Naughty In Nice (7 page)

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Authors: Rhys Bowen

BOOK: Naughty In Nice
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“Blimey, you’re a sight for sore eyes, love. Come and give your old granddad a kiss.”
I kissed the top of his bald head and pulled up a chair beside him.
“Make us a nice cup of tea, Hettie,” Granddad said. He took my hand and held it tightly. “So how have you been, my love? Not seen you since Christmas. Been keeping all right?”
“Oh, I’m just fine, Granddad. More to the point, how are you?”
“Oh, not too bad. You know every time I get a ruddy cold it goes straight to my blooming chest. But I’m getting over it. Hettie’s taking good care of me.”
“I’m going to go to the south of France,” I said. “I wish I could take you with me. It would do you good to be in a warm climate.”
“South of France?” He gave a throaty chuckle. “Not for me, thanks, love. They eat frogs’ legs and all kinds of funny stuff, don’t they? No, I never did take to France. Not after my boy Jimmy didn’t come back from the Great War. So you go and have a good time, but I’m happier where I am.”
I looked at him and squeezed his hand. “Oh, Granddad, why do things have to be so difficult? If only I had some money I could do more for you.”
“Don’t you worry about it, ducks. I’ve got me a nice snug little house and a garden and Hettie to take care of me. I’m happy as a sandboy.”
“I’m going to write to Mummy,” I said. “She should be doing more for you.”
“I wouldn’t take her money,” Granddad said with a brisk shake of the head. “Not German money. Not from him. Wouldn’t touch it.”
“She does have money of her own, I’m sure.”
“I told you, I’m quite happy here. So you go off to the south of France and don’t give it another thought. How did you manage to wangle that, by the way? Last time I saw you, you said you were stuck for the winter with that brother of yours and his nasty wife.”
“Yes, well, they’ve gone to stay with Fig’s sister on the Riviera, and I’m to follow them in a few days.”
“Oh, they’ve turned generous suddenly, have they?”
I shook my head. “Not on your Nellie, as you would say. Actually, they don’t know I’m coming. I went to see the queen today . . .” I broke off as Mrs. Huggins returned, carrying a tea tray.
“Hear that, Hettie?” Granddad looked up at her. “She went to see the queen. She hobnobs with the queen just like you and me pop down the Queen’s Head Pub.”
“Fancy,” Mrs. Huggins said. “Here’s your tea, then, your ladyship. Let it stew first.”
“Thank you,” I said. “You’re very good to my grandfather.”
“Ah, well, he’s a lovely gentleman. He may not be a toff in your eyes, but he behaves as good as any toff.”
Granddad chuckled as she left.
“She’s trying to get me to the altar, that’s what,” he muttered to me. “But I sort of like things the way they are—her in her house and me in mine. Now, what were you saying about the queen?”
“She’s asked me to do a small task for her on the Riviera, so I’m going out to join the family.”
“So young Queenie will be going abroad again, then.” Mrs. Huggins reappeared.
I opened my mouth but before I could reply she went on, “Won’t that make them proud of her? You should see her mum these days. She don’t half give herself airs. Goes around talking about ‘my daughter what’s employed by royalty.’ And lucky she got that job when she did because things ain’t gone well with that family. What with her dad out of work now and her married sister’s moved back to the house with her three little ones, they’re in a right state there. I think it’s only the thought of Queenie earning her way as a lady’s maid that keeps them all going.”
“I’m not exactly sure I can take her with me,” I said slowly. “If I didn’t, then maybe she could stay with you until I came back?”
Mrs. Huggins looked shocked. “Not take her with you? Why? Ain’t she turning out satisfactory after all?”
“Oh, no, nothing like that,” I lied with a bright smile.
Mrs. Huggins pursed her lips. “It wouldn’t be proper for a lady like you to go traveling without a maid, would it?”
“No, I suppose it wouldn’t,” I had to agree.
“Well, then,” Mrs. Huggins said as if this settled everything. “Come on, drink up that tea before it gets cold.”
 
