Naughty In Nice (34 page)

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Authors: Rhys Bowen

BOOK: Naughty In Nice
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Then the band arrived and the activity turned to dancing. After a few dances, Jean-Paul claimed me and held me close as we drifted around the floor in a slow fox-trot. “I want to say something to you,” he muttered, steering me toward the edge of the crowd. My pulse rate quickened. Was this a proposal?
“I think you should go home,” he said, eyeing me seriously. “As soon as the police give you permission, go home. This place is not right for you. You do not belong here.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“You’re a nice girl. A decent person. You don’t belong with a crowd like this.”
I didn’t know what to say, because I knew that what he was saying was true. I didn’t feel comfortable with them. “So you don’t care if I go?” I dared to ask.
“Of course I shall be sad, but I care about you more. I don’t wish you to wind up like them. There have been many women in my life and most of their names I have forgotten by the morning. But your name, I do not think I shall forget.” He put a finger under my chin and lifted it up toward him. “If things had been different . . .” he said and didn’t finish the sentence. But he pulled me toward him and kissed me gently. “I have to go,” he said.
A little later Neville came up to me. There were beads of sweat on his forehead and he was frowning. “I say, you haven’t seen Belinda, have you?”
“No, I can’t say that I have recently.”
“Damned rum do. She seems to have hopped it.” He scanned the room hopefully as he spoke.
My stomach lurched. It wasn’t long since Jean-Paul had whispered, “I have to go.” It didn’t take too much imagination to suggest that Belinda had gone with him. I felt sick and angry and more than a little confused.
Midnight passed and people started to drift away. The die-hard few had become mellow. Large amounts of liquor had been consumed. The air was hazy with cigarette smoke. The band had stopped playing.
“How about dustman’s knock?” someone said, laughing.
“What’s dustman’s knock?” I asked.
“Like postman’s knock, only dirtier,” he replied. Everyone was chuckling now. I wasn’t sure if I was having my leg pulled or not.
“Capital idea. Do you have keys, Claire?” one of the men said.
“I never lock anything,” my mother said. “We’ll have to write numbers on slips of paper. We can put them in this bowl.”
I knew what postman’s knock was, as I’d played it at parties. A boy was chosen to be the postman and was then sent outside the door while the girls drew their numbers from a bowl. He’d knock, then announce that he had a package for, say, number twenty-one. That particular girl would go outside to receive the parcel, and she’d get a kiss. It was a fun way of pairing up. Fun, but harmless. So I could imagine what this version might entail and I had no intention of being part of it. Maybe if Jean-Paul had stayed . . . I was still perplexed about his behavior to me. Perplexed and more than a little disappointed. When nobody was looking, I slunk away and went to my bedroom.
I shut the door behind me with a sigh of relief.
“I’m glad to see you’re alone,” said a voice and there was Darcy, sitting on the end of my bed.
 
