A Rather Charming Invitation (26 page)

“Oh,” was all I could manage.

“The Inspector has radioed his headquarters, to get the cops out looking for suspicious people, or odd work vans in the area,” Jeremy said consolingly.

At this point, the cop and the Inspector, who’d been murmuring in French to each other, turned their attention to us. “I must have the names of everyone who was a guest in this house last night,” the Inspector said curtly.

Without thinking, Honorine said, “Most of them are here, right now.”

The Inspector raised an eyebrow. “
Ah, oui
? Then I must ask them to all remain here until I have a chance to find out what, if anything, they know that will help.”

At this moment, Margery, indignant at being left alone to have her breakfast, and horrified by the presence of police, swept into the drawing room to investigate, demanding, “What on earth is going on here?” Uncle Giles trailed behind her, still munching a brioche.

“Who are you, madame?” the Inspector inquired.

“Who are
you
?” Margery demanded.

“I will ask the questions,” the Inspector said sharply. “Starting with you, madame.”

 

 

It took hours. The Inspector was very thorough; he sat right there in the drawing room, and one by one we all had to take turns being questioned alone, as he asked for a full accounting of how long we had been here, and what we had observed. After your turn was up, you had to leave the room but remain on the premises, in case he wanted to call someone back in.

The Inspector tactfully continued to behave as if we were all witnesses, not suspects; but his stern demeanor gave us the jitters. He asked Celeste and the gardener to provide a list of all the relatives they’d hired to help out, even though none of the extra help had been on the premises the day the tapestry arrived for viewing. Celeste swore that she had not even told any of them about the tapestry.

After Margery had her turn, she went out into the garden to smoke a cigarette, conversing in a low, complaining murmur to Uncle Giles. They were soon joined by Hilary, who was the last to come downstairs, still looking sleepy. The three of them commiserated about whether or not they’d be able to catch their plane back to London, which Penny-dear was now screwing up. I overheard this tidbit when I came out on the patio. Giles quickly put on a more tolerant face, and nodded with forced patience; but as soon as I turned away, they continued murmuring. I tried not to think about what they were saying.

David was extremely calm and coolheaded, in a role he was accustomed to, that of representing his family. I would like to say that my dear French aunt handled it well. But, she didn’t. I couldn’t blame Leonora for being upset, but her voice, so high-pitched to begin with, was now shrill and nervous, affecting me like fingernails running down a chalkboard. David steered her into the dining room.

“This is what comes of unconventional weddings!” Tante Leonora said, looking at me somewhat accusingly. “There are reasons to do things the correct way. Your father was the same—no regard for tradition unless it suited him!”

“Don’t say such things to Penny!” Honorine argued, leaping to my defense. “This whole affair was your idea, she didn’t ask you to help with her wedding.”

“Enough!” David said sternly. “Not another word out of either of you.”

I knew that they’d telephoned Philippe, but no one had conveyed any messages from him, and I found it all the more horrifying to imagine what he must be thinking and feeling now. I spent most of the morning fighting back tears, compounded by my own little bride-nerves, so newly acquired, and so easily plucked, like strings on a harp.

“Penny, sit down and rest. They’ll find it,” Jeremy consoled me.

“No, they won’t,” I said in a low voice. “It’s probably out of the country by now.”

“Let the police do their job,” he said.

But finally, when the Inspector rose and thanked us all for our help, he did not exactly hold out much hope. He merely said he’d be in touch. David would have to go to the police headquarters to fill out some paperwork. As they drove away with a certain aura of finality, my heart sank.

Uncle Giles came over to me now, saying gently, “Penny, it looks as if we’re not going to make our flight back to London, so I must get Mum settled into that lovely hotel you told us about.”

“I am so sorry,” I said.

“Not at all. Please don’t hesitate to call on us if we can be of any help.”

I nodded mutely, not trusting myself to speak. Uncle Giles glanced sympathetically at Jeremy, who said, “Thanks, Giles. I’ll let you know if we hear any news.”

