The car rounds the curved driveway slowly, before coming to a stop in front of the hotel; her chauffeur, Mr Morgan, knows her so well, because he stops in alignment with the middle of the French doors at the entrance of the hotel. Perfectly. Wylder catches his little smile from the rearview mirror and gives one back herself. It wouldn’t me be Mr Morgan if he didn’t know her so well; he’s only worked for her family since before she was born, and was her assigned chauffeur. Gaga made sure of that.
‘Thank you, Mr Morgan.’
‘You’re welcome me dear.’ He’d been her grandmother’s chauffeur from the young age of twenty-one and watched their relationship blossom so beautifully. He watched her grow from the moment she was born to the woman she is today, watched how incredibly fond her grandmother was of her; the old biddy would be so proud of her granddaughter. Which was why when Gaga appealed that he stay on to be her chauffeur before she passed away, he could not refuse because Wylder was his favourite of the sisters, all four of them were wonderful women, but he has a special place for Wylder and her grandmama. Gaga remembered him in her will, gave him a house with a parcel of land for his family up in Cornwall, right by the beach, set his children up with a trust too, paid their tuition in the private school they are attending, and set aside money for whatever university they wanted to attend after college. He knew it was her thanks to him for looking after her favourite granddaughter, but he would have done it for free.
Wylder looked up at the building, and her jagged nerves starting to settle. She’s been running on empty for several months as the opening date draws near, their big project, they, her three sisters and her, went all in on this but hers was the lion share considering this started out as a solo project, her life’s work thanks to the legacy left to her by her beloved Gaga, her grandmother. Sure, the properties in New York, Florence and The Hamptons, are all equally as special, but this one feels extra. From the moment her offer was accepted on the property to breaking ground, and all through the building works, she worked her way through varying degrees of madness, insomnia and hyper ventilation, at the grandiose of the project. But it is all worth it.
The door to the backseat is immediately held open by the outdoor concierge, before she can even think to reach for it, a crisply uniformed bell hop appears at his side, at the ready, but affording her enough personal space to gather herself… key signs of Carlo’s training; he is head of training for all concierge personnel at her properties.
She looks up at the property again- the lovely ochre coloured building that shimmers in the sunset and turns a warming shade of the sweetest pale yellow at sunrise, true to its original incarnation- it gives her butterflies. They’d gotten the blueprints from the previous owner and stayed as true to it as possible during the constructions. Where changes were made, they made them with respect and homage to the history of the house itself. A history she is very familiar with.
They spent a few summers in St Tropez with Gaga as children and in their teenage years, some of her favourite memories are tied to the village. Gaga would come to escape the unbearable heat of New York where the first ever St Clare hotel is located. They would stay in an apartment by the sea and be lost in their own bubble of happiness as a family. Wylder grew up always wanting a property in St Tropez, a place that would capture the many happy memories of their childhood. She’d always been mesmerised by its beauty and imperfect elegance, the colours, the suspension of reality and the boundless bliss of the seasons. Besides inheriting an equal portion of Grandma Agatha’s vast estate alongside her sisters, Wylder was also bequeathed with the hotel in New York which Gaga owned alongside her grandfather before he passed away shortly after she was born. The St Clare New York was a place that bonded the two of them, more than any of her sisters, a place Wylder sought and received great comfort during her rebellious teenage years, and in more recent years, especially after the death of Gaga; it was she who famously coined the moniker at age two. After graduating from Smith’s, three years after she ought to, thanks to many said rebellions that saw her change university and majors three times, and the fact that she had a disliking for school, Wylder threw herself into that blind trust Gaga always had in her to make a go of the wild dreams her restless spirit conjured up. She closed the St Clare New York for six months of extensive renovation and when it re-opened it was with little fanfare but much success, two years after that, she bought a property in The Hamptons and turned it into a guesthouse with six bedrooms, a small restaurant and café that also served the community, a bookshop, and its own private beach. The St Clare Playhouse now has a waiting list for twelve months.
