The Last Hope by Susan Elia MacNeal

Author:Susan Elia MacNeal [MacNeal, Susan Elia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2024-05-21T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

Coco Chanel burst past Burns, who’d opened the door, and sashayed into the room enveloped in a jasmine-scented cloud of No. 5. She was wearing a gray cashmere suit, with ropes of pearls that dangled and swayed as she walked, and draped in a fox fur stole.

Coco can certainly make an entrance, Maggie had to admit. The couturiere smiled coquettishly at the ambassador. “Sam!” she exclaimed. “How lovely to see you again.”

He walked over to kiss her kid-gloved hand. “Enchanté, Coco. Madrid agrees with you.”

“It’s lovely here, thank you.” Chanel nodded to Maggie as she took the seat next to her. Maggie felt the fox’s glass eyes upon her. They were crossed and glittering, looking a bit mad. “Who’d have thought, back in the day, we’d meet in Madrid—and under these circumstances?”

“Indeed.”

“And how’s Lady Maud?”

Hoare smiled. “My wife’s quite tired of Spain, thank you—wants nothing more than to return to England.”

Chanel giggled. “Can you blame her?” she said, fingering her pearls.

“And how’s Paris’s Hôtel Ritz?” There was an edge in his voice, Maggie noted. He was calling her a collaborator.

“C’est la guerre, Sam,” she said with her most Gallic shrug. “Of course, that’s why I’m here. To end the war.”

Maggie could see Hoare struggling to bite his tongue. “I look forward to hearing all you have to say, Coco. Please.” He waved his hand and sat back, folding his arms across his chest. “Begin.”

Chanel waited as his secretary brought in a tea tray, placing it on the table. Maggie nodded to the woman, who left; she herself began to pour the steaming black tea into porcelain cups. It would keep her hands busy and might put Hoare and Chanel at ease.

“I take lemon,” Chanel told her, and Maggie added a glistening yellow slice to the saucer. She handed another cup to the ambassador, then poured one for herself. They all ignored the plum pastries, even though Maggie’s stomach was rumbling. Pregnancy craving or just the sight of nonrationed food? she wondered. Then, Stop it! Focus!

“Sam, I’m reaching out to you as a dear old friend,” Chanel began. “And because I think that together we can achieve something important. Historic, even. Something to bring about the end of this ghastly war—and sooner rather than later.”

Hoare took a sip of tea. “I’m all ears.” He set down his cup and saucer and leaned forward.

Chanel crossed one slender ankle behind the other. “Before we start, I wish to establish that despite living in an occupied country, I’m a Frenchwoman, first and foremost. I watched as France was defeated. It was a cruel blow.”

Maggie watched Hoare’s face carefully. To his credit, the ambassador gave nothing away, except for a small involuntary twitch under one eye.

“The Occupation’s been horrible for France, of course, but there is a silver lining. While conditions haven’t always been…optimal, I do believe the Germans have brought a certain order to my country.” Maggie stifled a snort. “And I’ll say life is tolerable—indeed, more than tolerable—under the Germans.”

If you’re Coco Chanel, live at the Ritz, and dine at Maxim’s, it might seem that way, Maggie thought.

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