Merci Mademoiselle Flanton

Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.

 

Tonight however, we are far from Cavendish Mews. We are not even in England as we follow Lettice, her fiancée, Sir John Nettleford Hughes, and her widowed future sister-in-law, Clementine (known preferably now by the more cosmopolitan Clemance) Pontefract on their adventures on their visit to Paris.

 

Old enough to be Lettice’s father, wealthy Sir John was until recently still a bachelor, and according to London society gossip intended to remain so, so that he might continue to enjoy his dalliances with a string of pretty chorus girls of Lettice’s age and younger. After an abrupt ending to her understanding with Selwyn Spencely, son and heir to the title Duke of Walmsford, Lettice in a moment of both weakness and resolve, agreed to the proposal of marriage proffered to her by Sir John. More like a business arrangement than a marriage proposal, Sir John offered Lettice the opportunity to enjoy the benefits of his large fortune, be chatelain of all his estates and continue to have her interior design business, under the conditions that she agree to provide him with an heir, and that he be allowed to discreetly carry on his affairs in spite of their marriage vows. He even suggested that Lettice might be afforded the opportunity to have her own extra marital liaisons if she were discreet about them.

 

The trio have travelled to Paris so that Lettice may attend the ‘Exposition Internationale des Arts Décoratifs et Industriels Modernes’* which is highlighting and showcasing the new modern style of architecture and interior design known as Art Deco of which Lettice is an exponent. Now that Lettice has finished her commission for a feature wall at the Essex country retreat of the world famous British concert pianist Sylvia Fordyce, Lettice is moving on to her next project: a series of principal rooms in the Queen Anne’s Gate** home for Dolly Hatchett, the wife of Labour MP for Towers Hamlets*** Charles Hatchett, for whom she has done work before. Mrs. Hatchett wants a series of stylish formal rooms in which to entertain her husband’s and her own influential friends in style and elegance, and has given Lettice carte-blanche to decorate as she sees fit to provide the perfect interior for her. Lettice hopes to beat the vanguard of modernity and be a leader in the promotion of the sleek and uncluttered lines of the new Style Moderne**** which has arisen as a dynamic new movement at the exhibition.

 

Tonight we are in Saint-Germain, the fashionable 6th Arronissement of Paris, which is between the Eiffel Tower, Notre-Dame de Paris***** and the Pantheon****** in the elegantly appointed apartment Madeline Flanton, the glamorous silent film star actress employed at Cinégraphic*******. Madeline is an old flame of Sir John’s, and a woman that judging by his subtle, yet not subtle enough for Lettice not to notice, overtures indicate, still has Sir John in her thrall in spite of the fact that she is much older than his usual conquests. When Lettice had first mentioned that she wanted to visit the Exposition Internationale des Arts Décoratifs et Industriels Modernes in Paris to Sir John and asked him to accompany her, his counter proposal involved him attending the exhibition in the mornings, before slipping away and meeting up with Madeline Flanton in the afternoon. Determined not to lose face over this idwea, Lettice suggested that perhaps she could meet Mademoiselle Flanton as well. Rather than balk at the idea, as she had in her heart-of-hearts hoped he might, Sir John warmed quickly to Lettice’s idea, suggesting that if they both went to Mademoiselle Flanton’s apartment for cocktails, the Parisian media wouldn’t question Sir John visiting her, and any whiff of scandal would thus be avoided. He suggested that after a few polite social cocktails with Mademoiselle Flanton, she and Sir John could escort Lettice out via the back entrance to her apartment into a waiting taxi to return her to the hotel that she, Sir John and Clemance have arranged to stay at, leaving Sir John to spend the rest of the night with Mademoiselle Flanton.

 

Thus, we find ourselves in Madeline Flanton’s very smart and select Parisian apartment. Built in a round tower, the flat has a large and spacious central salon, tastefully decorated in the uncluttered Art Deco style Lettice so appreciates, off which are a series of rooms, including a small kitchen which is the domain of her distinguished and unflappable maître d'hôtel********, who is the equivalent of an English butler, an intimate dining room, Mademoiselle Flanton’s boudoir, dressing room and a bathroom. The main salon has large French doors opening up onto a balcony, from which can be seen the Eiffel Tower and is decorated with elegant furnishings and hung with fashionably geometric patterned wallpaper. Overhead a chandelier shimmers and sparkles, its light adding to the diffused golden light of lamps around the room. From a mirror topped demilune table********* overseen by a portrait of the mistress of the house in a thick gilded frame, Madeline Flanton’s maître d'hôtel expertly mixes cocktails from a selection of bottles set out on its surface to a small selection of guests, mostly fellow actors, actresses or staff from the Cinégraphic studio who have been invited to join Madeline as she welcomes Lettice to Paris, and reacquaints herself further with Sir John after beginning the task at a pleasant picnic hosted by Clemance a few days ago.

 

“How appropriate that in Paris, you should request a Parisian********** to drink, mademoiselle Chetwynd.” Mademoiselle Flanton laughs as she tosses her peroxided tresses playfully.

