by Rhys Bowen
He recognized me at the same moment and his eyes lit up. “Georgie—well, I’m damned. What are you doing here?”
“Good evening, Mr. O’Mara,” I said, fighting to keep my voice even.
He laughed, a trifle uneasily. “Why the sudden formality?”
“I believe it’s simpler if one keeps things formal. And since you ask, I’m wintering on the Riviera like you,” I said.
“Actually, I’m only here for a brief stay—on a spot of business,” he said.
“Oh, really. Business.” I stared at him coldly.
“Yes. Business.” He was frowning now. “Is something wrong?”
“With me? No, everything is perfect,” I said. “I’m having the time of my life.” I took Jean-Paul’s arm. “The marquis is going to teach me how to win at roulette,” I said. My gaze dropped to the stack of chips Darcy was holding. “I see you already know how. Congratulations. I hope you enjoy your winnings. Now if you’ll excuse us. I’m sure you have someone waiting for you—more than one person, actually.”
I eased into the seat at the table and Jean-Paul perched on the arm beside me. “Two hundred to start with,” he said to the croupier, throwing some notes across the table.
I could sense Darcy still hovering behind me.
“Georgiana—what’s the matter with you?” he asked. “Why are you acting like this?”
I looked back at him. “Maybe I’ve seen that there is no sense in pursuing a romance that can’t go anywhere,” I said. “Maybe I want a man who can devote himself to me and take care of me—and only me.”
Jean-Paul put a hand on my shoulder, then looked back at Darcy. “I think the young lady wishes you to leave now. You are distressing her.”
“Very well,” Darcy said. “If that’s what the young lady wants.” He held my gaze for a long moment, then pushed his way angrily through the crowd.
“You seem to be a very popular young woman,” Jean-Paul said. “So many suitors. I see that I shall have to fight a duel for you before long. I had better brush up on my fencing skills.”
I tried to force a bright smile, but inside I felt as if that knife was cutting me in pieces again. If he has another woman and a child, I told myself, he can never love you wholly. And I tried to shut out the image of those dark eyes filled with bewilderment and hurt.
“Now concentrate,” Jean-Paul said, “and I will show you how to become a rich woman. It is all a question of playing the transversal plain.” And he started to explain the odds of playing each line of three and his way of shortening those odds. He put a pile of chips down on the side of the board. The wheel spun and stopped. A number was called. More chips were pushed in Jean-Paul’s direction. The process was repeated. The pile of chips grew bigger.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Twenty-two.”
“Such a lucky number,” he said and pushed a stack of chips onto that number.
The wheel spun, slowed and landed on twenty-two. This time the amount of chips was impressive. Jean-Paul pushed them over to me.
“What is your system for doing that?” I asked.
He laughed. “Sometimes a little luck doesn’t hurt either. Now I leave it to you.”
I started to play as he had instructed. And kept winning steadily. Not every time, but enough to make that pile of chips grow. Each time I won, I looked up at Jean-Paul and he smiled at me. He really had a wonderful smile. Now I found myself wondering how the evening might end. If Jean-Paul offered to drive me home and took me to his villa instead—well, that could only mean one thing. And was that what I really wanted?
“He has to settle down sometime,” Coco had said. He was rich and attractive and a marquis. What more did I want?
The question was settled for me by the arrival of my mother, followed by Coco and Vera. “There she is.” I heard my mother’s voice behind me. “And look how well she’s been doing too. You must have been coaching her, Jean-Paul.”
“On the contrary, she has a natural feel for the game,” Jean-Paul said. “A very talented young woman. I must thank you ladies for introducing us. Now I think my time in Nice will be most pleasant.”
“Well, we’ve come to take her away from your clutches,” Vera said. “Claire has sent for her car, so it’s time to say adieu.”
Jean-Paul took my hand. “I would be happy to drive her home later.”
