Hours later, outside the hospital, with my ankle bandaged—thankfully just severely bruised, not broken—we exchanged hugs. We were beaming at each other as if we had known one another forever, the most delicious little bond between us, the kind that only a closely averted catastrophe can create.
Finally, I was able to look at the young women who had put their own agendas so selflessly aside to help me.
Really look at them.
I’ve had this unusual gift since I was a child.
My mother was appalled by it and called me fey. She went as far as to discourage my use of it by saying she thought maybe I wasn’t a real Ascot, after all, but an Irish traveler baby, fallen off the caravan.
I’m afraid the thought of really being an Irish traveler, instead of a member of a very stuffy aristocratic family, bound by rules and customs and most especially by what will people think, gave me many fantastic hours of make-believe and much needed respite from my mother.
I certainly wasn’t fey in the way most people would think of that. I was unable to speak to dead people, an enviable talent that has become so popular there are now entire television programs about it.
It was just that I could look at people and sense what they needed.
In my younger years, it had been quite overwhelming, especially in a crowd. People’s needs, both large and small, swarmed around me like restless bees, buzzing...
She needs to see a doctor...he needs a long walk in the forest...he needs glasses...she needs a new life...he needs a new wife...
As I had gotten older I’d learned to keep my observations mostly to myself. People didn’t really appreciate a complete stranger approaching them with life advice. I’d also gotten better at shutting off some of it, and had learned that knowing what someone needed—even when sometimes they did not know themselves—gave me quite a sharp advantage in business.
Looking at my rescuers right now, I knew with startling clarity exactly what each of them needed.
Still, you didn’t attain the incredible successes in business that I had, by relying on your instincts alone.
“I have ordered a car for Max and me. I’ll make my way back to my hotel.” Jessica was going to protest, but she had done enough for me, so I held up my hand. “But I would so love to keep in touch. I’m brand-new to social media. Would you mind if...”
Of course they saw me as entirely adorable, and wrote their full names and all their social media contact information—Facebook and Twitter and Instagram—on a scrap of paper I provided. They had already exchanged information with each other, but they had put that directly into their phones. No scraps of paper for their generation.
Having all that information meant I could spy on their private lives shamelessly—young people were so oblivious to who was watching what they revealed online—to confirm if what I thought they needed really was what they needed.
And then, I was in the unique position of being able to give it to them. I felt no rush, at all. They were young, and at that age where their needs could change in a heartbeat. I would be patient. Bide my time. Wait until I was 100 percent certain.
I realized, gleefully, all the girls had accepted me introducing myself simply as Viv, and not one of them had any idea who I really was—Vivian Ascot, one of the sponsors of the music festival and CEO of one of the largest and oldest corporations in the world.
“What a good little boy you’ve been,” I told Max. “You’ve brought me this wonderful opportunity.”
I watched the girls walk away, arm in arm, lifelong friendships appeared to be budding. Jessica was going to stay with Aubrey tonight instead of running the risk of running into Ralph at her hotel, and then they were all planning to go together to watch Daisy’s “gig” at the festival the next day. I contemplated what those young women, my rescuers, needed. They were so young. So filled with hope. So confident that they knew everything they wanted and needed for happiness. Naturally, they had no idea.
Of the three of them, I had gotten to know Jessica the most. I loved the way she had described Timber Falls, the small resort town in the Canadian Rockies where she had grown up and ran her bookstore, and where her parents still lived.
But, while it had sounded like a great place for aging parents, and possibly for a short holiday, and while Jessica undoubtedly felt safe there, what longing had led her to Copenhagen? Whatever she had told herself, I felt her journey to the music festival was not so much about a romance as it was about a longing for a larger world. Young people need challenges to make life seem fresh and interesting.
The small town had to be quite stifling for someone so smart and ambitious. And single. But now, after the Ralph fiasco, it seemed there was a possibility Jessica would go back there and be more reluctant than ever to explore all life had to offer.
Well, not if I had anything to do with it.
Waiting for my car to come, I felt the most delicious wave of happiness. I decided playing fairy godmother to those three young women was probably going to be just about the most fun I had ever had.
CHAPTER ONE
JESSICA WINTON STEPPED out through the Customs and Immigration doors into the full flurry of the arrival area of John F. Kennedy International Airport. Her hand tightened on the handle of her wheeled carry-on.
She had not seen a crowd like this since that summer night of the music festival in Copenhagen. Could that be two years ago, already?
Yes, almost to the day.
And look at how that had turned out: her grand virtual romance had been exposed as horribly naive and shabby when the harsh light of reality
