Naughty In Nice (30 page)

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Authors: Rhys Bowen

BOOK: Naughty In Nice
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Lady Groper made her way out through the French doors and stood looking at the pool. “So it was here,” she said. “He lay here, bleeding to death, poor stupid man.”
And surprisingly she started to weep. While the others were comforting her, I went in search of Johnson. He was standing at a linen cupboard, taking out sheets. He looked up at me.
“That’s the last thing I need right now,” he said in a low voice. “Her bossing me around. I only went into Sir Toby’s employ because I knew he wasn’t one of those toffee-nosed snobs. But she’s the worst.” He leaned closer to me. “I’d like to walk out and take the next train back to England, but then that might look suspicious, mightn’t it?”
“Definitely,” I said. “But at least you’ve got nothing to worry about. You can prove you were in town when he was killed.”
“Why would I want to kill him?” Johnson shook his head. “That’s the same as killing the goose that laid the golden egg, isn’t it? He was paying me well. He was a baronet—a step up in the world for me. Now I’m back to looking for a new position, like everyone else.”
I watched him as he took out matching pillow slips then closed the cupboard. “If you don’t mind my asking, Johnson,” I said, “you sound as if you’ve had an education. Why are you in service?”
He turned back to me, eyeing me critically for a moment before saying angrily, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there is a depression going on. There are no jobs for people like me—grammar school boys with no family connections behind them. Domestic service gives me a roof over my head, three good meals a day and a decent wage, if you’re lucky enough to latch onto someone like Sir Toby. That’s why I’m so angry he’s been killed. I’d like to throttle the person who did it.”
I moved closer. “Do you have any idea who might have done it?” I asked. “You’ve been close to him recently. You must have some suspicions.”
He was silent for a while. “I’ve thought about it. Believe me, I’ve wondered. Sir Toby wasn’t the best-liked man in the world. And I know some of his business dealings were—what would you say—shady?”
“When I was here yesterday morning and Sir Toby was in the bath—he said something about ‘that slimy little toad’ and some German-sounding name. And he said he’d be sorry. What was that about?”
Johnson closed the cupboard door, holding the sheets draped carefully over one arm. “I’m not quite sure. Some business Sir Toby was doing with an art dealer. He claimed Sir Toby had cheated him.”
“Any chance that the art dealer came here yesterday afternoon?”
“Possible, I suppose. Frankly anyone could have come here and we’d never know, would we? The place was deserted. We don’t even know what Sir Toby was doing back here.”
“I’m just wondering,” I said, as the thought formed in my head. “What if Sir Toby had arranged a secret meeting with somebody? He sent you away, he gave the other servants the afternoon off and he left his yacht very visibly moored in Nice. Doesn’t that seem suspicious to you?”
Johnson frowned. “Now that you mention it, it does.” “Then I think you should suggest it to the police, and mention this German fellow too,” I said. “At least it would remove the suspicion from me and from you.”
He looked up, amused. “From you? Why on earth would the police suspect you?”
“Haven’t you heard?” I said. “I’m suspect number one. In fact, they arrested me last night on the charge of murder. I’m only out on bail.”
“Good Lord,” he said. “Because you went out on his yacht yesterday? That’s absurd.”
“Not only that,” I said. “One of the gardeners claimed he saw me creeping into the house around the time Sir Toby was murdered.”
“You didn’t come here yesterday afternoon, did you?”
“Of course not. It’s utter rubbish, of course. I never came near the place, so I’m thinking that maybe the intruder was someone who looked a lot like me. Several people have thought they’d seen me around town when I was nowhere in the area. So either I have a double or the gardener is being paid to incriminate me.”
“One of our gardeners?” Johnson looked surprised. “But they don’t work in the afternoon.”
“He saw it was going to rain and came back to get a tool, I gather. I rather think I’m going to pay him a visit and try to get the truth out of him.”
Johnson frowned. “Be careful, my lady.” He lowered his voice, looking around to see if anyone else was within hearing distance. “If someone is paying this man, he may well be in league with some kind of gangsters. There are plenty of them on the Riviera, so I hear, including the mafia.” He paused, considering. “But don’t you have an alibi for yesterday afternoon?”
“Yes, I do. I was at the villa of the Marquis de Ronchard and then he drove me home, where the servants saw me.”
“There you are, then.” He gave me a relieved smile.
“I told the inspector that, but it doesn’t seem good enough for him.”
“He doesn’t seem too bright to me,” Johnson said. “I’ll let him know about Schumann and the threats. Although I find it so hard to get through to him, what with me speaking no French and his awful English. He may end up thinking I’m trying to confess myself.”
He gave me a grin as he carried the bedsheets toward the back of the house. I stood watching him, wondering if I had an ally.
 
Chapter 26
 
January 27, 1933
A hectic day on the Côte d’Azur.
 
