Naughty In Nice (A Royal Spyness Mystery)

share this knowledge with. Or someone like Granddad or Darcy, who would know whom to tell. I found myself wondering if Lady Groper had orchestrated the whole thing perfectly—the alibi of being in the hills, far enough away from Nice, of not finding out about the murder until she read the morning papers. Or—an even more chilling thought struck me—the coincidence of their son, Bobby, suddenly turning up, but not wanting to be seen. Was it possible that Lady G and Bobby had planned this between them? I had seen from her face that he was the apple of his mother’s eye. Was it plausible that he had not made contact with her and she had really not known he was here? If the police had decided that I was the guilty party, then I’d have to seek out Bobby for myself and see if I could get to the truth.
    “She could lead a delightful life if she chooses,” Chanel continued. “But I do not think she will do so. She will certainly not buy herself a decent wardrobe. She will hunt and fish and live in the boring English countryside.” And she gave that delightful laugh.
    “I know,” Mummy said suddenly. “Let’s have a party. Things have been all too gloomy around here and we haven’t had a party in ages.”
    “Is that wise, with Georgiana under suspicion of murder?” Vera asked.
    “Darling, that’s the very best time to do it. Georgie needs cheering up, don’t you, darling?” She looked back at me, trailing behind them up the driveway under the eyes of the watching policemen. “And we’ll show these horrid little men that they’ve got it wrong and they can’t intimidate us.”
    “When do you propose holding this party?” Vera asked.
    “Why not tonight? I’ll get on the telephone—invite a few people and they’ll spread the word.”
    “Tonight, Claire!” Vera complained. “We need food and drink and decorations.”
    “Simple, darling. I’ll telephone my favorite restaurant for their lovely hors d’oeuvres platters, cold lobster, that kind of thing, and I think you’ll find that my wine cellar is well stocked. So we just need ice and lemons and a few fun things like paper lanterns—the shops are full of fun stuff ready for carnival. I’ll pop into town. No problem.”
    “Let me go,” I said.
    They turned to look at me.
    “I want to show them that I’m not their prisoner.” Another thought had also come to me. I wanted to speak to the crew of that yacht and find out exactly what happened yesterday afternoon and how Sir Toby came to be back at his villa.
    “That’s the spirit, my sweet,” Mummy said. “Of course. You go into town and enjoy yourself. I’ll make a list of things to buy.”
    We went into the house and Mummy sat at her pretty little secretary desk, scribbling at a list that got longer and longer. “Oh, and fireworks,” she chirped. “We must have fireworks, don’t you think? And masks? Do you think it should be a fancy dress do? Or just carnival masks?”
    “Aren’t you going a little overboard?” I asked, picturing a day ahead of me of trying to find these items in a town I didn’t know.
    “Nonsense, darling. What’s the point of a party if you don’t go overboard?”
    I sat on the sofa watching her, admiring her. Not only was she beautiful, but she had a wonderful way of shaking off life’s little problems like water off a duck’s back. Nothing seemed to upset her. I just wished I had inherited that trait. Then I noticed that while we had been at the villa, someone had delivered the morning papers. There it was—the big, black headline, English Peer Found Dead in Swimming Pool. My eyes scanned down the article. Then I looked up, frowning. Lady Groper had said she’d found out about her husband’s death from the morning papers, but in this particular article there was no mention of the blow to the back of Sir Toby’s head or anything about him bleeding to death. I went through the rest of the papers. Again no mention of details.
    “Here you are, darling.” Mummy waved a long list at me. “Just a few things to pick up in town. I’d better get busy making telephone calls or we’ll have no food, no ice and no guests.” And she was off, yelling instructions to servants.
    Franz was summoned to bring the motorcar to the front door. But as I came out, a policeman stepped to block my way. “Excuse me, mademoiselle, but you must not leave.”
    “Must not leave Nice,” I corrected him. “I’m not leaving Nice. I’m going shopping.” And I showed him