 

Lettice smiles and thanks the maître d'hôtel as she accepts the delicate faceted crystal Marie Antoinette glass*********** from him.

 

“I prefer something à la Américaine, myself,” the French actress goes on, as her maître d'hôtel hands her a soixante quinze************ in a tall highball glass. “I have gathered from mon cher Jean, Mademoiselle Chetwynd, that you have had a very fine classical education.”

 

“Yes, Mademoiselle Flanton.” Lettice replies a little stiffly. “My father the Viscount recognised my thirst for knowledge and my aptitude for learning. His younger sister, my Aunt Eglantyne was also well educated, and he wished me to be able to reach my full potential as a young woman, and not settle for a mediocre marriage because I had no other options.”

 

“Were languages part of your education, Mademoiselle Chetwynd?”

 

“Indeed they were, Mademoiselle Flanton. I can speak fluently in German, partially thanks to my Aunt’s Swiss-German household staff, I can read and speak classical Greek, my Italian is passable,” Lettice pauses. “Oh and of course I speak fluent French. Would you prefer to converse in French, Mademoiselle?”

 

Mademoiselle Flanton smiles gratefully, her expertly painted lips turning upwards at the edges. “How perceptive you are, Mademoiselle Chetwynd. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d appreciate it.”

 

“It’s understandable,” Lettice replies, reverting to French immediately with ease. “Speaking one’s native tongue is always easier.”

 

“Oh it isn’t that, Mademoiselle,” Mademoiselle Flanton elucidates with a serious look. “It’s just that I would like you and I to have a little tête a tête without Jean overhearing what we say. Unlike your progressive father, poor Jean’s father, and mother, were really only interested in hunting, and were from all accounts distrustful of all foreigners, so they never learned to speak anything other than English, and Jean is the same as a result.”

 

“Yes they sent his sister to be finished off in Germany, and she does speak French and Greman.”

 

“In their eyes, it made her a more attractive jeune fille à marier*************. Such linguistic qualities are less attractive in the male heir of a rather boorish and terribly English family.” Mademoiselle Flanton smiles with pity at Sir John as he chats politely with another of her animated male guests dressed in black tie. “Shall we?” Mademoiselle Flanton indicates to a high backed red and gold Oriental brocade upholstered sofa, which like everything else in her salon, is smart and select.

 

Clutching her cocktail, Lettice sinks into the soft upholstery, snuggling into a corner of the sofa, whilst her hostess sits at the opposite end, cradling her own cocktail, a thoughtful expression on her face.

 

“So, you are marrying Jean, then.” Mademoiselle Flanton remarks as she stirs her drink with an agate knobbed silver cocktail pick**************.

 

“You know I am Mademoiselle.” Lettice replies, a hint of frustration in her voice.

 

“Are you enjoying your little sojourn to Paris, Mademoiselle Chetwynd? How did you find the Exposition internationale des arts décoratifs et industriels modernes? I believe you were there this morning.”

 

“I was. It was very interesting, and has given me many wonderful new ideas that I can use in my interior designs for my newest client. However, Mademoiselle Flanton,” Lettice says stiffly with a sigh. “What is this little tête a tête you wish to have, about? It’s not to discuss the Exposition internationale des arts décoratifs et industriels modernes, surely?

 

The French woman doesn’t speak for a moment, continuing to stir her cocktail thoughtfully, not engaging Lettice’s bright blue eyes with her own dark one. Finally she breaks her silence. “You know Jean asked me to marry him once, Mademoiselle Chetwynd.”

 

Lettice’s eyes grow wide in surprise, and her cocktail remains held midway to her lips where she was about to take a sip of it. “No, Mademoiselle Flanton, I didn’t know.” Lettice replies in shock.

 

“Oh yes!” the French actress chuckles. “It was all foolish youthful impetuousness of course. Jean and I met, probably before you were born. Back then, there were no moving pictures, and I certainly wasn’t an actress, at least of that sort.” She adds wistfully.

 

“Yes, John told me that he met you when you were an actress at the Follies Bergère***************.”

 

Mademoiselle Flanton snorts derisively. “If you can call it that. Jean and I were introduced at the Palais de Glace**************** in 1893 by my then lover: a fatal mistake for him, as it spelled the end of our little romantic liaison.” When Lettice doesn’t attempt a reply, she takes a deep draught her cocktail and winces as the feeling and taste of strong alcohol hits her in a wave. “I hate to use the word love, which is a term I think best reserved for the world of the moving picture screen.” She thinks for a moment as she considers how best to describe she and Sir John’s relationship in those early days. “We were besotted with one another, and in his impetuousness he asked me to be his wife two years later. He lowered himself on one knee in a café one night and held up a pretty velvet lined box containing a sparkling diamond ring from Maison Chaumet*****************.”

 

“But you turned him down?” Lettice ventures.

 

“I did, Mademoiselle.”

