Mischief in St. Tropez

by C. G Oster

  “Sherry, dear?” Lady Pettifer asked and Mr. Fernley prepared the salon for them.

  “A small one would be nice.” Dory didn’t know how she would live as an elderly lady, but she would never complain with a setup like this. In saying that, though, as time passed and the scandal of Lady Wallisford’s activities died down, there would be a time when Dory really should return to England and find a place for herself—unless this war started in earnest and took all choices out of her hands.

  The truth was that Dory had no idea what war entailed. Lady Pettifer had once said that the women of England, and broader Britain as well, would have to take over the ongoing operation of the country. It seemed an extraordinary notion, but Dory had to concede that she was probably right. Dory just didn’t have a good understanding of how that would work.

  DI Ridley entered her mind and she wondered if the Police would need women as well. Could Dory ever consider a profession in the Police? She wasn’t sure if she could do what he did. Her eagerness to solve a crime had been a bit of a revelation and she was still deeply offended by someone getting away with an action as awful as taking someone’s life.

  “Mr. Fernley, would you be so kind to turn the wireless on.” Lady Pettifer asked as she settled herself. “Let’s hear what they have to say tonight.”

  The radio started with a rush of static before Mr. Fernley corrected the setting. Music played for a little while and Beauty settled herself down to lie by Lady Pettifer’s feet.

  It went quiet for a moment, followed by a series of familiar beeps. Everyone in the room was utterly still.

  This is the BBC in London calling, the man started with his sharp, deep tone. We start tonight’s bulletin with news regarding Germany’s advancement into Denmark and Norway, which commenced this morning in the early hours of dawn.

  Dory shuddered at what she heard and they all exchanged worried glances.

  “It seems they are taking over anywhere they can get a foothold,” Lady Pettifer said.

  “At least they cannot breach the French Army,” Dory said quietly.

  “Let’s hope that deters them. I do hope Vivian is safe in Switzerland.”

  Dory noted that she didn’t extend the concern to Lady Wallisford, which showed how low a regard she truly had for the woman. At least they agreed on that.

  The man broadcasting went on to say the German Army had landed by sea at Gedser and were moving north, and that German troops had sailed up the Oslofjord to the capital of Norway.

  Every moment seemed to make it all sound worse. Germans simply invading. It was worse than Dory could imagine. Those horrid Nazis and their relentless ambition. There was no talk of appeasement anymore. They were at war, but opposing sides of equal might deterred any real fighting.

  Chapter 3

  I have sent Mr. Fernley up in the attic to find my old mask. I bought it in Venice a while ago now, and it will serve you well for the evening,” Lady Pettifer said as Dory sat in the salon and read.

  “That’s wonderful. I had figured I would have to fashion myself something out of the material from an old hat.”

  “We can do better than that.”

  Livina’s dress had been delivered that afternoon in a large, paper box and Livinia was already upstairs, the dulcet tone of her music playing as it always did.

  “If it proves to be too difficult to drive back at night, you can always stay with Lady Dorsey. She wouldn’t mind one bit.”

  Dory had been worried about driving the road back in the dark. It all depended on how bright the moon was. If there was no moon, it was an uncomfortable and perilous journey with steep drops and sharp turns. The coastline undulated violently between St. Tropez and Cannes. “Hopefully, we will make it back.”

  Another concern was that Livinia would go off with her friends and simply leave Dory to her own devices. Well, perhaps not a concern so much as a real possibility. Livinia was always willing to keep the party going. Dory, on the other hand, was not willing to follow some group around in the wee hours of the night. That would be too much. If Livinia refused to come home, Dory was not prepared to take any responsibility for that—and Lady Pettifer wouldn’t expect her to. Livinia was technically old enough to make her own decisions.

  In a sense, Dory had some sympathy for Livinia, who was expected to straddle two different social expectations—the old, where she was supposed to be a demure innocent, protected from the world and any real role in it, and also the expectations of a modern girl who made her own way in the world. She needed to be both things at once, and she was managing—perhaps embracing the modern girl a little too gleefully, but that was simply Dory’s opinion.

