“It is called Villa Marguerite,” Vera said. “Out on the Petit Corniche—that’s the headland you see if you face to the east. You’ll need to take a taxicab. It’s too far to walk.”

“The Petit Corniche? Is it anywhere near Sir Toby Groper’s place?”

“My dear, positively on top of him.” Vera laughed. “We look down on his gardens and his swimming pool. Lovely place it is too—private beach and dock. And you should see the size of his yacht. I believe it’s bigger than the Duke of Westminster’s, isn’t it, Coco—and that’s saying something.”

That settled it. If becoming a fashion model was the only way to have a chance to meet Sir Toby, then I’d have to do it, and pray that I didn’t make too big a fool of myself.

I arrived home to find the relatives sitting on deck chairs on the lawn. They looked quite peeved as I approached.

“Where have you been all this time?” Fig demanded.

“I went to have coffee with friends in town,” I said.

“Friends?” Fig demanded. “I didn’t know you had friends here. Did you know she had friends here, Binky?”

I could see her brain working. If she has friends, she can stay with them. That was what she was thinking.

“Actually, people I met on the train,” I said. “One of them is a relative of sorts. Vera Bate Lombardi. Do you know her?”

A look passed between them. “Know of her . . .” Ducky said.

“Isn’t she the Duke of Cambridge’s . . .”

“Yes,” Ducky said firmly.

“And Coco Chanel, the dress designer,” I added.

“Chanel? You know Chanel?” The two women’s faces immediately lit up.

“Yes. I’m going to be modeling for her new collection,” I said breezily. “She’s unveiling it at a big party in a few days’ time.”

“And she wants you to be a model? You, of all people?” Fig looked at me as if she couldn’t believe Chanel could be that desperate.

“I’m exactly the type she wants for her new collection,” I said. “I’m going to her villa this afternoon to try on clothes. I probably won’t be back for dinner, so don’t wait for me.”

Frosty silence.

“We rather hoped you’d be a help with the children, not rushing off every second,” Fig said. Ducky nodded.

“I thought you brought Podge’s nanny with you,” I couldn’t resist saying. “You don’t exactly check up on him too often at home.”

“He comes down to us every teatime, doesn’t he, Binky?” Fig sounded affronted. “Every teatime regularly. And of course we brought Nanny. What we were hoping for was some schooling from you. He needs to learn to read and write.”