Escorting a woman like Elizabeth to a dinner is something everyone really should do at least once in their lives. I had only once glimpsed her properly in her public role, in Biarritz; this was very different. I arrived with a carriage at eight, as required, having spent the afternoon preparing myself in a way which was quite unaccustomed. I was, I believe, perfectly elegant, or as elegant as I can be; dressing up formally has never been my favourite occupation and I am quite prepared to admit that I have no sense of style whatsoever. But I looked decent enough by the end, or so I thought. I seemed to have spent hours brushing my clothes and wrestling with collar studs and cravat. I even had to get the bar owner's wife to come up and help me. Eventually I could take no more; if my cravat was squint, my coat still a little dusty, so be it.
However proud I was of my appearance, my sense of personal presence dimmed to nothing when Elizabeth descended the stairs as I waited to collect her. She was breathtaking, her hair up to reveal her long, white neck, wearing a dress of such beauty that I could not understand how it might have been imagined, let alone made.
I should explain here that she was something of a revolutionary in the matter of dress; fashion she studied as assiduously as a stockbroker studies share prices, or a gambler the form of horses. She was not simply at the height of fashion; dear me no. She defined it; and in so doing created for herself an evanescent power which propelled her to a central role in the workings of society. She was one of those few, and remarkable, people whose choices told other people what they should wear and, in a particular way, determined what beauty and elegance were.
She was, in other words, entirely professional and serious about her business, and made it seem natural, easy and thoughtless.
She always went for grey when she really wanted to impress, and that evening wore silver-grey silk edged with pearls – hundreds of them – cut almost obscenely low, sleeveless with long gloves in a slightly darker shade. The dress itself clung close to her body – outrageously so, considering the fashion of a mere nine months earlier – and it was darted with extraordinarily intricate embroidery. The whole was completed with a tight necklace of alternating pearls and diamonds, five strands thick, a delicate matching tiara and a painted Louis XV fan.
'Madame, you are exquisite,' I said and meant every word.
'I do believe I am,' she said with a smile. 'Shall we go?'
And so we did, to Lapérouse on the Left Bank, a restaurant which was fashionable enough, but not the sort of place that the great courtesans of Paris normally attended. Maxim's was – and still is – the favourite haunt of such people; Lapérouse was for politicians, and literati, with a high seriousness quite at odds with the gaudy frivolity which characterised the demi-monde.
'I didn't realise you knew John Stone,' I said as the carriage trundled along the Champs Elysées; it was already long since dark and I could only dimly see her face, even though I was sitting only a foot away and opposite her.
'You must realise by now that I know a great many people,' she said. 'I met Mr Stone on a train journey. I had taken a trip to Vienna . . .'
'To your family, no doubt?'
'Just so. In fact I was taken there by a shareholder, who then went on to the Far East. So I was alone and Mr Stone was coming back from somewhere in the Balkans. It is a long and dull voyage, unless you are enamoured of trains, so we entertained each other. I found him very civil and gentlemanly.'
I was desperate to ask, but restrained myself.
'No,' she said.
'Pardon?'
'The answer to the question you are trying not to ask.'
'Oh.'
'I like his company, as I do yours. Of my life he knows only what I have told him, which is little. I very much hope it will stay that way.'
'If it does not, it will not be my doing.'
'I know that. Have you made any . . .'
'I know where Simon is living, and plan to visit him shortly,' I said. 'If he is reasonable – that is, if he is conventionally venal – the matter should be wrapped up soon enough.'
'Thank you.' She said it simply, almost proudly, but it meant much to me. Then the coach slowed and we arrived at the restaurant. Elizabeth's whole bearing changed, she transformed herself – transfigured, I might say – before my eyes. She was about to step onto her stage.
