Naughty In Nice (A Royal Spyness Mystery)

body.” And she directed her gaze at the princess’s impressive cleavage. Her accent was charmingly French but she spoke in English.
    “You witnessed this fall, Madame ?” the inspector asked in his own language.
    “Of course. I was seated beside Her Highness.”
    “And may one ask your name?”
    “You may. I am the Princess Marie Bourbon de la Fountaine-O’Day, related to the kings of France. Princess Theodora stays at my residence in Paris. We have just arrived here in Nice for our health. The princess has been stricken with rheumatics recently and the physician prescribed a climate that was less damp. Paris can be rather damp in winter, as I’m sure you know.”
    The inspector wanted to interrupt before she told their entire life stories, but her demeanor was so regal that he waited, shifting uncomfortably, until she took a breath.
    “Highness, would you be gracious enough to tell me what you saw?” he asked finally in French.
    “I saw the young lady stumble. She tried to right herself but flashbulbs went off and must have blinded her. She was not able to save herself before she tumbled off the end of the runway. The Princess Theodora was sitting immediately below the runway and the young lady landed on top of her. I stood up to help but a young man came to her aid.”
    “Where is this young man who came to the assistance of Lady Rannoch?” the inspector asked in English, turning to the assembled crowd.
    Nobody came forward.
    “Do you see this man in the room?” the inspector asked.
    The princess looked around. “I don’t think so, but in truth I was concentrating more on my poor friend who was suffering from the arrival of Lady Georgiana on top of her.”
    The inspector turned to me. “Can you describe the young man for us?”
    “I don’t think I really saw him,” I said. “He was helping me up from behind when other men came to assist him.”
    “Ah, a gang at work. I knew it,” the inspector said.
    “On the contrary,” I replied. “One of the men was my cousin, the Prince of Wales, and the other was the Marquis de Ronchard.”
    “My apologies. Your Royal Highness. Marquis.” The inspector gave a groveling bow to each in turn. “How good of you to come to this young lady’s assistance.”
    The two men mumbled, “Not at all,” almost in unison. I was still in such a state of shock that I found this funny and had to stifle a giggle. This did not go unnoticed by the inspector. He stared at me, frowning. “I am wondering if this was not some kind of clever scheme among you Engleesh, maybe to collect the insurance on this piece. A mysterious young man who is no longer in the room—I ask myself, does he really exist? Where do you think he could have gone?”
    “He can’t have left the room,” Vera said. “The doors were closed and the only way out was past that curtain into the models’ dressing room. They would have seen if anybody tried to escape that way.”
    “This young man—he was English?”
    “Oh, yes,” I said. “His voice sounded very English.”
    “You hear that, LeClerc?” the inspector barked to one of his men. “You are to search for a young Englishman. Go through those curtains to the models’ dressing room. See if a young Englishman escaped that way.”
    The young gendarme went through the curtains, only to be greeted by screams. Obviously the models were still changing. He returned, red faced, a few seconds later.
    “They have seen nobody, Inspector.”
    The inspector sighed. “Then I have the unpleasant task of asking my men to search each person in this room before you are permitted to leave.”
    This created an uproar.
    “Absolute outrage,” a man spluttered. “You’re not putting your hands on my wife.”
    “Besides, we were nowhere near the place where this theft took place,” another man complained.
    “This young man could have passed the stolen jewelry to an accomplice,” Inspector Lafite said. “Everyone in this room is a suspect until proven innocent. You will please line up.”
    “Only the men, surely,” someone said. “The ladies are wearing evening gowns. They hardly have anywhere to conceal a stolen necklace.”
    “I presume they bring evening purses with them. Ladies go nowhere without the comb and the powder compact, do they not? And they could even hide it up their skirts.”
    “Nobody is going to look up my skirt,” a large woman said fiercely.
    “Really, this is all too silly,” Mrs. Simpson said, moving closer to