And the British pound went a long way, in postwar France.

So she had gone to Paris. She could live quietly there, take some courses, and continue to lead a genteel student life for as long as she wished. Or until something interesting turned up, of course.

After all, she was French really, whoever and whatever her parents were.

Chanel. She was to present herself at 31 rue Cambon, just behind the Ritz Hotel, where the maison de couture had its sublime headquarters. Chanel: of Paris, of Deauville in Normandy, where the racing set gathered, of Biarritz on the Atlantic coast in the south where the rich Spanish liked to holiday. Chanel, who lent her Paris house to Stravinsky, and underwrote the production of The Rite of Spring. Louise couldn’t believe it.

Madame Chanel herself was there, just back from the South of France. Dark-haired, very simply dressed, it seemed to Louise that she exuded an elegant sexuality, and that she had the eyes of a watchful panther.

“So, you are the one Luc Gascon found. Turn around. Walk forward. Turn, and walk back. Tell me about your education and upbringing.”

Louise did so.

“So you speak elegant French and English. That is rare. You could do very well, depending on how you wish to live. How many lovers have you had?”

“None, madame.”

“If you wish to succeed in life, you should do something about that at once. Choose wisely. My lovers made me rich. The rest comes from my talent and hard work. Are you ruthless?”

“I don’t think so.”

“The English bring their children up not to be ruthless. It is all a lie. Those who succeed are just as ruthless as the rest of us. This we call English hypocrisy. Are you a hypocrite?”

“No, madame.”

“Good. Hypocrites soon become boring. That is their punishment. Nobody wants to talk to them. Find a rich lover and become ruthless. The girls will show you how to walk. I shall pay you a little. Maybe more, later, if you are any good.” And with brief instructions to one of her assistants, she waved Louise away.

In the succeeding days, Louise learned how to walk, and much else besides. As to the rich lover, she decided she would have to think about that.

It was a week later that, sitting in the restaurant early in the evening, Luc Gascon saw Louise approaching. He rose politely to greet her, and she accepted his offer of a little food.

“Just a salad.” She smiled. “I am slimming.”

“I have a bottle of Beaune, as you see. A glass can do you no harm.” He poured.

“I came to thank you. I am doing a little modeling for Chanel. You seem to know everyone in Paris, monsieur.”

“Not everyone, mademoiselle.”

“She is paying me. I feel I should owe you a commission. A present at least.”