Naughty In Nice (A Royal Spyness Mystery)

me, grim faced. “Diamonds don’t shatter, Georgie.”
    “But—” I looked down at the floor then back at her face. “You mean it wasn’t a real diamond?”
    She nodded.
    “So the queen didn’t lend us her real jewels after all.” Vera looked around the room at the faces now staring down at us. “It appears that the person who stole the necklace has replaced it with a clever fake. If Georgie hadn’t dropped it, we might not have found out for ages, if ever.”
    “Damned clever,” one of the men muttered. “Should we call for the police?”
    “Not tonight,” Vera said. “I don’t think I could handle another round of Inspector Lafite. Besides, if the thief is that clever, I doubt the police will have any chance of catching him.” She started to pick up the remains of the necklace. “You have to admit it was slickly done, and obviously planned. It’s unlikely that such a necklace could be created in a couple of days.”
    “So the thief went to the fashion show with the intent of stealing the necklace,” I said. Somehow that made me feel a little better. It wasn’t only my clumsiness that had caused the theft. I was intended to fall.
    “But how did it get into your bedroom?” the same man asked. “The thief must have climbed in through your window.”
    “Or been among us,” Vera said.
    “One of us? That’s ridiculous,” the man said. “Implying that somebody English is a thief. Some damned Frenchie, you mark my words. Slippery chap who crept in through the window and then out again—while we were watching the fireworks, probably.”
    I decided to keep quiet about Darcy. One thing I knew about him with absolute certainty—he was not a thief. If he had brought the necklace back, it was because he believed he had recovered the real one for us.
    “We should take a look at your room,” the man insisted. “See if the blighter left any clues, don’t you know?” He stomped upstairs before I could stop him and flung open my bedroom door.
    The room was empty. The window was wide open and the net curtains flapped in the breeze.
    “There you are. What did I say?” the man said, nodding at us triumphantly. “Some damned Frenchie or Italian crook climbed in this way. You should take a look at the flower bed in the morning, see if the blighter left telltale footprints. Not that the French police will be much use. Useless bunch.”
    I just prayed that Darcy hadn’t left a footprint in the flower bed. I didn’t know why I wanted to protect him so much, but I did. You can’t just shut off love, I suppose, and he did come to warn me, which was rather sweet. “If only,” I found myself muttering. Did he still love this woman who was the mother of his child? He clearly adored the child. Did his appearance tonight mean that he still loved me? It was all so complicated and so hard to handle.
    “There’s still a policeman stationed outside the villa,” Vera said. “We can ask him if he noticed anyone suspicious slinking in and out.”
    The guests were now caught up in the excitement of the hunt. They streamed out the front door. I followed, rapidly trying to decide how I could vouch for Darcy should the occasion arise. But the weary policeman at the gate just shrugged. “You have a party,” he said. “That means many people come and go. Am I supposed to recognize if one of them is a thief?”
    As the noisy revelers streamed back into the house I managed to slip away and went to my room. I checked the wardrobe and under the bed just in case Darcy was still there, but he wasn’t. I closed the shutters. Tiredness overcame me and I fell into bed.

 
    Chapter 30
     
    Villa Marguerite and later at Sir Toby’s
January 28, 1933
Wonderful news for once. Feeling much happier.
     
    Queenie had clearly forgotten to bring my morning tea, because I awoke to brilliant sunlight streaming through the slats in my shutters. Down below I could hear animated men’s voices. Oh, no, please don’t say that the inspector is here, I prayed silently. I opened the shutters and peeked out cautiously. What I saw was a taxi and beside it an attractive gray-haired man in an immaculately cut dark suit and next to him a shorter man in a scruffy old raincoat—a man with a bald head who was saying, “What ’ave they done with my little girl? Where is she? I told her not to go gallivanting abroad. No good ever comes of it.”
    I gave a great whoop of joy and rushed down the stairs, not even aware that I was still