“Well!” Gemma says, turning her voice toward the whole group, showing off a bit. “It was opened in 1932, and as you can see, the decor is reminiscent of the Louis XV and Louis XVI style. It was originally owned by a Buenos Aires businessman and socialite who’d spent time in Europe and wanted to bring a bit of that Belle Epoque glamour back to his hometown. This was around the time lots of Europeans were coming to visit, and you know how we Europeans just love to take home with us wherever we go. Oh hello, we’re taking your country away from you, but we’ve brought some lovely tea and some fabulous decor! So yes, one of the original designers was French.”

As Gemma talks, I notice Edward giving his cousin an indulgent little eye roll; Camilla returns a bemused smile. I feel a flash of tender embarrassment for Gemma, who, fortunately, appears oblivious.

“Oh wait until you see the L’Orangerie,” Gemma says as we approach the hostess desk, where she asks in English about seating for seven.

“I am afraid,” the hostess says, her tone frosty, “that there is no room on the patio at the moment, but I can seat you near the window.”

Gemma looks utterly deflated. I realize suddenly that this outing must have been her idea.

Before any of us see what’s happening, Camilla emerges from behind her and is suddenly in a rapid-fire exchange with the hostess, who moments ago looked like she’d bitten into a lemon and is now laughing merrily at something Camilla says. In the next instant, we’re following the hostess to L’Orangerie, where a table has magically appeared. I can instantly appreciate what a shame it would have been to sit elsewhere. Sun streams in from the large windows on all sides of the glass-enclosed atrium. There are potted and hanging plants everywhere, creating a Babylonian enclave.

“Well,” Gemma says as she sits and smooths her napkin on her lap, “thank goodness we have some Porteños with us today!” Anders sits next to her and reaches out to take her hand.

Camilla smiles and shrugs, sitting down between Edward and Gianluca. She talks to both of them in Spanish throughout the tea—which is a succession of sumptuous sandwiches and cakes, along with numerous bottles of champagne. I try not to stare at Gianluca, who is paying far too close attention to Camilla for my taste, with his body turned almost entirely toward her. Do they know each other? They’re talking like old friends, old flames even.