“Where are you staying, Georgiana darling?” she asked from the backseat. “Also in Dublin? Or are you being naughty and sharing a place with Darcy?” Before either of us could answer she went on, “I’m concerned about Darcy having to drive me back and forth all that way into Dublin. Such a time waster. If I can’t use my little plane, then I’ll have to beg, borrow or steal a motorcar. Your father doesn’t have one to spare, does he?”

“He had the use of an estate car, but they are all locked away in the castle garage at the moment. It’s still being treated as a crime scene.”

“So where did you get your hands on this ancient Rolls?”

“Ah, that came from the great-aunt Georgie is staying with.”

“A great-aunt? Nearby?”

“Yes, we’ll be passing the house shortly.”

“Then why didn’t you say so before I checked into the Shelbourne? I could stay there too, couldn’t I?” Zou Zou said.

Oh crikey, I thought, trying to picture the glamorous princess among the dust and chaos of Oona’s house. Darcy must have had the same thoughts.

“It’s not up to your standards, Zou Zou,” Darcy said. “The place has gone to wrack and ruin and they are living with almost no servants. She’s an eccentric old biddy. He’s as queer as a coot.”

“But I could rough it. I’m a lot tougher than I seem. I’ve climbed the Matterhorn, you know. And I’ve been marooned in a snowdrift in Bulgaria—surrounded by wolves. I’m sure I could cope with a batty great-aunt. Is it only a tiny cottage, then?”

I was about to say that yes, it was a tiny cottage. Unfortunately, at that moment we were passing the entrance to Oona’s driveway. The rambling old house could be seen and I had found that Darcy wasn’t good at telling lies. Subterfuge, yes. Withholding information, definitely, but there was something in his upbringing that made lying impossible. I’m the same. It’s that duty and integrity that are rammed down the throat of every upper-class child by nannies and governesses.

“Actually that’s the house, through the trees back there,” he said, “but really, it isn’t fit for guests, and I think it would embarrass Great-Aunt Oona to have a guest of your quality pressed upon her.”

“Georgiana is of my quality,” she said. “And the house looks charming. Certainly enough bedrooms to find a spot for little moi.”

She really did see things through rose-tinted spectacles, I thought. The house looked old, rambling and almost derelict, but could not, by any stretch of the imagination, be described as charming.