‘It’s all Greek to me’

Kent

To this beautiful New England village near the New York–Connecticut border, home to the great designer Oscar de la Renta and his wife Annette, both very old friends of mine. Two even older friends, Reinaldo and Carolina Herrera, were already there, making it a perfect house party. The de la Renta house is a jewel. Beautifully manicured rolling lawns and grand old trees and topiaries amid thick woods remind one of Oxfordshire, but the plumbing works, the furnishings are priceless and the staff impeccable. Lots of dogs, yes, but there are no moths stuck on the windows, no mud or urine stains in the drawing-room, and the showers work; a perfect Anglo-American country house combining the best of the two cultures.

The pièce de résistance was a surprise to me: Nancy Kissinger’s birthday party for her hubby Henry in their nearby house, also in Kent. I had decided to abstain from alcohol in order not to embarrass myself as it was my first visit — and as a guest of a guest to boot — but, alas, I did not keep my word. The wine was too good to miss, and the Kissingers too interesting for yours truly to make polite and sober conversation. I was one away from the birthday boy and addressed him as Dr Kissinger. Greeks of my generation were taught not to be familiar with people we didn’t go to school with, and I followed my grandfather’s advice to the letter. Up until the second bottle of red, that is. That’s when I began to call him Dr Henry. He was very funny about it. ‘We are regressing,’ he told no one in particular. ‘Soon I will be Hank….’

Kissinger told me something very interesting when the subject of Greece came up.