The Queenie question was settled for me when the tickets were delivered to my door the next day.
Travel arrangements for Lady Georgiana Rannoch and maid
was written on the envelope. I tried not to think of the havoc she might wreak at a French villa.
The next days were chaotic as I sent off the servants and closed up the house. But then the miracle happened and I became one of those people I had so admired, following a porter to my seat on the boat train, bound for the Continent. I wished I had some way of contacting Darcy to let him know I was going abroad. As it was he might arrive at Rannoch House to find it closed up and me nowhere to be found. Really he was the most annoying man—never in one place for more than two seconds and of no fixed address. Why couldn’t he have a club, like Binky, so at least I could leave messages for him? Then I realized he probably liked it that way. He didn’t want to be tied down. I should accept that and try not to include him in my plans for the future. But it wasn’t that easy to put him out of my mind.
I thought about him as the train steamed through grimy London backstreets. Darcy was an opportunist, like Belinda. He was good at crashing parties and securing invitations. Maybe he was already on the Riviera at this moment. My heart beat a little faster.
By the time we arrived at Dover, Queenie had obviously been enjoying herself in the third-class compartment with the other servants.
“I told them other maids that her ladyship and me goes abroad all the time and what’s more we stays in blooming great royal castles. You should have seen their faces. Green with envy they was.”
I thought they were probably just sickened either by the swaying of the train or by Queenie’s inappropriate boasting. “Queenie, a real lady never boasts,” I said. “If you want to become a lady’s maid, you must learn to act with decorum.”
“Who’s he when he’s at home?” she asked. Actually, it was closer to “’Oo’s ’ee when ’ee’s at ’ome?”
“Decorum. It means behave like a lady.”
“Bob’s yer uncle, miss. I won’t do it no more. I promise I’ll act with—decoration.”
“Queenie. It might be helpful if you read some books and improved your speech. Real ladies’ maids are very refined. As refined as their mistresses.”
“I can’t help it if I was born dead common, miss,” she replied.
I sighed. “Go and make sure our luggage gets on the boat and then keep an eye on it until it’s safely carried ashore in France.”
We went on board. The weather had worsened and the crossing was miserable. The ship bucked and rolled and half the passengers lay green and groaning with rugs over their knees or stood vomiting over the railing. One of the only useful things I had learned from my mother at an early age was how to survive a rough sea crossing. One goes straight to the bar, when one comes on board, and orders a brandy ginger ale and a good meal. I did this. I noticed that the ship’s restaurant was deserted and I was one of the few people daring to eat. The only other occupants were an elderly parson and wife and two men sitting close together at the bar. I couldn’t help noticing that one of the men looked very French and was devastatingly handsome. Also that he was drinking champagne. My spirits lifted. I was on my way to the Riviera, where there would be oodles of attractive Frenchmen. I would learn to flirt like Belinda and I was going to have a good time.
As I passed the Frenchman to reach my table I heard his companion say, “So is it
tournesols
?”
My French is pretty good but I didn’t understand this last word.
Then my handsome Frenchman replied, “No, it is only a chair. Much simpler.”
At this the first man nodded and left the bar. As the French coast came into sight the Frenchman got down from his bar stool. As he came toward me I saw a flash of recognition cross his face, followed in succession by surprise and—was it anger?
“
Que fais tu ici?
” he began, then he checked himself, frowned and nodded politely to me as he went past.
How strange. He had addressed me not only as if he knew me, but as if he knew me well. He had called me
tu
, which was the very familiar form of address. But I was sure I’d never seen him before in my life. I paid my bill and went to find Queenie and my luggage. Oh, well, one was supposed to have adventures when one went abroad and they were starting even before I reached France.
I was met by an extremely wet and windblown Queenie. “I ain’t half glad to see France, miss,” she gasped. “All those people hanging over the side and being sick fair turned my stomach.”
“Queenie, you look like a drowned rat.”
“Well, you said to keep an eye on your luggage so I stayed with it,” she said.
I looked at her fondly. She may have been clueless in the extreme, but she certainly was loyal. She’d stayed up on deck with my luggage, even though nothing could have happened to it during the crossing.
“Well done, Queenie,” I said. “We’ll soon have you on the Blue Train, where you can dry off and have a cup of hot tea.”
We followed our porter ashore and were whisked through customs to a special platform where the Train Bleu was waiting. Even on this dark and gloomy day those Pullman coaches seemed to glow with opulence. The porter found my compartment, which had a small berth connecting for Queenie. Really, it was most civilized.
Queenie came through to join me, looking slightly less damp and wild. “I was soaked right down to me knickers, miss. I’ve put them to dry on the radiator.”
It was no use admonishing her.
“And you know what I’ve been thinking, miss?” she went on, taking a place opposite me without being asked. “I know I speak real common, so I’ve decided to better myself. When I get home I’m going to save up and take them ‘hellocution’ lessons. People are going to think I’m a proper toff, just like you.”
Oh, golly, I’d got Eliza Doolittle on my hands now. “Good idea, Queenie,” I said.
At that moment there was a toot and a slamming of doors, and we glided out of the station. A big grin spread across my face. I was really on my way to the south of France and adventure. About two small annoying facts I chose not to think: one, that I was to share a villa with Fig and her sister, and the other, that I was supposed to commit a robbery for the queen.
 
Chapter 7
 
January 21, 1933
On the Blue Train. Heading for the Riviera. Hooray!
 
The gray, rain-splashed French countryside flashed past us, with rows of leafless poplars between brown fields of stubble. Darkness was falling as we reached the outskirts of Paris. Instead of going into the Gare du Nord, as other trains from the Channel did, this train skirted the perimeter of the city, moving through dingy suburbs and going over lots of points until at last it stopped at the Gare de Lyon on the southern side of the city. The attendant knocked on my door. “Does your ladyship require anything while we are in the station?” he asked in French, assuming, I suppose, that anyone who traveled on this train spoke the language. “Should I arrange for a dinner box for your maid? There is only the first-class dining car for people like yourself.”

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