Chapter 29
 
Villa Marguerite
January 28, 1933—early next morning
 
Darcy was sitting on my bed, wearing an open-necked shirt. His dark curls were unrulier than ever and those alarming eyes flashed dangerously when he saw me. I felt my heart give a giant lurch. If I had thought I was getting over him, I was hopelessly wrong.
“What are you doing here?” I asked shakily.
“Keeping an eye on you,” he said. “I just heard what happened last night. You’ve got yourself into a bit of a pickle, haven’t you?”
“I’m sure it will all be sorted out soon. The police will realize they’ve made a stupid mistake. And Jean-Paul has found me a first-class lawyer.”
He got up and came over to me. “That’s another thing,” he said. “Your marquis. I want to warn you about him. He’s a dangerous man, Georgie. I can see why you’re attracted to him, but he’s not to be trusted. I’m afraid there are things you might not like to know about him.”
“Oh, that’s rich, coming from a man like you.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“That there are so many things you’ve conveniently forgotten to tell me. Important things.”
He shrugged. “As for the secrets, I admit that there have been things I can’t tell you. But I have always cared about you. I care about you now—that’s why I’m warning you to steer clear of the marquis.”
“Are you jealous?” I asked. “Or are you upset that I got over you so quickly?”
“I just don’t want to see you get hurt, that’s all.”
“Funny, but Jean-Paul said the same thing to me, about an hour ago.”
“Then perhaps he is finally developing a conscience, at least about some things,” Darcy said, “although I doubt it. All I can tell you is that you’ll find yourself in even deeper trouble if you stay with him.”
“I’m a big girl now, Darcy.” I faced him defiantly, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “I can make my own decisions and take care of myself.”
“Hardly.” He looked at me angrily. “You go out alone on Toby Groper’s yacht? You hitch up with one of the most notorious men in Europe? You’re arrested for murder? That doesn’t sound much like taking care of yourself, Lady Georgiana.” He grabbed my shoulders. “Georgie, what are you doing? What has happened to you?”
I wished he hadn’t touched me. I fought to stay calm. “Nothing has happened to me, except that I’ve discovered the real reason you’re here.”
“Oh, you have, have you?” He was staring hard at me.
I nodded, biting my lip. I waited for him to say something, to apologize for deceiving me. Instead he said, “In that case, all I can say is that you shouldn’t spread it around too much in certain circles. Not if you’re wise, that is.”
“I don’t know why I’d want to spread it around.” I shook myself free from him, bumped against the bed and sat down heavily.
“Careful,” Darcy said, grabbing at me. “You don’t want to sit on your pearls.”
“My what?” I stood up as my hand touched something sharp. There, lying on my bed, was the missing pearl and diamond necklace.
I stood staring at it as if it had been magically produced by a genie and might vanish again at any moment. “How did it get here?” I asked. “Did you put it there?”
“Me? Of course not. What would I be doing with a necklace like that? Is it yours?”
“It belongs to the queen,” I said. “It was stolen when I fell off the stage at the fashion show.”
“Fell off the stage?” He looked as if he might grin.
“You didn’t hear about it?”
“I’ve been rather occupied with—other things,” he said. “So it was stolen and then returned?”
“It’s amazing,” I said. “Someone at the party must have taken it, then their conscience got the better of them and they returned it.”
“Really?” He was frowning, staring at the door.
“I must tell the others. They’ll be thrilled.” I made a move toward the door.
Darcy grabbed my arm. “Maybe it might be wise to say nothing at this point.”
“You don’t understand. They’ve been worried sick,” I said. “At least I must tell Vera and Madame Chanel.” I opened the door and stepped out onto the landing. It was unnaturally quiet after the loud noises of the past few hours. I looked around and at that moment Vera walked across the foyer below. Obviously she wasn’t one of those playing naughty games. I ran to the railing and leaned over.
“Vera. Look! It’s been returned. The necklace has come back!” I shouted. I suppose I had been drinking rather too much champagne all evening because I know a lady never raises her voice. The effect was instantaneous. Bedroom doors opened and people in various stages of undress looked out.
I waved the necklace. “It’s come back. It was on my bed.”
Vera’s face lit up. “Thank God,” she said. “It’s a bloody miracle.”
“Yes, isn’t it?”
“How on earth did it get there?” she demanded.
“Someone must have deliberately put it there, knowing I’d find it when I went to bed.” As I said this it did cross my mind that Darcy might somehow have been involved. Had he in fact known about the stolen necklace and managed to recover it for us from the thief? Had he done this for me—as a peace offering? I glanced back at my bedroom, expecting him to come out and reveal himself, but there was no sign of him.
I started to come down the stairs toward the small crowd that was now gathering in the foyer. Halfway down I caught my heel somehow and grabbed at the banister to stop myself from falling. The pearls slid from my hand and fell to the marble floor below. Vera and several others darted forward to grab them. But they were too late. The necklace hit the ground with a light, high, tinkling crash.
“I’m so sorry. Are they all right?” I asked.
Vera was on her knees, staring down at the floor where the largest of the diamonds had shattered into a hundred pieces.
“Oh, no.” I joined her on my knees. “Vera. I’m so awfully sorry. I know I’m clumsy. I’ve ruined it.”
She looked up at me, grim faced. “Diamonds don’t shatter, Georgie.”
“But—” I looked down at the floor then back at her face. “You mean it wasn’t a real diamond?”
She nodded.
“So the queen didn’t lend us her real jewels after all.” Vera looked around the room at the faces now staring down at us. “It appears that the person who stole the necklace has replaced it with a clever fake. If Georgie hadn’t dropped it, we might not have found out for ages, if ever.”
“Damned clever,” one of the men muttered. “Should we call for the police?”
“Not tonight,” Vera said. “I don’t think I could handle another round of Inspector Lafite. Besides, if the thief is that clever, I doubt the police will have any chance of catching him.” She started to pick up the remains of the necklace. “You have to admit it was slickly done, and obviously planned. It’s unlikely that such a necklace could be created in a couple of days.”
“So the thief went to the fashion show with the intent of stealing the necklace,” I said. Somehow that made me feel a little better. It wasn’t only my clumsiness that had caused the theft. I was intended to fall.
“But how did it get into your bedroom?” the same man asked. “The thief must have climbed in through your window.”
“Or been among us,” Vera said.
“One of us? That’s ridiculous,” the man said. “Implying that somebody English is a thief. Some damned Frenchie, you mark my words. Slippery chap who crept in through the window and then out again—while we were watching the fireworks, probably.”
I decided to keep quiet about Darcy. One thing I knew about him with absolute certainty—he was not a thief. If he had brought the necklace back, it was because he believed he had recovered the real one for us.
“We should take a look at your room,” the man insisted. “See if the blighter left any clues, don’t you know?” He stomped upstairs before I could stop him and flung open my bedroom door.
The room was empty. The window was wide open and the net curtains flapped in the breeze.
“There you are. What did I say?” the man said, nodding at us triumphantly. “Some damned Frenchie or Italian crook climbed in this way. You should take a look at the flower bed in the morning, see if the blighter left telltale footprints. Not that the French police will be much use. Useless bunch.”
I just prayed that Darcy hadn’t left a footprint in the flower bed. I didn’t know why I wanted to protect him so much, but I did. You can’t just shut off love, I suppose, and he did come to warn me, which was rather sweet. “If only,” I found myself muttering. Did he still love this woman who was the mother of his child? He clearly adored the child. Did his appearance tonight mean that he still loved me? It was all so complicated and so hard to handle.
“There’s still a policeman stationed outside the villa,” Vera said. “We can ask him if he noticed anyone suspicious slinking in and out.”

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