Naughty In Nice (28 page)
Authors: Rhys Bowen
“Who is the top man from Scotland Yard you have coming to help?” I asked.
“Why, your grandfather, of course,” Mummy said.
I had to laugh. “Mummy, he was an ordinary constable and he’s retired.”
“That odious little man doesn’t need to know that,” Mummy said.
“Is Granddad really coming, then? Have you heard back from him?”
“No, but I told him we’d booked his ticket. In the morning I’ll send a second telegram saying ‘Georgie arrested for murder.’ That should do the trick.”
“It would be lovely if he did come,” I said wistfully. Now that I was no longer facing the horrid inspector and safely in Mummy’s car, I felt as if I might let myself down and cry. What I wanted more than anything else at this moment was my grandfather’s comforting presence, the smell of his old tweed jacket and the feel of his bristly cheek as he hugged me. I didn’t dare hope too much that he would come. I knew it would be a huge undertaking for him to leave England and go abroad to a country he mistrusted. But I knew that he loved me too. So I let a glimmer of hope burn inside me.
For once Mummy was a real brick. She pushed Queenie out of the way and helped me undress, then she brought me hot milk with brandy in it and handed me a little white pill.
“What is it?” I asked cautiously.
“Just a sleeping pill, darling. I use them all the time. Take it and you’ll sleep like a baby.”
I was too exhausted to resist, even though I had serious misgivings about any pill that my mother took. But she was right. It did work like a charm. I fell asleep and awoke to see Queenie standing over my bed with a tea tray.
“Your mum said I had better wake you up,” she said, plonking the tray down on the side table so that the tea splashed into the saucer. “That lawyer bloke is here and wanting to talk to you.”
“Oh, golly.” The full memory of the night before came rushing back to me. “Run me a bath, Queenie, and find me something to wear that looks—” I was about to say “innocent” but I changed it to “girlish. Young.”
“Bob’s yer uncle, miss,” she said cheerfully and went off. I sat up and drank the rest of the tea. Amazingly I felt remarkably well, considering everything that had happened yesterday. I bathed and came back to find that Queenie had laid out the same white trousers and blue jacket of the day before. That was one outfit I did not want to be seen wearing.
“No, Queenie. A simple cotton frock. Oh, let me.” I shoved her aside and examined my meager wardrobe. Simple frocks were actually something I owned. I selected a schoolgirlish check, brushed my hair and went downstairs looking, I hoped, young, innocent and demure. As I neared the drawing room I heard low voices and was mortified to find not only Monsieur Balzac sitting on the sofa, but Jean-Paul standing beside him. I was horribly conscious that I looked like a schoolgirl.
Monsieur Balzac rose to his feet. “Lady Georgiana. I trust that you slept well,” he said in French.
“Yes, I did. Thank you. And thank you for coming to my rescue last night.”
He shook his head. “It was the marquis you had to thank. I am just the instrument.”
“My eternal thanks to both of you,” I said. “If it weren’t for you, I’d have been locked up in a dreadful cell, being gloated over by that horrid man.” I turned to focus my gaze on Jean-Paul. “It was especially nice of you to get up so early for me.”
Jean-Paul laughed. “But I am an early bird by nature. Ask anyone. Besides, I had to meet the train.” He came across to me and took my hand. “I just wanted to see for myself that you had survived the night and were well. Now, if you will excuse me, I have matters that require my immediate attention. I leave you in the experienced hands of Monsieur Balzac.” And he kissed my hand lightly before departing.
Monsieur Balzac coughed to draw my attention. “Please be seated, Lady Georgiana, and I want you to tell me everything.”
He resumed his place on the sofa. I perched on the edge of a chair across from him. “I don’t really know what to tell. I had never met Sir Toby until two days ago at the casino. We exchanged a few words. I admired his yacht because one can see it from our terrace. He invited me to come sailing with him the next day. I went to his house before noon, I think. We went for a short sail. Sir Toby tried to”—I paused, selecting my words carefully—“take advantage of me, knowing that I was all alone on his yacht. Fortunately the marquis happened to pass by in his speedboat and so I left Sir Toby and went off with him.”
“I see.” He frowned. “Unfortunately this will not come across well in court. I had hoped that we could claim you did not know Sir Toby. But his crew will testify that he made advances to you and you left his yacht in a state of distress.”
“Yes, but they will also testify that he was still alive when I left, and I never saw him again. I was with the marquis.”
“So he informs me. You ate a meal together on the beach, I believe.”
I nodded. “Then it started to pour with rain and he drove me home. He actually saw me go in the front door. My maid met me. I rested for a while, then the rain stopped and I walked out onto the terrace and saw the body floating in the swimming pool.” I looked at him and shrugged. “That’s about it, really.”
“So someone was with you all the time after you arrived home?”
“My maid wasn’t actually with me all the time, but she was around. So were other servants.”
He frowned. “So this gardener, who claims he saw you tiptoeing toward Sir Toby’s house at around three o’clock? He is lying? For what purpose?”
“Someone has paid him to pin the crime on me, perhaps?” I suggested. “Or he saw someone who looked like me. The funny thing is that several people have seen someone who resembles me in Nice. We should try to find this person. Perhaps she had a good reason to go and visit Sir Toby yesterday.”
“We will certainly try to do this,” he said. He leaned across and patted my knee. “Do not worry. I am sure there is not enough evidence to bring a case against you, especially given who you are and your royal connections. When they look into the affairs of Sir Toby, they will find someone with a compelling motive for wanting him dead. You say you saw him at the casino. Maybe he had gambling debts. Maybe he had run afoul of the mafia—we are not far from the Italian border here. Or maybe he surprised a thief in the course of a robbery. I understand he owned many fine objets d’art.”
