Queen of Hearts (Royal Spyness Mysteries) (14 page)

“You’d better come with me to the trailer,” I said to Ronnie. “Protocol at home would demand that I didn’t go into a gentleman’s trailer alone.”

Ronnie laughed. “How refreshingly quaint,” he said. “Lady Georgiana, I think you should know . . .” He broke off as he saw Craig himself coming toward us.

“Well, hello there, you lovely creature,” he said in that deep, rumbling voice that had melted a million women’s hearts. “I was just coming to find you to tell you I’m taking you out to dinner tonight. Have the driver take you home early enough so you can make yourself beautiful, okay, sweetheart?”

I saw a look of amusement cross Ronnie’s face. Was he relishing Craig’s next conquest? Still I didn’t want to say no. What girl would? But I wasn’t quite so naïve these days. I did know that when men invited me up to their room to show me their etchings it wasn’t a discussion on art that they were after. I’d go to a restaurant with him but that would be all. And I’d make sure to tell him about Darcy. Of course I would. . . .

I realized as I was driving back to the hotel that I’d left Algie to fend for himself. He’d probably bring the scenery crashing down on top of the stars. Still, it would serve him right for telling such fibs. A dear childhood friend indeed, and I’d be willing to bet that there wasn’t a single Tudor in his family. Let him find his own way home on the tram.

It was strange to go into an empty bedroom and realize that there was no Queenie. I’d half expected that her American employer might have thrown her out by now and she would have returned with her tail between her legs, but it hadn’t happened. I took off my clothes, went for a quick swim, ran a bath and then changed into my dark blue backless evening gown—the one in which I looked almost sexy. Was this wise? I asked myself as I examined my reflection in the mirror. Did I want to encourage a man like Craig Hart? But then I didn’t want to look like a frump, either.

“It’s just dinner,” I told myself. “An experience. Something I’ll be able to tell Belinda about in my next letter.”

When Mummy heard about the dinner with Craig, her eyes lit up. “Oh, isn’t he a peach taking us to dinner again.”

“Not you, Mummy. Me. He’s taking me to dinner.”

“Whatever for, I wonder,” she said. “Maybe he has a thing for virgins. You want to watch yourself. The backseat of these American automobiles is big enough for a multitude of sins.”

“I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“And you know what we used to say on the stage? If you can’t be good, be careful, and if you can’t be careful put a sixpence between your knees.” And she laughed.

Craig arrived for me at eight and off we went, to the Cocoanut Grove again. It was rather heady being the center of attention. Flashbulbs flashed. Gossip columnist Barbara Kindell came over to us. “Well, here’s a couple I’d never have expected to see together,” she said, grinning at my discomfort. “And I hear we’re off to Alhambra Two, right? Away from prying eyes.”

I’d forgotten that that was what Cy Goldman had called his castle.

“A whole group of us, Miss Kindell,” I said.

“I might just secure myself an invitation. Should be fun, especially since I gather that Mrs. Goldman is coming into town.” And off she went, presumably to write about us in tomorrow’s newspapers.

Craig drove me home about ten. He was a perfect gentleman in the taxicab. “I’ll see you safely to your bungalow,” he said.

Alarm bells went off in my head. “It’s lovely,” I said. “I share it with my mother and our servants.”

He smiled, slipping an arm around my shoulder. Go on, a voice whispered. Tell him about Darcy now. We walked past the pool. “I’ve had a great time,” he said. He took me into his arms and he kissed me. I knew I should resist, but it was such a practiced, gentle kiss—and what girl would turn down the chance to be kissed by Craig Hart?

“Excuse me. Your ladyship,” a man’s voice called from the darkness. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’ve a young man at the front desk asking for you. I didn’t like to send him out to the bungalow alone. Not at this time of night.”

Oh Lord. It was obviously the wretched Algie again. Probably Tubby had left and he was trying to cadge a place to stay now. Or it might even be Tubby himself, angling for that interview with Mummy. “Tell him to come back tomorrow morning. I’m busy now,” I said.

“I can see that for myself,” said a second man’s voice. One that I recognized.

And to my utter horror Darcy stepped into the torchlight.

T
HE
B
EVERLY
H
ILLS
H
O
TEL

T
HURSDAY
, A
UGUST
2, 1934

I broke away from Craig Hart, my mouth open with disbelief.

“Darcy. What on earth are you doing here?” I stammered.

“More to the point, what have you been doing here?” Darcy was staring at me coldly. “No. Don’t answer that. I can see for myself perfectly well. ‘Don’t bother me now. I’m busy. While the cat’s away, the mice will play.’ Well, you are certainly full of surprises, Georgiana Rannoch.”