“She’s had a very long and tiring day, haven’t you, my sweet?” my mother said, her eyebrows raised in warning.
Much as I was tempted to show my mother that I was no longer a little girl who needed to be protected, I realized this was true. I had had a long and tiring day. I was exhausted. I had once fallen asleep when Darcy tried to make love to me. I rather feared the same thing would happen if Jean-Paul tried to seduce me tonight. Not an auspicious start to a relationship.
I got to my feet. “I really must go home now, Jean-Paul. Thank you for a lovely evening.”
He kissed my hand. “Until we meet again, ma chérie,” he said. “And don’t forget to cash in those chips.”
“Oh, no, it was your money.”
He stacked the chips into a rack. “No, no. They are your winnings. Now, no arguing and off you go.”
As I headed for the cashier’s booth, while the other women went outside to meet the car, I found that I was standing next to Sir Toby Groper. The chips in his pile were of a much higher denomination than mine.
“A good evening, Sir Toby?” the cashier asked.
“Not bad. Made up a little for a damned run of bad luck,” he said. He turned and looked at me. “And I see the young lady hasn’t done badly for herself either.”
I realized I had to seize this moment. What I had seen of Sir Toby did not make getting to know him an attractive proposition. He had shown himself to be dangerous as well as aggressive. And I could well believe that he had walked out of Buckingham Palace with the queen’s snuffbox in his pocket. But I had already lost one of the queen’s prized possessions tonight. I owed it to her to fulfill my promise and recover another one. I plucked up courage. It was now or never. “Oh, just call it beginner’s luck,” I said, trying to sound keen and girlish. “It was my first time playing roulette. But you’re Sir Toby Groper, aren’t you? I’m staying at the villa next to yours. I look down with envy on your lovely swimming pool.”
“I keep it at eighty-four degrees,” he said. “Like a bath. You must come and swim in it sometime.”
“Really? Do you mean that? I say, thanks awfully,” I replied. “It’s very kind of you.”
“Not at all. A young lady like yourself will enhance the scene for me.” He paused, regarding me rather unpleasantly. “So you’re staying with the famous Claire Daniels, are you? What do you think of her? Everyone talks about her great sex appeal but I don’t see it myself. Looking her age, I’d say.” He leaned closer to me. “So tell me, is there still a man in the picture? That German fellow? Haven’t seen him around.”
“He’s at home in Germany, working,” I said, “but she remains devoted to him.”
“Can’t see why, myself,” he said. “The man is a boor, a bloody great boor. But I must say she has good taste in guests. What is your name, little lady?”
“My friends call me Georgie,” I replied coyly, I hoped. I didn’t think it was the occasion to reveal my full identity, since he’d just trashed my mother and stolen from my royal kin.
“Well, then, Miss Georgie, I hope you’ll come down and swim in my pool one day soon. And maybe we could go for a spin on my yacht.”
“Could we really? I adore yachts.” I wasn’t sure if I was overdoing it.
“Then it’s settled,” he said. “Come over and I’ll take you out on the yacht tomorrow. Come anytime you like. I’ll have the crew standing by.”
“That’s so kind of you, Sir Toby,” I said. “I’m really looking forward to it.”
“Not at all. Delighted to help out. See you tomorrow then.”
I gave myself a pat on the back as I le
ft. I had positively had him eating out of my hand. Now if I could just find out if he had the queen’s snuffbox at the villa, it should be an easy enough matter to slip inside and pinch it when I went down for a swim. Suddenly I felt very daring and worldly. I had flirted with a dashing marquis. I had been invited out by two English boys and wangled an invitation from Sir Toby. All in all a good evening—apart from falling off a runway, losing the queen’s necklace and seeing Darcy.
I came home to find Queenie waiting up loyally for once.
“My feet are killing me,” I sighed as I flopped onto the bed.
“You can soak them in that little footbath as soon as I remove your smalls. I have been washing them out in it,” Queenie said.
