Every year, on the first Saturday in June, the Count de Matigny sponsored a charity ball for the benefit of the Children's Hospital in Paris. Tickets for the white-tie affair were a thousand dollars apiece, and society's elite flew in from all over the world to attend.
The Château de Matigny, at Cap d'Antibes, was one of the showplaces of France. The carefully manicured grounds were superb, and the château itself dated back to the fifteenth century. On the evening of the fete, the grand ballroom and the petit ballroom were filled with beautifully dressed guests and smartly liveried servants offering endless glasses of champagne. Huge buffet tables were set up, displaying an astonishing array of hors d'oeuvres on Georgian silver platters.
Tracy, looking ravishing in a white lace gown, her hair dressed high and held in place by a diamond tiara, was dancing with her host, Count de Matigny, a widower in his late sixties, small and trim, with pale, delicate features. The benefit ball the count dives each year for the Children's Hospital is a racket. Gunther Hartog had told Tracy. Ten percent of the money goes to the children--- ninety percent goes into his pocket.
"You are a superb dancer, Duchess," the count said.
Tracy smiled. "That's because of my partner."
"How is it that you and I have not met before?"
"I've been living in South America," Tracy explained. "In the jungles, I'm afraid."
"Why on earth!"
"My husband owns a few mines in Brazil."
"Ah. And is your husband here this evening?"
"No. Unfortunately, he had to stay in Brazil and take care of business."
"Unlucky for him. Lucky for me." His arm tightened around her waist. "I look forward to our becoming very good friends."
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