Naughty In Nice (A Royal Spyness Mystery)

thought you recognized me.”
    “My apologies, mademoiselle,” he said, “but you resemble a young woman I know.”
    “Would her name be Jeanine?”
    “Ah, so you know her too? You two are related, perhaps? The resemblance between you is strong.”
    “Yes, we’re cousins,” I said, “and I’ve been trying to find her.”
    He glanced at his watch. “It’s a little early but she may already be at the club.”
    “The club?”
    “The Black Cat. She is one of the dancers there. You knew that, didn’t you?”
    “Oh, of course. I heard that she was now working at a club.”
    He looked at me strangely. “You are not French,” he said.
    “No. The English branch of the family. It’s a complicated story. So how would I find the Black Cat Club?”
    He was still staring at me. “It’s not the sort of place a young woman would go to alone,” he said.
    “And if she is not already at the club? Do you know her home address?”
    He gave an apologetic shrug. “I have never been one of those lucky enough to be invited back to her apartment, but she has rooms in one of the buildings around here. Not that she sleeps at home much, if you get my meaning.”
    “I’ll try the Black Cat,” I said. “At least I can leave a message for her. How do I get there?”
    “It’s down by the port,” he said. “One of those buildings below the castle. Ask anyone. They’ll know.”
    So it was back down the hill again. By now I was feeling rather tired and ready to give up for the day. A long cool drink and a good dinner awaited me at my mother’s villa. And tomorrow I could set out again with Commissaire Germain and my grandfather. That made a lot more sense. But I decided just to have a look at the Black Cat Club before I found a taxi to take me home. I didn’t think my legs were up to the mile walk to the villa this evening.
    I could see at once why it was not recommended as a place for young women like myself to go alone. It was discreet enough, but outside there were framed photographs of young women in provocative poses. The front door was firmly shut. As I turned away, someone came clattering over the cobbles toward me. Her head was down against the strong wind that now blew from the harbor and she wasn’t looking where she was going, so that she almost bumped into me. She realized I was standing there at the last second and looked up. A look of surprise and then recognition crossed her face. We stared at each other for a long moment without speaking.
    “You,” she said at last. “It’s you. You really do look like me. He said you did.”
    She was not as fair skinned as I and lacked my freckles, and her hair was reddish brown, but a face with my features was staring back at me.
    “It’s unbelievable,” I said. “We could almost be twins.”
    “Not so hard to believe,” she said, still staring at me. “We are sisters, after all.”
    “Sisters? What on earth do you mean?”
    She looked around. The street appeared to be deserted but she tapped on the door of the club. “You had better come inside. It would be a serious mistake to be seen together.”
    The door opened a few inches. “It is I, Robert,” she said. “I have someone with me. Let us in and then leave us alone. We want to talk.”
    We stepped into the nightclub. The chairs were still on the tables and it smelled of cigarettes and old wine. Along one side there was a mahogany bar with leather-topped bar stools and at the back was a stage with red velvet curtains. The only light came from a dirty window on one side that looked out onto an alleyway. One half of the window was open and the cold breeze stirred the curtains. The person she had called Robert had vanished.
    Jeanine took down two chairs. “Sit,” she said. “Do you want a cognac or Pernod?”
    “Nothing, thank you.”
    “I think I need one,” she said, and she poured herself a glass before sitting opposite me.
    “I don’t understand,” I said. “How can we be sisters? My father’s first wife died soon after Binky was born. My mother certainly only had one child.”
    She looked at me, her lip curled in scorn. “You think all children are born on the right side of the blanket?” she demanded. “Our father came to the Riviera after his first wife died. He was enchanted by my mother, who was a famous dancer at the time. I was born. For a while he was enchanted with me too. He set us up in a nice little house and came to visit us often and all was well. Then he met your