As we came out of the villa, Mummy slipped her arms through Coco’s and Vera’s, marching them up the driveway like a brisk governess with two reluctant schoolgirls. “God, how terribly dreary, wasn’t she? I suppose one should feel sorry for her—”
“Sorry for her? But no,” Coco said. “She is rid of a bad husband and she has plenty of money to enjoy life.”
And she doesn’t have to go through an ugly divorce case, either, I thought but didn’t say out loud. If only there was a sensible policeman I could share this knowledge with. Or someone like Granddad or Darcy, who would know whom to tell. I found myself wondering if Lady Groper had orchestrated the whole thing perfectly—the alibi of being in the hills, far enough away from Nice, of not finding out about the murder until she read the morning papers. Or—an even more chilling thought struck me—the coincidence of their son, Bobby, suddenly turning up, but not wanting to be seen. Was it possible that Lady G and Bobby had planned this between them? I had seen from her face that he was the apple of his mother’s eye. Was it plausible that he had not made contact with her and she had really not known he was here? If the police had decided that I was the guilty party, then I’d have to seek out Bobby for myself and see if I could get to the truth.
“She could lead a delightful life if she chooses,” Chanel continued. “But I do not think she will do so. She will certainly not buy herself a decent wardrobe. She will hunt and fish and live in the boring English countryside.” And she gave that delightful laugh.
“I know,” Mummy said suddenly. “Let’s have a party. Things have been all too gloomy around here and we haven’t had a party in ages.”
“Is that wise, with Georgiana under suspicion of murder?” Vera asked.
“Darling, that’s the very best time to do it. Georgie needs cheering up, don’t you, darling?” She looked back at me, trailing behind them up the driveway under the eyes of the watching policemen. “And we’ll show these horrid little men that they’ve got it wrong and they can’t intimidate us.”
“When do you propose holding this party?” Vera asked.
“Why not tonight? I’ll get on the telephone—invite a few people and they’ll spread the word.”
“Tonight, Claire!” Vera complained. “We need food and drink and decorations.”
“Simple, darling. I’ll telephone my favorite restaurant for their lovely hors d’oeuvres platters, cold lobster, that kind of thing, and I think you’ll find that my wine cellar is well stocked. So we just need ice and lemons and a few fun things like paper lanterns—the shops are full of fun stuff ready for carnival. I’ll pop into town. No problem.”
“Let me go,” I said.
They turned to look at me.
“I want to show them that I’m not their prisoner.” Another thought had also come to me. I wanted to speak to the crew of that yacht and find out exactly what happened yesterday afternoon and how Sir Toby came to be back at his villa.
“That’s the spirit, my sweet,” Mummy said. “Of course. You go into town and enjoy yourself. I’ll make a list of things to buy.”
We went into the house and Mummy sat at her pretty little secretary desk, scribbling at a list that got longer and longer. “Oh, and fireworks,” she chirped. “We must have fireworks, don’t you think? And masks? Do you think it should be a fancy dress do? Or just carnival masks?”
“Aren’t you going a little overboard?” I asked, picturing a day ahead of me of trying to find these items in a town I didn’t know.
“Nonsense, darling. What’s the point of a party if you don’t go overboard?”
I sat on the sofa watching her, admiring her. Not only was she beautiful, but she had a wonderful way of shaking off life’s little problems like water off a duck’s back. Nothing seemed to upset her. I just wished I had inherited that trait. Then I noticed that while we had been at the villa, someone had delivered the morning papers. There it was—the big, black headline,
English Peer Found Dead in Swimming Pool.
My eyes scanned down the article. Then I looked up, frowning. Lady Groper had said she’d found out about her husband’s death from the morning papers, but in this particular article there was no mention of the blow to the back of Sir Toby’s head or anything about him bleeding to death. I went through the rest of the papers. Again no mention of details.
“Here you are, darling.” Mummy waved a long list at me. “Just a few things to pick up in town. I’d better get busy making telephone calls or we’ll have no food, no ice and no guests.” And she was off, yelling instructions to servants.
Franz was summoned to bring the motorcar to the front door. But as I came out, a policeman stepped to block my way. “Excuse me, mademoiselle, but you must not leave.”
“Must not leave Nice,” I corrected him. “I’m not leaving Nice. I’m going shopping.” And I showed him the list.
He looked very worried. “I do not think my chief would want you to go into the town alone. It would be too easy for you to board a train or the boat of a friend and thus escape.”
“I have no intention of escaping,” I said. “But nobody said I had to remain a prisoner in my house. My mother is giving a party and I am helping her. So if you want to come with me to keep an eye on me, you’re welcome to do so. In fact, you can help me find the right shop for these items.” I waved the list again. I could see indecision on his face. He knew he couldn’t let me go alone, but the thought of shopping with a young woman was daunting. Duty won out.
“Very well. I shall accompany you. But I warn you—if you try to make an escape, you will be returned to a jail cell.”
“No escape, I promise. I wouldn’t want to miss the party tonight,” I said and climbed into the backseat of the Mercedes. The young policeman got in beside me, ignoring the dirty look he got from Franz.
One thing I realized as we drove into town was that I probably wouldn’t have time to seek out Bobby Groper today, unless I happened to bump into him. In fact, I rather suspected that by the time I had fulfilled Mummy’s commissions, I’d have to rush back to deliver them for the party. Oh, well. It was better than sitting around at home all day. The weather was perfect, the sea was blue, the sky even bluer, and a walk along the Promenade would be enough to raise my spirits.
With assistance from my poor policeman friend, whose name turned out to be Marcel, I located lemons and paper lanterns and even fireworks and a selection of carnival masks. It really was rather fun shopping in the market and having someone to carry the stuff back to the car. I got some funny looks from people as I strode ahead with a uniformed policeman in tow, loaded with my packages. When we had finished, I treated him to a coffee at one of the little outdoor cafés, then told him I was going to walk along the seafront to get some fresh air. He didn’t have to accompany me, I said. He could sit on one of the benches and watch me. He agreed to this, obviously not having enjoyed the indignity of the shopping.

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