Authors: Rhys Bowen
Naughty In Nice (18 page)
I came home to find Queenie waiting up loyally for once.
“My feet are killing me,” I sighed as I flopped onto the bed.
“You can soak them in that little footbath as soon as I remove your smalls. I have been washing them out in it,” Queenie said.
“Footbath?”
“In the bathroom. Ever so handy it is. I was thinking of going down to the seashore tomorrow to see if I could catch some crabs. We could keep ’em in there until they’re wanted.”
With curiosity I followed her into the bathroom. There were my underclothes soaking in the bidet!
“Queenie, that’s not exactly a footbath,” I said.
She looked puzzled. “Then what is it for? It’s not a toilet. It’s too low for a basin.”
“It’s—” I said. “This is France. You figure it out.”
Chapter 16
Villa Marguerite
January 26, 1933
Today I go for a sail on Sir Toby’s yacht and with any luck I
return with the queen’s snuffbox.
January 26, 1933
Today I go for a sail on Sir Toby’s yacht and with any luck I
return with the queen’s snuffbox.
I woke to find Queenie bending over me, a tea tray in her hands.
“I figured it out, miss. It’s for yer bum, ain’t it?”
“Absolutely right, Queenie.” I got up laughing. It was still early and the sea looked like polished pearl with wisps of haze hanging over it. I dressed and went out to walk in the gardens. The air was crisp but not cold. I came out onto a lower lawn area and found I could look down at Sir Toby’s swimming pool. The French doors of his villa were still firmly shut. But even as I watched, one of the doors opened. A young man came out and stood on the terrace. For a moment I thought it was Bobby and he had placated his father after all. But then I saw that this young man was less boyish looking, less English looking, with slicked-back hair and the face of a Romantic poet—a Roman nose and a sallow complexion. He stood outside the French doors, staring out at the swimming pool. For a long while he didn’t move, just standing and staring, then he untied the terry robe he was wearing and let it fall to his feet. I was shocked to see that he had nothing on under that robe. I knew I shouldn’t look, but frankly I was fascinated. I’d never had a chance to observe a naked man at my leisure before. Actually, I’d never had a chance to observe a naked man at all. And this one was rather well built too, like the statue of Michelangelo’s
David
, which I had studied earnestly with my friends on a school trip to Florence.
David
, which I had studied earnestly with my friends on a school trip to Florence.
Then my chance for observation was cut short. There were broad steps at that end of the pool. He stepped onto the top one and stood, ankle-deep in water, looking around for a moment before he dove gracefully into the pool, cutting through the water with strong, effortless strokes. The visit to Sir Toby took on a more appealing aspect—I would be introduced to his guest and express delight that we were next-door neighbors. Maybe he was an Italian count, or another French marquis. Suddenly it seemed I was turning into a man-chasing flirt—quite unlike me. Well, why not? I asked myself. Now that there wasn’t one particular chap in my life, then the more the merrier. And who knows, maybe I’d finally do what was expected of me and marry well.
I made my way back up through the gardens and arrived on the terrace to find a council of war going on at the breakfast table.
“We’ll have to do something,” Vera was saying. “We can’t sit back and leave it to that pompous little twit. He’ll be worse than useless. You’ll have to call your friend in the Sûreté, Coco. Persuade him to come down and take over the case.”
“He can’t just come down and take over, my dear,” Coco said. “I explained that to you last night. He would have to be invited by the police of the region, and that inspector certainly will never allow anyone to step on his extralarge toes.”
“You noticed that too, did you?” Mummy said. “He did have big feet for his size. That’s why I thought it was so funny his name was Lafite.”
They laughed at this. Then Vera grew somber again.
“We will have to start investigating ourselves,” Vera said. “There is no other option. I must recover that necklace or Her Majesty will never forgive me. I’d never forgive myself.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Mummy said. “You kept the wretched jewels in the bank. You brought them to the room under police guard. Who was to know that Georgie was going to tumble off the stage and that someone would be quick thinking enough to snatch them in an instant?”
I started to mention the tacky substance on the sole of my shoe, then shut my mouth again. I wasn’t wholly convinced that Madame Chanel herself had not caused the accident to create a sensation, as she put it.
“It’s a pity my grandfather isn’t closer,” I said. “He’d know what to do.”
“Your grandfather? That fearsome Scottish man with the big beard? I thought he’d been dead for years,” Vera said.
“No, I mean my other grandfather.” Mummy shot me a warning look. She didn’t like revealing her lowly ancestry any more than she liked disclosing that she was old enough to have a grown-up daughter.
I ignored her. “He was a London policeman until he retired. He’s very good at this sort of thing.”
“Well, then”—Vera brightened up—“let’s ask him to come out and help us, shall we?”
“I don’t think he’d come,” I said. “He couldn’t afford the ticket, for one thing.”
“We’d pay for his ticket, of course,” Vera said.
“I still don’t think he’d come. He’s never been abroad. He has a distrust for anything farther away than Southend.”
Vera turned to Mummy. “He’s your father, Claire. You invite him. Tell him how much we need him.”
“And he has had such bad bronchitis, Mummy,” I said, warming to this now. “The climate would be wonderful for him if we can persuade him to come.”
“He wouldn’t come if I asked him,” Mummy said. “You are the apple of his eye. You invite him.”
“And he can stay here?” I said.
