Naughty In Nice (A Royal Spyness Mystery)

said coldly.
    “And how do I know that the first necklace was not an imitation?” he said. “And you English try to fool Lafite so that you can collect insurance money?” He tapped his nose. “I know the English are not rich anymore. They wish to pull the wool over the eyes of Lafite. But they will not succeed.”
    Vera stood up, staring at him eye to eye. “I can tell you that the first necklace was real because it came from Buckingham Palace from the Queen of England, and Her Majesty does not wear glass and paste,” she said.
    She stared at him so hard and fiercely that in the end he shrugged. “So maybe the clever switch has been accomplished. Maybe not.” He seemed to realize for the first time that he was speaking in front of two men he didn’t know. “And these two gentlemen?” he said. “They are your friends? Your guests?”
    “Art experts,” Coco said smoothly. “Art experts from London and Paris we summoned to examine the necklace.”
    “And we wonder if maybe a similar robbery and subsequent replacement took place at the home of Sir Toby,” Germain said in French. “And that maybe this was the cause of his death.”
    “The young woman you thought was me was carrying something under her jacket,” I said. “Perhaps it was a forgery she was bringing to replace a piece of art or an antique.”
    Lafite seemed to be considering this as if it might make sense to him. “If there was indeed another young woman who was not yourself, then perhaps yes, perhaps no,” he agreed.
    “So we wondered if you would like us to take a look at the house of Sir Toby and give you our expert opinion on his art and antiques,” Germain said, getting to his feet. “You would be welcome to accompany us, of course, because I realize that you are still working to unravel the mysteries of a complicated crime scene.”
    Lafite looked noticeably puffed up by this. “The crime scene, it is not so complicated, monsieur. A simple blow to the head and, poof, the poor man falls into the swimming pool and drowns. But I would appreciate the impressions of an art expert like yourself.”
    Granddad shot me a quick glance and tried to look like a distinguished art expert. “Blimey,” he whispered as we came closer together. “I never thought it would come to this. I thought your mum was the only ruddy actress in the family.”
    “Just play along and nod occasionally,” I said.
    We walked together to the Gropers’ villa. Johnson opened the door. By now he was looking decidedly white-faced and ill at ease.
    “Your mistress is here?” Lafite asked.
    “No, sir. She hasn’t shown up today yet. It’s just me. I’m all alone here and frankly I don’t like it. Can you tell me when I can leave? I’d just as soon go back to England.”
    “Soon, my boy. Courage. You are doing a splendid job,” Lafite said. “These gentlemen are art experts. I asked you before whether anything had been stolen from this house and you said you noticed nothing missing. Now it seems possible that something was replaced with a forgery. These two men will look around and you will assist them.”
    “Very good, sir,” Johnson said, “although, as I say, Sir Toby might have kept the most valuable stuff locked away.”
    “We shall see,” Lafite said. He indicated that Germain and my grandfather were at liberty to look around.
    “He appreciates the modern art, I can see,” Germain said. “Matisse, Renoir and two Van Goghs. He was an astute man. These paintings are growing in value daily.” He paused beside one of the paintings, put his face close to it and sniffed. “Interesting,” he said. “The paint on this one appears to be fresh, but that is not possible because Van Gogh has been dead for forty years.”
    We gathered around to look. It was a very ordinary sort of painting, not something I’d have wanted in my own drawing room—a crudely executed kitchen chair. That was all. Just one chair done in bold, uneven strokes. Next to it the painting of some sunflowers was a little better—more cheerful if not more skillfully done. I couldn’t see why anyone would want to steal or forge such a painting when there were some exquisite classical landscapes on other walls. I walked away and joined Granddad, who was staring out through the French doors at the pool.
    “Anyone could have clambered down that cliff and clobbered him,” he muttered. “Or come up from the beach. And you say nothing was touched in the house?”
    “Not that I