Final Countdown, Last Day

Here we are, folks. Last day before launch. I'm sitting at my computer, making sure everyone knows that Naughty in Nice will be released tomorrow, then rushing out to buy stuff to stock goodie bags for my signings next week. (events schedule is on my website... which is still a work in progress, BTW)

So here's the last snippet that should entice you to read the whole thing. Enjoy:

I pushed open the door to the restaurant to see several men standing around our table. To my horror I recognized one of them as Inspector Lafite.


“Ah there she is now,” one of the men said.

“Inspector,” I eyed him coldly, “What are you doing here?”

“I have come for you, Lady Georgiana,” he said.

“If you wish to ask me more questions, you can see that this is not a good time or place. I have nothing more to tell you, either on the necklace or on the death of Sir Toby,”

“I do not wish to ask you questions at this moment,” he said. “We will do that at the police station.”

“The police station? I’m not going to any police station at this time of night.”

He took a menacing step toward me. “I insist that you accompany me, mademoiselle. I am arresting you for the murder of Sir Toby Groper.”

I stared him. My mouth was probably open, which I know is not acceptable for a lady. But you must admit it’s not every day that one is accused of murder.

“If you will please step outside, mademoiselle,” Lafite said quietly. “I’m sure you do not want to cause a disturbance and scandal in such a place as this.”

Shock does funny things. I looked at his comical face with its exaggerated mustache and I started to laugh as he took my arm.

Jean-Paul however had leaped to his feet. “Are you mad?” he demanded. “This young lady is the daughter of an English duke. She is related to royalty.”

“Her background is of no consequence,” Lafite said. “Please come with me quietly, mademoiselle, and let us have no unpleasantness. I am sure you would not wish to cause embarrassment to Monsieur le Marquis.”

One of his men took my other arm. I was conscious of faces staring at me as I was led through the restaurant and out to the street where several police motor cars were drawn up.

“Now, mademoiselle. Get in please.” Lafite opened a rear door of one of the cars for me. I was moving mechanically, like a puppet, but Jean-Paul stepped between me and the police vehicle door.

“This is absurd,” Jean-Paul said, his eyes blazing. “You know who I am and I can vouch for her.”

“Forgive me, Marquis. Of course we know who you are. However, we have reason to believe that this young lady is guilty of this terrible crime.”

“What reason?” I demanded.

“I am not at liberty to discuss this here. We will wait until we are in the privacy of the police station. Now please enter the automobile.”

“I’m coming too if you are taking her,” Jean-Paul said. He tried to force his way into the motor car.

“I am afraid that is not possible, Marquis. You must realize this is a very serious matter. You cannot be allowed to interfere with the course of justice.”

“Then I will go immediately to telephone a lawyer friend of mine.” Jean-Paul scowled at him, then touched my arm gently. “You are not obliged to say anything until you have a lawyer present. Do not worry, ma petite. It is all a horrible mistake and we will have you back home in no time at all.”

For the first time I realized the enormity of what was happening to me. “Please go and tell my mother where I am. Madame Chanel and Vera will know what to do.”

“They will be hammering at the police station door like ravening wolves,” Jean-Paul said with a smile. His hand touched my cheek. “Courage, cherie. All will be well.”

Countdown: Day 6

Only two more days before I go into a store and see my new baby book all shiny on a shelf. It's a thrill that never gets old.

Here is today's snippet from Naughty in Nice, and one, I'm afraid, that shows Georgie can be rather clueless at times--not a good trait for a detective!

On Sir Toby's Yacht in the Med:


“Stop it, please,” I said, grabbing one of his hands.


“A touch of modesty. I can understand that,” he said. “Well, we’ve a good selection of bedrooms. Young ladies often like the pink one. Lovely bouncy bed in there. Come on.” He grabbed my wrist and started to drag me across the saloon, then down a long wood paneled corridor My heart was beating so loudly that I was sure it must have echoed back from those walls.

“Let go of me,” I shouted, as anger overtook fear. “I am not going to bed with you and that is that.”

“Frankly you don’t have much choice, my dear.” He continued to propel me forward.

“When we get back I’ll go to the police and report you for rape.”

He gave a great guffaw of laughter at this. “To the police? For rape? A young girl who begs Sir Toby to take her out on his lovely yacht? Flutters her eyes at him? The police would understand that you got what you were asking for. They are men of the world. Now shut up talking and be a good girl.”

“I want to be a good girl,” I said, “and that doesn’t include making love to a complete stranger.”

“Oh come on. You bright young things…”

“And another thing—I’m not a bright young thing. I’m a—“ I was about to say ‘member of the royal family’. I only swallowed it down at the last second. –“respectable girl from a good family,” I finished lamely. It only made him laugh all the more as he tried to shove me down a steep staircase ahead of him. I turned and kicked him hard on the shin, then pushed past him back onto the deck. Then I ran. I don’t know where I thought I was running to. It was a big yacht, but I couldn’t play catch-me-if-you-can forever, could I?

