I know I haven't written for quite a time. I've been very busy, you must understand, and I'm sure you have been as well. I've sent this by your Paris address though as I last heard, you were in Bombay--I'm sure that has changed since I was told of you. Or was it Saint Petersburg? As you see, I simply can't keep up. It must be so lovely going on adventures as you do--such a wonderful little storybook life. How quaint.
I am sorry to say, I'm writing to you on business that you are permitted to ignore, if you choose. As I am sure you know, the New York Board has been passing new laws restricting the Old Two Hundred's behavior and several of our families are meeting to discuss the ramifications of these laws and how we'll circle them--as you know, we always will.
Of course, I'm requested to invite you. It is technical, really, only something if you're interested in the machinations, the power and the politics, all of which God knows you never were. It's nominally a ball and dinner, which means quite a bit of the Two Hundred formality you so hate. And you always took pride in not being a true Doisneau.
Although, of course, the Coles will be there per usual. James always was your particularly close friend, wasn't he?
Of course I hope you will come (it has been too long) but I fear you won't. Other than the politics, of course, which will probably soar right over you, it will be a lot of Anne Larrabees and Edmonds and I am sure a woman such as yourself won't even begin to fit. You always were too spirited for these things. It's a trait of yours I can't help but respect, in my way.
I've sent this by private mail. Please don't mention the meeting to anyone--though that's merely a tight little formality. Who would you know that could possibly take an interest?
I look forward to hearing from you again.
Olivia Van Der Meer Hayes
in my heart: chilly and displeased