  “Have you been successful?” Lady Pettifer asked as Mr. Fernley returned with a box.

  “Is this the one you were referring to?” he said, opening the box.

  Inside was a white mask with feathers and gold trimming. It looked like a sugar confection, much too fancy, but it was better than any monstrosity that Dory could create, so in that regard, Dory was pleased.

  “I think this will go better with your blue dress,” Lady Pettifer said.

  Dory had two fancy dresses that she used for parties and events. She loved both of them, but she couldn’t say she felt entirely comfortable in them. Those dresses were the embodiment of the discomfort she felt about how she fit in here. The truth was that living here and living this lifestyle had changed her in both outlook and in the things she wanted. Or perhaps it was more that she didn’t exactly know what she wanted anymore.

  “I better go change,” Dory said, taking the beautifully embellished mask that Mr. Fernley had found in the treasure trove that was Lady Pettifer’s attic. The material was silk, which felt buttery under her fingers. It had a dreamy quality to it and Dory wondered if she’d feel dreamy wearing it. Maybe a masquerade was something a bit special, a place where she could step outside of herself for a little while.

  Changing quickly, she pulled the mask over her eyes and considered herself in the mirror. Didn’t she look mysterious. Perhaps she would meet a mysterious man and they would dance, the whole while never knowing each other’s identities. With a sigh, she pulled it off again and made her way downstairs.

  It didn’t take long for Livinia to appear, looking wonderful in a sleeveless peach dress. The dressmaker in Cannes was gifted, Dory had to concede. It was a dress far above her own, but Dory wasn’t sure she would even feel comfortable in a dress like that. Livinia had no limitations to what she felt comfortable wearing.

  “Ready to go?” Livinia asked, pulling up her long, satin gloves. “I’ll drive.” Which meant it would be an uncomfortable ride for Dory as Livinia’s rash behavior was evident in her driving too. The whole family had issues with driving, it seemed. Perhaps it was hereditary.

  Dory nodded and Lady Pettifer bid them goodbye, standing at the door to see them off. Lady Pettifer’s car was a burgundy-colored Bentley and as it was a dry evening, Mr. Fernley had put the canvas roof down for them.

  “Well, I hope the old girl doesn’t have too dull a night without us,” Livinia stated. “It’s so awful with her knee. It must be dreadful getting old.”

  “Yes,” Dory had to agree.

  “Andrew should come visit more often. He never comes. Finds it too hot. Such an Englishmen. Positively wilts in the heat. I, on the other hand, adore it. Who wants to molder away in the country all summer?”

  More than a few times, Dory had wondered if Livinia told herself so because she was frightened to go home, frightened of the scandal her mother still was. As bright and shiny as Livinia was, she couldn’t escape being tarred with that brush. But she had found both excitement and acceptance here on the coast, so Dory expected she would stay here forever if she could—at least until no one cared about the Wallisford Hall murder.

  Everyone had their problems, even someone as lofty and flighty as Livinia.

  The sky was painted in all shades of orange, red and mauve. It was utterly beautiful and the air was fresh a
s they drove. Dusk was quickly settling and Dory hoped they would get to their destination before dark. Livinia certainly seemed to be in a hurry to get there.

  They drove in silence, because as usually was, they had precious little to talk about, but knew each other enough to sit in silence. Dory had no illusions about what Livinia thought of her—boring and pointless. She was never mean about it. Meanness wasn’t actually part of Livinia’s personality. Only her brothers brought that out in her.

  “You look nice,” Livinia finally said.

  “Thank you,” Dory replied.

  “I think your mask is actually better than mine. Who knew Aunt Connie had that up in the attic?”

