High life
Mother knows best
Taki
The prettiest girl in London at this moment is Kate Reardon, the 22-year-old fashion editor of Tatler magazine. The rea- son I specify 'at the moment' is because these things tend to change rather sudden- ly. An unfortunate love affair, a bit of anorexia or a drug habit can make Mother Nature's gifts do what the Kuwaiti ruling class did during the Gulf War — disappear.
This is hardly the case with the angelic Kate. She is as innocent of such matters as she is beautiful, and it would take a Vladimir Nabokov to do her justice. The only drug she uses are cigarettes, and to my amazement she doesn't even know how to drive a motor car. When I once described her as a certified enchantress whose charms needed sonneteers working three shifts and overtime to define, her mother went bananas. 'People will think you're sleeping with that ghastly man,' she cried. Her reaction reminded me of my mother's when someone gave me a ciggie, aged nine. Mind you, I like mothers who try and pro- tect their daughters.
When I first spotted Kate last year in Tramp's I tried to pull a fast one. My approach was original if somewhat corny. I told her I was a gay and unsuccessful fash- ion designer who needed just one break. 'Sure, I'll give you a break, Taki,' she said and left the room. After a year she finally consented to have lunch with me on the day before Valentine's. I took her to Harry's Bar, a place filled with great and successful men and gold-digging women. We were the only two there who did not fit the bill. What surprised me about Kate was her naïveté. She was nervous about getting even one Valentine's card.
Oh boy, I thought, does she have a lot to learn about women. And men. It was exact-
ly 30 years to the day since I had met Lee Bouvier Canfield Radziwill in New York, introduced to her by Awocato Agnelli, a man who needs no introduction. Back then, however, Lee was more famous than Gian- ni, her sister being the wife of JFK, the 35th President of the United States. I was of course smitten on the spot, and not only because of Lee's sister. Lee was more beautiful than Jackie, and definitely more flirtatious. Not that I had a chance. Gianni and the then David Somerset, now the Duke of Beaufort, had a cheap laugh at my expense by telling Lee I was the world's most indiscreet man, which may or may not have been true at the time. She did a Kuwait ruling family on me.
Lee was very much married at the time to Stas Radziwill, a Polish nob who treated her as if he had never heard of the equality of the sexes (which he hadn't). I persisted and finally got her to dine with me one night. No sooner had we sat down than she spotted Onassis and, well. . . you know the rest. The next thing I knew Lee and Jackie were cruising the Greek isles on board the Christina, and the mauvaises langues had it that after the 1964 presidential election Lee would marry Onassis and Stas would get hitched to Charlotte Ford, the Detroit heiress whose acquaintance Stas had made just as I was meeting his missus.
The 22nd November 1963 finished all that. Onassis went after bigger fish, which he landed, while Lee and Stas got stuck a bit longer with each other. La Ford got Stavros Niarchos, but not for long. I men- tion these things because Kate reminded me how naïve and sweet young people can be, especially if they have never had the opportunity to see from up close what the great of this world are really like. Stay chez mamma, Kate; the worst thing that can happen is that you won't marry Onassis.
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