“The Amazonian jungles are noted for their lack of decent nightlife,” agreed Gwen. “Well, let’s get back to our new client.”

“Have you ever met them? The royals? You were presented at court, weren’t you?”

“Before the old King, unfortunately. All of those fittings for the perfect gown, hours of curtsy lessons with Miss Betty at Vacani, hours of waiting on the actual day because I was in the latter half of the group. I made it as far as the entrance, clutching my Card of Command to be passed by the nine footmen to the Lord Chamberlain, and then His Majesty looked at his watch and announced, ‘Consider the rest of yourselves presented,’ and hurried off to what we later learned was a date with Mrs. Simpson. We were all shuffled downstairs for a perfunctory champagne toast, and that was that. It was all rather shabby, looking back at it.”

“How dreadful! I’m so glad Mummy’s politics and divorce kept me from having to go through all of that. Where did you have your ball?”

“My mother’s parents’ house by Courtfield Gardens. Grandmother had been presented to Queen Victoria, of course, and talked about it incessantly. I danced with several boys, only three of whom were tall enough to look me in the eyes, and those three couldn’t dance for toffee.”

“So that’s not when you met Ronnie.”

“No, that was a year later. Someone else’s season, someone else’s ball. He could look me in the eye, and my God, he could dance!”

“And that was all you needed in a husband,” teased Iris.

“No, but that was all I needed at a ball. It turned out that he had everything else as well.”

“How long did it take you to find that out?”

“The second dance, I think. I didn’t want to rush into things.”

“You fall hard when you fall.”

“I only fell once,” said Gwen. “I don’t know if I’ll ever fall like that again. One only falls that hard when one is young and dewy-eyed. In any case, getting back to your question—I’ve never met our current king and queen, much less Princess Elizabeth. I wouldn’t have, given the difference in our ages. Have you met her?”

“No,” said Iris. “I saw the prince a few times back in the beginnings of the war. He was squiring Osla Benning around back then. Do you know her?”

“I know of her. I didn’t know about her and Philip. What happened?”

“He wanted her, according to rumour, but she ended up marrying someone else. Smart girl—I ran into her once towards the end of the recent festivities. She was doing something hush-hush, I gathered.”

“As were you.”

“Yes, but she wasn’t with my group. She never talked about what she did. I never talked about what I did. It wasn’t an enlightening conversation.”

“And her husband survived the war?”

“Yes, so presumably she’s happy and not some ex-lover trying to botch things for someone courting in the court.”