Darcy smiled. “How interesting. I’ll hand that tidbit of information over to the New York police. Not that they’ll ever be able to prove anything. Pity. A woman like that should get her just deserts for once. And when I get home I’ll give my report to Scotland Yard and they’ll be on the lookout for Miss Brightwell if she ever decides to come home to England.”

I felt rather glad that Bella wasn’t going to prison, at least not in the foreseeable future. And if she was with her sister, then I was glad of that too. Stella would need someone to comfort her with Cy gone.

I was plucking up courage to remind Darcy about our day out alone when he said, “Look, Georgie. I should really deliver the ruby back to the princess right away.” He obviously read the disappointment in my face because he went on hurriedly, “So we’d better make our day out tomorrow before I catch the night train back to New York. I’ll go and see about that motorcar.”

It was a sparkling fine morning when we set off for the coast. Beverly Hills looked at its pastel best with its palm trees shimmering in a light morning breeze.

I glanced across at Darcy and felt a great bubble of happiness inside me. I was in an open sports car with the man I loved beside me and a whole day ahead of us. Darcy had ordered a picnic basket from the hotel and a bottle of bubbly. Thank heavens for the end of prohibition!

“Someone suggested we drive as far as Santa Barbara to the north,” he said, “but I’m not sure we want to waste the whole day together in a motorcar, are you?”

“Absolutely not,” I said. “I say we find the first little cove and have our picnic there.”

So we turned north at Santa Monica, with its funfair and pier giving the place a festive feel. “Too public,” Darcy said and we shared a grin. Then the road narrowed and hugged the shoreline as we retraced our route to Mr. Goldman’s ill-fated castle. We had only gone a few miles when we saw the perfect spot. A narrow strip of beach below the highway with big rocks on one side, and nobody else in sight. Darcy pulled off the road. We took the picnic basket and climbed down the sandy cliff to the beach. It was a narrow half moon of sand, strewn with driftwood. A flight of pelicans drifted past. We found a spot out of the wind among the rocks and changed into our bathing suits.

“Do you want to go for a swim first?” Darcy asked.

“All right. Last one in is a rotten egg.” I ran toward the waves, reached them and stopped short with a yell. “It’s absolutely freezing,” I said.