Craig stepped up beside me. “You know this guy, honey? Is he bothering you?”

“He’s my”—I was about to say “fiancé” when I remembered the rest of the world wasn’t supposed to know that—“boyfriend,” I said.

“Hey there, fella,” he said in his deep, rumbling voice. “Just a friendly little kiss, you know. No harm done. And all’s fair in love and war, they say.”

“Do they?” Darcy demanded. “I’ve heard about creeps like you, taking advantage of innocent girls. I should punch your pretty nose.”

“Darcy, no.” I stepped between them. “Look, there was nothing in this. This is Craig Hart—”

“Oh, I know who he is.” Darcy gave a bitter laugh. “He’s rich. He’s famous. You’re naïve. No wonder you were swept off your feet.”

I was angry now, and just a little tickled too. Darcy was actually jealous. I savored the notion before I went on. “I was about to say that Mr. Hart is kindly looking after me while my mother is filming. He took me out to dinner and was just escorting me back to my front door. Over here in Hollywood people hug and kiss all the time. It doesn’t mean anything.” I turned back to Craig. “I’m sorry about this, Mr. Hart. Thank you for a lovely dinner. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Craig grinned and touched my cheek with his finger. “So long, sweetheart. Sweet dreams. And don’t let this guy boss you around. You do what you want.”

He sauntered away, leaving Darcy standing there, still glaring at me.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “But there really was nothing to worry about. I made it quite clear to him that I wasn’t interested.”

Darcy was shaking his head. “I’m trying to come to terms with this. I leave my sweet but innocent young lady, shy and awkward around men, for a couple of weeks. I come back and she is calmly dating one of the world’s hottest heartthrobs and telling him she isn’t interested. Has someone I don’t know taken over Georgie’s body?”

I laughed then. “I don’t understand it either. My mother and I were introduced to him and he made a beeline for me and not Mummy. So of course I wasn’t going to turn down the chance to be wined and dined by him. It was such a feather in my cap when my mother is always telling me how plain and gawky I am.”

“She is?”

“All the time. ‘You poor child. Too bad you didn’t inherit my looks.’ She even said, ‘I wonder what Darcy sees in you.’”

“Then she’s blind if she doesn’t see it too,” he said. “I knew she was completely self-centered, but I’d no idea she was catty too.”

“She’s an actress. It goes with the territory,” I said.

“Your mother and my father. What a pair.” He grimaced.

“Have you seen him lately?”

“No, but I got a letter before I sailed. It said, ‘Isn’t it about time you made something of yourself? You can’t expect to inherit anything other than the title from me, and since I plan to live a damned long time you won’t get that anytime soon.’”

I slipped my hand into his. “It’s good to have horrid parents in common,” I said, “but what are you doing here? You didn’t come all this way just to see me, did you?”

“If I had the kind of money my father spent as a young man I would have answered yes to that. But as it happens I’m still on the trail of our jewel thief.”

“Golly,” I said before I remembered not to. “So did you find the princess’s jewel and that woman’s diamond when we were searched leaving the ship?”

Darcy shook his head. “We found nothing. I didn’t think we would.”

“And the princess really was genuine?”

“I’ve no doubt about it.”

“And you didn’t find any clue as to what was thrown overboard? Not a body?”

“We’ve still no idea about that either. Nobody seemed to be missing, unless it was a stowaway who met a bad end.”

“Or a stowaway who killed someone on the boat and took his place? Or her place?” I gave him a knowing look. “Remember I suggested that at the time.”

Darcy frowned. “If you’re meaning the princess again, she was who she claimed to be. I’m sure.”

“Did you speak to her? I was rather tempted to go and visit the Astors myself but they were in Newport, Rhode Island.”

Darcy gave me an exasperated look. “I contacted the Astors, who verified that she had arrived safely. I’m sure they’d know if she was an impostor. But if it was anyone else who was murdered and thrown overboard . . . I don’t know how they’d ever find out. In the absence of a body that is now fish bait.”

“Don’t.” I shivered. “I keep thinking of that long hair floating out on the surface of the ocean.”

He touched my shoulder gently, giving it a little squeeze. “Maybe you were mistaken. It was a long way down from where you were standing, wasn’t it?”

I nodded and was silent for a moment before I asked, “So what makes you think your thief has come out here?”

Darcy looked around at the gardens, now bathed in shadow. Then he lowered his voice. “The answer is that I don’t know. But I’ve a couple of things to go on. We found a fingerprint on the doorjamb of Princess Promila’s suite. It was smudged but it looks as if it could belong to Stella Brightwell.”

