“I’ll tell you what he did,” Wallis said. “You know he’s got these properties out in Cable Beach—”

“Naturally. I happen to live in one of them myself.”

“Do you really? That bungalow of yours?”

“I’m bound to confess, he’s a conscientious landlord.”

“Well. Apparently he built a block of luxury apartments out there, right by the golf course, and whoever rents them is entitled to play on the links and so on, rent a cabana. And do you know what he did, one season?”

“Something just awful, I’ll bet.”

“I don’t know if I’d call it awful. Provoking, that’s what it was. He took I don’t know how many thousands of dollars from a pair of New York Jews and rented them apartments. The entire season! Didn’t even think to ask the members if they’d mind.”

“You don’t say. The nerve.”

“That’s the sort of fellow he is, Lulu, always on the take. Never a thought for anyone else’s comfort. And really, it wasn’t fair to the tenants, either. I’m sure they thought everybody would take them in, you know, invite them to parties and dinners and so on, and—well. There are certain things you can’t buy, you know, no matter how much filthy money you’ve got.”

The duchess waved her fan in smart little movements, as if to drive away her own ire. By now, we’d crested the hill, and I glanced to my right, where you could see Cable Beach and the golf course as this oasis, surrounded by scrub on three sides and ocean on the other.

“You know, you’ve got to hand it to Hitler,” I said. “Wouldn’t it be convenient if we could just—oh—just confiscate all that filthy money for the common good? And then herd them all into camps and ghettos and shoot anybody who objects? I guess we just haven’t got the guts for it.”

Miss Drewes sucked her breath. The duchess snapped her fan shut. The landscape glided past the window. I remember thinking how the cabanas looked like handkerchiefs tossed on the white sand, how serene everything looked on that side of the hill. I heard the sound of metal clinking, paper rustling, the rasp of a cigarette lighter. The limousine slowed into a curve, and the sunlight shifted to enter through the rear window and scorch our necks.

The duchess muttered, “It’s not the same thing, you know.”

A curl of smoke made its way past my face.

“Anyway, most of those stories are made up by the newspapers, which you know are all controlled . . .”

I turned and lifted my eyebrows. The duchess smashed her lips together and turned her head to the side, where Miss Drewes scribbled away at her notes, red-faced.

“I forget, you’re from New York,” Wallis said.