“First the collared shirt nazi, and now the Charlotte has landed,” Cecil muttered under his breath, as everyone else at the table pretended not to hear him.

Minutes later, Charlotte appeared at the table all flustered and laden with shopping bags. Everyone except Cecil got up from the table to give her hugs.

“Marian, I’m so sorry, I took a cab here, and I only have pounds on me. Do you have some cash for me to tip the driver? He’s waiting.”

“Um, let me see …,” Marian said, digging into her purse. “I’m sorry, I only have a few quarters.”

“Does anyone else …?” Charlotte looked around the table.

Everyone shook their heads.

“Sorry, who uses cash anymore?” Freddie said. “Wait a minute, let me see if Frankie has any change.”

“Why didn’t you just add the tip to your credit card charge?” Lucie asked.

“I’m so jetlagged, I forgot. Plus, if I left the tip on my credit card, wouldn’t that make the tax amount higher by a few dollars?”

Marian simply shook her head, not wanting to think how much Charlotte’s trust fund must be worth at this point. The Barclay family office had just moved into swanky new digs at Hudson Yards.

Freddie came back from the maître d’ with a twenty.

“Oh, that’s too much of a tip for the driver, don’t you think?” Charlotte wondered. “Can we see if anyone can break that into smaller bills?”

“Freddie, just give it to the driver,” Marian commanded.

“Classic Madam Buzzkill,” Freddie muttered under his breath as he ran off.

Charlotte was still standing, looking rather preposterous with half a dozen shopping bags across each arm. “I checked my luggage with the nice lady but thought I’d better not check all these precious duty-free gifts—wouldn’t want them to accidentally go missing,” she said breathlessly as she began distributing her bags. “Marian, here’s that hand cream you wanted from Boots. And, Lucie, some of your favorite royal blend tea and salted caramel biscuits from Fortnum & Mason. Freddie, thank you for taking care of the driver. I thought you might like these English chocolates.” She handed him an oversize bar of chocolate from a brand that was available at every deli along Lexington. “And Cecil, let’s see, I got you a signed copy of Mary Berry’s new book … Now where did I put it?”

“Charlotte, please sit down. We can do presents later. Now, shall we all do the lobster buffet or order off the menu?” Marian said.

“I don’t care as long as I can steal some coconut macaroons from the dessert table,” Freddie said.

“Oh, before we order, I should wash my hands. I haven’t washed since JFK,” Charlotte said, getting up again.

“For fuck’s sake!” Cecil muttered, throwing his napkin on the table. “Arcadia Mueffling has the Duke and Duchess of Ravenscourt over this weekend, and I could be at her stunning Atelier AM–designed house on Gin Lane drinking decent champagne and enjoying a special luncheon cooked by José Andrés right now!”

Lucie, Freddie, and Marian gaped at Cecil, not sure how to react to his outburst.

“Cecil, I’m very sorry you have to endure this. But Charlotte did just arrive straight from London, and naturally she’s a bit out of it. If you’d prefer to go to your royal luncheon, please don’t let us keep you,” Marian said calmly.

Cecil, realizing that he had crossed the line, forced a smile and said, “It’s fine, Marian. I’m sorry if I was being rude. I think I’m just faint with hunger.”

“Why don’t you go ahead to Arcadia’s and I’ll join you in a little bit?” Lucie gingerly proposed.

“No, no, I’ll wait for you, baby.”

Charlotte was in the process of hovering over the toilet seat when she heard the door fling open and someone enter the next stall. From the force of the stream hitting the water, she knew it had to be a man.

“Excuse me, this is the ladies’ room,” she said in a loud voice.

“Oh, sorry, I thought this was the men’s. It had a picture of a sail on the door,” the man in the next stall replied.

“Yes, it’s rather confusing if you’re not a member. The sails are for the ladies. The men’s has the drawing of the rope on the door,” Charlotte said, feeling a little awkward as she tried to minimize the sound of her peeing. She came out of her stall and headed for the sink. A few moments later the man also emerged and they caught sight of each other at the same moment in the big wicker mirror.

“George Zao!” Charlotte gasped as though she had seen a ghost.

“Oh, hi.” George smiled back, looking far less surprised.

“What are you doing here?”

“I have a tennis match with Freddie.”

“What! You know Freddie? Does Lucie know you’re here?”

George frowned. “I dunno. Maybe.”

“What are you doing in Sag Harbor?”

Taking his turn to wash his hands, George explained, “I work in the city. We took a summerhouse here.”

“Who is ‘we’? Are you married?”

“No, I spend weekends here with my mother,” George replied, rather amused by Charlotte’s apparent confusion. As he headed out the door, he said, “I believe we’ll be seeing you later. My mother has invited everyone over for dinner tonight. She’s having her new chef who’s just arrived from Vancouver make Peking duck.”

“Oh,” Charlotte said, as her mind began spinning into overdrive. She walked slowly back to the table with a strained expression on her face and said nothing as she sat down.

“Okay, we’ve taken a vote and we’re all doing the buffet,” Marian announced, as she and Freddie leaped up from their seats and made a beeline for the lobsters.

Lucie was about to get up when Charlotte gripped her arm forcefully and stared into her eyes. “I saw him. In the ladies’ room.”

“Who?”

“George Zao!”

“George was in the ladies’ room?”

“He came in by mistake. Why didn’t you tell me that man was here?”

“What is there to tell? He lives in New York and East Hampton now.”

“East Hampton! But that’s too close! I thought maybe he’d be in Hampton Bays or Quogue with all the summer riffraff. And that ghastly mother of his is here too?”

“Yes. Mom’s become friendly with her.”

“How typical. She’s trying to cultivate your mother! Does it make things awkward? Where are they in East Hampton?”

“Cecil got him to rent Cissinghurst.”

“Cecil? How do they know each other?”

“It’s a long story …”

“Oh dear God. Has George been stalking you? Is that why he came to East Hampton?”

“It’s nothing like that, Charlotte,” Lucie said, exasperated.

“Does Cecil know about you and George?”

“Of course not.”

“Oh, Lucie, my poor Lucie. How mortifying for you! I hope it doesn’t bring back too many awful memories. Remember, you were just a teenager then! You were so young and impressionable, and swept up by your first summer romance with an exotic foreigner!”