  For a moment, Dory wondered if Livinia wanted it, but she didn’t say so. Hopefully not, because Livinia’s mask would clash horribly with Dory’s dress. “I wonder if the Duke and Duchess will be there,” she said instead, referring to the notorious Windsors.

  “They might. I suspect they would love to come to a masquerade and not be noticed. Everyone continually stares at them otherwise.” Dory had seen them once at one of the well-known annual parties held by someone with a hyphenated name ending with Rothchild. The ambitious approached them, but mostly, people simply observed them. “I don’t think I could stand that.”

  “You hate being noticed in any capacity,” Livinia pointed out. It was hard to argue, but Dory was surprised that Livinia had even noticed that about her.

  “That training to never be seen is hard to shake,” she said by way of defending herself.

  Livinia gave her a chiding glance. “Can’t blame your shyness on training.”

  Dory utterly hated discussing herself and her shortcomings. At least Livinia knew exactly what she wanted in life. She wanted to marry well, with a handsome, rich man who also wanted to be the life of the party. The only ambition Dory had managed to muster was to perhaps go to secretarial school, and even that didn’t set her heart alight.

  “I’m not planning on coming home tonight,” Livinia said after a while. “Duckie is having a party at his house tomorrow, so I thought I’d stay. You don’t mind driving back on your own, do you?”

  “No, of course not.” She didn’t relish driving back in the dark, but that had nothing to do with having Livinia’s company.

  “It’s going to be a smashing night. I understand they are having a performance by some American jazz singer.”

  “You wouldn’t know there was a war on, would you?”

  “The Germans can keep their war. Miserable buggars. I hope they choke on it.”

  Dory smiled. There was no holding back with Livinia; she charged ahead with whatever opinion she had.

  “Did Lady Pettifer tell you she got a letter from Vivian?”

  By Livinia’s raised eyebrows, Dory had her answer. “Is that so?”

  “He’s in Switzerland, it seems.”

  Livinia’s expression clouded over. She wasn’t remotely as forgiving of their mother as Vivian seemed to be. It was a hard thing to accept, perhaps.

  “Here we are,” Livinia said and took an exit off the road. A house was lit up like a firecracker up the side of the hill. It was just about completely dark now and there was no one in doubt there was a party going on. Any German flying over would see a glowing point on an otherwise—mostly—dark coastline.

  Chapter 4

  T he house itself was large, looming over the dark mountainside like a crouching cat. The moon was almost full, so the outline of the hill and the house was seen, as well as the sea beyond. It was a beautiful place, giving Dory the feel of isolation, as though it was an oceangoing ship. Cars were parked along the driveway and Livinia squeezed into a spot with barely enough room to get out.

  “Come on,” she said excitedly as they walked the rest of the way up to the house. Music was heard even from here, and live music, not the sedate scratchy tunes from a gramophone. Livinia busied herself with her mask and Dory followed. It felt a little suffocating having something on her face, but that was all a part of it.

  A neatly dressed servant stood in the doorway with a tray of champagne and Livinia sailed past, picking one up on the way. She really was in her element.

  “Thank you,” Dory said as she grabbed a glass. Champagne was marvelous and the French really had a way of making the humble grape into something magical.

  Meeting her was a room full of exquisitely dressed people, all wearing masks—some elaborate, some plain black. The men all wore black tails with neatly combed hair. This was Livinia’s crowd and they was glittering. There was more jewelry in this room than Dory knew how to take in. This wasn’t her first event, but this might be the most stylish.

  There were some older attendees as well. Their style was slightly different, older in fashion, but there was still a sense of waylaid inhibitions. Obviously, she had heard them exalt what the Cote d’Azur was like in the twenties, with the lavish parties. These days, things were more sedate to reflect the times, and the fact that the country was at war—but not tonight. Tonight was an unapologetic return to opulence.

  In a way, Dory was glad she was here. Few of her friends back in Swanley would ever believe there were parties like this. It was too much for the senses to take in.

