“Come in,” Lady Margaret Adair said as she looked out over the Champs-Elysees. It was early Spring, and the young women walking up and down the street were dressed in the latest Chanel and Dior fashions. From the fourth floor of the hotel, the heads of the women were covered by a variety of hats, but that was no problem.
The door opened, and Lady Margaret turned to see Evelyn wheeling in a trolley. “Your afternoon tea, my lady,” she said as she closed the door to, and wheeled the trolley to where a small table sat between two chairs. The young brunette wore a grey coat dress, with a white apron tied round her waist, and grey shoes with short heels, as well as a lace cap on her head with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. “Shall I pour?”
“Please,” Lady Margaret said as she walked over and sat down, her legs together, her ankles to the side as she had been taught at her finishing school. The daughter of