A Rather Remarkable Homecoming (36 page)

I caught my own image flickering by in those darned mirrors in the White Room, and I saw that my brown eyes were wide with sheer, undisguised terror. My hair looked as if it had been blown dry by a Mad Hairdresser, because of all the previous hours riding along the highway in a convertible that had chosen this day to get its top stuck permanently down. But when you are summoned by H.R.H., well, you drop everything and show up on time.

“Please wait here,” said our guide, allowing himself a slight smile of amused sympathy at my trepidation as we approached a new suite. “You may sit down.” And suddenly, he was gone.

So there we were, standing in a breathtaking set of rooms with walls trimmed in so much sun-reflecting gold that the effect was like being inside a jewel box. The big, tall windows were framed in stunning deep fuchsia-pink draperies. Throughout the room were golden tables and pedestals for black-and-gold urns, and some black-and-gold cabinetry, and various other works of art; and gold standing lamps with pale shades on golden branching arms like gilded trees. Here, instead of red carpeting, there was beautiful parquet flooring and antique carpets in delicate soft tones of pink and blue. The soaring ceiling was a radiant gold that had a gigantic sparkling crystal chandelier.

Gingerly, I parked myself at the edge of a gorgeous fuchsia sofa, whose pillows had gold tassels that matched the tassels on the dramatic draperies. Jeremy sat beside me and we gazed out of the attractive windows, which gave such a peaceful view of the splendid grounds, with their ancient leafy trees and the milkyblue sky. I felt as if I ought to be wearing a white powdered wig and a fancy dress with crinolines.

I smoothed my hair and my dress carefully, and had just begun to calm down when I heard the distinct sound of approaching footsteps.

“God, I bet it’s him,” I whispered, stricken. “You know, I never did learn to curtsey.”

“Too late now,” Jeremy said in a low voice, as the door opened—and the heir to the throne of the United Kingdom walked in.

And, he had his mother with him.

I gulped. However, I discovered that I am enough of an American to admire but not genuflect to royalty. Even if I knew how to curtsey according to protocol, I don’t believe I would have done it. I just couldn’t. I mean, you simply can’t ignore an entire revolution. That’s what happens when a Connecticut Yankee like me ends up in Queen Elizabeth’s court.

Did I imagine it, or did the Queen’s eyes note my insubordination and was she, as they say, “unamused”? Prince Charles seemed unruffled, and he just moved things along, speaking graciously.

“On behalf of our mutual friends in Port St. Francis, we wish to thank you for your good works,” Prince Charles said, looking each of us directly in the eye. He went on to speak in a calm, modulated tone; and I must say that Jeremy handled himself beautifully, managing to nod and respond intelligently to even the most ordinary questions, such as, “And how has the weather been in Cornwall?”

As for me, I think I managed to answer every question the Prince directed at me. Jeremy says I did fine. But the whole time I couldn’t help wondering what the Queen was thinking. Her gaze was alert and attentive, and occasionally she nodded, yet she hadn’t spoken a word.

Finally, Charles said with a twinkle in his eyes, “The Legacy Society has asked our advice on a gift for you.”

This seemed to be the Queen’s moment, for she snapped her fingers in the direction of the doorway, and I wondered what palace flunky was awaiting her orders outside the door to this room.

I didn’t have to wonder long. On those beautiful, royal floors I suddenly heard the pitter-patter of paws echoing in the room, and a moment later a beautiful black long-haired field spaniel with dark, silky long ears and a round, highly intelligent head came bouncing into the room toward us; then, rather regally, he stopped a foot away and sat down, with only his wagging tail indicating anything other than royal reserve.

“He’s been highly trained,” was what Prince Charles said.

Then the Queen spoke.

“He shall be called,” she said firmly, “Sir Francis.”

“Speaking of smugglers,” Jeremy said unexpectedly, “I have a little something to mark the end of this case with.”

We were sitting by the pool in Great-Aunt Penelope’s villa in Antibes. September is, after all, a lovely month to be here. The sun was still shining warmly, and the pool reflected the puffy clouds in the serene blue-and-white sky of Matisse. Sailboats were gliding peaceably across the Mediterranean Sea, which sparkled in the soft yellow sunlight.

Aunt Pen’s villa was a peach-colored affair with bright blue shutters at the windows, and a wrought-iron balcony that ran along the entire second floor. Jasmine and honeysuckle vines twined against the wall. I gazed up at this pleasant sight while we lounged in steamer chairs on a patio flanked by big terracotta pots containing blooming flowers. The air was filled with the heady scent of all these plantings, and I sighed deeply and contentedly.

Jeremy rose, went inside the house, and returned with two brandy snifters and a familiar black bottle, still coated with Celtic dust. “You’ve gotta be kidding,” I said, fascinated. “We can’t actually
drink
that old Napoleon madeira . . . can we?”

“Well, we could sell it at auction,” Jeremy answered, sitting down next to me. “But that’s just money, my girl. If we did that, we’d never, ever know what this stuff tastes like. Now, wouldn’t a fine historian like yourself owe it to Napoleon, and to the hands that made this wine, to sample it?”

How could I resist that? “Okay,” I whispered. “Open it.”

With remarkable reverence, Jeremy carefully removed the black, waxy seal. Then he opened the bottle just as he’d been instructed by a wine expert he’d consulted in Cannes. I watched in awe as, after centuries of waiting in that cave for us, the bottle opened with a small, dignified
pop!

A second later, we heard a car crunching in the gravel drive. Then it came to a stop alongside the vintage blue Dragonetta that Aunt Pen had bequeathed to me. Presently, I heard the unmistakable, hearty voice of Rollo calling out, “Halloo! Anybody home?”