 

“Why, Mademoiselle? John is a wealthy and influential man.”

 

“I know, Mademoiselle Chetwynd, and he was handsome then.” She looks fondly over at Sir John, her eyes sparkling. “He his handsome still, but perhaps more dignified as an older man. When he was young, oh,” She sighs deeply. “He was so very, very handsome and dashing! And as I said, we were besotted with one another.”

 

“It seems that perhaps there is still an element of that in John now, if not both of you, judging by your flirtations at Clemance’s picnic in the Tuileries******************.”

 

“Oh,” Mademoiselle Flanton mutters. “You noticed that did you?”

 

“You are perhaps not as discreet as you think, Mademoiselle.” Lettice opines flatly.

 

The French actress offers no apology to Lettice, and after another sip of her cocktail, she simply goes on with her story. “I could near have married Jean. We were both too young then, and besides, his parents would never have accepted me. I am French, so a foreigner to begin with, I was dancer at the Follies Bergère, I have no father and my mother was a laundress, so all in all, hardly a dignified or ideal match for the eldest son of such a noble and wealthy family. Besides, even then, Jean had a wandering eye, and wandering hands. I knew he was never going to change his ways, even if I married him. Perhaps,” She considers. “He might have been enamoured enough for a little while to be devoted to me, but it didn’t take him long to claim a new conquest when he returned to England.” She takes another mouthful of her cocktail, gulping loudly. “And that, Mademoiselle Chetwynd is why I wanted to have this little tête a tête with you.”

 

Lettice skins back in her seat with an exasperated sigh. “Surely, you aren’t going to try and talk me out of this marriage to Sir John as well, Mademoiselle?” she asks peevishly. “I have plenty of people back home in London trying to dissuade me.”

 

“Not at all, Mademoiselle Chetwynd.” the Frenchwoman replies, holding up her elegant and heavily bejewelled hands, the golden banded backs of her rings gleaming in the electric lamps illuminating the room. “You are free to do what you wish, and Jean has told me that you are already appraised of his la bougeotte*******************.”

 

“Yes, I go into this marriage fully appraised, Mademoiselle Flanton. John has been very forthright and honest about that facet of his life, and I know he won’t stop his liaisons.”

 

“Well, if that is so, then I am puzzled Mademoiselle Chetwynd. What benefits can you possibly reap from such a match?”

 

“That’s very forthright of you, Mademoiselle!” Lettice gasps, surprised at being asked the question outright, her face flushing with embarrassment.

 

Not apologising again for her behaviour, the French actress simply says, “We French are known for our directness, Mademoiselle.” She smiles at Lettice, a look of impatience subtlety changing the features of her face as she awaits a reply.

 

“Our engagement is complex. John doesn’t want jealousy in his relationships. He certainly doesn’t want a jealous wife. He told me from the start that he has no intention of desisting from his dalliances, and that if I said yes to his proposal, I must accept him on those terms. In return I will be allowed freedoms a married woman like Lady Nettleford-Hughes would not usually receive in British society. I can continue to run my own business, which most husbands would never countenance from their wives, taking her working as a slight towards them as the main financial support and head of the family. If a husband cannot provide for his wife, the British male upper-class ego is usually wounded.”

 

“And you would not have received the same courtesy through Monsieur Spencely, the Duke of Walmsford’s son?” Mademoiselle Flanton queries with her head cocked to the side, engaging Lettice’s gaze intently.

 

Lettice gasps at the mention of Selwyn Spencely’s name, the colour quickly draining from her face as quickly as it had flushed it.

 

“What do you know, Mademoiselle?” Lettice asks hostilely.

 

“When Jean told me that he was coming to Paris with his pretty new fiancée, a woman I never thought would, or could exist, he told me that your understanding with Monsieur Spencely came to an abrupt end, and that you took up the proposal of marriage Jean had made to you in passing some weeks before.”

 

“Then you don’t need an explanation from me, Mademoiselle.” Lettice says hotly. “That is the truth of the matter. Selwyn Spencely and I did have an understanding, but it is over now.”

 

“Jean tells me that le Duchesse de Walmsford sent her son off to the Dark Continent******************* with some kind of promise that he wasn’t to contact you, but when he came back, he could marry you if he still loved you.”

 

“That’s right, Mademoiselle. John has appraised you of the crux of Lady Zinnia’s demands. She gave Selwyn an ultimatum after he made his intentions regarding our relationship clear. She made a pact with Selwyn: if he went away for a year, a year during which he agreed neither to see, nor correspond with me, if he came back to England and didn’t feel the same way about me as he did when he left, he agreed that he would marry a woman that Lady Zinnia deemed suitable. If however, he still felt the same way about me when he returned, she agreed that she would concede and will allow Selwyn to marry me.”

 

“And he came back and broke your understanding?”

 

Lettice sighs. “Not exactly. Whilst he was in Durban on his enforced year of exile, he met the daughter and heiress of a Kenyan diamond mine owner, and they became engaged.”

