Naughty In Nice (A Royal Spyness Mystery)

around. “Did you bring Neville?”
    “Still parking the car, I believe. And yes, I am with him, unless and until something better turns up.”
    “So he’s not quite as wonderful as you thought he was?”
    “I never said ‘wonderful,’” Belinda muttered, looking around to see if he was approaching. “And frankly I think I overestimated his prowess in— that area. It is so off-putting if one is asked if one ‘fancies a spot of the old rumpy-pumpy,’ and even worse when he has his teddy bear sitting on the bed beside us.”
    “Belinda!” I exclaimed, not knowing whether to laugh or be shocked.
    “It’s too much boarding school,” Belinda said. “It makes them all strange. I’m on the lookout for a nice Continental type with oodles of money, like your marquis. He’s still in pursuit, is he?”
    “He appears to be.”
    “Great catch, darling. I’m mad with jealousy.” She leaned closer. “So do tell, how far have you got with him? Is it positively blissful?”
    “Not very far yet,” I said. “I might have had more to tell if I hadn’t been hauled off to a police station last night.”
    “Is he here? Perhaps you can carry on a little later from where you left off.”
    “I hope so,” I said. “I haven’t seen him yet, but I’m sure Mummy invited him. She fancies him herself.”
    “Oh, Lord.” Belinda grabbed my arm suddenly. “Isn’t that your brother just coming in the door? Don’t tell me the dreaded Fig is going to be here.”
    I spotted him through the crowd and his face broke into a big smile. “What-ho, Georgie. It’s good to see you, old thing.” And he barged his way toward me.
    “Where’s Fig?” I asked cautiously as he put his arm around me.
    “Sends her apologies. Doesn’t think that the noise and all the standing would be good for her. But Ducky and Foggy are here.” I turned to see Ducky in an outfit even more dreary looking than mine. In fact, she looked as if she might have knitted the evening gown herself from an unwashed brown sheep. She nodded a greeting to me. Foggy came up, and he greeted me more effusively. “Hello, old thing. Splendid to see you again. I must say, you’re looking rather pretty. And what a splendid place this is. You must give me a private tour later.” He gave me a little nudge, and was that a wink?
    Yes, I know what your idea of a private tour is, I thought, and I directed them toward the champagne while I made my escape.
    “Where does the money come from for all this?” Ducky’s brittle voice carried as they moved away. “I mean, it’s not as if she’s an actress anymore, is it?”
    “Talk about biting the hand that feeds you,” Vera muttered in my ear. “How are you surviving, old thing?”
    “I’m all right,” I said.
    “It can’t be easy, knowing that dreadful inspector is lurking,” Vera said.
    “Or that a murderer is lurking,” I said.
    “That too, of course. I wish they’d find the blasted man so that we can go home. We’ve got work to do. It’s not good for Coco to sit idle. She smokes and drinks too much. She’s the type of person who needs to be busy all the time or she selfdestructs.” She looked up just then. “I think your marquis is just arriving.”

 
    Chapter 28
     
    The night of January 27, 1933
Party at the Villa Marguerite.
     
    I felt my pulse quicken as I saw him scanning the crowd. He spotted me and came over. “You don’t have anything to drink,” he said. He snatched two glasses of champagne from a tray and handed me one. “If you don’t mind my saying so, that is a perfectly terrible dress. It does nothing for you and makes you look about ten years old.”
    “I know,” I said. “My wardrobe is positively hopeless. Everyone’s so smart here.”
    “I thought Madame Chanel was designing you a dress,” he said.
    I shrugged. “Things became a little crazy around here. First a stolen necklace, and then the murders. She’s probably forgotten.”
    “Then we must remind her again.” He looked around, then spotted Belinda hovering just behind me.
    “Hello,” he said, his eyes traveling over her. “I believe we’ve met before, but I’m afraid I can’t remember your name.”
    “It’s Belinda. Belinda Warburton-Stoke,” she said.
    “Delightful. Another English rose.”
    “In full bloom,” Belinda said in a way that only Belinda or my mother could say it.
    “And are you enjoying all the delights the Riviera has to offer?”
    “I’ve yet to experience all the