LES AMBASSADORS
5 HAMILTON PLACE
LONDON
http://www.lesambassadeurs.com/contact/
“He married an ice maiden,” said the well-groomed, curly haired middle-aged woman who was pure Manhattan sitting opposite me in a chic NYC bistro.
“Well, you are the opposite of that!” I thought seeing her as explosive, vocal, intelligent and a frightening female. She was talking about her only son.
It sounded like something out of a storybook but I had to think hard of what character she was? Gruella da Ville?
“You have to get your husband very well insured for a couple of million dollars as he wont last long and you regret not doing so” She told me directly like she was saving my life.
“He wont like that” I replied in defense.
She lost interest, turned away, began speaking to another woman behind her and I didn’t blame her.
I was too young and too naïve to catch up to her level and we both knew it but I could tell her son had upset her and probably was the only person in the world who could have done so.
A year later I heard she had died of lung cancer and I thought “what a waste of a good brain.” She wasn’t warm and cozy but she had succeeded in business and had consciously decided against developing into a loveable old fool.
Behind the welcome desk of Les Ambassador Casino sat two ‘ice maidens’.
They weren’t platinum blonds with blue eyes, tall, Nordic with porcelain skin they were just simply cold. Cold eyes that had blinked at a thousand customers none of which they were impressed by or interested in. It was a defensive coldness and one that enabled them to deliver any line needed to clients;
“Your membership has been revoked”
“Your line of credit has run out”
“Please cash in and leave”
“Your wife is here playing inside” And the rest.
They didn’t need to be warm or welcoming this was the best luxurious, impressive, international gambling club, exquisitely decorated in an era of riches.
Silks, brocades, ormolu, rich woods, marbles, chandeliers, thick rugs and a few tropical fish in a large tank by the front door lucky to be there, and lucky to not be on the menu.
“I would wear a glove cleaning that pond water because if it contains septicemia you could get blood poisoning.” I told the young man whose arm was deep inside a murky green aquarium scrubbing at the glass.
“I know, I heard of a fish tuberculosis that’s in the water but I’ve been ok so far,” he answered without looking up.
“Up to you but a cheap glove could save your life. Hello ladies” I looked back over at the ice maidens and flashed them the huge smile they reserved for the high rollers.
“Good afternoon how can we help you?” They mumbled professionally.
“I am here to see chef about the truffles. I should perhaps have used the side door but I don’t know where it is and anyway I’m here now” I smiled again, just because I could.
“Do you want to go around to the side door, I can show you?” One of them volunteered.
“No, not really I am here now; why would I want to reenter? If you could let him know I am here please he’s expecting me”. I was well dressed, clean, and smart and my small black bag was airport hand luggage so showed no sign of what I was carrying.
She lifted the phone, mumbled something and asked me to wait so I sat down on deep cushioned midnight blue velvet sofa facing the fish tank.
Chef arrived with style and panache and greeted with all the warmth an Italian is born with - something we will never learn.
“What joy there is some civilization left in life” I thought following him through huge marble patterned doors down into his basement office in the kitchen.
The spotless kitchen was quiet and clean and unhurried, as they don’t do a set lunch service and it was too early for the big clients to come in, eat, gamble, drink and socialize.
I unzipped the bag, got out the truffles, sniffing each one and we started to talk about Sardinia.
“There are two airports one in the north of the island where all the big boats are. I hire a car and take a trip north which is about 4 hours to explore. You must go there, it’s wonderful, the best food and the weather is perfect.” He went on and I became intrigued.
“I have a wonderful book on Sardinia which I bought 10 years ago but now I promise to make this journey.” I said in earnest.
Meeting charming people makes you want to go and see their homeland as they are like advanced ambassadors.
He walked me back upstairs to the enormous dark rich, glossy, mahogany front door which swung open masterfully on polished secure brass hinges, said a warm Italian goodbye and I went back into the sunlight.
Curzon Street now looked different, better somehow, as if I had taken some of the magic me from this opulent, majestically, unique emporium.
This was why the wealthiest people in the world came back year after year to experience, be part of, validated by a club as exclusive and historical as this.
Back in the outside world those ice maidens behind the desk must have melted into grey meaningless puddles…
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