“You still think she could be the thief? That doesn’t make sense.”

“I agree, but your grandfather would tell you there is no such thing as coincidence. And one of the few details we have to go on is that Stella Brightwell was present on every occasion that the thief struck. She is the only person who fits that bill.”

“If it was her fingerprint on Princess Promila’s doorjamb, that doesn’t really prove anything, does it?” I said. “They were fellow first class passengers. Tablemates. What was to stop Stella from popping in to see the princess for a chat or a drink?”

“Nothing, except the princess claims that Stella never visited her suite. Nobody did. She’s a very private person.”

“Interesting. And what is the other clue that brought you here?”

“Someone tried to contact a major American gangster who is also a big-time fencer of stolen property. He’s currently in Las Vegas, Nevada, and the letter to him came from Los Angeles, from someone who had a ruby to sell.”

“I see. Have you seen the letter? Any clues from it?”

Darcy shook his head. “I haven’t seen it yet. But it was typed on a standard sort of machine and no fingerprints, so I’m told.”

“So what’s your next step? Can you lay a trap to pretend to be the fence and catch the thief that way?”

“We tried. Didn’t work. Our burglar is not stupid. He or she must have sensed the trap and didn’t show up.”

“So what now?”

“I want to know why the thief has traveled out to California,” Darcy said. “One thought is that Cy Goldman has just bought a couple of valuable pieces from Spain.”

“Oh yes. The candlesticks encrusted with jewels and the El Greco painting.”

“He told quite a lot of people on the ship, apparently.”

“If your thief really is Stella Brightwell, there is no way she’s going to steal from Cy Goldman. He’s her lover.”

“Probably true. But if it was someone associated with Stella Brightwell? If she works with an accomplice, perhaps? I gather Goldman is taking these Spanish treasures up to his castle when he goes.”

“Which is this weekend,” I said.

“It is? Are you sure?”

“Mr. Goldman announced today that he was taking everyone to his castle on Friday. Mrs. Goldman is coming out to see what he’s just had shipped from Spain. He’s planning a house party. He didn’t want to be up there alone with her, I suspect.”

Darcy grinned. “So do you think you can secure me an invitation? I’d rather not let Goldman know the real reason, just in case he passes it along to Stella Brightwell.”

“I’ll take you to the studio with me in the morning, if you like,” I said. “They send a car for me.”

Darcy shook his head. “I love the casual way you say that. Now I’ll never be able to keep you in the style to which you’ve become accustomed.”

I reached up and touched his cheek, feeling the bristles of stubble where he hadn’t shaved for a while. “This is not the sort of life I’d ever want, trust me.”

His fingers closed over my hand. “Oh, Georgie,” he said. “Why is everything so damned difficult?”

“It will get better,” I said, slipping my arms around his neck. “I could always have a prolonged affair with Craig Hart and allow him to ply me with diamonds.”

“You little minx.” He pulled me close to him. “Was that really just a friendly ‘thank you for dinner’ kiss? It didn’t look like it to me.”

“On my part it was a ‘how do I get out of this without making a public fuss’ sort of kiss. And actually it was quite chaste. Almost like a required stage kiss. Now your kisses, on the other hand . . .”

“Like this, you mean?” he asked and demonstrated. Things might have progressed a little further if a couple hadn’t strolled past us, laughing at a private joke. We broke apart.

“Where are you staying?” I asked.

“An awful little fleapit near the train station,” Darcy said. “I have only just arrived. And I don’t think my expenses would cover this place.”

“I’d invite you to my bungalow, but I’m sharing with my mother.”

“A bedroom? With your mother? Never.”

“No, silly. We have a bedroom each but there aren’t any spare beds.”

“I don’t mind sharing.” His eyes were glinting in the torchlight, teasing me now.

“I wouldn’t mind either, but there’s a nasty newspaper reporter who was on the ship plus a Hollywood gossip columnist prowling around.”

“Don’t worry. I can survive where I am—especially if you can get me included in the trip to the castle.”

“I’ll do my best,” I said. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

He nodded. “I’ll be here.”

A sudden thought struck me. “You could always have Queenie’s bed.”

He laughed. “Share with Queenie? No thank you. I’m not that desperate.”

“No. She’s gone. Left me for greener pastures. Some woman who has always wanted an English maid offered her good money.”

Darcy was still laughing. “Does she know what she’s letting herself in for?”

“Who—Queenie or the woman?”

“Both, I should think. So thank you for your kind offer but I rather think it’s wiser not to.”

He brushed my cheek with his lips, ruffled my hair and was gone.