An eye for an eye

Gstaad

It was a balmy June day, Pentecost Sunday, a major holiday in France. The Casino de la Corniche was a chic and popular establishment on a rocky spur between Saint-Eugène and Pointe-Pescade. The beach was the finest in the area, and the young French lieutenant, scion of a ducal family, went for a swim with a friend. After he walked up the hill, with its plush gardens surrounding the casino, where from 4 p.m. to 8 p.m. there was a matinée dansante with couples dancing the foxtrot and the tango. By all accounts it was an idyllic scene. ‘The deep blue of the Mediterranean, the cloudless sky, the honey-coloured sand, the intense light, the gulls circling, the young men preening, and the girls pretending not to notice — it was all there for the rich, and even the poor.’ I’ve lived such a scene many times, with girls walking by giggling and whispering, and casting side glances to see if they were being noticed.