 

Mademoiselle Flanton notices the pain not only in Lettice’s voice, but in her face as it twists and contorts as she shares the details of the sad story. “I’m sorry, Mademoiselle Chetwynd.” she murmurs quietly. “That I am making you relive this most awful situation.”

 

“It was a rather bloody********************* situation.” Lettice replies, reverting to English in her pain.

 

“Bloody?” the French woman queries. “I’m sorry Mademoiselle Chetwynd? I do not understand.”

 

“Oh!” Lettice replies before returning to speaking French. “Beastly. A horrible situation! To be confronted about his engagement like that.”

 

“And who told you about Monsieur Spencely’s engagement, Mademoiselle Chetwynd?” Mademoiselle Flanton asks kindly.

 

“I don’t see what business that is of yours, Mademoiselle.” Lettice retorts in shock.

 

“Please pardon the intrusion,” Mademoiselle Flanton says in a conciliatory way, looking kindly at Lettice with her warm eyes. “I mean no disrespect. The only reason why I ask,” She looks down at her now drained cocktail glass which she fumbles and plays with in her hands as she holds it in her lap. “And I have a confession to make.”

 

“A confession, Mademoiselle Flanton?”

 

“Oui. Jean, he… he did tell me what transpired – a slightly abridged version of your tale, but enough of it to know – and I asked my secretary, Louise,” She nods in the direction of a pretty brunette with stylishly marcelled waves********************** and translucent skin dressed in a smart beaded chartreuse satin evening frock, chatting with a redheaded gentleman in black tie wearing tortoiseshell rimmed spectacles. “To find out more about Monsieur Spencely and Mademoiselle Avendale’s engagement.”

 

“Why?” Lettice asks in shocked surprise.

 

“Well, when Jean became engaged to you, and it was announced in the British papers, I saw your photograph.” She pauses. “I get some of your London papers, you see,” she adds by way of explanation. “I like to keep up my practice of English, reading, writing and speech, because I have been contracted out by Cinégraphic to British film companies, like your Gainsborough Studios*********************** in London. So, I looked in the social pages to see who it was that had snared my unattainable Jean. When I read how well connected you are, and saw how pretty you are, I was intrigued to know what this Mademoiselle Avendale was like since she stole Monsieur Spencely from you.”

 

Lettice blushes at the French woman’s compliments about her looks and connections.

 

“And I can’t say I could find out very much about her.”

 

“Well, there wouldn’t be anything reported about her in the British papers. This all took place in Durban. I was shown photographs of Miss Avendale and Selwyn together from the Durban newspapers, Mademoiselle Flanton.”

 

“Again, I ask you, by whom, Mademoiselle Chetwynd?” Mademoiselle Flanton urges. “Who showed them to you?”

 

“Well, Selwyn’s mother, Lady Zinnia.” Lettice admits.

 

“Ahh.” Mademoiselle Flanton says knowingly, her expertly plucked and shaped eyebrows arch high over her eyes.

 

“Lady Zinnia summoned me to her Park Lane mansion.” Lettice goes on. “She showed me a whole cache of articles. It announced they were engaged.”

 

“Did they, Mademoiselle?” the actress asks, looking Lettice directly in the eye. “Did they really say that?”

 

“Yes, they did.”

 

Lettice casts her mind back to that horrible day when she arrived at Lady Zinnia’s palatial Park Lane mansion and was shown into her grand white drawing room where every surface was covered in exquisite and expensive antiques and objets d'art. She remembers Lady Zinnia’s haughty and cruel spectre: the thin streak of red on her lips, the pale powder on her cheeks, the single streak of silvery grey through her waved, almost raven black hair, the piercing stare from her cold and mirthless eyes. Lettice recalls the pink cardigan of Lady Zinnia’s secretary as she handed her mistress a buff envelope, but she cannot recall her name. She can picture Lady Zinnia opening the folder and presenting a selection of articles showing a smiling Selwyn with Kitty Avendale at dances, riding together and in fancy dress to Lettice, a smug smile on her face. She recalls the word engaged printed beneath some of them. After that, her memory becomes very blurred and unreliable, and to this day, Lettice still does not know how she managed to get the short distance between Park Lane and her home at Cavendish Mews.

 

“Yes…” Lettice falters. “They did. They did.”

 

“You see, from what Louise has gleaned, this Kitty Avendale only arrived in Durban last year after Monsieur Spencely did. No-one had ever heard of her before. For the heiress to a diamond mine, that seems a little odd, don’t you think, Mademoiselle Chetwynd?”

 

“Perhaps her father the Australian only recently made his fortune.” Lettice offers in explanation.

