Before I could answer, there was an exclamation of delight and Madame Chanel came flying out the front door. “Jacques!” she said. “You came. I knew you would.”

“My angel. As if I could resist you,” the man said and there followed an embrace that only the French can do well.

When they had broken apart, both a little breathless, Coco turned to us. “He has come. All will now be well. This is my dear friend Commissaire Jacques Germain of the Sûreté in Paris. I pleaded with him to come, as a little favor to me.” She was beaming as if she had just produced a rabbit out of a hat. “I could see that something needed to be done and Jacques is the man to do it.”

“I thought Inspector Lafite made it quite clear that the Sûreté would not be allowed to step on his toes,” I reminded her.

“But naturally,” Jacques Germain said in cultured English with only a slight French accent. “I have decided to take a little holiday. And if I happened to take a small interest in a case that was in progress down here—well, that would be quite understandable, no?”

He smiled, the most charming, sexy smile. I could see that Frenchmen had earned their reputation. “And with my dear friend from Scotland Yard here, we will make a formidable team.”

“How did you meet?” I asked Granddad. They seemed a most unlikely pair.

“I met this delightful gentleman on the train,” Jacques Germain said. “He needed assistance in finding the dining car and then in ordering. We dined together, and when I discovered that he had worked for the famous Scotland Yard and he actually knew men I had long admired, we became instant friends.”

Granddad was beaming. “I didn’t say I’d actually worked for Scotland Yard,” he muttered to me. “At least not like that. Just an ordinary copper. But he’s a good bloke, and, what’s more, he speaks English.”

“So all is well,” Coco said. She took Jacques’ hand. “Come. Let us go and have breakfast. And you, ma petite,” she said in an aside, “you should probably put on something a little more suitable before you join us at the breakfast table.”

“Oh, yes.” I realized for the first time that I was in a flimsy nightdress. I caught Jacques’ amused look. Like any Frenchman he was appraising me, enjoying the sight of my bare legs.

We walked together into the cool marble entrance hall. Granddad looked around him. “And this place belongs to your mum?”

“Yes, it does. Her French racing driver gave it to her.”

“Blimey, she ain’t done badly for herself, I’ll say that for her—not that I approve of her morals, as you know. So where is she?”