Winning the Lottery - 26. Chapter 26 Surprises in Zurich

“I hope you don’t mind,” said Robert with a note of uncertainty in his voice, “But I took the liberty of preparing a proposal for you.”

Derrick, Robert and I had just been seated in the hotel’s dining room, and the server appeared with a carafe offering coffee and the breakfast menus.

“A proposal?’ said Derrick.

“Well, yes. When we talked yesterday I got the impression—and please forgive me if I’ve overstepped my bounds—that you need help running your household but are a little unsure about what exactly a butler can do for you...to help. So, I...um...wrote down a few things, as suggestions only, you understand.” He handed Derrick and me copies.

I quickly scanned the three page ‘proposal’ and was impressed with not only the content but also with the professional presentation. I particularly liked the part where he proposed coordinating our schedules with our security supervisor. (Our spontaneous, unplanned schedule had been a bone of contention with our security guys for some time now.) And I was delighted to see that Robert planned to organize and update our linen supply. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d purchased new towels or sheets.

“You’re suggesting we use more outside services for cleaning and laundry?” asked Derrick.

“Yes, and other services as well,” said Robert with some confidence. “I just think that given your station in life—your ages, careers, uh...financial success—that you might enjoy being well taken care of...pampered, if you will.”

Derrick looked at me to gage my reaction. “I wouldn’t mind being pampered!” I said.

“Neither would I,” laughed Derrick looking at me, the question on his face clear: Should be make an offer now?

I smiled and gave a small nod of assent. We’d discussed this moment in the car on the way to Robert’s hotel earlier. Dane had said that Robert was “okay,” which was about as good an approval that he’d get from Dane. If we still felt good about him after this interview, we would make him an offer. And with Robert providing us with a professionally prepared proposal the scales were definitely tipped in Robert’s favor.

“We’re prepared to make you an offer,” began Derrick. “It would be subject to a six month probationary term.” He then made a starting salary offer (in the range recommended by Madame Poulain, the school’s employment officer), which would be increased on the completion of the probationary period. Derrick further explained that an employment contract would be forwarded to Robert forthwith (yes, he actually used the word ‘forthwith,’ making him sound like the quintessential man who would hire himself a butler!).

“I...um....” began Robert. “I’m...uh...very grateful...I was hoping.... And yes, I’m honored to accept your offer. Thank you so much!” That was all he could get out before his voice choked up, and he reached for his water glass. After taking a sip of water, he added, “I feel like I’ve just won the lottery!” Derrick and I exchanged knowing looks, then burst out laughing.

Robert still had a few weeks off classes before receiving his diploma, and he was eager to start with us immediately after that. We told him that, subject to signing the employment contract, his official start date would be the day after his classes ended, but the real start date would be decided after we’d firmed up our spring plans.

After breakfast we hustled Robert to the airport where Derrick’s crew was waiting to take him to San Francisco for a meeting with the Dea-Con VP of security who’d brief him on that score. Then he’d be on a red eye back to Brussels. It was no doubt a tiring, but worthwhile, trip for him.

Meanwhile, a recent request, relayed via James, had left me in a dilemma. Alistair Grey, 9^th Baron of Hunterscroft, had asked my mother to marry him. James had relayed my mother’s request that Derrick and I attend their wedding, which she said they would schedule at a convenient time for us. When I looked at the situation logically, this seemed like a good chance at reconciliation. My mother had completed a top notch rehabilitation program that, besides sobriety, addressed issues of physical and mental health. By all accounts she was a new, vibrant person; not the zombie I remembered. So why did the whole idea of seeing her again cause me so much anxiety? What I needed to do was knock down the protective walls I’d build around myself. Truth was that hating her was easier, and much safer, than facing the risk of the indifference and rejection that I’d experienced as a child.

Time to grow a pair Gabe. Man up. Say yes! So I said...yes.

Derrick, who said he’d support me one hundred percent, whatever my decision, seemed relieved that I’d finally made up my mind. Now that I was “off the fence” we could move ahead with making plans for the period of Dane’s school break in March.

James, somewhat more biased than Derrick, was pleased I’d at least give our mother a chance at reconciliation. Mom and I still weren’t communicating directly. James was put in the position of being a go-between, but he didn’t seem to mind. After multiple emails and phone calls it was decided we’d fly over to Zurich the last week in March for the wedding. Meanwhile, Mom and Lord Hunterscroft were living in a posh hotel suite and taking mini trips to various European cities. The 9^th Baron was not hurting for money. Our background check of him revealed that his net worth was substantial—close to, if not exceeding the equivalent of $100 million US.

Reassuring though that information was, I worried that Alistair might be a tight-fisted Scot. Would Mom still be reduced to ‘fucking for a couch’? Would old patterns be repeated? I sure hoped not. James thought that Alistair was ‘generous’ and Mom was happy. I was determined to confirm that for myself.

