“I’d forgotten you used to call her that, Belinda. That wasn’t very nice, was it?”

“Darling, one was only being honest. Besides, she wasn’t a very nice person, was she?”

“Wasn’t she? I know she was annoying, following us around and wanting to be included in everything. I used to call her Moony Matty, I remember, for the moon face and the way that she drifted around one step behind us all the time.”

“And she was always pestering me to tell her about sex. Utterly clueless. Didn’t even know where babies came from. But don’t you remember, when we did include her, she betrayed our trust and ratted on me to Mademoiselle Amelie. Nearly got me expelled.”

“She did?”

“Yes, that time I climbed out of the window to meet that ski instructor.”

“That was Matty who told Mademoiselle?”

“We were never quite sure, but I always suspected. She had this smug look on her face when I was hauled into Mademoiselle’s study,” Belinda said.

“Well, let’s hope she’s improved by now. She’s bringing in a couturiere from Paris to design our gowns.”

“Oh, God. She’ll look like a bally great meringue in a wedding dress,” Belinda said. “Who is she marrying?”

“Prince Nicholas of Bulgaria, apparently.”

“Poor Prince Nicholas. I’d forgotten she was a princess, but then I suppose a lot of our classmates were some kind of royalty, weren’t they? I was one of the few commoners.”

“You’re an honorable. Hardly a commoner.”

“But not in your league, darling. I say, what a scream—a bridal attendant to Fatty Matty. Let’s hope the other attendants aren’t her size or you’ll be squished to death among them.”

“Belinda, you are awful.” I had to laugh. We broke off as tea was brought in. I watched Florrie serve it efficiently then depart.

“Your maid,” I said, “she doesn’t have a sister, does she?”

“Florrie? I’ve no idea, why?”

“Because I have been instructed by Her Majesty to take my maid with me to Romania. And since I don’t have a maid to take with me, I’m going to have to beg, borrow or steal one from someone else, or hire one from an agency. I don’t suppose you could do without Florrie for a week or so?”

“Absolutely not,” Belinda said. “I nearly starved to death during that fog. If I hadn’t been able to make a run on Harrods’ food hall for pâté and fruit, it would have been the end of me. Besides, if Florrie wouldn’t dare to cross London during a fog, I don’t think she’d have the spunk to make it across the Channel, let alone to Romania.”

“What about when you go abroad?”