MY LUNCH WITH A PRINCESS

Princess Jeanne Chantal Alice Clothilde Marie d’Orleans is the tenth child and daughter of the late Prince Henri d’Orleans, the Count of Paris, and his wife Princess Isabelle, nee Orleans-Braganca. Despite the Revolution in 1789, many in France considered him to be the King.

Chantal is a treasured friend of four decades. We met in Ridgewood, New Jersey in the early 1980s when her husband, Baron Francois-Xavier de Sambucy de Sorgue, was transferred by IBM from Paris to the United States. Initially and admittedly, their titles were somewhat intimidating. Do I curtsy? Will we have anything in common? Would three years of high school French enable me to mutter more than “comment ca vas?" 

I quickly learned the answers: no, yes and somewhat.

During our first dinner of many, years ago at Ridgewood Country Club, we laughed and never stopped talking. I felt like we’d grown up together. Granted, Chantal’s English was about as strong as my French (!) so our discussion of children (her three, my two) and the stress of moving to America was a translator’s nightmare and a giggle fest for us. “Ah oui,” I’d say. “Comment?” she’d ask. “Pardon,” I’d answer. Yet somehow, amazingly, we understood each other completely.

Early this week I met Princess Chantal and her husband Francois for lunch in New York City on the upstairs terrace of the fabled Knickerbocker Club. They had flown from France to attend “Leander et Hero” at the Museum of the City of New York, a long-lost opera-ballet the WASHINGTON POST review declared “spectacular” and “over the top.”  

I hadn’t seen mes amis for nearly 10 years. Our last time together was when Mr. Wonderful and I attended their son’s gala wedding at their country estate near Les Baux in Provence. What an event!

Hats were requested to be worn during the ceremony. I recall wearing a VERY large black beribboned chapeau during our entire Air France flight because it didn’t fit in the overhead. I also remember Mr. Wonderful looking around the lavish garden reception, with twinkling lights, hovering waiters and place cards labeled SAR (Son Altesse Royale), and whispering, “We’re the only ones here without a title. We are Counts of No Account!”

During lunch at the Knick, sipping Sancerre while nibbling petite Croque Monsieur sandwiches, Chantal, Francois and I gabbed nonstop, as good friends do. We discussed our kids, our health and travels, plus U.S. and French politics. I also learned more about Chantal’s art work. As a young girl, she had attended the Estienne School in Paris, a renowned art center, and today she is a recognized and admired artiste of knife paintings done with acrylics. (There’s even hushed talk of an exhibit of her work in New York City next year.)

Chantal gave me a packet of her “peintures,” postcard-size renderings of her work. She has a special fondness for painting trees and I needed Francois to translate part of the introduction to her collection: “I wish to share with you my love for trees which, in all the corners of the world and since my early childhood, are keeping my deep secrets and my discrete confidents.” Voila!

I reminded Chantal that I still own and cherish a soup tureen depicting the crest of her relative, King Louis-Philippe. It is part of the collection she made in the 1980s for Tiffany & Co. Truthfully, every time I dip a ladle in the porcelain bowl to serve gazpacho or haddock chowder, I lift my pinky and feel ever so regal.

Over the years, all of us have gained notable friends and met luminaries. I admit that my friendship with Chantal and Francois is one I truly honor and cherish. But I was also a little nervous during my Uber ride to the city from my son’s home in New Jersey. I fretted over my shoes (wrong color!) and outfit (“This blouse is so matronly!”) and my hair (why didn’t I use more spray to keep it kempt). I just didn’t want to look like a member of the “Bert & I” cast.

The minute we met and hugged, then hugged again, all I felt was love and acceptance — the true gift of friendship. And then we started to laugh, and didn’t stop until the last drop of Sancerre was sipped. Vive l’amitie!

Here they are walking in Central Park on the day before our lunch. Francois texted the photo and joked, “This is so you will recognize us!” As if I could ever forget. Chantal’s royal title notwithstanding, to me she is simply and always a dear friend.