“Footbath?”
“In the bathroom. Ever so handy it is. I was thinking of going down to the seashore tomorrow to see if I could catch some crabs. We could keep ’em in there until they’re wanted.”
With curiosity I followed her into the bathroom. There were my underclothes soaking in the bidet!
“Queenie, that’s not exactly a footbath,” I said.
She looked puzzled. “Then what is it for? It’s not a toilet. It’s too low for a basin.”
“It’s—” I said. “This is France. You figure it out.”
Chapter 16
Villa Marguerite
January 26, 1933
Today I go for a sail on Sir Toby’s yacht and with any luck I
return with the queen’s snuffbox.
I woke to find Queenie bending over me, a tea tray in her hands.
“I figured it out, miss. It’s for yer bum, ain’t it?”
“Absolutely right, Queenie.” I got up laughing. It was still early and the sea looked like polished pearl with wisps of haze hanging over it. I dressed and went out to walk in the gardens. The air was crisp but not cold. I came out onto a lower lawn area and found I could look down at Sir Toby’s swimming pool. The French doors of his villa were still firmly shut. But even as I watched, one of the doors opened. A young man came out and stood on the terrace. For a moment I thought it was Bobby and he had placated his father after all. But then I saw that this young man was less boyish looking, less English looking, with slicked-back hair and the face of a Romantic poet—a Roman nose and a sallow complexion. He stood outside the French doors, staring out at the swimming pool. For a long while he didn’t move, just standing and staring, then he untied the terry robe he was wearing and let it fall to his feet. I was shocked to see that he had nothing on under that robe. I knew I shouldn’t look, but frankly I was fascinated. I’d never had a chance to observe a naked man at my leisure before. Actually, I’d never had a chance to observe a naked man at all. And this one was rather well built too, like the statue of Michelangelo’s David, which I had studied earnestly with my friends on a school trip to Florence.
Then my chance for observation was cut short. There were broad steps at that end of the pool. He stepped onto the top one and stood, ankle-deep in water, looking around for a moment before he dove gracefully into the pool, cutting through the water with strong, effortless strokes. The visit to Sir Toby took on a more appealing aspect—I would be introduced to his guest and express delight that we were next-door neighbors. Maybe he was an Italian count, or another French marquis. Suddenly it seemed I was turning into a man-chasing flirt—quite unlike me. Well, why not? I asked myself. Now that there wasn’t one particular chap in my life, then the more the merrier. And who knows, maybe I’d finally do what was expected of me and marry well.
I made my way back up through the gardens and arrived on the terrace to find a council of war going on at the breakfast table.
“We’ll have to do something,” Vera was saying. “We can’t sit back and leave it to that pompous little twit. He’ll be worse than useless. You’ll have to call your friend in the Sûreté, Coco. Persuade him to come down and take over the case.”
“He can’t just come down and take over, my dear,” Coco said. “I explained that to you last night. He would have to be invited by the police of the region, and that inspector certainly will never allow anyone to step on his extralarge toes.”
“You noticed that too, did you?” Mummy said. “He did have big feet for his size. That’s why I thought it was so funny his name was Lafite.”
They laughed at this. Then Vera grew somber again.
“We will have to start investigating ourselves,” Vera said. “There is no other option. I must recover that necklace or Her Majesty will never forgive me. I’d never forgive myself.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Mummy said. “You kept the wretched jewels in the bank. You brought them to the room under police guard. Who was to know that Georgie was going to tumble off the stage and that someone would be quick thinking enough to snatch them in an instant?”
I started to mention the tacky substance on the sole of my shoe, then shut my mouth again. I wasn’t wholly convinced that Madame Chanel herself had not caused the accident to create a sensation, as she put it.
“It’s a pity my grandfather isn’t closer,” I said. “He’d know what to do.”
“Your grandfather? That fearsome Scottish man with the big beard? I thought he’d been dead for years,” Vera said.
