“The one we import specially from Paris, madam, in the crystal jar with the cherubs on it?”

“That’s the one. You are an angel to remember.” My mother gave her brilliant smile and even the stern-faced Miss Fairweather flushed coyly. I could see how my mother had made so many conquests in her life. As Miss Fairweather went to hunt out the face cream, my mother straightened her hat in the mirror on the counter. “Poor Hubert’s ward must be quite crushed by the news too,” she said, without looking up at me. “He worshipped his guardian too, poor little chap. So if you happen to bump into him, do be kind to him, won’t you? Tristram Hautbois.” (She pronounced it “Hote-boys,” naturally. It is the done thing to anglesize any French name when possible.) “You two were great chums when you were five years old. I remember you stripped off your clothes together and went romping in the fountains. Hubie did laugh.”

At least I had had some illicit adventures with the opposite sex in my life, even if I was too young to remember them.

“Mother, about Granddad,” I said in a low voice, not wanting to miss this opportunity. “He’s not very well. I think you should go and see him—”

“I’d love to, darling, but I’m catching the boat train back to Cologne this afternoon. Max will be pining. Tell him next time we’re over, all right?”

The cream was brought, packaged, and charged to my mother’s account. She was escorted out with much bowing and gushing. I watched her go, feeling that annoyance I always felt after any encounter with my mother—so many things I wanted to say and never a chance to say them. Then the floorwalker and Miss Fairweather returned to the counter, muttering together. She gave me a frosty stare and a sniff as she went around to her side.

“And you, girl, take off that smock,” the floorwalker said.

“Take off my smock?”

“You are dismissed. I heard the tone of voice you used to one of our best customers. And Miss Fairweather claims she even heard you telling the customer to go away. You may have ruined Harrods’s reputation forever. Go now. Turn in your smock and be gone.”

I couldn’t defend myself without revealing myself as a liar and a fraud. I went. My experiment with gainful employment had lasted all of five hours.

It was about two o’clock when I came out into a glorious spring afternoon. The sun was shining, the birds in Kensington Gardens were chirping, and I had four shillings I had earned in my pocket.

I wandered aimlessly through the afternoon crowds, not wanting to go home, not knowing what to do next. It was Saturday and the streets were packed with those who had a half day off work. I’d never get a job in another store now, I decided miserably. I’d probably never get another job anywhere and I’d die of starvation. My feet started hurting me and I felt almost dizzy with hunger. I realized they hadn’t even given me a lunch break. I stopped and looked around me. I didn’t know much about restaurants. People I knew didn’t pay to go out to eat. They ate at home, unless they were invited to dine with a friend or neighbor. When we had been in London for my season we had eaten supper at the various balls. I had been taken to tea at the Ritz by a friend’s aunt, but I could hardly go to the Ritz with four shillings in my pocket. I knew Fortnum and Mason, and the Café Royal, and that was about the extent of my restaurant knowledge.