Naughty In Nice (A Royal Spyness Mystery)

arrival had everything she needed.” He loaded those last words with double meaning. And to my horror, he reached out to touch me. I wasn’t sure which part of me he was aiming for, but I didn’t wait to find out. I pushed past him and fled down the stairs. Then I locked the library door. “Oh, golly,” I muttered. This was an added complication I didn’t need. If Ducky found out that Foggy was chasing me, she’d probably think I was encouraging him. Why did men have to be so bloody stupid? (I know a lady never says “bloody.”)
    The thought of men and their stupidity brought something rushing back that I had kept firmly from my conscious mind all day. There are other men called Darcy, I told myself over and over again. I was probably worrying over nothing.

 
    Chapter 10
     
    Villa Not Very Gloriosa, Nice
January 23, 1933
Help. Must escape immediately. Choice between dusty
musty library and sharing with the most unpleasant child
I’ve ever met. And nocturnal visits from the lecherous Foggy.
Not to mention serious lack of food and entertainment and
no chance to meet Sir Toby.
     
    I rose early with one thought in mind. I had to find Belinda and somewhere else to stay.
    I dressed and went down to breakfast. Queenie appeared from the kitchen, brushing crumbs from her front. “I was going to bring you tea, miss, but they didn’t have no tea, only coffee, and besides, your door was locked.”
    “It’s all right. I’m up now and I don’t think I’d have dared to eat or drink anything in that library,” I said.
    The gargoyle appeared, hands on hips. “Breakfast? They do not want breakfast until nine. They are very late risers.”
    “How about some coffee and croissants now, to keep me going?” I asked.
    “Maybe possible.” She shrugged and sniffed, went away and came back with a cup of strong black coffee and some of the previous day’s stale bread, sliced with a small dish of apricot jam.
    I ate a couple of mouthfuls and had a swig of coffee, which was disgusting and tasted like liquid tar, then I left a note saying that I had gone out for a walk. A long walk preferably.
    I stepped outside to a delightful day. The sun was shining. The sky was blue and the air was perfumed, just as I had imagined it when I stood in Victoria Station. All things considered it was better being here than serving soup. I followed the lane down into town and eventually came to the seafront, where I stood leaning against the railing, watching early risers take their morning constitutional. The sea sparkled in the morning sunshine. Farther down the Promenade there was an impressive-looking pier and behind the town green hills rose, dotted with villas—like the one in which I had expected to stay, no doubt.
    I stood for a while, just drinking in the scene, breathing the fresh salty air. It would be no good looking for Belinda too early. She rarely rose before ten—and she probably wouldn’t be in her own bed anyway. But at least if she was staying at the Hotel Negresco, as she had mentioned, I could leave a note for her and meet her later.
    The enticing smell of freshly baked bread reminded me that I needed breakfast. There were several little open-air cafés along the boulevard. I stopped at one and indulged in good coffee and a basket of croissants. Much later, feeling full and content, I followed the boulevard until I came to the Hotel Negresco, a glittering white building topped with pink Eastern-style domes. I went up the steps and into the marble foyer. A young man in blue and gold uniform leaped up immediately to ask how he could assist me. I asked for Miss Warburton-Stoke. The young man went to have a conversation with another man in a smart suit. The latter checked a ledger then came over to me. The young lady was not registered at the hotel. Had she not been there at all during the past week? I asked. Again he shook his head. He was not aware of a young lady of that name.
    Now what on earth was I going to do? It looked as if I might be trapped sharing a room with an obnoxious child at the Villa Gloriosa, dying slowly of starvation while I dodged the attentions of Foggy and the awful Madame Lapiss. Not an enticing prospect. I supposed I could find the casino and camp out there later in the day in the hope that Belinda would show up. I was about to walk away when another thought occurred to me.
    “Sir Toby Groper,” I said. “Does he come into the hotel much?”
    “Sir Toby? Sometimes. But not at this