The first thing Mimi O’Donnell did every time she arrived in London was take Darjeeling tea at Annabel’s. She didn’t particularly like tea – a longneck bottle of beer would normally have suited her just fine – but the beverage somehow helped her transition from Texas belle to English rose…well, half-English rose anyway. If there was one good thing to come out of her being the daughter of the esteemed British foreign correspondent and sometime television presenter Tucker O’Donnell, it was the privilege of being able to assume a British accent with some actual legitimacy, unlike other Americans she had known who had tried to pull off the same but more often than not ended up sounding more pretentious than authentic, or rather just confused. If there was one thing Mimi O’Donnell was not – at least as far as she was concerned – was pretentious. Or confused. It was the Texan in her that kept her grounded. She wasn’t Stella McIntosh’s daughter for nothing. And while she rarely kept anything from her mother, on this occasion, Mimi had opted to keep her travel plans a secret. That was the thing about her parents’ relationship. Mimi could never predict the dynamic between them. The last thing she wanted was for Tucker to get wind of her scheme and try to influence her otherwise. She was already regretting having said anything to Tanner. He wasn’t unpredictable as much as stupid and his allegiances were murky at best. Tanner did what suited him when it suited him. The family and the preservation of its integrity never entered his head. But Mimi, in contrast, liked to think of herself as being all about the family. That’s why she was in London now. It was for the integrity of her family that she was there to take Chloe Templeton – her daddy’s longest lasting paramour – as far down as she could take her, and by any means necessary. Mimi’s plan was contingent, of course, upon Chloe not recognizing her. But she didn’t think there was much chance of this happening. It had been years since the last time she and Chloe were in the same room as each other and that had been for only the briefest of moments when Mimi was maybe eleven, twelve at most. Tucker preferred to keep his many lives separate. He’d agreed to pick Mimi up at JFK en route to Heathrow and the summer Mimi was meant to spend with him at his family’s shooting estate in Aberdeenshire. Conveniently for Tucker – if not for anyone else – he’d been in New York “on assignment.” When Mimi had arrived off the plane from Dallas-Fort Worth, in the company of her airline minder, and met  her father as arranged at the First Class British Airways ticket counter, he’d been in the company of an arresting yet deceptively mousy young Englishwoman wearing the most voluminous pussy bow blouse and a tartan mid-length skirt whose hem came down just over the top of her DuBarry’s. What had left the biggest impression on the ever-impressionable pre-teen Mimi were the boots, the tartan beret, and how cold the young woman had been towards her. It was clear her daddy’s friend wasn’t at all pleased to meet her. In fact, it had seemed to Mimi that in an ideal world, their meeting would never have taken place. Tucker had looked as surprised to see his daughter as his daughter was to see her daddy’s friend, which hadn’t made any sense since Mimi had spoken to her father just the day before and all the arrangements had been set.

But there he was looking as if he was suffering from a particularly bad case of IBS and had forgotten to take his Immodium, or whatever it was that you were meant to take when suffering from such symptoms.

“Hello, darling,” her daddy had said, grinning through his evident discomfort.

“Howdy, Tuck.” Mimi had always been on a first-name basis with her father, and ‘Tuck’ was her diminutive for him, one that he allowed her and no one else to use, or so he claimed.

“Mr. O’Donnell?” the airline minder had asked.

“Oh yes, yes, thank you.” Tucker fumbled in his pocket for a wad of cash that he deposited rather roughly into the airline minder’s hand. “You’re a doll. Thanks so much for the trouble. I trust my daughter behaved herself and you didn’t let her have too many Coca-Colas.

She went through a phase not long back where she was obsessed with those airplane Coke bottles. You know the ones, rather miniature…like this.” He estimated the length between his hands. “I believe they’re collector’s items.”

“Thank you, Mr. O’Donnell,” the airline minder said, no doubt dazzled by the amount of dollars she now gripped in her hand. “Your daughter was as good as gold.”

“Black gold I hope.” Tucker laughed uproariously, embarrassing Mimi because she knew he only laughed like this when he was extremely uncomfortable. “I mean, she is from Texas  after All.”

“Sure, Mr. O’Donnell,” the airline minder laughed along. “I’ll be going now. Have a safe

Flight.”

Through the entire awkward exchange, her daddy’s friend had just stared at her: her brown eyes piercing and inscrutable. Mimi had stared back.

“Yes, well, shall we, darling? We don’t want to miss our flight.”

“Sure, Tuck.”

“Right. Just give me one second, darling. Erm…to say goodbye to my friend, who was so good to make sure I got to the airport in time. Just – erm – stand right there and I’ll be back before you can even say ‘tally-ho!’”

