She lived in Marrakech down a path at the beautiful Beldi Country Club. Her door was lit by a Moroccan lantern.
Her name was Corinne Bensimon. She was French. An interior designer, a stylist, a boutique owner....
She was a woman who loved to laugh.
Her tunic with its grey on grey embroidery was chic, very chic. (I shop in the Men's Department, she whispered to me.)
In the heat of the Marrakech Summer, she had set the table for 9 in the garden. So lovely.
The wine was poured. A photographer, a publisher, an architect, a doctor, and more raised their glasses.
The flowers so scarlet in a muted cloisonne vase.
An old Moroccan door as a backdrop. A spray of buds.
There was dining and wining and funny stories.
And then it was over. It was far past midnight when we left.
As we made our way back down the path, all we could hear was the rustling of the tall grass.
Can we please live at the Beldi Country Club, too? I asked my husband.
But he just laughed.