“No, I mean my other grandfather.” Mummy shot me a warning look. She didn’t like revealing her lowly ancestry any more than she liked disclosing that she was old enough to have a grown-up daughter.
I ignored her. “He was a London policeman until he retired. He’s very good at this sort of thing.”
“Well, then”—Vera brightened up—“let’s ask him to come out and help us, shall we?”
“I don’t think he’d come,” I said. “He couldn’t afford the ticket, for one thing.”
“We’d pay for his ticket, of course,” Vera said.
“I still don’t think he’d come. He’s never been abroad. He has a distrust for anything farther away than Southend.”
Vera turned to Mummy. “He’s your father, Claire. You invite him. Tell him how much we need him.”
“And he has had such bad bronchitis, Mummy,” I said, warming to this now. “The climate would be wonderful for him if we can persuade him to come.”
“He wouldn’t come if I asked him,” Mummy said. “You are the apple of his eye. You invite him.”
“And he can stay here?” I said.
“Of course. If he doesn’t mind roughing it. I don’t think he’d want to stay in the house, would he? Not his thing at all. There’s a gardener’s cottage that’s unoccupied at the moment. It never seemed worth having a live-in gardener since I only come here once in a blue moon, and one can always find handy little men when one wants them.”
“A cottage? That’s wonderful.” I found there was a big bubble of happiness inside me at the thought of having Granddad close by. “I’ll send him a telegram, shall I? I’ll tell him we’re in trouble and desperately need him. And we’ve taken care of his journey for him. And it will be so good for his chest to be in this climate.”
“That’s turning into an expensive telegram,” Mummy pointed out.
“I’ll shorten it a bit, then. But I did win money at roulette last night, so I can afford it. Also Jean-Paul taught me a method of winning.”
“This child will have to be watched,” Mummy said. “I have a feeling that once she’s started down the road to ruin, there will be no stopping her.”
“Just like you,” Vera said.
Mummy laughed. “Exactly.”
“If we send him a ticket, all arranged, he’ll feel obliged to come, won’t he?” Vera said. “I’ll see to it when we go into town today.”
“I don’t suppose Granddad will be able to come for a few days, even if he agrees to come at all,” I said. “We should get working on this straight away.”
“What do you suggest we do?” Vera asked.
“Granddad always says ‘start with what you know.’ Somebody knew the jewels were real. Usually at a fashion show one would expe
ct the accessories to be paste, wouldn’t one? So who would have heard that you were borrowing the queen’s jewels?”
“Servants at the palace, but they are all devotedly loyal. And besides, they’d have opportunities to steal a piece anytime they felt like it. So apart from them . . .”
“An employee at the bank,” Mummy suggested. “I presume you told them what you were locking in their vault.”
“I did not,” Vera said. “One does not tell bank employees what one is putting in a vault. Of course I had to tell the local gendarmerie that the jewels were valuable. But the police don’t normally go around stealing things. So apart from them, I really can’t think.”
“Surely Coco publicized the fact that you were going to use the queen’s jewels,” Mummy said. “Wasn’t that part of the appeal of the collection—royal and simple, masculine and feminine?”
“Well, yes,” Coco admitted, looking a trifle uncomfortable. “I may well have spoken about this.” She gave a delightfully Gallic shrug.
“So actually, anyone in that room would have known that royal jewels were going to be worn with the outfits?” Mummy insisted.
“If you put it like that, yes,” Coco agreed.
“So we’re back to square one.” Vera sighed.
“Do you have a guest list of everybody who attended?” I asked.
“We have a list of people to whom invitations were sent,” Coco said.
“And there was a guest book at the door,” Vera added. “But how does that help? I don’t suppose anyone signed in with ‘jewel thief’ next to his name.”
“No, but we can eliminate quite a few people right away. Elderly colonels and their wives. Those old princesses. None of them are likely to have taken a necklace,” I said.