“Here we are. The famous necklace,” she said. She opened the case. It was stunning. Several rows of perfect pearls, interspersed with clusters of diamonds and teardrop diamonds hanging down at intervals. She made me turn around so that she could put it on me. It felt cold and heavy on my neck. I glanced in the mirror and reacted with surprise. The choker made me look haughty and—well—regal. I noticed the other models staring at me, as if they’d noticed who I really was for the first time. Now I knew exactly how Cinderella felt when she put on that glass slipper and it fit!

Coco went past the curtains that had been rigged at the doorway and we heard thunderous applause. We couldn’t hear the words of her speech but then someone hissed in French, “Zou-Zou, ready, go.” And the first model strutted out of the room to be met with a burst of applause. She was followed by Frou-Frou and Nou-Nou and the others. They reappeared and changed with lightning speed before going out again. My turn was coming closer and closer. I found that I couldn’t breathe.

“Allez, allez,” an elderly Frenchwoman hissed in my ear and pushed me toward the doorway. I stepped out and was blinded by spotlights shining on me and the crackling of flashbulbs from press cameras.

“And for my pièce de résistance I give you the royal look, as modeled by a member of England’s ruling family, Lady Georgiana Rannoch,” Chanel announced.

There was a gasp, and then applause. The catwalk stretched into darkness, looking about a mile long. I was conscious of upturned faces, sparkling jewels, champagne glasses. I forced one foot in front of the other, trying to walk as I had been taught. I was going to do this. I had done harder things in my life. I was not going to stumble. Step followed step. I was going to get through it.

Then, suddenly, my foot wouldn’t move, as if something was holding it fast to the floor. I felt myself pitching forward, stumbling, trying to right myself. I might have done so, but I had reached the end of the runway. Flashbulbs went off in my face, blinding me. I vaguely heard gasps of horror as I staggered, then pitched forward into blackness. There were screams and shouts of alarm. I braced myself for the moment when I hit the ground. Instead I landed on something soft. There was a grunt, then an exclamation in what sounded like Russian. I opened my eyes and looked up to find that I really had done what my mother had predicted. I had landed in the lap of a large dowager.

Hands grabbed at me.

“Easy on. You’ll be all right.” A young man took hold of me and yanked me off the poor woman’s lap. She was now protesting loudly in Russian and fanning herself.