Coco went ahead across the hall and into the casino. Chandeliers sparkled in the glass dome above. The place was already packed and the panic I always feel in crowds rose up in my throat. It was so elegant and so glittering—quite unlike the dreary world I usually lived in. Coco pushed us through the crowd to find my mother and the champagne. As soon as I spotted her, I saw the reason for her early departure. She was standing with the Marquis de Ronchard, looking up at him with an entranced expression on her face. I had seen that expression before. It might have seemed soft and feminine, but it was really the expression of a tigress on the prowl. Few men could resist my mother.

I felt a stab of annoyance. I didn’t really want the marquis to like me, did I? But it was galling to know that Mummy had instant sex appeal that always seemed to work, while I had inherited none of it. At that moment the marquis turned and saw me. His eyes lit up. “Ah, ma chérie. You have come. I hoped you would. You are putting on the brave face. So English.” He came over to me and took my arm. “Have you recovered from your ordeal? Come, let us find the champagne.” He led me up to the bar and snapped his fingers. Champagne was produced and poured.

“I know we have not been formally introduced and as a British noble lady you obviously find this reprehensible,” he said, not taking his eyes off me, “but we have been thrown together in so many different situations that I feel we already know each other. My first name is Jean-Paul, and yours, I gather, is Georgiana. I hope you will treat me as an old chum.”

I looked up at him and laughed. “I don’t see you as the type of man who would be a chum to anyone, especially not to a woman.”

“Ah, very astute of you. Wise as well as charming,” he said. “You and I will get along famously.”

At this point my mother coughed and held out her empty champagne glass to be refilled.

“And do you know this delightful lady?” Jean-Paul asked me, indicating my mother.

Mummy shot me a look that said quite clearly Do not tell him that I’m your mother. I weighed up whether to ignore the look, then decided she might throw me out of her villa. I certainly didn’t want to return to the Villa Gloriosa.

“Yes, I know her well,” I said.

“She is delightful, is she not? So ravishing. So witty.”

“Isn’t she,” I replied, “and so generous too. She’s treating me to a lovely time at her villa and she’s promised to buy me a Chanel dinner gown.”