hide them in – she mistrusted safes, so she used to drop my diamonds into the cold water jug – no robber would think of looking for them there, she said. I often thought that if Genoux died suddenly I shouldn’t know where to look for the jewels myself – but the topaz I used to carry in my pocket.’ Here Lady Slane’s dreamy reminiscences were cut short as Genoux came in, rustling like a snake in dry leaves, creaking like a saddle, for, until May was out, Genoux would not abandon the layers of brown paper that reinforced her corsets and her combinations against the English climate. ‘Miladi a
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