“So none of the young men we encountered during our season gave you hot pants for them?”

“Belinda, your language!”

“I’ve been mingling with Americans. Such fun. So naughty.”

“If you want to know, the young men I have encountered have all been insufferably dull. And from my limited experience of groping and gasping in the backseats of taxies, I think sex must be overrated anyway.”

“Oh, trust me, you’ll like it.” Belinda smiled again. “It is quite delish, with the right man, of course.”

“Anyway, there is no point in talking about it, because I’m not likely to get in much practice, unless it’s with game-keepers like Lady Chatterley. I’m being banished to the country to be lady-in-waiting to an aged relative.”

“They can’t banish you. Don’t go.”

“I can’t stay in London indefinitely. I’ve nothing to live on.”

“Then get a job.”

“Of course I’d love to get a job, but I suspect it won’t be as easy as that. You’ve seen men queueing up for work. Half the world is looking for nonexistent jobs at the moment.”

“Oh, the jobs are there for the right people. You just have to find your niche in life. Find a need and fill it. Look at me. I’m having a whale of a time—nightclubs, all the social life I could wish for, my picture in Vogue.”

“Yes, but you obviously have a talent for dress design. I’ve no idea what I could possibly do. Our schooling equipped us only for marriage. I can speak passable French, play the piano, and I know where to seat an archbishop at table. This hardly makes me employable, does it?”

“Of course it does, darling. All those nouveau riche middle-class snobs will positively snap you up, just to boast about you.”

I stared at her in horror. “But I couldn’t let them know who I really was. It would get back to the palace and I’d be whisked away to marry a prince in Outer Mongolia before I had time to catch my breath.”

“You don’t have to tell them who you are. One look at you and anyone can see you are top drawer. So get out there and have some fun.”

“And earn some money, more to the point.”

“Darling, are you stony broke? What about all the rich relatives?”

“Money comes with strings in my family. If I go as a lady-in-waiting, I’ll obviously get an allowance. If I agree to marry Prince Siegfried, I’m sure they’ll come up with a wonderful trousseau.”

“Prince Siegfried? The one we met at Les Oiseaux? The one we called Fishface?”

“The very same.”

“Darling, how frightful. Of course you couldn’t possibly marry him. Apart from the fact that Romania’s monarchy is in a bit of disarray at the moment. Exile can be remarkably dreary.”

“I’m not sure that I want to marry any prince,” I said. “I’d rather build a career of my own, like you’re doing. I just wish I had some talent.”