Naughty In Nice

by Rhys Bowen

  “But the runway is smooth, you see.” Chanel turned back to examine it.

  “Maybe she caught her trouser leg in her shoes,” Mummy suggested. “She did say she wasn’t used to wearing high heels.”

  “Not possible,” Chanel said. “The trousers are not wide enough.”

  “You don’t know Georgie,” my mother said. “Many things are possible for her. Here, darling. The kind gentleman has brought you a chair. Sit down.”

  I sat. Someone thrust a glass of brandy into my hands.

  I sipped, coughed and sipped again.

  “Are you unhurt?” Coco asked.

  “I think so. I may have scratched my cheek on that lady’s jewelry.” I put my hand up to my face then ran it down to my neck. “The necklace!” I cried. “It’s gone.”

  Chapter 13

  The casino on the pier, Nice

  January 25, 1933

  Dying of embarrassment. Why did I agree to do this? I

  knew it would go wrong.

  “Shut the doors,” Vera’s voice rang out. “Nobody is to leave the room. A valuable necklace Lady Georgiana was wearing is missing.”

  A horrified whisper went through the crowd, which was the biggest display of alarm one would expect from an aristocratic gathering.

  “You’re not suggesting one of us might have stolen it,” a woman’s voice demanded from the back of the room.

  “It must have come off when she fell,” someone else said. “Come on, chaps. Let’s get down and search the floor.”

  Tuxedo-clad men got down on their hands and knees and were soon searching diligently. The poor dowager on whom I had landed was assisted to her feet and led to a safer location, still fanning herself. Soon everyone around was involved in the search. Even women in their evening finery were crawling around on all fours between the rows of chairs. If it hadn’t been so horribly serious, it would have been funny. But the necklace was not found.

  “Did it fall somewhere inside her clothing?” someone else suggested.

  I felt my pockets and inside my blouse, then shook my head.

  “I’m sorry to say this,” Vera announced, “but I have sent one of the gendarmes to summon his superior. Everyone will have to be searched.”

  “This is an outrage!” Mrs. Simpson said. “There are some very important people in this room. Obviously they haven’t taken a stupid necklace. Try searching the hired help.”

  “There were no waiters near the stage when she fell,” someone else pointed out.

  “My wife is feeling faint. She needs fresh air,” a distinguished, military-looking man complained.

  “I’m sorry, but nobody is to leave,” Vera said firmly.

  She had now brought in one of the gendarmes to help her guard the door. “I ask for a little patience,” she said. “This necklace must be found. It is extremely valuable.”

  Again a whisper went through the crowd. I was sitting on the chair, sipping my brandy, trying to recollect exactly what had happened. Had I felt anyone touching the necklace? I was fairly sure I hadn’t. Surely I would have noticed hands at the back of my neck. But then, I was rather shocked at the time. It was suggested that the necklace could have somehow rolled under the catwalk, in spite of the heavy velvet drapes around it. A couple of young men obligingly held up the drape while the waiters were instructed to crawl beneath it. But they came out empty-handed.

  “The necklace must be somewhere in this room,” Chanel said, pacing up and down past me. “We would have noticed if anyone had opened a door after you fell. We would have seen the light coming from outside.”

  “I don’t know how I fell,” I said. I got up and made my way back to the catwalk. The surface was smooth wood. I couldn’t see any bumps or nails sticking up or any kind of projection. I was forced to admit that my well-known clumsiness had caused this. I should never have agreed to model the clothes. I had only myself to blame. People in the salon were getting progressively more annoyed. Mutterings turned to mumblings to raised voices. Just when it looked as if there might be a mutiny and they might force their way out, the doors were flung open and a little man stood there. He had an impressive black mustache out of all proportion to his size and he stood surveying the crowd with an air of distaste.

