Naughty In Nice (31 page)
Authors: Rhys Bowen
I stood for a while in the fresh breeze blowing off the sea. After the previous day’s rainstorm, the sea was still choppy, and waves hissed and crashed, rattling the pebbles. I found myself scanning the beach to see if I could spot Darcy.
If only,
I thought, and I reminded myself that Jean-Paul was filling his shoes quite admirably. He had rescued me twice—once from Sir Toby’s clutches and then again, obviously having paid a large amount of bail money to have me released from jail. And he was gorgeous and rich and everything a girl could want—except that he wasn’t Darcy. However much I tried to fool myself, I still cared horribly about Darcy, and thinking of him produced an almost physical hurt in my heart.
If only,
I thought, and I reminded myself that Jean-Paul was filling his shoes quite admirably. He had rescued me twice—once from Sir Toby’s clutches and then again, obviously having paid a large amount of bail money to have me released from jail. And he was gorgeous and rich and everything a girl could want—except that he wasn’t Darcy. However much I tried to fool myself, I still cared horribly about Darcy, and thinking of him produced an almost physical hurt in my heart.
But the day was too windy and even the hardy types were not swimming in the sea. I turned away to continue my walk when I heard my name being called, and there, coming toward me, were the two elderly princesses from the night of my modeling disaster. The spry little French princess was walking beside an old-fashioned wicker bath chair in which the large Russian princess sat, being pushed by a formidable woman dressed in black.
“Lady Georgiana. How lovely to see you,” Princess Marie said in English, holding out her dainty hand, clad in a gray silk glove, to me. “I trust you suffered no lasting injury from your tumble the other night?”
“No, thank you. I am fully recovered,” I said. “And I hope that the princess also suffered no ill effects.”
“She did not, I am pleased to say.” She smiled at me, patting my hand now. “So all is well, and we take a nice stroll and enjoy the good weather.”
I didn’t like to ask whether the princess might have come upon a pearl and diamond necklace hidden about her person when she undressed that night. But I did say, “Of course, we’re still frightfully upset about the missing necklace. We can’t imagine who took it.”
“There are clever thieves in the world,” Princess Marie said, while the dour Russian lady nodded in agreement. “Princess Theodora here had her jewels taken from her compartment on a train, when she fled from Russia. The brazen thief climbed in through the open window, removed the jewel case as she slept, then climbed out again.”
Princess Theodora sighed, but still said nothing. I wondered if she spoke English.
“I am sorry to hear about the loss of your jewels,” I said in French.
“Tragic,” she said, sighing again.
“The princess has known much sorrow,” Princess Marie said in a low voice. “We live a simple life in Paris. We do not move in society anymore, so I bring her here to cheer her up.”
From her face it didn’t look as if it was doing much good.
“But you are a young thing.” Marie smiled brightly at me. “You should not concern yourself about a stolen necklace. You should be out dancing and having fun, and meeting interesting men. But never an Irishman, remember. They make wonderful lovers but poor husbands.”
A sob rose unbidden in my throat and I forced it into a hiccup, then remembered my manners. “My mother is giving a party tonight at her villa,” I said. “Perhaps you would like to come? I suspect it will be quite informal.”
She smiled, a little sadly. “Oh, no, my dear. We do not go into society any longer. We allowed ourselves the indulgence of the fashion show the other evening, but we rarely go out at night. And all our friends are dead.”
I nodded in commiseration.
Suddenly her face brightened up. “You must come to lunch,” she said. “If you have time in your busy social schedule. It would brighten the day of two old dinosaurs.”
“Thank you, I’d love to,” I said.
“Come tomorrow,” she said. “Any day you like. You’ll find us at the Hotel de la Méditerranée. On the Promenade. Not the quality of the Negresco, of course, but a high class of clientele, and they take good care of us.” She reached into a tiny silk purse. “Here is my card. I will tell the hotel receptionist to expect you.”
I thanked them again and watched them making their slow way along the boulevard. And I realized that they knew nothing about the murder or my arrest. As the princess had said, they did not get out in society much. Would they feel so happy about inviting a suspected murderer into their rooms?
I met up with my policeman again and went back to the motorcar. As we passed the port, I remembered that I had planned to interview the crew of Sir Toby’s yacht and asked Franz to stop the car.
“I wish to speak to the crew of Sir Toby’s yacht,” I announced to my policeman.
“I am not sure . . .” my policeman began, but I cut him off. “Can you see any reason why I shouldn’t talk to the crew? They are not under suspicion, are they? I am. I have to do everything I can to clear my name.”
With that, I got out of the car and strode down the dockside to the yacht. The gangplank was lowered and I went on board.
“Hello!” I called, and almost immediately a face appeared from belowdecks.
“Oh, it’s you, miss,” he said. He was a young Englishman with a trace of Yorkshire accent. “I’m sorry, the police said we weren’t to leave and nobody was allowed on board.”
“They don’t think Sir Toby was killed here, do they?”
“The police don’t let us know what they’re thinking,” he said. “We told them that Sir Toby was alive and well when we docked here.”
