31It was after dinner in the middle of the week. Although Esmé had been invited to several parties, they weren’t personal invitations made by anyone who actually wanted her company. They were either from people she’d barely met who wanted to be able to brag about a connection with Esmé Ridding, or by companies who wanted publicity for some product or another. And she had far too much of that already in her work for Chanel.
She was hungry, but used to it. Dinner had been salad with only a small scrap of fish on the side, and an even smaller spoonful of sauce on it. Esmé put on a raincoat and a hat she could pull down so as not to be recognized, and went out for a pint of ice cream.
Double brownie chocolate chip, to be exact, from the only place she knew of to get American ice cream, the g