  “Nobody is to move,” he said in heavily accented English. “I am Inspector Lafite of the Nice Police. I understand that a robbery has happened here.” (Actually he said “a rubbery’as ’appened ’ere.”) “But ’ave no fear. I shall find the culprit and bring ’im to justice.”

  “This is ridiculous,” one of the bejeweled ladies said, fanning herself with her program. “We’re English aristocracy, not Continentals. We don’t go around stealing things.”

  The crowd parted as Inspector Lafite strode through the crowd until he reached the catwalk. “You Engleesh,” he said, looking around us with scorn, “you think you can come here to France and behave badly. You think we French have no laws, do you not? You mistake yourselves. But I tell you, the police in France are not easily outfoxed. Now, please describe the missing item to me.”

  “It was a choker,” Vera said.

  “A joker? The joker stole this item as a joke?”

  “No, the item was a choker.”

  “You think you can mock Inspector Lafite?” he demanded.

  “I’m not mocking, you silly man,” Vera said in an exasperated voice. “I’m describing the stolen piece of jewelry.”

  “Ah, so you admit it was jewelry.”

  “A choker. A necklace that is worn up around the neck.”

  “A necklace. Why didn’t you say so? From whom was the necklace stolen?”

  “I was wearing it,” I said, “but it didn’t belong to me.”

  He walked up to me until he was standing a few inches away. He was about four inches shorter than I so he had to stare up into my face. “And your name is?”

  “Lady Georgiana Rannoch,” I said.

  “Ah. An English lady. But you wear jewels that do not belong to you?”

  “I was a model in Madame Chanel’s fashion show,” I said. “The necklace was part of my outfit.”

  “A valuable necklace?”

  “Very valuable,” Vera said.

  “It belongs to you, Madame?”

  “No, to a very important English royal person. I am not at liberty to divulge her name, but the piece is priceless. I was taking every possible precaution with it—it was locked in the bank until it was needed for tonight’s show. Two of your gendarmes escorted me to the hotel and stood guard outside the doors. Nobody could have come in or out without their noticing.”

  “Then—” Inspector Lafite paused dramatically. “It must still be in this room. Have you searched the room?”

  “Of course.”

  The inspector turned back to me. “Did you feel a thief removing this necklace from your person?”

  “No,” I said. “I tripped and fell and when I got up, the necklace was missing.”

  “Ah. You fell to the floor?”

  “No, I landed on that lady over there.” I pointed to the large Russian.

  “Then it is possible that the necklace came off and is concealed somewhere about the person of Madame,” he said, regarding the lady’s large bosom.

  A slim older woman with aristocratically high cheekbones and iron gray hair stepped between the inspector and the Russian lady. “This is the Princess Theodora Fedorova,” she said in such a commanding voice that the inspector was stopped in his tracks. “Related to the late czar. You are not about to search her. She would have noticed if the necklace had lodged somewhere on her body.” And she directed her gaze at the princess’s impressive cleavage. Her accent was charmingly French but she spoke in English.

  “You witnessed this fall, Madame?” the inspector asked in his own language.

  “Of course. I was seated beside Her Highness.”

  “And may one ask your name?”

  “You may. I am the Princess Marie Bourbon de la Fountaine-O’Day, related to
the kings of France. Princess Theodora stays at my residence in Paris. We have just arrived here in Nice for our health. The princess has been stricken with rheumatics recently and the physician prescribed a climate that was less damp. Paris can be rather damp in winter, as I’m sure you know.”

  The inspector wanted to interrupt before she told their entire life stories, but her demeanor was so regal that he waited, shifting uncomfortably, until she took a breath.

  “Highness, would you be gracious enough to tell me what you saw?” he asked finally in French.

  “I saw the young lady stumble. She tried to right herself but flashbulbs went off and must have blinded her. She was not able to save herself before she tumbled off the end of the runway. The Princess Theodora was sitting immediately below the runway and the young lady landed on top of her. I stood up to help but a young man came to her aid.”

