“Who will be considerably better in bed than anything she has at the moment,” said a voice in my ear and there was my mother, looking stunning in peacock blue, complete with a ruff of peacock feathers. “And what’s all this nonsense about Binky? If he killed anybody I’d have expected it to be Fig.”

“It’s not funny, Mother. He could be hanged.”

“They don’t hang dukes, darling. He’d be let off by reason of insanity. Everyone knows the upper classes are batty.”

“But he didn’t do it.”

“Of course he didn’t. He’s just not the violent type. He used to throw up every time the hounds got at the fox.”

“What are you doing here anyway?” I asked, for once delighted to see her.

“Max has business connections with Lord Mountjoy. They’re in the armaments game together, and he also hunts with HRH, so here we are,” she said. “Come and meet Max. His English is atrocious, I’m afraid.”

“And you don’t speak German, do you? So how do you manage?”

She laughed, that delightful, infectious laugh that had filled theaters. “My darling, one doesn’t always need to talk.”

She slipped her arm through mine and led me over to a stocky but imposing blond-haired man, who was deep in conversation with the prince and Lord Mountjoy.

“Ya, de vild boar,” we heard him say. “Bang bang.”

“See what I mean?” my mother whispered. “A definite deficiency there. But the sex is heavenly.”

The mention of sex reminded me of a pressing question. “I wonder who is supposed to escort me in to dinner tonight? I do hope it won’t be Lord Mountjoy. I hate having to make polite conversation to older people.”

“I gather he’s escorting that awful American woman,” my mother whispered. “Just as if she were officially with you know who. Poor old Mr. S, whom you’ll notice skulking in the background over there, will be forced to make his own way in at the end of the procession. Damned bad form, I call it.”

“Then it looks as if I’ll be stuck with either Whiffy Featherstonehaugh or Tristram. Hardly scintillating conversation.”

“Poor little Tristram. How’s he holding up?”

“All right, I suppose. He asked me to marry him.”

She laughed. “That’s awful. Almost like incest. You had the same nanny, for God’s sake. Still, I suppose he might be a good catch if poor old Hubie does die.”

“Mother, he’s very sweet, but can you imagine being married to him?”

“Frankly, no. But I thought Lady Mountjoy had said that they’d invited a partner for you.”

At that moment the double doors opened, and the butler stepped into the room and announced, “His Serene Highness, Prince Siegfried of Romania.”