The property in Florence was borne out of her love for the city itself, she spent a gap year there waiting tables by night and working Uffizi by day, and quickly fell in love with the city. She then extended her gap year by another year, much to her parents’ chagrin but with Gaga’s support obviously. Grandmother recognised her youngest granddaughter’s flair for the wild, atypical to her name she supposed, Wylder was a cut between a minx and a fairy, her head in the clouds but always game for adventure. She used that wild streak to cloak her heart but was the sweetest child she’d ever had the fortune to be grandmother to. Theirs was a special, special bond. “Like magic!” Wylder used to say and Gaga would agree. It’d been magical watching her grow up into the woman she became, knowing she would have the pleasure of guarding her when she was gone. That was the only way Gaga knew Wylder would accept the finality of her death when it came.
‘Even when I am not here, I will always be your guiding light.
Look for me up in the sky I am the twinkliest star.
And when there are no stars, I am the rain that’ll surely come.
The patter against your windowpane, my laughter,
The whirl of the wild wind, my comfort.
I love you endlessly my darling Wylder,
You are my wildest dream come true.
Meet me in your dreams
Where we’ll run wild and carefree together.’
Those were the words of the poem Gaga made up for her and she would recite it whenever they were together. Now as an adult, it has become Wylder’s séance in a manner of speaking.
Her favourite hotel in Florence at the time was Villa Luccia a Tuscan villa plopped in the city, along the Arno River. It was her place of residence whenever she visited Florence, so much so, the staff knew her schedule and reserved her favourite bedroom for her. One day she got a call from Carlo, the manager, informing her of the hotel’s closure because the owner could no longer run the property. His son and only child, did not want to inherit so he was going to close up and sell the property.
‘I’ll buy it.’ Wylder had said on the phone to the manager.
‘Signoria scussi.’
‘I’d like to buy it.’ She affirmed without any idea what the asking price was, or what the financials were. She knew she could afford it, her trust and inheritance from Gaga’s estate for one, but she is worth a few quid and has revenue from her other properties. Still, it was an impetuous thing to do. Carlo provided her with the address for Signor Angelo, the owner, and Wylder jumped on the next flight from New York to Florence, to see an old man about a house in Florence, turning up unannounced at his home up in the Tuscan Hills.
Of an afternoon, he sold the property to Wylder, below his asking price because he’d known of her over the years, his staff spoke so fondly of her. He knew she would take care of the place he’d built in homage to his wife Luccia with whom he’d run the hotel before her death. Two weeks after the exchange, Wylder got to work with her team of architects and builders. She moved to Florence for six months to oversee every aspect of the project and even then, she thought it might be the one to end her. The layout was restructured and entrenched deeply into its roots, rooms were renovated and the kitchens upgraded. She added a small restaurant and bar on the roof top which was open to the public as well, with views of the Duomo and the Arno from above; it earned a Michelin Star a year after its opening, and is on course to earn a second. In one of the old chapels in the lobby, she opened an Italian cookbook shop that sells cookbooks from every region in Italy. Books were important to her grandmother, they read together and when she cooked Wylder would read to her, so every property of hers will always have a bookshop or library or both. She also celebrated the story of Angelo and Luccia, incorporating foods and products from their farms, which they sold to her, only available at the hotel. It is still managed by Carlo, and he in turn, is head of training for the concierge team. No one is hired in those roles without having gone through Carlo’s rigorous training programme.
And now, here she is, onto the next big adventure on this wild journey of her life, St. Tropez. Everyone expected her next location to be in London or Paris, or even Milan, but Wylder never really trusts herself to do the expected. This one is even more special because her sisters came in on it with her, and she knows why they did that. The cost for this were astronomical for one person, even if the accountants assured her, it was sound investment and projected profit in short order; there aren’t many hotels in St Tropez, in the heart of the old town itself. This is a prime piece of real estate for her portfolio, but a risk is a risk in any projection. It is her most expensive property, no great surprises there, but the fit out would be costly too. After she’d completed the purchase of the building, her sisters surprised her with an investment totalling fifty percent of the renovation costs, they knew Wylder would not accept the money if there wasn’t some contractual agreement between them, so Luella being the lawyer amongst them drew up the flimsiest contract to buy a thirty percent stake in the business giving her a majority of seventy percent when they could easily have gone fifty-one forty-nine. It was a sweetheart deal, on account of being sisters sure, but also the love they have for each other and their unwavering support of her.
