years.

I went to the side table, picked up the binder I'd left there and put it in Adrian's hands. Three inches thick.

“What is this?” he asked.

"Your allergies. Your medication times. Staff schedules, security codes, your tailor, your dentist, the specialist in Zurich." I turned to Celeste and smiled. "You'll need it. Lilies are on page four. They give him migraines. Really bad ones."

Nobody said a word.

Celeste's smile didn't move. It just froze there. “Um but… but it can’t be that bad, right? I’m sure he loves lilies.”

“It is that bad, Celeste” I said her name for the first time. “Only I know how bad those migraines can get. So he must stay away from them.” 

Everyone stared at me like they were just learning this information for the first time. Because they actually were. They’ve only ever wondered why I never let lilies in the house.

Adrian was already rubbing his left temple with two fingers. He'd been doing it since he got out of the car. He looked down at his own hand like he'd only just noticed.

Mrs. Pell turned to the flower girl. "No lilies. Call the florist." Then she picked up the one vase I'd missed in the corridor and carried it out at arm's length.

One of the maids put her hand over her mouth. I'm pretty sure she was laughing.

Adrian caught me in the gallery ten minutes later. His hand closed around my elbow. Not hard. But tight.

"What the fuck was that?"

"A binder."

"In front of everyone, Ivy? Don't you dare play games with her. She's fucking dying."

"You told me to make her comfortable." I pulled my arm back. "You with a migraine isn't comfortable for anyone."

He stared at me. Then Theo cleared his throat at the end of the hall. "Mr. Halloran's in the library, sir. With the papers."

Adrian turned back to me. “Don’t push me today, Ivy. Just.. dont!.” then he left for the library. 

I followed. It was time to legally end this marriage. 

Halloran had brought two associates and a folder as thick as my binder. He'd spread it all over the long table in the library like a business closing.

"Mrs. Wolcott." He began, clearing his throat. Halloran had been at our wedding. He gave us a golden tray. "Mr. Wolcott has been very um… generous, you see. Let me take you through it."

Forty million dollars, paid in thirty days as divorce settlement. The penthouse on Aurelle Quay in my name. The villa in Positano in my name. The cars. All my jewelry expenses covered. A monthly allowance for five years, "in case you'd like to establish yourself."

Adrian leaned against the fireplace with his arms crossed. Not looking at me. 

“Mrs. Wolcott,” the lawyer continued, “If I were you, I would go on my knees thanking Mr. Wolcott for this opportunity. Many men divorce their wives with broken ribs and black eyes. THis is a golden opportunity. Sign it quickly and we will begin the legal work to get all these things under your name.”

"Do you have a waiver?" I asked, my face blank as plank.

Halloran blinked. "Sorry?"

"A waiver declining financial settlement. I’d like to sign that instead."

One of the associates looked up from his notes, stunned.

Halloran looked from me to Adrian. Adrian turned slowly from the window, his eyes narrowing. "Ivy, stop the dramatic routine. Sign the paperwork." 

"I came here with one suitcase. I'll leave with one." My voice shook a little. I let it. "I'll sign the divorce papers today. Whatever you need. But I don't want a single penny of your money, Adrian. Not one."

The room went quiet. Somewhere in the house, a clock struck four.

Halloran cleared his throat again, rustling through his briefcase nervously. "Mrs. Wolcott, I.. I don’t think you heard me right. Legally speaking, this.. this is an extraordinarily generous terms package. Forty million..."

“..I heard you clearly and I am telling you that I am not interested. Please give me the waiver!”

Halloran dug out the form and coughed out. "Unusual," he muttered. "But fine."

I read it twice, because my dad taught me to read everything twice. Then I signed. Ivy Lane Wolcott. For the last time, probably.

When I looked up, Adrian was staring at my signature like it had slapped him.

"You're making a point."

"I'm making a signature."

His jaw ticked. I'd seen that happen in billion-dollar meetings, right before he lost it. I'd never seen it happen over me.

I walked out before he could say anything else.

Theo caught me at the bottom of the back stairs, red in the face, his tablet hugged against his chest.

"Ivy. God. I'm so sorry. I swear I didn't know until last night." He checked over his shoulder and dropped his voice. "And I hate asking you this today of all days, but... she wants something, and you know everyone. She wants to wear a Madame Vesper scent at the wedding. Her dying wish, she said. I just emailed the atelier, but they never answer anybody." He looked at me hopefully. "How do I even reach Madame Vesper?"

My phone buzzed once in my cardigan pocket.

I didn't need to check it. I knew whose email that was.

"You don't, Theo," I said. “You don’t reach Madam Vesper. Only she reaches you!”