  “Where is this young man who came to the assistance of Lady Rannoch?” the inspector asked in English, turning to the assembled crowd.

  Nobody came forward.

  “Do you see this man in the room?” the inspector asked.

  The princess looked around. “I don’t think so, but in truth I was concentrating more on my poor friend who was suffering from the arrival of Lady Georgiana on top of her.”

  The inspector turned to me. “Can you describe the young man for us?”

  “I don’t think I really saw him,” I said. “He was helping me up from behind when other men came to assist him.”

  “Ah, a gang at work. I knew it,” the inspector said.

  “On the contrary,” I replied. “One of the men was my cousin, the Prince of Wales, and the other was the Marquis de Ronchard.”

  “My apologies. Your Royal Highness. Marquis.” The inspector gave a groveling bow to each in turn. “How good of you to come to this young lady’s assistance.”

  The two men mumbled, “Not at all,” almost in unison. I was still in such a state of shock that I found this funny and had to stifle a giggle. This did not go unnoticed by the inspector. He stared at me, frowning. “I am wondering if this was not some kind of clever scheme among you Engleesh, maybe to collect the insurance on this piece. A mysterious young man who is no longer in the room—I ask myself, does he really exist? Where do you think he could have gone?”

  “He can’t have left the room,” Vera said. “The doors were closed and the only way out was past that curtain into the models’ dressing room. They would have seen if anybody tried to escape that way.”

  “This young man—he was English?”

  “Oh, yes,” I said. “His voice sounded very English.”

  “You hear that, LeClerc?” the inspector barked to one of his men. “You are to search for a young Englishman. Go through those curtains to the models’ dressing room. See if a young Englishman escaped that way.”

  The young gendarme went through the curtains, only to be greeted by screams. Obviously the models were still changing. He returned, red faced, a few seconds later.

  “They have seen nobody, Inspector.”

  The inspector sighed. “Then I have the unpleasant task of asking my men to search each person in this room before you are permitted to leave.”

  This created an uproar.

  “Absolute outrage,” a man spluttered. “You’re not putting your hands on my wife.”

  “Besides, we were nowhere near the place where this theft took place,” another man complained.

  “This young man could have passed the stolen jewelry to an accomplice,” Inspector Lafite said. “Everyone in this room is a suspect until proven innocent. You will please line up.”

  “Only the men, surely,” someone said. “The ladies are wearing evening gowns. They hardly have anywhere to conceal a stolen necklace.”

  “I presume they bring evening purses with them. Ladies go nowhere without the comb and the powder compact, do they not? And they could even hide it up their skirts.”

  “Nobody is going to look up my skirt,” a large woman said fiercely.

  “Really, this is all too silly,” Mrs. Simpson said, moving closer to the prince and slipping her arm through his. “Why don’t we go to the bar for a drink until this is all over.”

  “No, Wallis, we have to set an example,” the Prince of Wales said. “We should do all we can to help. Here, Inspector, you can search us first, if you like.”

  Reluctantly the other people in the room lined up to be searched. One thing we British do well is to join a queue. I allowed myself to be inspected, then I went over to the two elderly princesses. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness,” I said in French. “I do hope I did not hurt you.”

  “Fortunately you do not weigh much,” the Russian princess said in slow, even French. “It was more shock than harm.”

  Princess Marie took my hand and patted it. “What a distressing thing to have happened, ma petite. I knew your dear grandmother well. We were childhood playmates. And your dear great-grandmother—mon Dieu, but she was a terrifying woman. So small but so powerful. I was always struck dumb in her presence.”

  “I never met either of them,” I said. “My only grandparent still alive is my mother’s father.”

  “He was an English nobleman, I presume, because I believe I am acquainted with all those in the Almanach de Gotha.”

  “He’s a former London policeman.”

  “A policeman? You mean a commoner?” If she had been wearing a lorgnette she would have raised it and peered at me.

  I nodded. “My father married an actress.”