 

“There is no mention of Mr. Avendale anywhere at all. The closest Louise could find was an Australian jockey called Dickie Avendale who was banned from racing horses in Durban after some kind of scandal involving race fixing************************, when he deliberately lost the Durban Handicap*************************, and it was found that he was paid a great deal of money for not winning riding one of the favourites in the race. And try as she might, to date Louise has found no announcement of the engagement of Mademoiselle Avendale and Monsiuer Spencely, in either the Durban, or the London papers. There are reports of Monsieur Spencely choosing to stay on in Durban to see a few of his architectural projects through to fruition, but there is nothing about his engagement. Not one printed word. Indeed, coincidentally, Mademoiselle Avendale seems to disappear from the newspapers in Durban altogether after the announcement of your engagement to Jean being published in The Times in London. Don’t you think that a little strange too? Perhaps more than a little odd?”

 

Lettice feels a curdling in her stomach as she listens to the French actress speak, all the while trying to recall the exact wording printed underneath the photographs of Selwyn and Kitty Avendale. It’s so hard. Her mind is addled; her heart is racing. Her breathing is becoming shallow and more laboured.

 

“No, I distinctly remember ‘Mr. Selwyn Spencely and Miss Kitty Avendale, engaged’ on the bottom of one photograph.” Lettice says, remembering now.

 

“What was in the rest of the article, Mademoiselle Chetwynd? Do you remember?” Mademoiselle Flanton asks.

 

“I… I…” Lettice stammers. She tried to recall the articles. As far as she can recall, she only saw the photographs of Selwyn and Kitty with the caption for the photo beneath it. “I’m sure there was another caption that mentioned Kitty’s father being a diamond mine owner.”

 

“Yes, but what about the rest of the article, Mademoiselle Chetwynd?” Mademoiselle Flanton persists. “What did it say?”

 

“I… I… I don’t think there was any more of the article.” Lettice shakes her head. “No. There were just the photographs from the newspapers and the caption below.”

 

“So, no articles then?”

 

“No, but that’s hardly unusual in the society pages of a newspaper. Usually there are only two or three lines captioning it.”

 

“But you only saw the first lines?”

 

“I did.” Lettice begins to feel nauseous. She hasn’t felt this ill since that afternoon at Lady Zinnia’s Park Lane mansion.

 

“So, please correct me if I am wrong, Mademoiselle Chetwynd, but from what you are telling me, the information you received came directly from the woman who did not want you to marry her son, and all you have been shown are a selection of social page photographs with what may possibly be only part of a caption on it.” When Lettice nods shallowly, her face riddled with guilt, the French woman continues. “Then if I were you, I would return home post haste and do a bit of your own research.”

 

“Why mademoiselle Flanton?”

 

“Well, the fact that the engagement hasn’t been announced in the London papers strikes me as particularly odd, Mademoiselle Chetwynd. The son of a Duke, and such a fine match! Le Duchesse would surely announce it with pride! Could it be that you were fed lies, or only a half-truth by le Duchesse de Walmsford? I would not trust her to tell you the whole truth.”

 

Lettice doesn’t answer immediately, as bile rises and roils in her stomach. When she does finally speak it is to ask her hostess the direction to bathroom. Once inside the bright pink tiled room with its frieze of black and white alternate tiles, Lettice locks the door behind her and barely makes it to the toilet before she throws up the selection of savories and oysters that her hostess has been feeding her guests throughout the soirée into the bowl. She retches, and retches until there is nothing left to vomit, thinking all the while of what Mademoiselle Flanton has revealed to her, and she wonders whether what she says is true. Lettice doesn’t read the list of engagements in The Times. It could be there, and Mademoiselle Flanton’s secretary, Louise, may simply have missed it. As she sits down in a crumpled heap of bespangled midnight blue************************** satin next to the toilet bowl that matches its pink surroundings, kohl*************************** stained tears streaming down her flushed cheeks, she ponders the French actress’ other suggestion. Could she have been lied to? Would Lady Zinnia stoop that low to claw her son away from Lettice? Feeling the flutter of heartbeats in her chest, Lettice knows the answer to that. She must go home, to London, and as quickly as possible to investigate Lady Zinna’s claims more thoroughly for herself.

 

Scrambling up off the floor, Lettice shakily walks the few paces to the pink vanity and looks in horror at her smeared face and red eyes reflected in the mirror. Turning on the taps, she washes her face, leaving Kohl, rouge and lipstick traces on the luxuriantly fluffy white towel, but she doesn’t care. She carefully withdraws her lipstick and eyeshadow cases from her small black and silver beaded reticule**************************** and reapplies just enough makeup to avoid raised eyebrows from John, her hostess or any of the other guests.

 

Taking a few deep and calming breaths, she unlocks the door and walks back out into Mademosielle Flanton’s central salon and walks with as much composure as she can muster, up to Sir John who is still in the midst of the small coterie of actors, actresses and film making guests.

 

“John dear,” she interrupts him as he talks about the London Stock Exchange’s latest results with a father bookish looking man in black tie with slicked down dark hair that is parted sharply and precisely down the middle.

 

He turns and looks at his fiancée, his eyes widening a little with concern as he sees her rather wan face. “Are you alright, Lettice my dear?”

 

“John, I think I might just take myself back to hotel, if you don’t mind.”