As my guests filed out, Honorine, looking distressed, said, “Penny, I need to take my mother home. Papa has sent another car for us, because David had to go in his car to the police station.”

“Of course,” I said. I couldn’t find the words in English to express my apologies, but I found them in French, saying, “
Je suis désolée
.” Yes, desolate. That’s exactly how I felt. The ultimate expression of regret.

Tante Leonora was passing by me then, and she heard my last remark. “Don’t be sad!” she said pragmatically, but still with that new edge to her voice. “Just find it!”

She went outside and climbed into the back seat of the town car that Oncle Philippe had used to take me to the perfume factory, with the same driver at the wheel. Honorine hopped in beside her mother, and they drove away, the tires kicking up gravel and dust behind them.

“Whew!” Jeremy said. He looked at me. “My poor Penny. Leonora didn’t mean to be sharp with you. You have to cut them some slack.”

“Oh, Jeremy,” I said in a choked voice, “what are we going to do?”

“We’re going to let the police handle it,” Jeremy said firmly. “Come inside. You look exhausted.”

“What a horrible day,” I said dully. I let him lead me upstairs, where he tucked me into bed and brought me a cup of herb tea, as if I were an invalid. I certainly felt sick at heart. I wanted desperately to sleep, to blot out the whole thing, and then awaken the next morning to find that it had been only a bad dream. The emptiness I felt was about much more than simply the material loss of the tapestry, beyond the value of its gold and silver and silken threads. I’d only just begun to hear the tapestry’s message, yet it had somehow guided me out of the labyrinth of wedding plans to a measure of success.

So now, to have it wrenched away at this critical juncture was not only painful, but seemed like a bad omen that I didn’t even want to contemplate. I sighed and closed my eyes, trying to conjure its return, as if I were calling on more benevolent spirits to make restitution for the evil forces that had spirited it away.

 

 

In the next few days, things didn’t get any better. Honorine stayed with her parents in Mougins for a while, mostly to calm down her mother. Their servants had been questioned, and this disrupted their normally trusting, serene household. But Honorine was still conscientious about her job as our assistant, so she telephoned periodically to convey updates on the wedding plans. Meanwhile, David had informed us that the police were definitely on the case, checking out the usual suspects and places where such skanky business might be conducted, including ports and docks and other more nefarious spots. We had managed, for now, to keep it out of the newspapers, for fear of sensationalizing the theft of the tapestry and exaggerating its monetary value. But it would be listed with Interpol, to alert honest collectors so that they would know it was a “hot” item.

“What about dishonest collectors?” I said glumly to Jeremy.

Then, just as I was getting accustomed to this horrible state of affairs, I had to tell my parents about it, and I re-lived it all over again. My folks had been planning on coming to France shortly before the wedding, but now they offered to come sooner if I needed them. Morosely, I told them that there really wasn’t anything they could do, so they might as well stick with their original plans.

For a brief spell we all waited for good news, believing that the first few days were the most likely ones when the tapestry might be recovered. I harbored the intense hope that the thieves would come to their senses, realize it would be too hard to sell, and leave it on a museum doorstep like an orphan. But no such luck.

I sat there in the drawing room, which was utterly silent except for the ticking of Guy’s clock and its chimes announcing the quarters of each passing hour that the tapestry was still gone. One day, as I listened to the wistful chimes, I came out of my stupor long enough to have a sudden realization.

I turned to Jeremy and said, “I don’t believe it was a regular burglary at all. Look at all the beautiful stuff that was in this room that night! The clock, for one thing. And the silverware, which would be much easier to carry out. Nope, this was a planned job to specifically take that tapestry.”

“Yes, I know,” Jeremy said gently. “The police think so, too.”

I studied him miserably. “You didn’t tell me that,” I said. “What else did they say?”

“Not much,” Jeremy admitted. “Thierry is keeping tabs on it for us.”