“Good God, hide the madeira!” Jeremy groaned, but Rollo had already come around the side of the house, and he now appeared on the patio.

“Heard all about the grand finale of our latest case out in Cornwall!” he said jovially, taking a seat. “Thought we might drink a well-deserved toast to another job well done.”

Jeremy was still trying to hide the bottle, but I reminded him, “Don’t forget, the Celts believe in the luck of the number three.”

“Right,” said Jeremy. “You, me and the dog.”

“Get a third glass,” I advised. And we poured it, and I would tell you all about it, except for an odd thing that happened just as we were sipping our madeira.

Sir Francis, our royal spaniel, had been lying indolently on the warm stone patio, with his silky black ears and tail neatly laid out, and his beautiful paws posed regally in front of him. He was ohso-elegant, and perhaps even a bit of a snob, having rather disinterestedly allowed Rollo to enter and even to pet him.

But suddenly, Sir Francis raised his head alertly. I thought of what Prince Charles had said about this dog’s elite training. It now appeared that Sir Francis considered himself a staff member of the firm of Nichols & Laidley, for he got up and trotted over to the door, and looked back at us quite significantly.

And then, Sir Francis barked.

Apparently, we had a new visitor.

But, that’s a tale yet to be told . . .

 

THE END

 

A RATHER LOVELY INHERITANCE
is where it all began, when an American art historian—Penny Nichols—meets British lawyer Jeremy Laidley, in London at the reading of Great-Aunt Penelope’s will. Penny also meets Rollo, a ne’er-do-well relative, and other “vultures” in the family tree who want to keep the loot all to themselves. Who can she trust? Bickering and bantering all the way, Penny and Jeremy team up to uncover family secrets on a chase from London to Paris, Cannes, Antibes and Rome. If you’ve ever dreamed of having the perfect apartment, auto, wardrobe and loved one to jaunt around the French Riviera with, then go for the ride!

 

A RATHER CURIOUS ENGAGEMENT
follows Penny and Jeremy as they become real partners, in love and in work. They decide to sock away their inheritance, except for one splurge—a vintage yacht that they win at auction on the Côte d’Azur. This soon leads to their first official “engagement”—a new mystery to solve that leads them to the world of Beethoven. Meanwhile, Jeremy’s ex-wife is trying to steal him back. Can Penny and Jeremy’s relationship survive the test? If you want to know what it’s like to cruise the Mediterranean on a yacht, and visit Lake Como, Nice and Corsica, then climb aboard!

 

A RATHER CHARMING INVITATION
finds Penny and Jeremy trying to plan their wedding while balancing the demands of Jeremy’s English family, and Penny’s mysterious French relatives, who invite the couple to an ancient ancestral château near the fragrant perfume fields of Grasse. When a family heirloom loaned to Penny and Jeremy for the wedding goes missing, they must solve the theft before it’s time to say “I do.” If you’ve ever experienced a family tug-of-war while planning a wedding, or if you just love the idea of travelling to Provence, Paris, Lake Geneva and Monte Carlo with the one you love, well . . . here’s your invitation!

READERS GUIDE

 

A.
Actually, the seeds for this novel were planted back in the very first book of the series—
A Rather Lovely Inheritance
—when my American heroine, Penny Nichols, is summoned to England for the reading of her Great-Aunt Penelope’s last will and testament. On her flight to London, Penny tells us that she’d been to England only once before, long ago during a childhood summer visit to Grandmother Beryl’s house-by-the-sea in Cornwall. This is where Penny met her glamorous Great-Aunt Penelope, for whom she was named, and she also met a boy named Jeremy whom she really liked and connected with. In
A Rather Lovely Inheritance
the adult Penny is reunited with Jeremy, and together they must solve a family mystery that brings them to Paris, the French Riviera, Italy . . . but Penny never gets a chance to return to Cornwall. Yet all along, through the first, second and third “Rather” novels, the memory of the childhood summer at Grandmother Beryl’s house lingers vividly in Penny’s mind.

So somehow I always knew that I—and Penny and Jeremy—had to go back to explore Cornwall again. Now in this new book,
A Rather Remarkable Homecoming,
it just seemed right and natural that the time has come for Penny and Jeremy to return to that important place where they first met.

 

 

A.
I imagine it’s because our earliest childhood memories often revolve around grandparents. Going to see them is a bit of an adventure for a kid, like the Thanksgiving Song that Penny sings, “Over the river and through the wood . . .” Everything looms large in our memory—the backyard seems boundless, the rooms strange and enormous, and our elders sometimes tend to be more indulgent than our parents. The occasion when you visit a grandparent is usually a holiday, like Christmas or summertime, so there is a festive atmosphere about it. The world of adults seems odd and mysterious, and as a kid you scamper about like a squirrel, climbing trees and existing in a world apart from the grown-ups.

Then, when you yourself grow up, these childhood memories can lie dormant for years. But the moment you go back to revisit Grandma’s place—even if your grandmother no longer lives there—you can be surprised by the powerful impact the house still harbors. It’s not just that you’re going through the scrapbook memories of childhood; the place now takes on a symbolic importance as well. As you walk around exploring your own past, the terrain is at once both familiar and strange.

 

A.
Well, Prince Charles is the Duke of Cornwall, and he has for many years been deeply and passionately involved in protecting the English countryside for future generations. So he was just the perfect new “client” for Penny and Jeremy! I really loved the idea of Penny and Jeremy being given a rather royal and noble task to perform, just like the knights of Camelot going off on a special mission. Cornwall is, after all, the birthplace of King Arthur and the knights of the round table, who were all willing to fight bravely against formidable enemies and nearly impossible odds. Penny and Jeremy have certainly had to slay quite a few “dragons” before, while working on a case, and this one’s no exception!