 

Sir John leans down and whispers in her ear, “But it isn’t time yet, Lettice my dear.”, thinking this is all part of the ruse that he and Lettice have agreed to that they will arrive together at Madeline Flanton’s, but then Lettice will discreetly slip away through the back entrance of the apartment into a waiting taxi, allowing him to remain with Mademoiselle Flanton and spend the evening with her, rekindling their former liaison.

 

“No, John,” Lettice whispers back. “I genuinely do feel ill. I think I’d like to go back to the hotel now, please. If you could get Mademoiselle Flanton to have her butler flag me a taxi, I’d be most grateful.” She squeezes his arm. “I’ll leave you here.”

 

“Will you be alright, my dear?” Sir John asks as concern clouds his face. “I can come back to the hotel with you.”

 

“No. No.” she assures him with a dismissive wave. “I’m sure it is probably just something that I had for luncheon disagreeing with me. I will only go home to sleep. I think that’s what I require. I don’t wish to spoil your plans. You stay here and enjoy yourself.”

 

A short while later, her fiancée and her hostess escort Lettice into a waiting taxi, flagged by Mademoiselle Flanton’s maître d'hôtel.

 

“Bon chance, mon cher Mademoiselle Chetwynd.” Mademoiselle Flanton whispers in Lettice’s ear.

 

“Merci, Mademoiselle Flanton.” Lettice replies quickly in a returned whisper, before the maître d'hôtel closes the door and instructs the driver of the name of the hotel where Lettice is staying.

 

*International Exhibition of Modern Decorative and Industrial Arts was a specialized exhibition held in Paris, from April the 29th (the day after it was inaugurated in a private ceremony by the President of France) to October the 25th, 1925. It was designed by the French government to highlight the new modern style of architecture, interior decoration, furniture, glass, jewellery and other decorative arts in Europe and throughout the world. Many ideas of the international avant-garde in the fields of architecture and applied arts were presented for the first time at the exposition. The event took place between the esplanade of Les Invalides and the entrances of the Grand Palais and Petit Palais, and on both banks of the Seine. There were fifteen thousand exhibitors from twenty different countries, and it was visited by sixteen million people during its seven-month run. The modern style presented at the exposition later became known as “Art Deco”, after the exposition's name.

 

**Queen Anne’s Gate is a street in Westminster, London. Many of the buildings are Grade I listed, known for their Queen Anne architecture. Simon Bradley and Nikolaus Pevsner described the Gate’s early Eighteenth Century houses as “the best of their kind in London.” The street’s proximity to the Palace of Westminster made it a popular residential area for politicians.

 

***The London constituency of Tower Hamlets includes such areas and historic towns as (roughly from west to east) Spitalfields, Whitechapel, Bethnal Green, Wapping, Shadwell, Mile End, Stepney, Limehouse, Old Ford, Bow, Bromley, Poplar, and the Isle of Dogs (with Millwall, the West India Docks, and Cubitt Town), making it a majority working class constituency in 1925 when this story is set. Tower Hamlets included some of the worst slums and societal issues of inequality and poverty in England at that time.

 

****"Style Moderne," often used interchangeably with "Streamline Moderne" or "Art Moderne," is a design style that emerged in the 1930s, characterized by aerodynamic forms, horizontal lines, and smooth, rounded surfaces, often inspired by transportation and industrial design. It represents a streamlined, less ornate version of Art Deco, emphasizing functionality and sleekness. It was first shown at the Paris International Exhibition of Modern Decorative and Industrial Arts of 1925.

 

*****Notre-Dame de Paris, often referred to simply as Notre-Dame, is a medieval Catholic cathedral on the Île de la Cité, in the 4th Arrondissement of Paris. It is the cathedral church of the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Paris.

 

******The Paris Pantheon is a neoclassical monument in the city's Latin Quarter, originally commissioned as a church but now serving as a secular mausoleum for prominent French citizens. Built between 1758 and 1790 by architect Jacques-Germain Soufflot, it holds the tombs of figures like Voltaire, Marie Curie, Victor Hugo, and Alexandre Dumas. Following the French Revolution, the building was repurposed to honour national heroes, a role it continues to hold today.

 

*******Cinégraphic was a French film production company founded by director Marcel L'Herbier in the 1920s. It was established following a disagreement between L'Herbier and the Gaumont Company, a major film distributor, over the film "Don Juan et Faust". Cinégraphic was involved in the production of several films, including "Don Juan et Faust" itself. Cinégraphic focused on more experimental and artistic films.

 

********The maître d'hôtel title is usually associated head waiter, host, waiter captain, or maître d' manages the public part, or "front of the house", of a formal restaurant. However, it is also the term used to describe the English equivalent of a butler. The position of "butler" in a household was comparable to the English role, but with different terminology. The French term maître d'hôtel referred to the senior servant in charge of a household. The duties of a domestic maître d'hôtel included overseeing other servants, managing finances, and ensuring the smooth running of the home.

