Chapters (40)
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Historical Note
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Tuxedo-clad men got down on their hands and knees and were soon searching diligently. The poor dowager on whom I had landed was assisted to her feet and led to a safer location, still fanning herself. Soon everyone around was involved in the search. Even women in their evening finery were crawling around on all fours between the rows of chairs. If it hadn’t been so horribly serious, it would have been funny. But the necklace was not found.
“Did it fall somewhere inside her clothing?” someone else suggested.
I felt my pockets and inside my blouse, then shook my head.
“I’m sorry to say this,” Vera announced, “but I have sent one of the gendarmes to summon his superior. Everyone will have to be searched.”
“This is an outrage!” Mrs. Simpson said. “There are some very important people in this room. Obviously they haven’t taken a stupid necklace. Try searching the hired help.”
“There were no waiters near the stage when she fell,” someone else pointed out.
“My wife is feeling faint. She needs fresh air,” a distinguished, military-looking man complained.
“I’m sorry, but nobody is to leave,” Vera said firmly.
She had now brought in one of the gendarmes to help her guard the door. “I ask for a little patience,” she said. “This necklace must be found. It is extremely valuable.”
Again a whisper went through the crowd. I was sitting on the chair, sipping my brandy, trying to recollect exactly what had happened. Had I felt anyone touching the necklace? I was fairly sure I hadn’t. Surely I would have noticed hands at the back of my neck. But then, I was rather shocked at the time. It was suggested that the necklace could have somehow rolled under the catwalk, in spite of the heavy velvet drapes around it. A couple of young men obligingly held up the drape while the waiters were instructed to crawl beneath it. But they came out empty-handed.
“The necklace must be somewhere in this room,” Chanel said, pacing up and down past me. “We would have noticed if anyone had opened a door after you fell. We would have seen the light coming from outside.”