Naughty In Nice (A Royal Spyness Mystery)

and led me back up the steps into the house, while the faithful Pierre kept the umbrella over us so that we remained dry all the way. Once inside I found that my white linen trousers and sailor top had been cleaned and pressed for me. I went into the bathroom and changed into them.
    “I regret that the weather has been unkind enough to cut short what could have been a delightfully romantic afternoon.” Jean-Paul was waiting for me as I came out of the bathroom. “But no matter. I will drive you home now and you will rest and change into something ravishing. I will call for you at eight o’clock and we shall go for a delightful dinner and then we shall dance with no rain falling on us. Does that idea please you?”
    “Yes, it does,” I said.
    “Excellent. I look forward to it with great anticipation.” I floated out of there, my head full of champagne and romance. The whole afternoon was so improbable it was quite outside my sphere of experience. Things like this happened to my mother and Belinda. They didn’t happen to me. But it was happening. I was the one that Jean-Paul was pursuing—a rich, powerful man wanted me. I hoped Darcy had noticed last night whom I was with. I hoped he couldn’t sleep, thinking about the mistake he had made in losing me!
    There was a most sleek and impressive car waiting outside. It was a sports car but the top was up because of the rain.
    “Your car is lovely,” I said, sounding hopelessly girlish and unsophisticated, I’m sure.
    “Yes, it is, rather,” Jean-Paul replied. “It’s a Voisin, the most desirable of French automobiles.” He helped me in and off we went. He drove rather fast but well around those hairpin curves and pulled up outside our front door.
    He took my hand and kissed it. “À bientôt, ma petite,” he said. The rain had abated to a drizzle as Jean-Paul drove away, spraying gravel. I opened the front door to find the villa deserted. Claudette told me that the ladies had not returned from town and she didn’t know when they would come back. Her shrug indicated that she didn’t much care. I went up to my room and found Queenie sitting on my bed, shoveling the remains of a croissant into her mouth. Crumbs were everywhere. Before I could admonish her she jumped up, brushing crumbs wildly all over my eiderdown.
    “I ain’t half glad you’re here, miss,” she said, her mouth still full. “I had to come up here to get away. They are all foreign in this place.”
    “Yes, well, they would be. We’re in France,” I pointed out.
    “But they don’t like me. Down in the kitchen they speak Froggy to each other and look at me and laugh. One of them told me I was not a proper lady’s maid just ’cos I said I didn’t like their Froggy food and I’d take a plate of bangers and mash or bubble and squeak any day.”
    “Well, that’s true as well,” I agreed. “You still have a lot to learn, Queenie. Among other things, you still call me ‘miss.’ ”
    “Well, blow me—I still do, don’t I?” she said. “I don’t seem to be able to get it into my thick head that I’m supposed to say ‘my lady.’ It seems so queer, I suppose.”
    I suppose I’d had an emotionally fraught day. Usually I’d have laughed off her last words but I found myself saying, in my most autocratic voice, “Nevertheless, I am a lady and that is my title. You’ll have to get used to it sometime if you want to stay in my service.”
    “I’ll try harder, I promise.” She looked quite shaken and I felt bad immediately.
    “We’ll hope for a miracle, shall we?” I relented and smiled at her. “And you can start by laying out my clothes for this evening. I want my nicest evening dress—the nicest one that you haven’t ruined with ironing it wrongly, that is. And the right stockings and shoes and underwear and jewelry. Can I leave those to you? I’m going out on a very important date.”
    “Are you, miss? What, with a foreign gentleman?”
    “With a foreign gentleman—actually, a foreign marquis. And a very handsome and rich one. So I want to look as good as I can.”
    “Bob’s yer uncle, miss. Don’t you worry. I’ll help you tart yerself up.”
    “Queenie,” I said, shaking my head, “I don’t think you’ll ever make a proper lady’s maid.”
    I went downstairs and lay on a sofa in the pretty little writing room that looked out over the sea. The rain squall had passed and already there were patches of blue sky between clouds. I tried to rest but I