High life
Alpine drama
Taki
Rougemont here is fear and loathing in this beau- tiful, chocolate-box alpine village, with gangs of Swiss vigilantes searching our houses and demanding identity papers. The midnight knock has replaced the avalanche as numero uno threat, with many rich for- eigners seeking refuge in the surrounding churches — as unlikely as this may sound. Until recently, the only two people I knew who regularly attended church services were William F. Buckley and the mother of my children.
The reason for this sudden conversion is the presence in Rougemont of a contract- killing suspect, a fugitive from British jus- tice, one Jonathan Levene, as exposed by an English newspaper last Sunday. To make things worse, Levene is a lawyer, or was one until he did a runner, and this vil- lage is a lawyer-frei zone. 'Are you now or have you ever been a lawyer?' asked a burly burgher at a checkpoint. `Do I look like a lawyer?' answered yours truly trying to be funny. 'Arrest this Schweinhund at once,' came the order, and off I went to the Polizei station. Prince Romanov, as presi- dent of the Eagle club, William Buckley as a very old friend and ex-employer, and Claudia Schiffer, for celebrity effect, all came and gave sworn statements that I was not and never have been a member of the most unscrupulous profession since the Kray boys went to the big house.
Although the fear and loathing is bound to subside, what worries me is the value of Palazzo Taki taking a nosedive. Poor old Maurice Papon, a fugitive from French miscarriage of justice, was caught in Gstaad last autumn and dispatched immediately to La Sante. (Typically French this almost 50 million people collaborated with the Ger- mans, but 60 years later they hunt down a 90-year-old man who served every post-war government.) Now Jonathan Levene, a far nastier piece of work, has been pho- tographed living in Rougemont. What next? Madeleine Albright, or that other war criminal, Tony Blair? There goes the neighbourhood, as they said in Palm Beach when the Kennedys moved in, and how right they were.
The day after the newspaper anted Lev- ene, I sent Antonia, the cook, and Rose- mary, the housekeeper, to talk to the natives. Nobody knew a thing, a very typi- cal Swiss reaction to unpleasant truths, but soon after the rumours began that perhaps Levene was disguised as Taki, or Roger Moore, and some went so far as to suggest that Liz Taylor, yet another denizen, was Levene in drag. When I looked at the pic- ture of Levene he reminded me of a beard- ed Jack Straw, a very horrible thought indeed.
And speaking of horrid thoughts. I don't see why Jorg Haider had to apologise when the scumbag Eric Hobsbawm has not only not apologised, he still openly proclaims communism was a neat sort of system. One hundred million dead, and Hobsbawm the Red is honoured by Blair. If this is kosher, I'm Madeleine Albright. If I were Haider, I'd tell those crooks in the European Com- mission where to get off. And demand that D'Alerna apologise for the millions that died in the gulag. I would also demand that all Blair's ministers contribute a month's salary to Austrian charities as an apology for the outrage that took place in Klagen- furt in 1945. And I would remind the Bel- gians to stick to things they specialise in, like child pornography and child molesta- tion. (The Belgian foreign minister told his countrymen not to spend their ski vacations in Austria. Which is great news for Austria. Belgians tend to be child abusers, never wash and are the worst cheapskates in Don't be too apprehensive. Nowadays, all this is merely a figure of speech.' Europe, and that includes the English. Fur- ther good news is that without Belgian tourists Austrian cases of syphilis, gonor- rhoea and crabs will just about disappear).
But enough of such rubbish. February is the height of the Gstaad season, and Valentino started things off with a great bash up at the Eagle club. There were princes and tycoons and top models and Tim Jefferies. Valentino is a wonderful host, a perfectionist. He flew in an Italian orchestra that played Sixties Italian music. It was simply great. Even the presence of Jonathan Levene in Rougemont, and that of Robin Cook in England, could not spoil my mood. The only worry is that there are three weeks of constant partying ahead. If things get really frantic, I might just take my family and a few friends down the road, to beautiful Kitzbiihel, Austria, and really enjoy myself. Spending money there will be a pleasure.
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