Dear Mary | 12 July 2008

Q. While staying in Gascony a local grandee, with a formidable brain and a château of great historical importance, was invited to dine. As dinner proceeded one of the two female houseguests seated next to him transmogrified herself from a kind, cosy, close and down-to-earth friend of mine, into a cross between Simone de Beauvoir, Françoise Hardy and some sort of Mata Hari. She poured (recently acquired) intellectual and musical opinions down the poor throat of the Frenchman while the other female friend, who also lives in an important house in England, was able to chat amiably and casually to this rather imposing guest. My hostess speaks perfect French and thus she too was able to exchange Proustian pleasantries. My presence went almost entirely unnoticed. Then suddenly I saw my moment and told the story of my brother finding a carpenter’s letter dated l6l7 in a secret drawer of my late aunt’s important secretaire, currently on display at the V&A.