Naughty In Nice (A Royal Spyness Mystery)

could see.”
    “Then I don’t know why we’re wasting our time looking at pictures. It obviously wasn’t a burglary in progress. It was someone who wanted him dead and knew he’d be alone.”
    “I don’t know who that could be,” I said. “Everyone thought he was on his yacht or in Nice.”
    “So it probably wasn’t planned then. Someone showed up, found him alone and took their chance. Or someone followed him here. Do you have any ideas about suspects?”
    “Well,” I began, looking around to see how far away the others were, “my money would be on his mistress. A flamboyant Russian who left in a huff and swore vengeance.”
    Granddad smiled. “That type is usually all bark and no bite. Who else?”
    “There is Sir Toby’s wife. She wanted to divorce him, from what I overheard, but he was threatening to expose her liaison with someone important. And there’s his son, who didn’t want his father to find out—”
    I broke off as Lady Groper herself swept into the room. She looked around in annoyance.
    “What on earth is going on here now? Surely you men have done everything there is to be done here!”
    “I’ve brought in art experts to examine your husband’s possessions, Madame ,” Lafite said. “It appears that someone may recently have substituted one of your husband’s paintings with a forgery.”
    “Good God. Which one?”
    “This one, Madame . The painting of the chair.”
    “That awful thing? Who’d possibly want it? I was going to have the lot of them thrown on a bonfire.”
    “But no, Madame ,” Germain said. “The impressionist painters are becoming more desirable for collectors every day. Mark my words—these paintings will be worth a fortune, given time.”
    “Really? So it would seem that my husband was killed while someone switched the real painting for a forgery? How extraordinary.”
    “You left your bag in the car, Mama.” Bobby Groper ambled into the room, wearing an open-necked check shirt and white flannels. He started visibly at finding the drawing room full of people. “Oh, hello,” he said. “What’s going on here? A party?”
    “This is my son, Bobby,” Lady Groper said. “He arrived on this morning’s train. Came straight from England as soon as he heard the news. He’s devastated, poor boy. Worshipped his father.”
    Bobby looked around and caught my eye. I saw him swallow hard, his Adam’s apple jerking up and down, then he shot me a warning glance—presumably to keep quiet.
    “I’ll go and find somewhere to put our bags,” he said.
    I followed him into the hallway.
    “For God’s sake don’t tell them I’ve been here a while, will you?” he whispered to me.
    “Why not? Why are you lying?”
    He glanced in at the open doorway, then put his lips close to my ear. “Because it wouldn’t look good for me, would it? Son gets sent down from Oxford in disgrace. Skips off to Riviera. Tries to keep disgrace from father for as long as possible.”
    “But surely people don’t kill their fathers because they’ve been sent down from university?”
    “I’ve also accumulated a large pile of debts,” he said. “It’s actually quite convenient that the old man is out of the way. Now I inherit the money and the title. Ergo, the slate wiped clean. You could say that’s a pretty good motive for bumping someone off.”
    “You aren’t sad your father’s been killed?”
    He shrugged. “I expect I will be, when I’ve had time to think about it,” he said. “At present my only thoughts are about saving my own skin. Not very honorable and all that, but then I’m not the honorable type. Take after him too much, I suppose. He didn’t care whom he walked over. I don’t want to walk over people, but I do tend to put myself first.”
    “Did you hear that the necklace that was stolen from me showed up last night?” I asked.
    “No—did it? That’s a stroke of luck, isn’t it?”
    “Only it was a forgery. A clever duplicate. And it appears that one of your father’s paintings has been substituted with a forgery.” I watched his face as I said this. He was, after all, the only person who helped me up and then slipped out of the room before the police searched everyone at the casino. But did he have the skill or the contacts to create a perfect replica of the necklace so quickly? And as for the painting . . .
    Bobby grinned. “I can tell what you’re thinking. But I’d hardly be likely to steal one of my father’s paintings, would I?