“Some of the time. I have a flat in Paris which I vastly prefer, but one is required to go home from time to time.” She waved a dainty hand languidly in a way that Westerners never can. “I must say I enjoy my freedom away from court. Too many restrictions for a woman in Kashmir. Have you ever been there?”

“No, never. This is my first time outside Europe,” I confessed.

“You should come out to India sometime. We do throw absolutely splendid parties. No expense spared.”

“I’ve heard,” I said. “My cousin the Prince of Wales had a marvelous time on his official visit.”

“Yes. He came to stay with us. I happened to be home and helped entertain him. What a charmer. Is he ever going to get married, do you think? He must be nearing forty.”

“Yes, he is. And his parents keep hoping he’ll do the right thing and marry. I’m not so sure.”

“They say he has a certain American woman, don’t they? Quite notorious. On her second husband, or is it her third?”

“I’m not sure. But she certainly doesn’t have the makings of a future queen.”

“Fortunately for Britain she is still married to one of these husbands, so that rules out that impossible situation, doesn’t it? Have you met her?” she asked.

“Yes. I’m not madly keen on her.”

“Neither is anyone except the prince, so one hears. Sharp tongue and rapier wit. I’m going to America to visit old friends, how about you?”

“I’m keeping my mother company,” I said. I saw Mummy give me a warning frown and left it at that. A wine waiter had uncorked a bottle of champagne and was pouring it into our glasses.

“Ah, here are our other table companions now, I believe.” The captain had risen to his feet again. A stocky bear of a middle-aged man was coming toward us. He had a shock of gray hair and wore round wire-rimmed spectacles that gave him an owlish look. Beside him was an incredibly sultry and glamorous woman in silver lamé with a silver fox fur draped carelessly over one shoulder. I recognized her instantly, as did everyone else in the dining salon, I’m sure.

The captain turned to Mummy. “Surely you have already met Mr. Cy Goldman, the impresario of Golden Pictures, and of course the film star Stella Brightwell?”

The man opened his arms in an expansive gesture. “It’s Claire Daniels,” he said in a booming transatlantic voice. “At last, we meet. You don’t know how I’ve been longing for this moment.”

Mummy went pink, looking pleased and flattered as by now the entire dining room was focused on her. “How do you do, Mr. Goldman.” She held out her hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“And of course you know Stella. Everyone knows Stella.”