“Really, this is all too silly,” Mrs. Simpson said, moving closer to the prince and slipping her arm through his. “Why don’t we go to the bar for a drink until this is all over.”

“No, Wallis, we have to set an example,” the Prince of Wales said. “We should do all we can to help. Here, Inspector, you can search us first, if you like.”

Reluctantly the other people in the room lined up to be searched. One thing we British do well is to join a queue. I allowed myself to be inspected, then I went over to the two elderly princesses. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness,” I said in French. “I do hope I did not hurt you.”

“Fortunately you do not weigh much,” the Russian princess said in slow, even French. “It was more shock than harm.”

Princess Marie took my hand and patted it. “What a distressing thing to have happened, ma petite. I knew your dear grandmother well. We were childhood playmates. And your dear great-grandmother—mon Dieu, but she was a terrifying woman. So small but so powerful. I was always struck dumb in her presence.”

“I never met either of them,” I said. “My only grandparent still alive is my mother’s father.”

“He was an English nobleman, I presume, because I believe I am acquainted with all those in the Almanach de Gotha.”

“He’s a former London policeman.”

“A policeman? You mean a commoner?” If she had been wearing a lorgnette she would have raised it and peered at me.

I nodded. “My father married an actress.”

“Your father always was such a silly boy.” She shook her head. “But who am I to criticize—I who married an Irishman.”

Even in my current state of shock this comment registered. “You did?”

“A big mistake, as my family told me. But I was twenty-one. I had my own fortune. My husband was of noble family—so charming and handsome, but an absolute scoundrel. He went through my money then ran off with an American heiress. So let that be a lesson to you, my dear. Stay away from Irishmen.”

After everything else that had just happened I felt as if I might disgrace myself and cry. I fought to keep my face calm and I smiled. “I’ll remember,” I said.

The line of those to be searched had dwindled and the room emptied. Coco Chanel came up to me. “Come, ma petite . Let us go.”

“Go where?”

“Across the hall to the casino where I hold a party to celebrate.”

“Celebrate?” I said. “I ruined your lovely collection. I allowed the necklace to be stolen.”

“Nonsense,” she said, waving her cigarette at me. “I love sensations. Now everyone will remember this forever. We will make the front page of tomorrow’s newspapers. The whole world will see my new design.”