and the Hôtel du Cap was small but still the chicest place on the coast.
“Anyway, surprise, surprise, the aging playboy lost his playboy ways when he married the young heiress. Suddenly he didn’t want to party anymore. He wanted to be the country squire in a huge château with liveried servants. He even started thinking about entering politics. I was out of there so fast he never even saw my dust.”
She exploded into laughter at the memory. “Then I went back to the States and bought the Fifth Avenue apartment. I kept the alm Beach place, though I rarely used it. I could never stay in just one place; the grass was always greener somewhere else, and I was always traveling, crossing the oceans on liners and cruise ships and the skies in flying boats and Pan Am Clippers. Those were the days,” she said reminiscently, over dessert and coffee. “Now it’s boring old seven-forty-sevensand Concordes and private Gulfstream jets. So now you see, Bea, why everyone knows me at all the great hotels around the world.
“They greet me with open arms and, I hope, genuine affection, because I’ve known some of them since we were all young, forty years or so. I’m always generous, and they seem to find me amusing, and they put up with my eccentricities and my demanding ways. Like you, dear girl,” she added, giving Bea’s cheek an affectionate pat.
Bea beamed happily at her. “Of course they do,” she said loyally. “And thank you for telling me your life story.”
“There’s a catch to it,” Millie warned, lighting up a Marlboro. “I expect to hear yours in return, one day soon.”
Bea promised, smiling, to do her best to remember it. She thought Millie Renwick was okay. And she understood that her millions had bought her fleeting happiness and a great deal of loneliness, wandering the grand hotels of the world, hoping the warm welcomes of the hotel managers and staff occurred not just because she spent a fortune and tipped well, but because they were genuinely glad to see her.
“It’s probably all due to my father getting killed like that when I was nothing but a kid,” Millie said, suddenly moist-eyed. “I guess I’ve been missing him all my life.
“And talking about the Côte d’Azur has made me nostalgic for the place.” She wiped away her tears and looked at Bea, her eyes sparkling with a sudden idea. “Why not let’s go there tomorrow?”
“But Phyl is coming to Paris in a couple of weeks,” Bea protested.
“And no doubt she’ll be tied up all day and half the night with the shrinks’ conference. She can fly down and join us afterward, at the Hôtel du Cap. They knowme there. They’ll look after me like the prodigal daughter.”
Bea knew by now there was no use arguing. When Millie made up her mind, it stayed made up. The Hôtel du Cap it was. And tomorrow.
12
I t was early June, and the Côte d’Azur was living up to its name: all blue skies, calm azure sea, and brilliant sunshine. As Millie had forecast, the staff at the Hôtel du Cap welcomed her like an old friend. She filled her afternoons contentedly playing bridge with a host of new acquaintances, while Bea lazed by the pool overlooking the Mediterranean and acquired a light golden tan.
Inspecting herself in the mirror a week later, Bea thought she looked different:
like a new woman.
She shook her head to fluff out her hair until it resembled a shaggy copper chrysanthemum. It was long enough now to flop into her eyes and form a little ducktail at the nape of her neck, but she decided she wasn’t going to cut it yet. She laughed, admiring it. She was so glad to have hair she might never cut it again.
While Millie still slumbered in her lavish suite, Bea spent the early mornings wandering through the street markets of Antibes and Nice, admiring the stalls, heady with the scent of roses and lilies and gleaming with morning-fresh peaches and apricots, eggplants, and olives. She joined the chic women browsing through
“Anyway, surprise, surprise, the aging playboy lost his playboy ways when he married the young heiress. Suddenly he didn’t want to party anymore. He wanted to be the country squire in a huge château with liveried servants. He even started thinking about entering politics. I was out of there so fast he never even saw my dust.”
She exploded into laughter at the memory. “Then I went back to the States and bought the Fifth Avenue apartment. I kept the alm Beach place, though I rarely used it. I could never stay in just one place; the grass was always greener somewhere else, and I was always traveling, crossing the oceans on liners and cruise ships and the skies in flying boats and Pan Am Clippers. Those were the days,” she said reminiscently, over dessert and coffee. “Now it’s boring old seven-forty-sevensand Concordes and private Gulfstream jets. So now you see, Bea, why everyone knows me at all the great hotels around the world.
“They greet me with open arms and, I hope, genuine affection, because I’ve known some of them since we were all young, forty years or so. I’m always generous, and they seem to find me amusing, and they put up with my eccentricities and my demanding ways. Like you, dear girl,” she added, giving Bea’s cheek an affectionate pat.
Bea beamed happily at her. “Of course they do,” she said loyally. “And thank you for telling me your life story.”
“There’s a catch to it,” Millie warned, lighting up a Marlboro. “I expect to hear yours in return, one day soon.”
Bea promised, smiling, to do her best to remember it. She thought Millie Renwick was okay. And she understood that her millions had bought her fleeting happiness and a great deal of loneliness, wandering the grand hotels of the world, hoping the warm welcomes of the hotel managers and staff occurred not just because she spent a fortune and tipped well, but because they were genuinely glad to see her.
“It’s probably all due to my father getting killed like that when I was nothing but a kid,” Millie said, suddenly moist-eyed. “I guess I’ve been missing him all my life.
“And talking about the Côte d’Azur has made me nostalgic for the place.” She wiped away her tears and looked at Bea, her eyes sparkling with a sudden idea. “Why not let’s go there tomorrow?”
“But Phyl is coming to Paris in a couple of weeks,” Bea protested.
“And no doubt she’ll be tied up all day and half the night with the shrinks’ conference. She can fly down and join us afterward, at the Hôtel du Cap. They knowme there. They’ll look after me like the prodigal daughter.”
Bea knew by now there was no use arguing. When Millie made up her mind, it stayed made up. The Hôtel du Cap it was. And tomorrow.
12
I t was early June, and the Côte d’Azur was living up to its name: all blue skies, calm azure sea, and brilliant sunshine. As Millie had forecast, the staff at the Hôtel du Cap welcomed her like an old friend. She filled her afternoons contentedly playing bridge with a host of new acquaintances, while Bea lazed by the pool overlooking the Mediterranean and acquired a light golden tan.
Inspecting herself in the mirror a week later, Bea thought she looked different:
like a new woman.
She shook her head to fluff out her hair until it resembled a shaggy copper chrysanthemum. It was long enough now to flop into her eyes and form a little ducktail at the nape of her neck, but she decided she wasn’t going to cut it yet. She laughed, admiring it. She was so glad to have hair she might never cut it again.
While Millie still slumbered in her lavish suite, Bea spent the early mornings wandering through the street markets of Antibes and Nice, admiring the stalls, heady with the scent of roses and lilies and gleaming with morning-fresh peaches and apricots, eggplants, and olives. She joined the chic women browsing through
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