Naughty In Nice (A Royal Spyness Mystery)

the event was to take place at the casino on the pier.
    “We’ll drop you off at the Negresco while Vera and I go to check that my models have arrived safely from Paris,” Coco said. “Have some tea. We will come for you to rehearse when we are ready.”
    I was glad to know that the rest of the collection would be modeled by girls who knew what they were doing, even if they would show me up as a hopeless amateur. As we came into the hotel foyer an elegant, gaunt and obviously well-bred woman was standing at the reception desk, hands on hips.
    “That’s the best room you have?” she was asking in strident English.
    “ Oui , my lady. The hotel is full because of the fashion show tonight. People have come from all over the Riviera.”
    “Well, I suppose it will have to do for now,” she said, flinging the end of a mink stole angrily over her shoulder. “And I don’t want my husband to know that I am here, is that clear? He is not to be told.”
    “Of course, Lady Groper.”
    I observed her with interest. So that was the absent wife. I wondered if Sir Toby had been tipped off to her arrival and thus had thrown out his mistress. If she was staying here, and she came in to take tea, maybe I would have a chance to strike up an acquaintanceship with her and thus gain access to the villa. But I had no time for scheming now. My heart was already thumping with anticipation.
    Tea was brought to me in the paneled bar just off the foyer. I sat and sipped, trying to stay calm and observing the elegant people who passed. So many people with so much money. Were we really in a depression? When Vera arrived to collect me, we passed another woman standing at the reception counter, also speaking English but with an American drawl this time.
    “Yes, I know I told you we wanted the room for a month,” she snapped, “but I’ve changed my mind. We’ve been invited to go cruising on a friend’s yacht and we’ll be leaving in the morning.” I recognized her instantly, even with her back to me. It was Mrs. Simpson.
    “What?” she asked, as the reception clerk must have murmured something. “No, I do not intend to pay for a room I won’t be using. Ridiculous. You’re lucky that I put this place on the map by staying here in the first place.”
    With that she turned to sweep away and saw me. “Good God, it’s the actress’s daughter,” she said. “I shouldn’t have thought the Negresco was your style, honey. What are you doing here?”
    “Actually, I’m staying with my mother at her villa,” I said evenly, not prepared to let her rile me this time.
    “Ah, so that’s it. Mummy’s finally bringing you out into society, is she? About time. But she’d better keep a close eye on you here. There’s no stiff upper lip when the British are abroad.” She gave a dry chuckle. “Incidentally, I saw your mother at the casino last night, but minus the German beau. Is that affair finally passé?”
    “Not at all. He’s busy working in Germany and my mother needed sunshine, as simple as that.”
    Mrs. Simpson was still giving me that patronizing smile I found so annoying. “It’s never as simple as that, honey. I’d like to bet she has her eye on another man.”
    “You would know about those things more than I,” I said. “Will your husband be going on your cruise with your friend?”
    “Of course. I like to keep my men where I can see them.” She laughed as she walked past me and up the staircase, trailing her fur coat behind her. I turned away to join Vera, who was waiting for me at the doorway.
    “So you’ve met our famous American, I see. She’s quite a character, isn’t she?” She waved to Mrs. Simpson and smiled.
    “You like her?”
    “I find her amusing. She’s part of my set, and she wears Chanel suits. I don’t think ‘like’ comes into it,” Vera said. “Come on. Coco’s ready for us.”
    I made a mental note to find out if that friend Mrs. Simpson had mentioned really was the Prince of Wales, and whether her husband was going to accompany her on the yacht. Then I had no time for any thoughts.
    I was led across the boulevard and onto the pier. It was designed very much in the style of piers at home—an ornate domed iron-framed building in the Middle Eastern style with lots of minarets. As we stepped inside the foyer the last rays of evening sun were shining through the glass dome above our heads, bathing the scene with an unreal pink glow. Vera walked briskly ahead across the foyer and