Another awkward laugh, more a guffaw this time. Mimi shrugged. She watched as her father took his friend by the elbow and escorted her across the hall to the windows. His friend continued to stare at her as she allowed herself to be led. Mimi waited. Her father and his friend exchanged some words, they embraced, and then his friend – who looked like she was crying – went through the automatic doors and disappeared into the line of people waiting at the taxi stand and Mimi never saw her again. Well, not in person anyway.

“Sorry about that, darling,” her father had said when it was just the two of them and a sense of equilibrium had been restored.

“Who was that, Tuck?” Mimi had asked.

“Who, darling?”

“That woman.”

“Oh?” Her father blinked in his blustery manner and shrugged, assuming an air of nonchalance that the twelve year-old Mimi didn’t buy for a second. “Just some copy girl from the bureau. My editor insisted she escort me from the office. He knows what a willy-nilly I am.

I’m hopeless. Put me in a room by myself and I’d never be able to find the door.”

“Why was she crying?”

“What’s that, darling?”

“What did you say to her to make her cry?”

“Oh, that. Oh, yes, well, it was her contact lens, I believe.”

“Her contact lens?”

“Yes, darling. An errant contact lens.”

And that was the story her father had stuck to.

Flash forward nearly twenty years and here Mimi was, sipping a cup of steaming Darjeeling tea in the only private member’s club in the world worth belonging to, at least as far as Mimi was concerned, and she was after all a bit of an expert on such things. She was nervous and excited and hopeful that her plan would go off without a hitch. Perhaps a whisky to calm her nerves? No, whisky made Mimi sloppy and sloppy was the last thing she could afford in front of Chloe Templeton at this stage of the game. For it was a game, Mimi thought. Life was a game. And in this game, there was only one winner. Mimi couldn’t afford runner-ups.

She glanced at her watch. Three twenty-seven. They’d arranged to meet at half-three. Of course there was no guarantee Chloe would even show. And Mimi conceded the premise of her request for this meeting was tenuous at best even though she and Tanner both agreed there

was a certain brilliance to it, however improbable. Ballsy, is what Tanner had called it. But then, Mimi had always taken pride in the size of her balls. She always claimed she had the biggest balls in the entire O’Donnell/McIntosh clan. Well, second only to Stella’s of course, but that went without saying.

The tea was pleasingly rejuvenating. It made Mimi feel English which made her feel like she was more than capable of launching the first foray into her assault upon the Templeton family. She knew from what she’d read that Chloe was the quintessential Tatler-deified “It Girl,” though as far as Mimi was concerned, Chloe was getting a bit long in the tooth to still be using that moniker. She’d also read there was another Templeton-in-waiting who it seemed was aggressively redefining English poshness even if her provenance was being questioned by some.

The young and sassy Tessa Templeton intrigued Mimi. She was the kind of girl that Mimi wouldn’t have minded buddying around with. She had a feeling – again based only on what she’d read as well as some of the photos she’d seen – that she and Tessa, if left to their own devices, could have a lot of fun and leave a lot of trouble –the best kind of trouble – in their wake. But she was getting ahead of herself. One step at a time.

Mimi wondered what time it was in Dallas. She was bored waiting. She wanted to call

Tanner. She missed Tanner when they were apart even though he pissed her off to high heaven when they were together. She was his yin to her yang, or something like that. And there was no point in calling Devontae. He wouldn’t have picked up anyway, too busy chasing pussy when

Mimi was away. The greater the distance between them, the less Mimi felt theirs was a

relationship worth sustaining. And besides, beyond his obvious attributes, Devontae really had

very little to offer her. Even his music was – despite Tanner’s best efforts, bless him – derivative.

He was no Stormzy, that’s for sure. So with no one to distract her, Mimi took another sip of her

Darjeeling and hoped Chloe wasn’t one of those types who took pride in being “fashionably late.” Mimi despised tardiness in others, much as she tolerated it in herself.

But thankfully she didn’t have long to wait. For right on the dot of half-three, Chloe Templeton strode into the tearoom at Annabel’s, dressed to the height of perfection – if somewhat predictably – in a black Chanel pantsuit and “sensible” black Celine kitten-heeled pumps. She looked flushed and out of breath and older in person without the gloss of

Photoshop: impressive yet, Mimi thought, not impenetrable. It was the spider’s web of wrinkles at the corners of each eye, and the slight fleshiness beneath her chin that belied her age. Still, it was important to take the upper hand from the start. Mimi didn’t believe in playing catch-up.

