She was due to rejoin the company at the Ambassador Hotel, in Los Angeles, on the morning of the Los Angeles première of the Sadler’s Wells Ballet, at which time we had arranged a large breakfast press-conference, over which “Madame” was to preside.
“Madame” was due by airplane from Vancouver early the previous evening. Hughes suggested that he should go to the airport to greet her, or that some one should be sent; but I vetoed the idea, remembering that “Madame” did not want a “fuss” made over her. Although the plane was due round about nine o’clock in the evening, midnight had produced no “Madame.” A telephonic check with the Terminal assured us the plane had arrived safely and on time. Hughes and I sat up until three-thirty in the morning waiting, but in vain.
I was greatly disturbed and exercised when, at nine the next morning, she had not put in an appearance. The press-conference was set for ten o’clock, and “Madame” was its most important feature. Moreover, I was concerned for her safety.
A few minutes before the start of the breakfast conference, unperturbed, unruffled, neat and calm as always, “Madame” entered the Ambassador foyer with her customary spirit and swift, sure gait.
We gathered round her. What had happened? Was she all right? Had anything gone wrong?
“Don’t be silly. What could go wrong?”
But what had happened? We pressed for an explanation.
“The strangest thing, my dears,” she said. “When I arrived last night, I looked in my bag for the piece of paper on which I had noted the name of this hotel. I couldn’t find it; nor could I, for the life of me, remember it.”
“What did you do?”
“Do? I went to sleep at the airport.”