Memories of Valentine (Nicholas) Lawford
Dear Herry: At a dinner last night I found myself recounting those amazing years I spent knowing Horst and Nicholas in Oyster Bay. There's a Nor'easter battering Manhattan, so things are quiet so I thought I'd see what Professor Google had to say . . . and that's how I found you. I've tried to respond through your website, but I couldn't get past Outlook Explorer, so am sending this GMail to GMail. I had taken a small getaway cottage in Locust Valley and met them at a party given by flower designer Barry Ferguson. "Dear Boy," said Nicholas at some point, "you don't know a soul out here. Come to Sunday lunch tomorrow." And that's how I met Greta Garbo. So began three years or so of many chatty dinners -- sometimes at home, other times at Burt Bachach's and often at a favorite joint called Wall's Wharf in Bayville right on Long Island Sound. I don't recall how many dinners there were, but I'm thinking it was, gulp...