 

*********A demilune table is a console table or accent table with a half-moon or semi-circular top, designed to sit flush against a wall. The name "demilune" is French for "half-moon" and refers to the table's defining curved shape. These tables are often slender and feature a flat back, making them a practical choice for entryways, hallways, or tight spaces where a traditional rectangular table would be cumbersome.

 

**********The Parisian cocktail dates from the 1920s and consists of one third French Vermouth, one third Crème de Cassis and one third gin, shaken well and strained into wide cocktail glass. It falls into a category of drinks that often feature French ingredients or have Parisian connections. Several notable cocktails have gained recognition for their ties to Paris or French culture.

 

***********A "Marie Antoinette glass" typically refers to a champagne coupe, a shallow, bowl-shaped glass with a short stem. While the shape has been linked to Marie Antoinette's breast in popular culture, historical records debunk this claim. The coupe was popular during Marie Antoinette's reign due to the sweeter champagne produced at the time, and its shape was also favoured for its ability to dip cakes in the beverage.

 

************A soixante quinze, more commonly known as a French 75 is a cocktail made from gin, champagne, lemon juice, and sugar. It is also called a 75 cocktail, or in French simply known as a soixante quinze. The drink dates to World War I, when in 1915 an early form was created at the New York Bar in Paris — later Harry's New York Bar — by barman Harry MacElhone.

 

*************A jeune fille à marier was a marriageable young woman, the French term used in fashionable circles and the upper-classes of Edwardian society before the Second World War.

 

**************A cocktail pick is a small, often pointed utensil, typically made of stainless steel or bamboo, used to skewer and hold garnishes like olives, cherries, or fruit for cocktails and appetisers. These reusable picks elevate drink presentation, secure ingredients, and offer a more convenient and stylish alternative to simply dropping garnishes into a drink. They also come in various designs and sizes to match different glasses and events.

 

***************The Follies Bergère is a cabaret music hall in Paris, France. Located at 32 Rue Richer in the 9th Arrondissement, the Folies Bergère was built as an opera house by the architect Plumeret. It opened in May 1869 as the Folies Trévise, with light entertainment including operettas, comic opera, popular songs, and gymnastics. It became the Folies Bergère in September 1872, named after nearby Rue Bergère. The house was at the height of its fame and popularity from the 1890s Belle Époque through the 1920s. Revues featured extravagant costumes, sets and effects, and often nude women. In 1926, Josephine Baker, an African-American expatriate singer, dancer and entertainer, caused a sensation at the Folies Bergère by dancing in a costume consisting of a skirt made of a string of artificial bananas and little else. The institution is still in business, and is still a strong symbol of French and Parisian life.

 

****************The Palais de Glace was a prominent ice-skating rink located on the Champs-Élysées in Paris during the Belle Époque era. Designed by architect Gabriel Davioud, it was known as the “Rotonde du Panorama National” before being converted into the “Palais de Glace” in 1893. The building later became "”he Palace of Nero” during the Universal Exhibition of 1900.

 

*****************Maison Chaumet's history began in Paris in 1780 with jeweller Marie-Étienne Nitot, who became a favourite of Empress Joséphine. The business grew under his successors, eventually being named Chaumet by Joseph Chaumet in the late Nineteenth Century and moving to its iconic Place Vendôme address in 1907. The 1890s saw the continuation of the Maison's legacy, embodying elegance and high-craftsmanship in a period of significant history for the brand. The workshop of the Maison was a hub of activity, with fourteen artisans under the direction of their foreman, continuing the tradition of exquisite jewellery-making. The firm, which still operates from this location, was acquired by the LVMH luxury group in 1999 and continues to pass down its high jewellery expertise through generations of artisans.

 

******************The Tuileries Garden is a public garden between the Louvre and the Place de la Concorde in the first arrondissement of Paris. Created by Catherine de' Medici as the garden of the Tuileries Palace in 1564, it was opened to the public in 1667 and became a public park after the French Revolution. Since the Nineteenth Century, it has been a place for Parisians to celebrate, meet, stroll and relax.

 

 

*******************The French term “la bougeotte” means restlessness, with a need to move. Although usually used to refer to travel, it can also be used when someone has a desire to seek alternatives elsewhere in their lives and move on from current situations.

 

********************"The Dark Continent" is an outdated term historically used to refer to Africa, particularly Sub-Saharan Africa, due to its perceived mystique and lack of exploration by Europeans in the Nineteenth Century.

 

*********************The old fashioned British term “looking bloody” was a way of indicating how dour or serious a person or occasion looks.

 

**********************Marcelling is a hair styling technique in which hot curling tongs are used to induce a curl into the hair. Its appearance was similar to that of a finger wave but it is created using a different method. Marcelled hair was a popular style for women's hair in the 1920s, often in conjunction with a bob cut. For those women who had longer hair, it was common to tie the hair at the nape of the neck and pin it above the ear with a stylish hair pin or flower. One famous wearer was American entertainer, Josephine Baker.

