I tried to rest, but I was too keyed up. Now that I had time to worry, I was picturing all the things that could go wrong at tonight’s affair. I didn’t want to make a spectacle of myself. I must have been insane to have agreed to parade up and down in front of a crowd of rich and famous people. Why on earth had I agreed? Wanting to meet Sir Toby was only half of the explanation. Coco Chanel had such a forceful personality that it was hard to say no to her.

Late that afternoon we took a taxi into town. I found that the event was to take place at the casino on the pier.

“We’ll drop you off at the Negresco while Vera and I go to check that my models have arrived safely from Paris,” Coco said. “Have some tea. We will come for you to rehearse when we are ready.”

I was glad to know that the rest of the collection would be modeled by girls who knew what they were doing, even if they would show me up as a hopeless amateur. As we came into the hotel foyer an elegant, gaunt and obviously well-bred woman was standing at the reception desk, hands on hips.

“That’s the best room you have?” she was asking in strident English.

“Oui, my lady. The hotel is full because of the fashion show tonight. People have come from all over the Riviera.”

“Well, I suppose it will have to do for now,” she said, flinging the end of a mink stole angrily over her shoulder. “And I don’t want my husband to know that I am here, is that clear? He is not to be told.”

“Of course, Lady Groper.”

I observed her with interest. So that was the absent wife. I wondered if Sir Toby had been tipped off to her arrival and thus had thrown out his mistress. If she was staying here, and she came in to take tea, maybe I would have a chance to strike up an acquaintanceship with her and thus gain access to the villa. But I had no time for scheming now. My heart was already thumping with anticipation.

Tea was brought to me in the paneled bar just off the foyer. I sat and sipped, trying to stay calm and observing the elegant people who passed. So many people with so much money. Were we really in a depression? When Vera arrived to collect me, we passed another woman standing at the reception counter, also speaking English but with an American drawl this time.

“Yes, I know I told you we wanted the room for a month,” she snapped, “but I’ve changed my mind. We’ve been invited to go cruising on a friend’s yacht and we’ll be leaving in the morning.” I recognized her instantly, even with her back to me. It was Mrs. Simpson.