“Why did you come into the harbor here instead of sailing back to the villa?” I asked.
The young crewman shrugged. “Who knows? He was the boss. He said ‘sail into Nice’ and so we did. He told us to take the afternoon off and that he’d take a taxi home later and we were to await instructions. That’s all I can tell you.”
“And you told the police that?”
“We did.”
“He didn’t say where he was going or whom he planned to meet?”
“People like Sir Toby don’t have to tell their crew anything. We were paid well to keep quiet and say nothing.”
“I presume Sir Toby entertained other young ladies on his yacht. Do you remember another young lady who resembled me?”
“No, miss. I can’t say that I do.” His face was so impassive that I couldn’t tell if he was lying or not.
“So you couldn’t tell me whether any other young lady might have had a reason to want Sir Toby dead?”
“No, miss. I couldn’t tell you.”
“And you also told them that I’d been on the yacht that morning and left rather abruptly?”
He looked uncomfortable now. “We had to, miss. He asked who else had been on the yacht. We didn’t say anything to incriminate you, miss. We knew what Sir Toby was like, and I can’t say I blame you for jumping overboard to your friend’s speedboat. Although I have to say it took guts. Not many young ladies would have jumped into the water like that. . . .”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “The inspector has still put two and two together and come up with a motive for murder, so the sooner this is solved, the better.”
I started to make my way back to the gangplank.
“I’m sorry I can’t be of more help, miss,” he said. “But frankly there’s nothing else to say.”
I walked slowly back to the motorcar. So either Sir Toby had an assignation in town and had taken a taxi home after his meeting, or mooring in town had been a smoke screen so that he could take a taxi home for a meeting that nobody else would know about. I could hardly question every taxi driver in Nice, could I?
We drove home. I stared out the window, not really seeing the spectacular scene below me—the white boats bobbing on blue water, the pastel villas perched on the hillsides. All I felt was frustration, and a hint of fear. What if they found my fingerprints on that little table, for example— even on the objects inside that table? Would that add to the weight of evidence against me?
By the time we arrived back at the villa, I had come to a decision. Danger or no danger, I was going to confront that gardener. I wanted to hear from his own lips exactly what he had seen that afternoon. Surely I’d know if he had told a lie. I helped Franz unload the motorcar, carrying the packages in to oohs and aahs of delight from my mother, who had already done an amazing job decorating the terrace with fairy lights and white-clothed tables. Ice buckets stood ready, as did small plates and forks and serving dishes.
“The food is all ordered. We’ve got masses of champagne on ice and more arriving any minute. Forty people have already said they are coming,” she said happily, “and they will all tell their friends, so we’ll wind up with a good crowd.”
I had a sudden thought. “Can I invite Binky?” I said. “I know it will mean Fig too, but he’s having such a dreary time at that awful villa, and he is such a good soul at heart.”
“The more the merrier, darling. You know how fond I am of him,” Mummy said.
I telephoned and the dragon agreed to pass on the message to the duke. Well, I’d done my part. Now for something a little more difficult. I went upstairs and deliberately put on the blue and white sailor outfit. Then I told the policeman standing outside our front gate that I wished to speak to Sir Toby’s gardener. He conferred with the policeman guarding Sir Toby’s gate.
“Not possible, mademoiselle,” he said. Why couldn’t these Frenchmen get the concept of “my lady” into their heads?
“And why not? This man’s evidence has convinced your inspector that I am guilty. I want to find out for myself what he really saw. One of you can come with me, if you like.”
The two men exchanged glances, then gave that Gallic shrug. “Why not?” one said. “I will accompany her.”
The address was obtained and we walked up the road until we came to a row of cottages. A woman answered our knock, wiping her hands on her apron.
“But my husband has not come home yet,” she said. “I thought maybe you police have required him to give his testimony again at headquarters.”
“Possible,” my policeman said. “But I know nothing of this. I will ask.”
So we walked back to Sir Toby’s property. An impressively high wall of rough stone bordered the road, cutting off any view of the villa, but I noticed that there was a small door in the wall. Presumably the gardener entered the property this way, rather than through the impressive main gate. I tried the door and it swung open.
“This must be how the staff come to work,” I said to the policeman. “I’m going to see whether it is possible to get a good look at someone entering from the main driveway.” And without waiting for approval, I pushed open the door and stepped inside. A narrow flagstoned path wound between mimosa trees in full flower and black cypress trees. On either side of us were fountains and flower beds and gracious lawns. It was truly a lovely garden, especially as we were in the middle of winter. The scent of the fluffy mimosa flowers was sweet in the air. Birds were chirping gaily. A skinny cat crossed the path ahead of us, stalking something—presumably one of the birds. Suddenly its fur shot up and it bolted away as if burned. I looked to see what had spooked it so violently and saw the foot, sticking out from under a large oleander bush.
I grabbed the sleeve of my young policeman, who gave a horrified yelp and rushed over to part the foliage. Underneath the oleander bush, a burly man with tanned skin and grizzled gray hair was lying with a pair of what looked like gardening shears sticking out of his back.
Chapter 27
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