“Yes,” I said. “That’s much more likely. And I know from what I overheard that he had quarreled recently with his wife and his mistress. I just hope that Inspector Lafite doesn’t think he has found the ideal suspect in me and doesn’t bother to investigate any further.”
“We will have to make sure that he keeps on looking,” Balzac said. He got to his feet. “So have courage, young lady. I think our inspector realizes now that he acted hastily. Let us hope that he will soon be on the track of the real criminal.” He shook my hand.
“À bientôt.”
Then he left the room, leaving me feeling uneasy. I sensed that he didn’t really believe I was out of the woods, nor that I was completely innocent.
“À bientôt.”
Then he left the room, leaving me feeling uneasy. I sensed that he didn’t really believe I was out of the woods, nor that I was completely innocent.
I went out onto the terrace. The unsettled weather of the previous night had vanished to leave a clear, sparkling morning with the sea so blue that it looked like liquid sapphire. A seagull circled lazily overhead. A small fishing boat chugged past with men in striped jerseys on board. It would have been a perfect day if this cloud hadn’t been hanging over us. My mother, Vera and Coco were sitting at the table, looking gloomy. They all attempted to brighten up when they saw me. Mummy jumped to her feet.
“Hello, darling, had a lovely long sleep?” She came to kiss my cheek.
“Yes, thank you. I did. And I’ve just been talking to Jean-Paul’s lawyer.”
“That’s good. He’ll take care of everything. They’ll sort it all out in no time, you’ll see,” Vera said. “Have you had breakfast?”
“No, and I’m starving.”
She got up. “I’ll go and tell Cook to prepare you eggs and bacon. You need a proper breakfast at times like these.”
I drew up a chair at the table, reaching forward to pour myself some coffee. “Are you going to send Granddad another telegram?” I asked Mummy.
“Already done. I sent Franz into town with it first thing.”
“You’re wonderful.” I beamed at her. “I do hope he comes.”
“He will, after he reads my dramatic rendition of your dire circumstances. I’m almost as good on paper as I am on the stage.”
“But you said telegrams were expensive. You paid by the word, you said.”
She laughed. “Dear child, I am not exactly penniless. Besides, it’s Max’s money—at least for the moment.”
“What do you mean?”
“I received a letter from him this morning saying how much he missed me and how he wanted me to return home to him. It was phrased as a request, but it sounded to me like an order.”
“Oh, golly. Will you go?”
She shrugged. “I don’t like being bossed. I’m writing back to tell him that my daughter needs me. And while I’m here I may look for someone to fill his shoes, so to speak. Since you’ve snagged the marquis, I’ll have to cast my net farther afield.”
“Mummy, you are terrible.” I couldn’t help laughing.
“Ah, but you have to admit I do have fun.” Her face clouded suddenly. “Oh, God—you know what just struck me? If that silly little French inspector decides to delve into our connections with Sir Toby, he’ll find out that Max and he had a blazing row over Sir Toby trying to steal his designs. Lafite would make hay with that, wouldn’t he?”
“At least you have an alibi for the time he was killed,” I said. “I don’t. I think I’m going to visit that gardener this morning and confront him about what he actually saw. That way I’ll know whether someone was paying him to say that he saw me. But I can’t think why they’d choose me as their scapegoat. I had never even met the man until the night before.”
Coco leaned forward to stub out her cigarette. “It is all very strange,” she said. “My money is on Olga. Her type is hot-blooded and does not forgive easily. I would bet that she hired a thug to do the deed for her.”
I nodded. “She certainly threatened him when she walked out. She told him he’d be sorry. But apparently the gardener didn’t notice a big, burly thug creeping into the garden, just someone who looked like me.”
“Breakfast on the way,” Vera announced as she returned to join us. “And I gather that the Duke of Westminster’s yacht has returned to Nice, which is comforting to know. At the very least we could whisk you away—”
“With the Prince of Wales on board?” I said. “Pursued by French gunboats? I don’t think that would go down well at Buckingham Palace. Besides, Mrs. Simpson would try to push me back overboard. She loathes me.”
“She loathes everyone who isn’t useful to her, darling,” Mummy said, “but she especially loathes you because you’re one of them and she will never be. She sees you as standing in the way of her grand design.”
“She can’t really aspire to being queen one day!” Vera laughed and reached across to take a cigarette from Coco’s gold case.
My breakfast had just arrived and I fell upon it as if I hadn’t had a meal in months. I suppose fear can make people hungry. But I was only halfway through the eggs and bacon when Mummy’s maid appeared.
“
Madame
, you have a visitor. I have shown her into the drawing room.” And she handed Mummy a calling card on a silver salver—all terribly proper, which made me surmise immediately that the guest expected that kind of formality. Mummy took the card.
Madame
, you have a visitor. I have shown her into the drawing room.” And she handed Mummy a calling card on a silver salver—all terribly proper, which made me surmise immediately that the guest expected that kind of formality. Mummy took the card.
“Good God,” she said, and she flicked it across the table to Vera and Coco. “Lady Groper has turned up.”
Chapter 25
January 27, 1933
At Villa Marguerite and later at Sir Toby’s villa.
Lovely day. I only wish I could enjoy it.
At Villa Marguerite and later at Sir Toby’s villa.
Lovely day. I only wish I could enjoy it.
Lady Groper was sitting very upright on one of the small gilt chairs and got to her feet as Mummy entered, followed, I have to confess, by the rest of us, who weren’t about to miss anything. She was dressed in very English tweeds, in spite of the weather, and her face looked old and gaunt.
“I realize you don’t know me and I have no right to call upon you,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m Margaret Groper. I only know you as the Duchess of Rannoch, which title I know you no longer hold. Apart from that as Claire Daniels, but I presume that is your stage name.”
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