We told Robert we’d meet him when we arrived in Zurich, and his official duties would start prior to that with him arranging our stay, ground transportation, interesting tours and so forth. He would also liaise with my mother and help plan the wedding and reception. Several people would be coming from Alistair’s family in Britain, and Mom’s sister (an aunt I had virtually no recollection of) and her husband would be coming from Winnipeg. Robert was excited about taking on these tasks. We gave him a black American Express card and told him we’d be happy with whatever arrangements he made.

We explained to Dane what would be happening during his school break. It was a lot for him to take in. All he really seemed to understand, once we’d reassured him we’d be with him the whole time, was that it would be a long ride in the jet. He asked if Alfy could come with us. Oh boy.

Jordan and Kelly equivocated over the decision to allow Alfy to travel such a long distance. It reminded us of when Cass had gone to Saudi Arabia with Abu all those years ago and our angst about letting him go. Eventually, they decided that Alfy, who was made to promise solemnly, many times, to behave, was allowed to go.

The next weeks passed quickly, and all too soon I heard the door thunk, sealing us into the plane, and sealing my fate. In less than the span of one whole day I would be meeting my mother for the first time in almost 20 years.

The distance from Honolulu to Zurich was just beyond the range of the G650, so we planned a refueling stop in Gander, Newfoundland. Two legs of nearly 10 hours travel each. We wondered how the boys would fare. Not well, as it turned out. We’d loaded up with games, books, cards, movies, puzzles, activity books and favorite snacks. About half way through the first leg of the flight all was quiet. Alexander and Winston had fed us a great meal. The boys were playing some sort of card game—Snap or Old Maid—and I was somnolent from food and catching up on my medical journal reading. Lisa, our security escort was resting in the back bedroom. The boys were fine. Derrick was in the cockpit flying. I put my seat back and closed my eyes....

“I HATE YOU. YOU’RE STUPID!”

“WELL, YOU’RE A BIG BABY!”

“STUPID!”

“BABY!”

I’d been deeply asleep and I came to a sudden heart-pounding, head-exploding awakening.

“BOYS, STOP!” I added my own raised voice to the melee. Thank goodness they were both buckled into their seats so the disputed hadn’t deteriorated to fisticuffs.

Alexander and Winston appeared from their rest area and looked on, ready to assist if asked, but otherwise not interfering. Lisa appeared from the back, alarmed, with her hand on her holster (luckily empty). I nodded to everyone to let them know I had control...it was up to me to sort out this mess.

I went for the tried and true ‘time out’ method. I got them separated, as far as the main cabin seating would allow, and buckled in again, but they continued to hurl insults, jibes and blame at one another.

“Boys,” I said in the most authoritative voice I could muster, “You will both be quiet or face the consequences!” (What ‘consequences’ they might face I had no idea, but I was hoping my bluff would work.)

They did heed me, but with arms crossed over their chests and almost identical scowls they made a comical picture. Then they both started to appeal to me at the same time. “It was his fault! It was his fault!”

I put my hand out like a traffic cop. “Stop!” I will admit, my patience was at its thinnest point. I was on the verge of launching into a good guilt-trip lecture, but I held myself in check and counted to ten.

I reached into the activity bag and gave each boy a book. Dogs for Dane; military helicopters for Alfy. “Now, both of you, sit quietly and read your books,” I ordered giving them my best stern look. They glowered back but settled in to look at the pictures.

Ten minutes later they had both nodded off to sleep. I took a deep breath to let go of the tension I was holding, glad that the crisis was over. Really, their little spat was understandable given that they were locked in a little tube together for a ten hour stretch and not able to run around expending pent up energy. We’d just have to give them a little more attention and keep them distracted to prevent future conflict.

Derrick appeared a few minutes later. He sat beside me, took my hand and kissed my cheek. “I heard you had to deal with a little conflict?”

“Yeah. At least it didn’t deteriorate to physical violence.”

“A possibility with those two,” he chuckled, “But I think they know better than that.”

They woke up and, as only children can do, forgot all about their conflict and were best friends again.

We just kept a closer eye on them for the rest of the flight, and gave them periods of individual attention. Lesson learned.

We were on the final approach to ZRH (Zurich) when the boys started behaving oddly. They were both sitting rigidly exchanging anxious looks. I couldn’t think of any reason for their odd behavior; they weren’t (or hadn’t been) nervous flyers. I wondered if, in the way of little boys, they hadn’t conjured up some fear just for fun. The closer we got to landing, the more agitated they became. I’d been enjoying my view of the Swiss Alps, but turned my gaze inward to keep an eye on the boys.

