{"footnote":"\u003Cp\u003E\u0026lsquo;Chloe is a puzzling figure,\u0026rsquo; Bradford writes, \u0026lsquo;because she has been effectively brought to life by Highsmith\u0026rsquo;s biographers who relied entirely on entries in her diaries for corroborative evidence.\u0026rsquo; Such charges, verging on reckless, can easily become offensive. Bradford is ludicrously unfair here to Wilson and Schenkar \u0026ndash; but also to Highsmith. Not only did she invent Chloe, he seems to think; she may have invented most of the people around her, too. He notes, for example, that Highsmith claimed to have met Chloe, a successful fashion model and closeted married lesbian, at a fancy Manhattan party given by one \u0026lsquo;Angelica de Monocol\u0026rsquo; in 1943. The name Angelica de Monocol, he intones, \u0026lsquo;hinting at Spanish gentry \u0026ndash; sounds like that of an expatriate Manhattan socialite but no record of her existence can be found, except in Highsmith\u0026rsquo;s diary\u0026rsquo;. The implication? She, too, must have been a Pat-fabrication. Except Angelica was no such thing, as one quickly discovers poking around on Google for five minutes. Angelica Welldon \u0026ndash; New York debutante, Vogue cover model, cynosure of Beaton and Horst \u0026ndash; married the painter Richard de Menocal (Highsmith probably misspelled the name in her diary) in 1940, just in time for the big party in 1943. And why shouldn\u0026rsquo;t Angelica, now enjoying life again, have had a friend named Chloe? Chloe and Angelica: it has a nice Woolfian ring to it.\u003C\/p\u003E\n","audio":[],"video":[]}