There are the lunches on the beach of Torreilles hosted by Paris-Match. The fight for invitations is bitter, with punches thrown and false promises of gratitude, eternal gratitude, so important is it to be seen alongside Jean-François Leroy and festival heads, pretty reporters with tanned asses and cleavage. There are the secret and slightly paranoid business lunches, where lucrative contracts are negotiated with the same bitterness. Finally, there are the lunches at the Casenove where there’s nothing to negotiate because humor, generosity and elegance are non-negotiable.
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