Maman was exigeante--there is no English word-and I had the benefit of
her training. Others may not be so fortunate. If some other young girl,
with two million dollars at stake, finds this of use I shall count
myself justified.
Raised in Marrakech by a French mother and English father, a 17-year-old
girl has learned above all to avoid mauvais ton ("bad taste" loses
something in the translation). One should not ask servants to wait on
one during Ramadan: they must have paid leave while one spends the holy
month abroad. One must play the piano; if staying at Claridge's, one
must regrettably install a Clavinova in the suite, so that the necessary
hours of practice will not be inflicted on fellow guests. One should
cultivate weavers of tweed in the Outer Hebrides but have the cloth made
up in London; one should buy linen in Ireland but have it made up by a
Thai seamstress in Paris (whose genius has been supported by purchase of
suitable premises). All this and much more she has learned, governed by
a parent of ferociously lofty standards. But at 17, during the annual
Ramadan travels, she finds all assumptions overturned. Will she be able
to fend for herself? Will the dictates of good taste suffice when she
must deal, singlehanded, with the sharks of New York?