They let her run with her ideas, from the whacky to the mad, to the downright impossible which she made possible; Wylder was full of them, and for their part they were there for her, no questions asked not chastisement given. Sisters. They are that. This stands as a testament to their unique kind of love.
‘Good afternoon! Miss Rockson, welcome home for the season. It’s good to see you again.’ The concierge holds out his hand and Wylder takes it in a firm handshake to match his, she remembers him from the interview, firm handshakes are a thing for her, and Santiago does have a good grip of his.
‘Thank you, Santiago, it’s good to see you again as well, and congratulations on getting the job,’
‘It’s an absolute honour. This is a wonderful property.’ Santiago introduces the bellhop that appears with the trolley to collect her luggage, Delroy. Mr Morgan whisks the car away to one of four reserved parking spots to the side of the driveway, one for each sister, a formality since she knows they will not be here as often as she will.
Wylder ascends the stone steps to the hotel, leading to the solid wood and glass double French doors, original to the building, standing open ready to welcome her. As she walks into the lobby, she stops, takes a breath and there it is, that warm feeling laced with a tickle. This place that housed the apartment that held on to their many happy memories as children, the same place they stayed with Gaga over their many summer holidays in the village before it became a private home again for a lovely family… it all comes back to her. She calls her sister in conference on facetime, within two rings they answer and the view that greets them is of the lobby as it flows through to the deep blue sea frolicking against the rocks, lapping waves encapsulates the sound.
‘Oh… Wylde!’ Willow squeals, ‘there it is. I remember.’
‘It feels like coming home.’
‘Oh we all remember. Gosh we used to have such a wonderful time running into the water.’ Luella affirmed, her eyes misting.
‘I cannot believe we are finally opening this weekend.’ Lilou says.
‘Well done, Wylde,’ Willow says, ‘you did the damn thing and no, before you say team effort, you know very well this was not team effort, this is all you. Take the W because we are all aligned to that thought.’ She knows her sister would think otherwise.
‘Stop, its team effort and you know-’
‘No, you stop.’ Luella chides gently, ‘this is all you Wylde, own the moment.’
‘Fully concur.’ Lilou says.
All four sisters gave up their busy lives with their own families and careers, to be there for her, to cuddle this dream of hers, how could she not love them so.
‘When do you guys get here?’
‘Thursday night, count down officially begins. Marcus is giving us the jet which is such a relief.’ Luella says.
‘Because flying commercial is so common.’ Willow teases.
‘You know how I feel about airports, and we’re away for two months I don’t want to bother with checking in luggage.’ Luella has always been a nervous traveller. Just then her desk phone rings. ‘Okay that’s me I am due in a meeting, and I cannot be late for this. I love you lots.’ She disconnects without waiting for a reply.
‘I thought she was going to take the day off to celebrate, but looks like it’s just us-’
‘Nope just you two suckers, my client just arrived at the studio, but I do love you.’
‘Love you too Will.’ Wylder watches as her second sister rings off, ‘you’re leaving me too?’
‘I can stay.’ Lilou, the third sister says sweetly, just like Wylder expects she would. She is the sweetest of them all.
‘Don’t be silly, I will ring you all on another conference tonight.’
‘How are you?’
Wylder knows what her sister is asking, and why she is asking that question… Fox. ‘I’m good.’
‘You sure?’
‘I’m trying to be. My feelings are still all over the place so being here will help.’
‘Okay,’ Lilou sing songs, ‘I’m always here if you want to talk.’
‘Thanks Lou.’ She blows her sister a kiss before ringing off.
Sebastian Fox Rose-Jones, current Formula 1 champion and the only man who may have her heart. It gives a tug the silly thing, but she tucks it away somewhere inside her, where she has been storing the other tugs. At some point she is going to have to address these feelings, but that point is not today when she has a hotel to run and expectations to set. It can keep.