Naughty In Nice (A Royal Spyness Mystery)

me as their scapegoat. I had never even met the man until the night before.”
    Coco leaned forward to stub out her cigarette. “It is all very strange,” she said. “My money is on Olga. Her type is hot-blooded and does not forgive easily. I would bet that she hired a thug to do the deed for her.”
    I nodded. “She certainly threatened him when she walked out. She told him he’d be sorry. But apparently the gardener didn’t notice a big, burly thug creeping into the garden, just someone who looked like me.”
    “Breakfast on the way,” Vera announced as she returned to join us. “And I gather that the Duke of Westminster’s yacht has returned to Nice, which is comforting to know. At the very least we could whisk you away—”
    “With the Prince of Wales on board?” I said. “Pursued by French gunboats? I don’t think that would go down well at Buckingham Palace. Besides, Mrs. Simpson would try to push me back overboard. She loathes me.”
    “She loathes everyone who isn’t useful to her, darling,” Mummy said, “but she especially loathes you because you’re one of them and she will never be. She sees you as standing in the way of her grand design.”
    “She can’t really aspire to being queen one day!” Vera laughed and reached across to take a cigarette from Coco’s gold case.
    My breakfast had just arrived and I fell upon it as if I hadn’t had a meal in months. I suppose fear can make people hungry. But I was only halfway through the eggs and bacon when Mummy’s maid appeared.
    “ Madame , you have a visitor. I have shown her into the drawing room.” And she handed Mummy a calling card on a silver salver—all terribly proper, which made me surmise immediately that the guest expected that kind of formality. Mummy took the card.
    “Good God,” she said, and she flicked it across the table to Vera and Coco. “Lady Groper has turned up.”

 
    Chapter 25
     
    January 27, 1933
At Villa Marguerite and later at Sir Toby’s villa.
Lovely day. I only wish I could enjoy it.
     
    Lady Groper was sitting very upright on one of the small gilt chairs and got to her feet as Mummy entered, followed, I have to confess, by the rest of us, who weren’t about to miss anything. She was dressed in very English tweeds, in spite of the weather, and her face looked old and gaunt.
    “I realize you don’t know me and I have no right to call upon you,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m Margaret Groper. I only know you as the Duchess of Rannoch, which title I know you no longer hold. Apart from that as Claire Daniels, but I presume that is your stage name.”
    “Claire Daniels will do perfectly,” Mummy said, “since I believe I’m officially still Mrs. Homer Clegg—the last man I was married to, a Texas oil millionaire who found religion and won’t divorce me. Of all the husbands’ names to get stuck with!” She motioned to the chair. “Please do sit down. Would you like some coffee?”
    “I only take tea in the mornings,” Lady Groper said, perching herself, birdlike, once more on the chair, “but at the moment I feel more like a good, stiff brandy.”
    “Brandy it shall be, then,” Mummy said, turning back to the maid who was hovering in the doorway.
    “I wasn’t being serious, Mrs. Daniels,” Lady Groper said. “It’s only ten o’clock in the morning.”
    “If you need it and want it, who cares about the hour?” Mummy shrugged. “A cognac for Milady, please, Claudette.”
    “It’s very good of you.” Lady Groper looked inquiringly at the rest of us, who were loitering. “I’m afraid I haven’t been introduced to these ladies.”
    “Forgive me. This is Madame Chanel, Mrs. Bate Lombardi and my daughter, Georgiana Rannoch.”
    “Oh, so you’re the one!” Lady Groper’s eyes hardened as she looked at me.
    “Yes, I discovered your husband’s body, I’m afraid,” I said, not sure what she was hinting.
    “But they were saying at the Negresco that the police arrested you for his murder. They say you were out with him on his yacht and I know what that generally means.”
    Really, I was quite amazed at how quickly gossip spreads among an expatriate community.
    “The police have got it wrong, as usual,” Mummy said sharply. “Georgiana was invited for a sail on his yacht. She was not aware of your husband’s reputation, and she left when he began acting boorishly. That was the last time she saw him alive.”
    Lady Groper’s expression softened. “I’m