  On a table across the room, a champagne pyramid stood, and a man poured into the very top glass until it overflowed to all the glasses below. There was also an ice sculpture of a crane with its neck looped around as if it were surveying its own leg.

  A girl in a red, tasseled top and small shorts walked around with a silver ice bucket. “For the war effort,” she said expectantly as she waited for a man to consult his wallet. In the end, the task proved too difficult so he dropped the whole wallet in. “Good man,” she said with a broad smile and moved to the next.

  Dory only had five francs in her small purse, but she supposed she would have to part with it when the girl came her way. Everyone needed to do their bit for the war, although she hadn’t expected it to be a part of a night like this.

  The inside of the main reception room had tall palm trees in pots. The fronds curved across the people milling. Sleek art graced the walls. It really was a lovely house. The floor was black and white checkered, which showed that this house was probably built ten years ago. It was a house built to dazzle and it did its job in that regard. Ville Beaulieu was much older with its cream stucco walls, wood and terracotta floors. As stylish as this house was, Dory preferred the comfort of Beaulieu.

  Walking along, Dory smiled to anyone who smiled at her. She was enjoying just seeing this party and the people here. A dance floor was filled with milling couples—some obviously in love. Livinia was one of the dancers, who was laughing at something said by a tall man with glossy black hair. Was this the man she seemed so eager to see, the one she didn’t really speak about?

  It wasn’t Duckie. Dory had met Duckie before, so she knew Livnia was dancing with someone else. It could be that he was the reason she was staying behind tonight—not that Livinia needed a reason. Dory hoped she knew what she was doing.

  But then who was she to judge? When it came to love, she wasn’t exactly thriving in that department. Back home, she’d never really had time for boys, and it wasn’t until she’d met DI Ridley that she’d even managed a proper blush. It was impossible not to face the fact that she had been sweet on him, and to her eternal gratitude, he hadn’t noticed. That was all said and done now.

  Perhaps part of the reason she stayed on here in the South of France, besides the obvious comfort of her life here, was that she didn’t want to go back to England, where she would naturally go to London, to then discover that DI Ridley had absolutely no interest in her now that his case was solved. Part of her obviously feared that was true.

  The fact still was that while she had blushed whenever he’d shown a modicum of concern for her wellbeing, he hadn’t blushed back. He wasn’t the kind of man to blush. With him, he had his objective in mind, and probably didn’t notice anything unrelated—like blushing maids.


  Changing direction, Dory tried to put all that out of her mind. What she really needed was a seat somewhere, where she could perch for a while like any self-respecting wallflower.

  “Hello, Dory,” a man said and Dory turned to see Duckie.

  “I see my attempts at going incognito have completely failed. What gave me away?” Probably the dress as she only had two to wear. Surely he must have noticed.

  Duckie smiled, his eyes looking disturbingly disembodied behind the mask. “Not sure. I think it’s the hair. Since you are here, I assume Livinia is milling around.”

  “Last I saw her, she was on the dance floor.” For officially being a chaperone, that sounded awful, but to be fair, she was expected to be the semblance of a chaperone rather than an active one.

  A sharp scream echoed across the room, enough to make Dory drop her glass, which smashed into a thousand pieces around her feet. That wasn’t the scream of some drunk girl being tickled. There was terror in that scream. Were the Germans invading, was the first thought that stole through Dory’s brain.

  Duckie’s hand was on her arm as if steadying her. The music stopped and confusion spread through the crowd like a malignancy. Then murmurs. Everyone turned and stared in the direction of the scream.

  A man cleared his throat. “I think we shall require the service of the Police. There has been an incident.”

  Livinia pressed unseeingly through the crowd, tears flowing down her face. Dory grabbed her by the arms to stop her. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. I went to the bathroom and when I came back… he was dead.”

  “Who?” Duckie asked avidly.

  “Drecsay,” Livinia said, distress clearly showing in her eyes. “There was blood.” At this moment, she looked like a small child who had been chastised for the first time. “He’s dead.”