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The vase provided by the medical center was blue-and-white porcelain from the East. Of course, it wasn't an antique, but a modern piece. After filling it with water and arranging the bouquet, Henry carried the flowers back to the hospital room.
Inside, the group was already discussing what to do next.
Robert explained: "Because Audrey will still need chemotherapy and follow-up care, we could transfer to the convalescent ward. But Audrey prefers to go home rather than stay in the hospital."
"Back to Switzerland?" asked Givenchy. "What about the chemotherapy?"
"The process is relatively straightforward. Cedars-Sinai is willing to issue a prescription, and the hospitals in Switzerland can handle the treatments. The only thing is—she'll have to return here to Los Angeles for checkups."
Listening, Givenchy gazed at Audrey, lying weakly on the bed. He said tenderly, "In your condition, even sitting in first class would be exhausting, wouldn't it?"
Audrey Hepburn forced a faint smile. "Then I'll wait a little longer, until I've recovered more, and only then fly back. I hope I can make it home in time for Christmas."
Lost in thought, Givenchy tapped his watch face lightly with one finger. After a moment, he suddenly said: "Leave this to me."
"Leave it to you?" Audrey, Robert, and both sons all wore the same puzzled look.
"I'll arrange for a plane," Givenchy explained. "We can make a few modifications and turn it into a medical flight to take you home. It's possible to negotiate with commercial airlines too, but that's troublesome and bound by their schedules. A private jet will be much simpler."
"Is that really possible?" Only Audrey could ask what others hesitated to.
"Of course. Leave it to me. I know a lady who is as generous-hearted as you. I'm certain she won't hesitate to help. For her, this would be nothing more than a small favor."
"Really? If that's the case, that would be wonderful. But please—don't inconvenience anyone on my account."
"Don't worry," Givenchy said, patting his chest in assurance. Then he added, "But I'll need to borrow someone."
"Borrow someone? Who?"
He patted Henry on the shoulder. "Your little assistant here. You can't expect an old man my age to run around with the energy of youth. I'll need an extra pair of hands."
"Is that alright, Henry?" "Well, what do you say, young man?"
Two elders, the same question—there was no way Henry could refuse. Not when it concerned his boss.
He bowed slightly and said, "I'll do my utmost to serve you, Monsieur Givenchy."
"Excellent. Let's go, then." Givenchy rose, ready to leave.
Of course, he would have loved to stay and talk with his dear friend, but he knew what mattered most now was rest—not chatter. Better to help in a way that truly mattered. So, with Audrey's blessing, he set off briskly, taking Henry with him.
Henry didn't think for a second that the fashion icon needed him to fight battles. His role would surely be the usual: an assistant's duties—errands, tasks, in short, grunt work.
Still, he needed to know the plan before he could help properly. "Sir, who are we going to see? And what should I do?"
"Wait just a moment. First, I'll make a call and find out where she is. Then we'll know where to go."
At the public phone booth, Givenchy placed a few calls. After some inquiries, he came back beaming. "Perfect. They're at the farm these days. We'll go straight there."
"Farm? Will we drive, or fly?"
"In Upperville, Virginia," Givenchy said. "Do you know how to get there? We're headed to Oak Spring Farm."
Henry recalled the maps of the U.S. and the timetables he had memorized. "The fastest route is to fly from LAX to Washington Dulles International. United Airlines has a flight this afternoon. If we leave for the airport now, we'll have plenty of time—and could even stop for lunch.
"From Dulles, it's about an hour's drive to Upperville. If everything goes smoothly, we'd arrive before dinner. Alternatively, we could stay overnight in Upperville and visit them in the morning. That might be more polite. I don't know their personalities, so I'm not sure which option is best."
Givenchy stared at him, stunned. "You're serious?"
Henry spread his hands and smiled silently. Explaining that his memory was like a living Google Maps wouldn't make any sense.
Recovering, Givenchy said: "No, let's stay the night as guests. Dinner at the Mellon estate, cooked by their private chef—that's not something one gets to taste every day."
"Mellon family?" Henry asked. "Is that the Mellon I'm thinking of?"
"Yes," Givenchy replied. "Paul Mellon. Oak Spring Farm is his estate. He also runs the famed Rokeby Stables nearby—home to numerous champion horses.
"But the person we're going to see isn't him. It's his wife, Rachel Lambert Mellon. A renowned horticulturalist, art collector, and philanthropist. The most update n0vels are published on novel※fire.net
"The Lambert family is also among America's most prominent. And Rachel herself was once asked by President Kennedy to redesign the White House Rose Garden."
In the financial world, the hidden power was the Rothschilds.
But in American industry, towering even above Rockefellers, DuPonts, Fords, or Carnegies—above even the late Howard Stark—the Mellons stood supreme.
And Rachel Lowe Lambert was no ordinary heiress. Her father was president of Gillette and founder of Warner-Lambert Pharmaceuticals; her grandfather, Jordan Lambert, invented Listerine mouthwash.
In short, the couple were the embodiment of American old money and blue-blood aristocracy. Rarely in the spotlight, but capable of stirring the currents of power with ease.
Henry asked, bewildered, "Can I really meet people like that?"
"Why not?" Givenchy said with a smile. "You are, after all, representing Audrey Hepburn."
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