  “Your father always was such a silly boy.” She shook her head. “But who am I to criticize—I who married an Irishman.”

  Even in my current state of shock this comment registered. “You did?”

  “A big mistake, as my family told me. But I was twenty-one. I had my own fortune. My husband was of noble family—so charming and handsome, but an absolute scoundrel. He went through my money then ran off with an American heiress. So let that be a lesson to you, my dear. Stay away from Irishmen.”

  After everything else that had just happened I felt as if I might disgrace myself and cry. I fought to keep my face calm and I smiled. “I’ll remember,” I said.

  The line of those to be searched had dwindled and the room emptied. Coco Chanel came up to me. “Come, ma petite . Let us go.”

  “Go where?”

  “Across the hall to the casino where I hold a party to celebrate.”

  “Celebrate?” I said. “I ruined your lovely collection. I allowed the necklace to be stolen.”

  “Nonsense,” she said, waving her cigarette at me. “I love sensations. Now everyone will remember this forever. We will make the front page of tomorrow’s newspapers. The whole world will see my new design.”

  I glanced across at her. I had heard that she was an ambitious and ruthless woman. Was it possible that she arranged for my accident? Or at least that she took me as a model because there was a good chance I would fail and thus give her publicity?

  “But what about the queen’s choker?” I asked. “I feel terrible about it.”

  Coco shrugged. “What can we do? It is now in the hands of the police, although judging from that sad little man, I do not have much hope. So we have no choice but to forget about it for the present and go to the casino.”

  I winced. I felt I should be doing something personally to recover the necklace, but I had no idea what that might be. Then I decided that most of the guests from this event would be at the party at the casino and it would be a good opportunity to observe them and thus rule out those who could not be suspects.

  “I’ll go and change,” I said.

  Coco put her hand on my arm to stop me. “But no. Continue to wear the ensemble, I beg you—you will cause heads to turn at the casino and everyone will know you as chic.”

  I wasn’t so sure that a man’s tweed jacket and lace blouse really made me look elegant, but I supposed that anything Coco did would be counted as chic. “I must take these shoes off,
though,” I said. “They are hurting me. I think Vera bought them one size too small.”

  “If you must, you must.” Coco shrugged.

  We went through to the changing room. For some reason I found it hard to walk and almost stumbled again. When I took off my shoes, I noticed something. One of the soles looked as if it had a darker patch on it—as if I had stepped in something. I touched it dubiously. The outer layer was smooth but there were places where that outer layer had worn away, exposing an inner layer of substance that was tacky. Incredibly tacky. I had been set up to stumble and trip. And cleverly too. Someone had painted a substance on the sole of my shoe—some kind of glue, and maybe a varnish over it. The first few steps would have been fine but as the outer hard layer was breached, then the tacky substance would have rooted me to the floor. It seemed more and more likely that someone knew I’d be wearing the queen’s necklace tonight and had planned a very clever robbery.

  Chapter 14

  Still January 25 and still at the casino

  Wishing I could be somewhere else.

  I really didn’t want to go to the casino. Frankly I wanted to go home and straight to bed. I never wanted to face any of these people again. But Coco was insistent. “You think this is a big thing, but I say it is a trifle. If this is the worst thing that happens to you in your life, then you are lucky. I had to suffer the death of the man I loved. That was so painful that anything else since means nothing.”

  Of course my thoughts went instantly to that image of Darcy on the beach holding hands with a child and smiling down at the woman with long dark hair. Chanel was right. Nothing could be as painful as that. I put on more comfortable shoes, wrapping the high-heeled wedges with the tacky sole carefully in the suitcase I had brought with me. Then I toned down my stage makeup and we joined Vera, who was waiting for us at the doorway.

  “Your mother went on ahead,” she said. “She said she’d open the champagne.”

  “I really don’t see how we can drink champagne when we have lost the queen’s necklace,” I said. “She will be furious. You know how she prizes her possessions.”