 

***********************Islington Studios, often known as Gainsborough Studios, were a British film studio located on the south bank of the Regent's Canal, in Poole Street, Hoxton in Shoreditch, London which began operation in 1919. By 1920 they had a two stage studio. It is here that Alfred Hitchcock made his entrée into films.

 

************************We usually think of match or race fixing as a modern day thing, but one of the earliest examples of this sort of match fixing in the modern era occurred in 1898 when Stoke City and Burnley intentionally drew in that year's final "test match" so as to ensure they were both in the First Division the next season. In response, the Football League expanded the divisions to eighteen teams that year, thus permitting the intended victims of the fix (Newcastle United and Blackburn Rovers) to remain in the First Division. The "test match" system was abandoned and replaced with automatic relegation. Match fixing quickly spread to other spots that involved high amounts of gambling, including horse racing.

 

*************************The Durban July Handicap is a South African Thoroughbred horse race held annually on the first Saturday of July since 1897 at Greyville Racecourse in Durban, KwaZulu-Natal. Raced on turf, the Durban July Handicap is open to horses of all ages. It is South Africa's premier horse racing event. When first held in July 1897, the race was at a distance of one mile. The distance was modified several times until 1970 when it was changed to its current eleven furlongs.

 

**************************Midnight blue is darker than navy blue and is generally considered to be the deepest shade of blue, one so dark that it might be mistaken for black. Navy blue is a comparatively lighter hue.

 

***************************Kohl is a cosmetic product, specifically an eyeliner, traditionally made from crushed stibnite (antimony sulfide). Modern formulations often include galena (lead sulfide) or other pigments like charcoal. Kohl is known for its ability to darken the edges of the eyelids, creating a striking, eye-enhancing effect. Kohl has a long history, with ancient Egyptians using it to define their eyes and protect them from the sun and dust, however there was a resurgence in its use in the 1920s and 1930s. In the 1920s, kohl eyeliner was a popular makeup trend, particularly among women embracing the "flapper" aesthetic. It was used to create a dramatic, "smoky eye" look by smudging it onto the lash line and even the inner and outer corners of the eyes. This contrasted with the more demure, natural looks favoured in the pre-war era.

 

****************************A reticule also known as a ridicule or indispensable, was a type of small handbag or purse, typically having a drawstring and decorated with embroidery or beading, similar to a modern evening bag, used mainly from 1795 to before the Great War.

 

This rather elegant scene, showing a corner of Mademoiselle Flanton’s smart and select Parisian flat with its up-to-date Art Deco styling may look real to you, but it is in fact made up entirely of 1:12 size miniatures from my collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The glass topped demilune table in the background is a hand made miniature artisan piece, which sadly is unsigned.

 

The bottles covering Mademoiselle Flanton’s mirrored glass bar surface are all 1:12 of Gordon’s Dry Gin, the bottle of Crème de Menthe, Cinzano, Campari and Martini are also 1:12 artisan miniatures, made of real glass. Most came from Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire, who are well known for the detail and correctness of their labelling, which they pay close attention to. The bottle of Gordon’s Dry Gin came from a specialist stockist in Sydney.

 

Gordon's London Dry Gin was developed by Alexander Gordon, a Londoner of Scots descent. He opened a distillery in the Southwark area in 1769, later moving in 1786 to Clerkenwell. The Special London Dry Gin he developed proved successful, and its recipe remains unchanged to this day. The top markets for Gordon's are (in descending order) the United Kingdom, the United States and Greece. Gordon's has been the United Kingdom’s number one gin since the late Nineteenth century. It is the world's best-selling London dry gin.

 

Crème de menthe (French for "mint cream") is a sweet, mint-flavored alcoholic beverage. Crème de menthe is an ingredient in several cocktails popular in the 1920s, such as the Grasshopper and the Stinger. It is also served as a digestif.

 

Cinzano vermouths date back to 1757 and the Turin herbal shop of two brothers, Giovanni Giacomo and Carlo Stefano Cinzano, who created a new "vermouth rosso" (red vermouth) using "aromatic plants from the Italian Alps in a recipe which is still secret to this day.

 

Campari is an Italian alcoholic liqueur, considered an apéritif. It is obtained from the infusion of herbs and fruit (including chinotto and cascarilla) in alcohol and water. It is a bitters, characterised by its dark red colour.

 

Made from hand blown ruby glass, the soda syphon was made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The clear glass soda syphon and the porcelain ice bucket and tongs was made by M.W. Reutter Porzellanfabrik in Germany, who specialise in making high quality porcelain miniatures. The glass featuring sparkling gin and tonic water with a slice of lemon on it is also a 1:12 miniature which came, along with the silver cocktail shaker behind it from an online stockist of dollhouse miniatures on E-Bay. The other glasses, the silver basket of roses and the portrait of Mademoiselle Flanton come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The Art Deco pattern on the wall behind the demilune table, I created myself.

Done