Oh, it’s heigh-ho and off they go! Queen Elizabeth flew from London to the beautiful little island of Anguilla today to begin an extended tour of the British Caribbean Commonwealths. It was a direct flight, and she landed right at the Anguilla airport. She is a queen remember. She brought Prince Philip along for the ride, but left the troublesome offspring at home where they belong.
Queen Elizabeth and Phil will soak up the sun on about a dozen breezy Caribbean islands, sailing from spot to spot on the Royal Yacht Britannia, which they’ll pick up in Anguilla. Let’s hope they remember to bring along the royal sunscreen.
Ordinarily, Her Majesty and Consort would stay at Government House in Anguilla, but tonight they’ll check in at the spectacular Casablanca Resort where the stunning suites are fit for, yes, a queen. The beachfront resort features miles of tiles painstakingly arranged into dazzling mosaics by Moroccan craftsmen. That’s pretty thrilling right there.
And Casablanca Resort’s acclaimed French chef has been slaving since sun-up on a wondrous menu specially selected by the Queen to include foie gras and locally caught grouper. The meal will be served to the Queen and Philip en suite. Any time they don’t have to mingle it’s a plus.
Philip isn’t in a particularly peachy frame of mind what with the British press taking him and his love life apart every chance they get. Lately, they’ve been hitting on him and Pat Kluge, the sexy former wife of American billionaire John Kluge. Poor Pat has been linked with just about every male in the British royal family except dear little Prince William — who could be next. But it is only too true that when Pat spent a lot of time in England when she and Kluge were married, the Prince of Wales found her terribly toothsome. Not that he did anything about it. He was sort of busy at the time.
President Jimmy Carter slipped quietly into town last weekend to join Rosalynn and their daughter Amy at the Kimberly Suite Hotel where they had been spending the week. Under assumed names, of course, but with their Secret Service agents tagging along. Mother and daughter had been searching uptown and down to find the perfect wedding dress for Amy’s upcoming marriage. Armsful of shopping bags were sent back to the hotel from New York’s finest stores to get Jimmy’s approval, but no word yet on who is designing the big dress. Don’t stay tuned.
The newest residents of Klosters, the Swiss ski resort frequented by snow bunnies, male and female, who don’t care about showing off in St. Moritz or Gstaad, are former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher’s daughter Carol, the travel writer, and her love, Marco Grass. They were living together in London, but now Carol’s bought a place in Klosters and their friends think they hear the tinkle of little bells — as in wedding.
Isabel Allende, the author of “The House of the Spirits,” the bestseller that is now a movie by the same name, wrote the entire book in her kitchen between doing cooking chores. Most writers work by the clock, but Allende works by the candle. When she sits down to write, she lights a candle. After about eight hours, the candle burns out — and so does she. Burning up and burning out in the movie are such superstars and Meryl Streep, Glenn Close, Vanessa Redgrave, Winona Ryder and Jeremy Irons.
Lee (Mrs. Vincente) Minnelli tripped over some earthquake debris in Beverly Hills and was rushed to Cedars Sinai Hospital by Dr. Rex Kennamer, the longtime physician (and sometimes boyfriend) to the stars. Lee, Liza Minnelli‘s stepmother, is now at home resting quietly with 14 stitches in her head. She’s all black and blue and yellow and ready for Halloween, but anyone sturdy enough to survive the London blitz……
Brushing off the icicles and mushing through the snow, a hardy little band of wayfarers struggled into Cafe Mortimer’s the other night, reaching desperately for the mulled wine and clawing at the (mounds of) caviar. They were all guests at a little dinner Brooke Hayward, also known as Mrs. Peter Duchin, and Gene Hovis, the writer and food expert, were giving for Rose Tarlow, the decorative and distinguished interior designer. Got all that?
Everyone was dressed zero degrees-chic, but Bobby Short stole the show in a black and orange knitted cap pulled over his ears that made him look like some kind of a giant bumblebee. He was supposed to be off in Florida in his shorts, but his flight was canceled, so Brooke and Gene let him in. Peter Duchin was supposed to be off in San Francisco leading his orchestra at some grand affair, but his flight was canceled, so Brooke and Gene took him in too. So what’s a grape or two more or less added to the mulled wine?
Brooke looked a treat in a black chenille sweater and black velvet evening trousers. Rose Tarlow wore her mauve Armani suit and a glorious necklace of pre-Columbian rock crystals, given to her for Valentine’s Day by her beau, the architect Richard Meier, who was there with her. Jean Harvey Vanderbilt was in black fox, head to toe. She kept her black fox hat on all evening, and so would you if you looked like that in one.
Anne Slater wore black silk pajamas by Michael Katz under a lushly lined loden coat, Duane Hampton was in burnt orange wool and Chessy Rayner wore midnight blue silk pajamas and her Valentine heart pin. Mario Buatta kept his mad, mad, mad hairpiece in his pocket most of the evening. And so would you if you if you ever saw the thing.
Glenn Bernbaum, the proprietor of Mortimer’s, filled the Cafe with a forest of eucalyptus branches, threw sage green cloths on the tables and centered them with white tulips opened, by Glenn personally, to look like magnolias. Dear Glenn.
Tucking gratefully into the boiled beef with potato pancakes and the chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream were such as Barbara Walters in hundreds of pearls, Florence Grinda of the Paris Grindas, Nan and Stephen Swid, Ellen and Joel Shapiro, Gil Shiva, Mark Hampton, Marion McEvoy of Elle, John Dobkin and Dominick Dunne. Such fun.
Alice Mason put on her white cut velvet Galanos embroidered in white beads and diamantes and got ready to receive Gen. Alexander Haig and his wife Pat at one of her celebrated little dinners. Except Pat Haig got the flu and that was that. Now the Haigs will be guests of honor at Alice’s next dinner. Still the show must go on, Haigs or no Haigs, so Alice’s rooms were chock-a-block with the likes of Betsy and Walter Cronkite, Barbara Walters again, Linda Wachner, Helen Gurley Brown and David Brown, Mario Buatta (without the wild rug), Susan and John Weitz, Frances Scaife, Harriette and Noel Levine, Sibilla Clark, Marilyn Evins, Judy Green, Bob Colacello, Dominick Dunne again, Gaetana and Tom Enders, Bernard Leser, Barbara and Bill Tapert, the model Carmen, Alex Gregory, Johnny Galliher, Howard Slatkin and Ambassador Ahmed Snoussi of Morocco and, from Philadelphia, the apparel mogul Sidney Kimmel and the designer mogulette Rena Rowan. Also Alice’s daughter and son-in-law, Dominique and Luke John Yang, Dominique all sophisticated in Vicky Tiel‘s long black dress and bolero beaded in jet. Pat Haig’s feeling better, thank you.