“Of course. If he doesn’t mind roughing it. I don’t think he’d want to stay in the house, would he? Not his thing at all. There’s a gardener’s cottage that’s unoccupied at the moment. It never seemed worth having a live-in gardener since I only come here once in a blue moon, and one can always find handy little men when one wants them.”
“A cottage? That’s wonderful.” I found there was a big bubble of happiness inside me at the thought of having Granddad close by. “I’ll send him a telegram, shall I? I’ll tell him we’re in trouble and desperately need him. And we’ve taken care of his journey for him. And it will be so good for his chest to be in this climate.”
“That’s turning into an expensive telegram,” Mummy pointed out.
“I’ll shorten it a bit, then. But I did win money at roulette last night, so I can afford it. Also Jean-Paul taught me a method of winning.”
“This child will have to be watched,” Mummy said. “I have a feeling that once she’s started down the road to ruin, there will be no stopping her.”
“Just like you,” Vera said.
Mummy laughed. “Exactly.”
“If we send him a ticket, all arranged, he’ll feel obliged to come, won’t he?” Vera said. “I’ll see to it when we go into town today.”
“I don’t suppose Granddad will be able to come for a few days, even if he agrees to come at all,” I said. “We should get working on this straight away.”
“What do you suggest we do?” Vera asked.
“Granddad always says ‘start with what you know.’ Somebody knew the jewels were real. Usually at a fashion show one would expect the accessories to be paste, wouldn’t one? So who would have heard that you were borrowing the queen’s jewels?”
“Servants at the palace, but they are all devotedly loyal. And besides, they’d have opportunities to steal a piece anytime they felt like it. So apart from them . . .”
“An employee at the bank,” Mummy suggested. “I presume you told them what you were locking in their vault.”
“I did not,” Vera said. “One does not tell bank employees what one is putting in a vault. Of course I had to tell the local gendarmerie that the jewels were valuable. But the police don’t normally go around stealing things. So apart from them, I really can’t think.”
“Surely Coco publicized the fact that you were going to use the queen’s jewels,” Mummy said. “Wasn’t that part of the appeal of the collection—royal and simple, masculine and feminine?”
“Well, yes,” Coco admitted, looking a trifle uncomfortable. “I may well have spoken about this.” She gave a delightfully Gallic shrug.
“So actually, anyone in that room would have known that royal jewels were going to be worn with the outfits?” Mummy insisted.
“If you put it like that, yes,” Coco agreed.
“So we’re back to square one.” Vera sighed.
“Do you have a guest list of everybody who attended?” I asked.
“We have a list of people to whom invitations were sent,” Coco said.
“And there was a guest book at the door,” Vera added. “But how does that help? I don’t suppose anyone signed in with ‘jewel thief’ next to his name.”
“No, but we can eliminate quite a few people right away. Elderly colonels and their wives. Those old princesses. None of them are likely to have taken a necklace,” I said.
“I don’t know,” Mummy said thoughtfully. “Some of those old Russian princesses are frightfully hard up these days. Perhaps the necklace did fall into that old woman’s cleavage and she decided to say nothing about it.”
“Oh, surely not,” I said. “Princesses have honor drummed down their throats from the day they are born. They’d rather starve than do anything to let the side down.”
“Try starving one day,” Mummy said. “I noticed that the old French princess was rather taken with you, Georgie. You could pay them a visit.”
“What, and search their house while I’m there?”
“No, but you could let them know how terrible Vera and Coco feel about letting the Queen of England down. Play the old honor card. You’ll notice their reactions.”
“I could do that, I suppose,” I said. I paused before saying my thoughts out loud. “The one we should really look into is Bobby Groper.”
“Who is that? A relation of Sir Toby?” Vera asked sharply.
“His son. He was the young man who helped me to my feet and then disappeared.”
“And you found him again? How clever,” Coco said.
“It wasn’t particularly clever,” I said. “We were hiding out in the same alcove.”
“I didn’t know his son was staying at the villa,” Mummy said.
“He’s not. He’s supposed to be up at Oxford, but he’s been sent down in disgrace. He’s sleeping on a friend’s couch and hiding out until he thinks the time is right to tell his father.”
“And just how did he manage to disappear from the room?” Coco asked.
“He claims he was standing next to the door and slipped out behind the gendarme when the latter came in. He says he’s quite good at doing things like that.”
“A slippery young man, then?” Mummy suggested. “And certainly the one with the best opportunity apart from the princess’s cleavage. Again, you’d be the person to deal with him, Georgie. Try out your feminine charms on him and get him to confess all.”
“Golly, you make me sound like Mata Hari,” I said with an embarrassed laugh. “I did half suggest that he took the necklace and he just laughed it off. Never exactly said that he didn’t. And he does have a good motive—his father keeps him short of cash. He has gambling debts, and he’s opportunistic.”
“And he was the only one who actually had his hands on you when he pulled you up,” Coco said.
“Well, the Prince of Wales helped me up too, but he wouldn’t steal his mother’s necklace.”
“Ah, but what about that Mrs. Simpson?” Mummy said venomously. “I wouldn’t put it past her.” Mummy and Mrs. Simpson had developed an instant loathing for each other, which I found amusing.
“Mummy, he has enough money to have an identical piece made for her if she wants it,” I said.
“And the same goes for Jean-Paul,” Coco said. “He was also one of the first on the scene, wasn’t he? But I don’t believe he actually touched you, did he,
ma petite
?”
ma petite
?”
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