We heard a put-put-putting sound outside. I glanced up listlessly. Honorine had borrowed Charles’ Vespa. Soon we heard her light, quick footsteps as she hurried up to the front door. Jeremy let her in. “Any news from the police?” he asked. She shook her head.

“But, I have a message to you from my father,” she said, sitting down breathlessly in the chair opposite me. Her large dark eyes were filled with warm sympathy as she gazed at us. I braced myself, expecting to hear that Philippe wanted to officially drum me out of the family.

“Penny,” Honorine said, “Papa told me that he has little faith that the police will recover the tapestry.” She paused, and the silence made this awful prospect sink into me in a way that I found physically painful, as if a member of the family had been kidnapped, but no ransom could bring it back.

“And so,” she added, still rather breathlessly, “he wonders if he might impose on you, to request that you and Jeremy look into this matter personally. He says he has far more confidence in you two than the police. And he hopes that you will handle it very delicately,” she added imploringly.

Before I could speak, Jeremy said rather quickly, “Of course we will do everything we can to help out. But let Penny and me talk this over alone so that we can figure out what would be the wisest course of action in a case like this.”

Honorine took this to mean an affirmation of her father’s request, so she smiled happily. Jeremy added gently, “It may be better if we call on someone outside of the family, but I’ll let you know. Say nothing just yet, all right? Shall I give Oncle Philippe a call later today?”

Honorine nodded vigorously, then asked if there was anything she could do for us. I told her that if she wanted to continue to stay with her folks a little longer, it was fine with us.

After she’d left, I turned to Jeremy and said, “What’s all this about calling on someone ‘outside of the family’?”

“I don’t want to see you turned into a scapegoat for this whole affair,” Jeremy said firmly. “Suppose—and we have to consider this—suppose the tapestry is never recovered?”

“Oh, Jeremy! Are you kidding?” I cried. “Don’t even say that.”

“If someone actually hired professionals to take it, then the thieves don’t need to seek a buyer,” he pointed out. “We must face this, and I don’t want your relatives blaming you from now to eternity.”

“They’ll do exactly that if we don’t lift a finger to help!” I cried. “If ever there was a case for the firm of Nichols & Laidley, this is it. And now it’s an official assignment.”

“Yes, but I am thinking that we should sub-contract it,” Jeremy explained. “Hire a private investigator who will make regular reports to us and to Philippe. We can help, but we don’t need to be in charge. Thierry made exactly the same suggestion. He recommends a man who works the Côte d’Azur. A former police detective from this area, so he knows his way around, and has connections. Let him do the legwork.”

“And the dirty work, you mean,” I said darkly. “Like, telling them it’s gone forever.”

“You must listen to me on this, Penny. I want to protect your relationship with your French family,” Jeremy explained.

“Fine. Get somebody to help us,” I agreed. “Only make sure you let him know that failure is not an option. We
have
to find that tapestry. And, we’ve got a deadline. Our wedding day!”

W
ell. You can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. And boy, was I walking on eggshells now. If you ever want to alienate every single person on your wedding list, just invite them to be suspects in a police investigation. Trust me, that’ll do it. Overnight I’d managed to become
persona non grata
with both the English and the French side of the family. They now took the attitude that, had I not been such a stubborn little bride, so hell-bent on doing her wedding in her own independent and eccentric way, somehow this never would have happened.

I suppose it began innocently enough, with a fellow named Monsieur Felix. I don’t know what I expected a French private investigator to look like, but this guy totally surprised me.

For starters, he was very tall and hulking, looking more like a boxer or a football player, with broad shoulders, and a straight nose on a face that reminded me of a granite monument to some medieval king. He walked with the slight, hunched stoop of a man who is always taller than everyone else, and therefore must accommodate them by bending a bit to their smaller status. Also, he had long, floppy brown hair, bushy eyebrows, and big hands and feet. And, like an athlete, he wore a suit that seemed to have been specially made for his hulking frame because nothing else would fit him. But, being French, he had a way of wearing his jacket open, and his shirt without a tie, in an impeccable-but-casual, naturally debonair way.