Derrick was flying the plane, and brought it in for a smooth-as-silk landing. “Yes!” exclaimed Dane, pumping his fists in the air.

“Damn!” exclaimed Alfy.

“Boys, what’s going on?” I asked.

Dane responded, “I bet Alfy five bucks that Daddy would land the plane without making it bounce! And I won!”

I only hoped the next couple of days would go as smoothly as that landing. I was anxious about seeing my mother again. James said she was a different woman now, but I had trouble imagining her as anything but the indifferent, rather absent, mother she’d been. I still carried a lot of hurt. Hurt that had morphed to anger which, when I analysed it, was a defensive shield. So what was I expecting? A contrite mother who would apologize? A son who would roadblock her attempts to reconcile? A son who would wield his success and wealth like Thor’s hammer in vengeful wrath? Could I be that petty? Probably. Christ, what a mess.

Thank God for Robert. He herded us into waiting Mercedes limos—a welcome change from the usual SUVs. During the short ride to the hotel he reviewed our itinerary for the next three days. It seemed he’d thought of everything. From rest periods to meals to social events, it was all there, and all coordinated with our security team. However, he pointed out, nothing was set in stone; all could be adjusted based on our needs and whims. Robert would see to everything; he would take care of us. I loved the sound of that and took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, letting body and mind relax.

We were scheduled to meet my mother and her beau the next day for lunch. Meanwhile, Robert explained, we needed new, appropriate clothes. A tailor was waiting in the suite for us.

“Not necessary, Robert, we brought our suites.”

I swear, Robert looked down his nose at me—a decidedly withering look. “This is Europe, sir.”

We were whisked into the hotel and up to our suite. No pesky check in, no worrying about luggage, no need to tip. Robert took care of everything.

The suite was elegance itself. Gleaming wood floors covered in thick, colorful carpets, antique furniture upholstered in silk. A marble fireplace. Several arrangements of fresh flowers. All with a magnificent view of the lake and valley beyond through floor to ceiling windows.

Even the boys were awed into silence.

The tailor and his assistant were done in a jiffy. Derrick, the boys, and I were quickly measured.

“Um, Robert, what are we getting?”

“New suits and, of course, tuxedos for the wedding. Oh, slacks, sports jackets, shoes, shirts, accessories.... Ski outfits for the boys.” Robert had arranged for the boys to be taken to Flumserberg, a ski resort about an hour from Zurich, the next day. He’d thought of everything.

We passed a quiet evening “at home” with a room service dinner, a quick second fitting by the tailor, and a movie following.

Later, in bed, cuddled up to Derrick, he asked, “How you doing? Nervous about meeting you mother tomorrow?”

“Not really,” I said. “I’ve cut up a corpse, been shot.... How bad can seeing your negligent mother be?”

“That’s the spirit,” he said. “And however it goes I’ll be there for you.”

Robert babysat the next morning while Derrick and I worked out at the hotel’s gym. The tailor delivered our outfits. The very excited boys—and their security watchdogs—departed for a day of skiing. Derrick and I took a walk to the lake, but the cool spring weather, with a fresh breeze blowing off the lake, meant we didn’t stay out long.

Robert selected the suits we were to wear. Dark blue for me, grey for Derrick (so we wouldn’t look like twins). We had to admit, the suits, tailored in the slim fitting European style, did look damn good.

“Are these suits Armani?” I asked.

Robert looked horrified. “Absolutely not! These suits are bespoke by Zurich’s best tailor.”

“Are you going to start making us act like rich people now, Robert?” asked Derrick.

“I’m afraid so,” replied Robert with a sigh.

“Okay, Robert, do your best,” said Derrick with a smile.

“I will, sir, but any time you find fault with my guidance, please let me know.”

We discussed Robert and his “guidance” in the limo on the way to my mother’s hotel. We agreed that being “bossed around” by Robert—then amended our description to “guided by”—was already relieving a huge amount of stress. We no longer had small, niggling, day-to-day worries. “And I think,” said Derrick, “That we’ll be able to surf a fine line between enjoying our wealth and becoming arrogant or pretentious.”

I concurred.

My mother and Lord Hunterscroft were staying at the Dolder, another very nice Zurich hotel. Our security guys escorted us up to their floor and then discretely withdrew a few paces down the hall. I took a deep breath and knocked on their door. Derrick’s hand on the small of my back was giving me comfort.

The door was opened by a slim, elegant—obviously wealthy—woman whom I didn’t recognize. With a quick glance I took in her perfectly coiffed, silver-blond hair, tasteful makeup, the double strand of pearls at her neck, a tailored, belted cream-colored suit, light pink manicured nails and elegant matching pumps. We’d clearly knocked on the wrong door.

I started to stammer an apology.

The stranger’s lips curled into a smile. “Gabriel?” she said.

“Mother?”