“Chloe?” Mimi asked. She stood up and with a smile as wide as the Lone Star State, she kissed Chloe on both cheeks while suppressing the urge to hug her. “I can’t tell you how excited

I am to finally meet you.” She also had to suppress the tendency toward a Southern drawl when she was nervous and, to her dismay, Chloe Templeton in the flesh made Mimi O’Donnell more nervous than Mimi O’Donnell would have ever cared to admit.

Chloe arranged herself on the chair opposite. She sat with her back ramrod straight, both feet squarely placed on the floor. She looked as though she had a stick up her ass or had inhaled a bad smell. Her eyes were damp – like she’d been crying. It was the smudged mascara that gave her away.

“I took the liberty of ordering tea,” Mimi chattered. “I hope you like Darjeeling. Shall I?”

Mimi poured without waiting for Chloe to reply. She willed her hand to be steady as she tipped the teapot over the cup.

“I can’t stay long,” Chloe said.

“I wouldn’t dream of keeping you,” Mimi replied.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard but my dear Papa passed away just the other day. It’s only been a week but it feels like a lifetime.” Chloe sighed. “I don’t know if you’ve ever lost anyone dear to you, but this kind of grief is prolonged torture. I don’t think I can bear it.”

“I’m so very sorry for your loss.” This wasn’t quite how Mimi had anticipated things. She pushed Chloe’s cup across the table, careful not to spill any of it into the saucer. “I’d seen some of the coverage on the telly. Your father was a very impressive man.”

“Yes.” Chloe dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief that Mimi recognized was from

Liberty, which seemed to magically descend out from under the cuff of Chloe’s jacket. “My father was an icon. Some of the press haven’t exactly been kind.”

Mimi nodded. Sometimes silence was best. Chloe picked up her teacup and blew on the steam. She appraised Mimi over the rim. There was almost a flash of recognition in her eyes, but mercifully just a flash. Mimi tensed. It hadn’t entered her plans that Chloe might recognize her, some twenty years after their one and only encounter at the British Airways check-in desk at JFK. Mimi didn’t have a Plan B.

“I’m sorry,” Chloe said after a pause, “have we met?”

“What? No, no, I don’t think so.”

“Hmm strange.” Chloe set her cup and saucer down. A frown twitched between her plucked and penciled brows. “I’m not in the habit of meeting strangers like this for tea. But lately I’ve been so betwixt and between I just don’t know where my head is anymore. And this whole disaster with my father and THAT WOMAN and now his will and how she’s taken everything – EVERYTHING! – I half wonder whether it’s time I offed myself with an overdose of Percocet and a strong gin.”

“Oh dear,” Mimi said.

“Not that I’m suicidal or anything,” Chloe continued, more to herself, Mimi thought, than to anyone. “I have to keep reminding myself of who I am and what my family represents. When you’re a Templeton, you have a certain responsibility – there’s an expectation that you behave in a particular way, a kind of decorum if you like. Unfortunately, my darling Papa lost his way a bit toward the end. He allowed himself to be led by dangerous outsiders who filled his head with all sorts of nonsense and we all just kind of stood there and let it happen. Of course, I can’t help but blame Diana for a lot of this mess. Well, she and that useless twat of a husband of hers: Duncan. But then I suppose I should also accept the burden of some responsibility, if only to be fair. I mean, in the end, it all sort of came down to me anyway. I cast the deciding blow.

It was my vote that banished Guy from the family. But I had to do it. I was left with no choice, veritably backed into a corner: strong-armed if you will.”

Mimi just sat there, taking in the spectacle without saying a word, not that Chloe ever took a breath to give Mimi a chance to get one in edgeways. But this was perfect in a way, Mimi thought. Chloe was quite inadvertently falling into her trap.

“I’m sorry,” Chloe suddenly stopped. She blinked and peered at Mimi, once again with a glimmer that hinted again at possible recognition, or a jogging of memory. Mimi held her breath. “I think I’m doing what the Americans call ‘over-sharing.’ I’m actually really quite reserved. What’s your name again?”

“Magnolia,” Mimi spluttered. Her mind had drawn a blank. “Magnolia Rose.”

“Magnolia Rose,” Chloe repeated to herself. “Hmmm. I suppose with a name like that if I had met you before I’d have remembered.”

“My mother is – was – of the dramatic persuasion.”

“Your mother’s passed on?”

Mimi didn’t know why she was lying. She thought of her mother then – the very much alive (though increasingly addled) Stella McIntosh – and felt a tinge of guilt at putting her in an early grave. She reassured herself with the belief that the less Chloe could find out about her background – living or deceased, “passed on” rather – the better. She had a feeling Chloe Templeton could be very thorough when she set her mind to it.

“Tragic and unexpected,” Mimi forged on.

“But death is always tragic,” Chloe said with a sniff, “except when it’s not.”