CHAPTER 9

The soirée was a great event; I could with only a touch of hyperbole say that it transformed my own position in France and (at the same time) added an important footnote to the history of the French courtesan. For much of the day I took my ease; reading the newspapers over my morning coffee, going for a walk along the beach, passing a few moments in conversation with recent acquaintances briefly encountered. And then, at lunch, I had my meeting with Wilkinson; we ate together at a restaurant in the town, and had a perfectly pleasant, though entirely useless, conversation. He went on at great length about some rare bird he had spotted in the mountains, and was so excited – apparently it had not been seen since some legendary Spanish ornithologist had recorded it in the 1850s, and Wilkinson believed that he had won undying fame in the world of bird-lovers as a result – that he could talk of little else. I told him about the coal, which pleased him, but he quickly went back to his birds once he had absorbed the information. All he said was 'Good, good. Very pleasing.' He had no requests about anything else the Government needed to know. Apparently I was beginning to be trusted to work that out for myself.

But it was pleasant enough and it saved me a good deal of weary memorandum writing later on, so I was satisfied. I also mentioned my remarkable meeting of the previous day, for I was aching to tell someone and knew that Wilkinson was about the only person in the world it was fair to confide in. He, after all, had been partly responsible for Virginie paying off her debts and launching herself on such a meteoric career. Besides, I was proud of her, and vain about my sagacity in spotting something that Lefevre had entirely overlooked.

'In that case, I must meet her,' he said gaily, and my heart sank. 'A soirée, you say? Excellent, I will come with you.'

'I really don't . . .'

'I have long desired to meet her; I feel as though I know her so very well.'

'I very much doubt she would want to meet you.'

'She does not know of our association, I hope?'

'Of course not.'

'In that case, what possible objection could she have? I would like to thank her, and I think I know the best way to do it. Don't worry, Cort. I'm not going to ruin your mascot. Quite the contrary. She might at some stage prove very useful.'

He would not be dissuaded, and I heartily repented of my sudden garrulousness. I should have kept absolutely silent; but the levels of discretion I was forced to maintain were quite unnatural. I am not by nature a gossip, but all men need someone to talk to. I had no one in France, and the sudden appearance of Wilkinson made me treat him with more trust than he should have received. No harm came of it, but I had, nonetheless, made a mistake which stemmed from youth and naïveté. I never repeated it.

At nine in the evening I picked him up from his boarding house – one which cost less per week than mine cost per night, as he pointed out – and was at least consoled to find him properly dressed. I had feared he would arrive in tweed jacket and hiking boots, but from somewhere or other he had acquired the necessary garb and, although he was not a man who could ever look elegant, he was at least perfectly presentable.

Much to my surprise, he was a brilliant performer, for these sorts of occasions are little more than theatre. Whereas my style was to remain silent and listen, Wilkinson revealed an unsuspectedly ostentatious side to his character. He spoke French loudly and badly, with many gesticulations to make up for his grammatical eccentricities; he told anecdotes of doubtful taste to old dowagers which had them gurgling with pleasure, he leaped from topic to topic with gusto, recounted tales of horses to horsemen, birds to hunters and politics to politicians. He was, in fact, a great success; even more so when he left the party for half an hour, and returned with the Prince of Wales.

I realised later that this was the whole point; this was his thanks. I should have realised that he would have known the Prince, who had arrived only the previous day, and Wilkinson was, I am glad to say, very much more dishonest than I had been. His Highness had not been told anything about who this Countess really was. He would never have been seen in public with such a person had the faintest whiff of scandal been attached to her name, although whom he tolerated in private was, as all the world knows, a very different matter. But he came, and his arrival signalled to the whole of French society that Elizabeth was utterly, totally and completely respectable. Far more than that; she could invite the most famous man in the world to her parties and he would come. Wilkinson's coup de théâtre propelled her into the stratospheres of European society. Whereas before she had managed much by her own efforts, there were some who doubted her credentials. If anyone doubted her after that, it no longer mattered. It was a generous gift, as long as that was what it was.

Even in those days, and even on holiday, the arrival of a figure such as the Prince was a matter of some pomp and ceremony; ordinarily, the fact that he was coming would be talked about for days; the hostess would make sure everyone knew about it, however discreetly the news was put abroad. Guests would wait to see whether the great man would be delivered; coaches and courtiers would drift in first to build up the excitement before he made his entrance. Would the Prince come? Would he be in a good mood? What would he wear? Such was the stuff of conversation as the clocks ticked away. And there was also the equally exciting possibility that he wouldn't show up at all. In which case the standing of the hostess would collapse; the kindly would commiserate, the less kindly would scent blood and all would depend on how she dealt with such a bitter, public disappointment. Would it show? Or would she put on a brave face? All these details were noticed, and their sum total shifted the balance of power in the small but intense world of society.

So the Prince's entry to Elizabeth's soirée was absolutely sensational. There was no warning, no prior gossip or announcements, he just strolled in, greeted her like an old friend, kissed her hand, and then talked to her in a friendly, respectful manner for a full fifteen minutes before circulating around the room, as everyone else there slowly but with deliberation jockeyed for position to be next in line for a royal word. Elizabeth later told me she reckoned it had increased her value by some three-quarters of a million francs, and she probably underestimated.

It also worked wonders for my social standing as well, for after her, I received the most attention. Not much, but I became instantly a person to know, and a person who was known.

'Cort, eh? Times?'

'Yes, Your Highness.'

'Keep it up.'

'I will, sir.'

'Splendid.' And he gave me a huge wink, to indicate that he knew exactly who I was, but which was interpreted by all who saw it as communicating some personal intimacy.

'Charming woman,' he went on, indicating Elizabeth, who was discreetly now leaving him to his business. 'Very charming. Hungarian, isn't she?'

'Yes, I believe so.'

'Hmm.' He looked momentarily confused, as though he was mentally riffling through the Almanach de Gotha but was unable to find the page he sought. 'Lots of people in Hungary.'

'I believe so, sir.'

'Well, well. It's been a pleasure.'

And he strode off to take his leave, kissing Elizabeth's hand with all the fervent attention of the true connoisseur.

She was, I must say, quite brilliant, and handled the situation with perfect balance. There was no shock on her face at all, though it must have been considerable; she did not react with an unwarranted air of familiarity, nor of surprise and delight. She received him with charm, leaving it to others to make of it what they would – did she know him, or not? What was the cause of his arrival? Was she so intimate in his circle that she could regard his arrival as that of just another guest? The shockwaves spread out across Biarritz the next day (Princess Natalie, who had declined the invitation in order to keep Elizabeth in her place, was hard put to keep her grief to herself), then across France and Europe over the coming weeks as the season drew to an end and the temporary inhabitants of the town dispersed to their usual countries, taking with them news of the new star.