achieve—the English rose, but with naughty overtones.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have many naughty overtones,” I said.
“You will, once you are mixing with that crowd on the Riviera,” Vera said. “They are all frightfully naughty.”
“The English?”
“Oh, yes. Worst of the lot. They’re so repressed at home, after all those years in boarding school, that they become positively wanton the moment they hit Calais.” She leaned closer to me. “Your dear departed papa was no saint, I can tell you. Tell her what this collection is all about, Coco.”
“It is the mixing of masculine and feminine,” Coco said,
“of country and town, of day and night. I have borrowed some fine English tweed jackets from my friend the Duke of Westminster.”
“And some stunning pieces of jewelry from my aunt,” Vera added. “She mentioned that I might bump into you, by the way, when I saw her yesterday.”
“Your aunt?” I was confused, not being quite sure which branch of my family she belonged to.
“Queen Mary,” Coco explained.
“Queen Mary is your aunt?”
Vera made a face. “Not officially, of course. My mother was a Baring, of the banking firm, but I think everyone agrees that my real father was the Duke of Cambridge. Prince of Teck.”
“Oh, I see. The queen’s brother.”
“She was married to someone else, of course, but I must say he treated me like a daughter and the family has always acknowledged me.”
While I was digesting this the champagne was poured. I took a sip and remembered another item in the conversation. “You say the queen has lent you some pieces of her jewelry for your fashion show.”
Vera put her fingers to her lips. “I’d rather that news wasn’t broadcast too loudly. I promised her I’d take frightfully good care of them. You know what she’s like about her things.”
“I do. That’s why I’m surprised she lent you jewelry.”
“Ah, I usually get what I want out of people,” she said. “Don’t worry, we’re going to watch it like hawks. Besides, it’s well insured.”
“And these jewels will be worn with the gentlemen’s tweed jackets?” I asked cautiously.
They both laughed. “Of course. Isn’t it divine?” Coco said. “You know, I have always designed a masculine look for women. Like the suit I now wear. It is so freeing and very sexy too. This is the ultimate mixing of male and female. And you shall model it for me.”
“I really don’t think you’d want me,” I said. “I’d be a walking disaster. When I was presented at court I caught my heel in the train of my dress and when I stood up from my curtsy I went flying forward into Their Majesties. In the old days I’d have been hauled off to the Tower.”
They laughed again. The waiter appeared and handed me a menu. I glanced down it, reading one delicious item after another—coquilles St. Jacques, lobster bisque, duck breast, filet steak with truffles. . . . After Fig’s austerity it was like stepping into a dream.
“So where shall you be staying?” Vera asked when I had ordered.
“I’m staying with people called Farquar.”
“Foggy Farquar?” She gave Coco a horrified look. “You can’t do that. You’ll die of boredom.”
“My brother and sister-in-law are already staying with them. My sister-in-law is Ducky Farquar’s sister.”
“God forbid. I hope it doesn’t run in the family.”
“I’m sure it does,” I said gloomily, “whatever it is.”
“I always liked your brother,” Vera said. “Easygoing sort of chap. Good-natured.”
“And my sister-in-law is quite the opposite,” I said.
“When you get too bored, you must come and visit us,” Coco said. “We stay at delightful Villa Marguerite.”
I duly noted the name.
“Coco has a perfectly gorgeous villa of her own but she chooses not to stay there,” Vera said.
“Too far away from Nice, where I am putting on my collection,” Coco said. “Besides, Villa Marguerite is owned by one of my best
“I’m afraid I don’t have many naughty overtones,” I said.
“You will, once you are mixing with that crowd on the Riviera,” Vera said. “They are all frightfully naughty.”
“The English?”
“Oh, yes. Worst of the lot. They’re so repressed at home, after all those years in boarding school, that they become positively wanton the moment they hit Calais.” She leaned closer to me. “Your dear departed papa was no saint, I can tell you. Tell her what this collection is all about, Coco.”
“It is the mixing of masculine and feminine,” Coco said,
“of country and town, of day and night. I have borrowed some fine English tweed jackets from my friend the Duke of Westminster.”
“And some stunning pieces of jewelry from my aunt,” Vera added. “She mentioned that I might bump into you, by the way, when I saw her yesterday.”
“Your aunt?” I was confused, not being quite sure which branch of my family she belonged to.
“Queen Mary,” Coco explained.
“Queen Mary is your aunt?”
Vera made a face. “Not officially, of course. My mother was a Baring, of the banking firm, but I think everyone agrees that my real father was the Duke of Cambridge. Prince of Teck.”
“Oh, I see. The queen’s brother.”
“She was married to someone else, of course, but I must say he treated me like a daughter and the family has always acknowledged me.”
While I was digesting this the champagne was poured. I took a sip and remembered another item in the conversation. “You say the queen has lent you some pieces of her jewelry for your fashion show.”
Vera put her fingers to her lips. “I’d rather that news wasn’t broadcast too loudly. I promised her I’d take frightfully good care of them. You know what she’s like about her things.”
“I do. That’s why I’m surprised she lent you jewelry.”
“Ah, I usually get what I want out of people,” she said. “Don’t worry, we’re going to watch it like hawks. Besides, it’s well insured.”
“And these jewels will be worn with the gentlemen’s tweed jackets?” I asked cautiously.
They both laughed. “Of course. Isn’t it divine?” Coco said. “You know, I have always designed a masculine look for women. Like the suit I now wear. It is so freeing and very sexy too. This is the ultimate mixing of male and female. And you shall model it for me.”
“I really don’t think you’d want me,” I said. “I’d be a walking disaster. When I was presented at court I caught my heel in the train of my dress and when I stood up from my curtsy I went flying forward into Their Majesties. In the old days I’d have been hauled off to the Tower.”
They laughed again. The waiter appeared and handed me a menu. I glanced down it, reading one delicious item after another—coquilles St. Jacques, lobster bisque, duck breast, filet steak with truffles. . . . After Fig’s austerity it was like stepping into a dream.
“So where shall you be staying?” Vera asked when I had ordered.
“I’m staying with people called Farquar.”
“Foggy Farquar?” She gave Coco a horrified look. “You can’t do that. You’ll die of boredom.”
“My brother and sister-in-law are already staying with them. My sister-in-law is Ducky Farquar’s sister.”
“God forbid. I hope it doesn’t run in the family.”
“I’m sure it does,” I said gloomily, “whatever it is.”
“I always liked your brother,” Vera said. “Easygoing sort of chap. Good-natured.”
“And my sister-in-law is quite the opposite,” I said.
“When you get too bored, you must come and visit us,” Coco said. “We stay at delightful Villa Marguerite.”
I duly noted the name.
“Coco has a perfectly gorgeous villa of her own but she chooses not to stay there,” Vera said.
“Too far away from Nice, where I am putting on my collection,” Coco said. “Besides, Villa Marguerite is owned by one of my best
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