Naughty In Nice (A Royal Spyness Mystery)

a garden party, a full cotton petticoat and a cardigan, in case I got cold, I presume.
    “Honestly,” I muttered, “it would be less trouble to do it oneself.” And I found a shantung evening dress that had miraculously escaped being melted by Queenie’s iron. The neck was rather high and the whole thing shapeless, dating back to the waistless days of the twenties, but I added a long string of pearls and anyway it was the best I could do. Oh, how I longed for bright red silk pajamas, preferably backless like the women were wearing at the casino last night. I wished I was small enough to fit into my mother’s clothes. I wished Chanel had already had the promised dress made for me. I’d have loved to see Jean-Paul’s face if I appeared looking divine. As it was, the best I could say for my appearance was that it was neat and respectable.
    Jean-Paul showed no sign that he found me dull and dowdy, however. He gave me that enchanting smile as I came down the stairs to find him waiting in the front hall.
    “You look ravishing, my lady,” he said.
    “He means worth ravishing,” I thought I heard my mother mutter from the shadows. But out loud she said, “Have fun, my children. Take good care of her, Jean-Paul. She is under the protection of three formidable women, you know.”
    “Don’t worry,” Jean-Paul said. “I shall treat her as if she were your own daughter.” And he gave me a wink that hinted that he had guessed the truth. Then he took my arm and helped me into the Voisin, which still had the top up. I wondered whether to mention the death of Sir Toby to him, but I couldn’t bring myself to do so. All I wanted was to put it from my mind.
    “I thought we should go somewhere more private than Nice tonight,” he said. “I know this delightful little place at Beaulieu-sur-Mer. The chef cooks like an angel.”
    It was a heady experience to arrive at L’Etoile Restaurant, perched on rocks right over the Med. Lights from moored yachts sparkled on the water, making a fairyland. Jean-Paul was received with the reverence of a royal visit.
    “What an honor, Marquis. We have reserved your favorite table.” We were escorted to a table up some steps in an alcove off the main dining room. It was built out right over the water with windows all around. The lapping of waves came up to us, together with the fresh, slightly salty smell of the Mediterranean. Out across the bay, music was playing and the sound floated to us on a gentle breeze. I felt as if I were in a dream—exactly how Cinderella must have felt when she arrived at the ball in the glass slippers and the prince chose her out of all the girls in the room.
    A bucket of champagne appeared as we sat down. Two glasses were poured. Jean-Paul raised his to me. “To the next step on the road to discovery,” he said, his eyes holding mine in that smoldering stare. I felt a strange surge of warmth at the pit of my stomach and recognized it as desire. I had a suspicion that the Rannoch code of honor would not last out the evening, and I wondered how I felt about that.
    “Drink up,” Jean-Paul said. “Plenty more where that came from.” He turned to the maitre d’. “Now, what do you suggest for such a lovely young lady this evening, Henri?”
    “We have acquired some very fine lobsters, so may I suggest one for the fish course? And I presume you wish to begin with caviar as usual? We have had a new batch brought in from Siberia only yesterday. And then a melon filled with port? And for soup—our consommé or would you prefer something more robust?”
    “The consommé. One needs a clear palate for the lobster,” Jean-Paul said.
    “Naturally. The marquis’ taste is flawless as always. And for the main course—breast of duck cooked the way you like it, with orange and ginger? And to finish? I know you like our baba au rhum but maybe a crème brûlée for the young lady. She does not want the heavy dessert.”
    “Bring both. We’ll decide later,” Jean-Paul said. “And then your fine cheese board and a cognac and we will be content.” He looked up to see if I approved. I, who until recently had suffered Fig’s austerities, was so overwhelmed by the thought of all this food that I could only nod dumbly.
    “Excellent, mon vieux,” Jean-Paul said. “And I can trust you to select the appropriate wines to accompany each, can I not?”
    “Have I ever let you down, Marquis?”
    “Never.”
    It was a terribly French exchange. I half expected