The breeze had turned into a strong wind and met me full in the face as I came out onto the deck. Also there was now a big swell. I thought about diving off and swimming but the land looked awfully far away. Good swimmer that I was, I didn’t think I could make it. Besides, great storm clouds were now moving in closer. I wondered hopefully if this would make us return to port.

“You can’t escape, you know, you silly girl,” came Sir Toby’s voice after me.

I ran to the other end of the deck and ducked behind a life raft. Then, over the throb of our engine I heard the higher whine of a speed boat. I stepped out and waved desperately as the boat came racing toward us, sending up a sheet of spray. The speed-boat driver waved back and approached the yacht. When he was close enough I saw that it was Jean-Paul de Ronchard.

“Jean-Paul!” I shouted.
He slowed the speedboat to a crawl.
“Help me. I want to get off!” I shouted.
“Come on then. Jump!” he shouted back.
It was a long way down to the water and the boat was rising and falling with the swell of the waves. I hesitated.
“You do know how to swim, don’t you?” Jean-Paul shouted.
“Of course, but…”
“Then jump. I won’t let you drown.” He had cut the motor and bobbed alongside.
“Ah, there you are, you minx,” Sir Toby boomed, coming around the corner toward me.
I took a deep breath, climbed over the railing and jumped.

If you want to know what happens next then reserve your copy of Naughty in Nice at your local bookstores, online at Amazon or Barnes and Noble or at your wonderful local library!
Then read the book, answer a question and enter my contest.
Details coming this weekend.

Countdown Day 5

Tuesday is getting closer and closer and I hope these little snippets of story are convincing you that you need to read Naughty in Nice. I'm not saying "buy" because I know that we can't all afford to buy new books and I think libraries are wonderful resources. What I hope you'll do is read and recommend. Oh, and enter my contest... details coming this weekend.

Here is today's snippet:
flirting is not one of Georgie's major skills, but she is trying it on the dangerous Sir Toby....

“Well, then, miss Georgie, I hope you’ll come down and swim in my pool one day soon. And maybe we could go for a spin on my yacht.”


“Could we really? I adore yachts.” I wasn’t sure if I was overdoing it.

“Then it’s settled,” he said. “Come over and I’ll take you out on the yacht tomorrow. Come any time you like. I’ll have the crew standing by.”

“That’s so kind of you, Sir Toby,” I said. “I’m really looking forward to it.”

“Not at all. Delighted to help out. See you tomorrow then.”

I gave myself a pat on the back as I left. I had positively had him eating out of my hand. Now if I could just find out if he had the queen’s snuff box at the villa, it should be an easy enough matter to slip inside and pinch it when I went down for a swim. Suddenly I felt very daring and worldly. I had flirted with a dashing marquis. I had had invitations from two English boys and wangled an invitation from Sir Toby. All in all a good evening. I chose not to remember the not so good parts.

Final Countdown, Day 4

It's getting close...only 4 days until launch Next Tuesday!
And on Monday I'll announce the details of my fun launch contest.

So here is snippet number 4.

Coco Chanel has persuaded Georgie, much against her will, to be a model in her fashion show for the elite expats in Nice. Georgie is sure something will go wrong.....

“And for my piece de resistance I give you the royal look, as modeled by a member of England’s ruling family, Lady Georgiana Rannoch,” Chanel announced.


There was a gasp and then applause. The catwalk stretched into darkness, looking about a mile long. I was conscious of upturned faces, sparkling jewels, champagne glasses. I forced one foot in front of the other, trying to walk as I had been taught. I was going to do this. I had done harder things in my life. I was not going to stumble. Step followed step. I was going to get through it.

Then suddenly it was as if my foot wouldn’t move, as if something was holding it fast to the floor. I felt myself pitching forward, stumbling, trying to right myself. I might have done so but the end of the runway was before me. Flash bulbs went off in my face, blinding me. I vaguely heard gasps of horror as I staggered then pitched forward into blackness

Countdown, Day 3

Five days to go until Naughty in Nice is born--it's like the end of a pregancy: expectation, can't wait to get it over, just a little worried....

So here is snippet three from my new book. And keep watching for a contest announcement toward the end of the week....

On the Train to the Riviera where Lady Georgie is heading on a dubious errand from Queen Mary:


I looked down the rows of white clothed tables, their silver and china gleaming in the glow of little lamps. From here I couldn’t see a table that wasn’t occupied and wondered what the protocol was about joining someone on a train and whether I could ever pluck up courage to do that.

Of course the first person I noticed was the handsome Frenchman, sitting alone with another bottle of champagne beside him. He looked up from his soup and caught my gaze. He didn’t smile or nod as would have been usual. Instead he frowned at me.

“You are English?” he asked in French.

I replied that I was.

“Curious,” he replied. He was about to say something else when a voice from further down the car called to me, “I say. Aren’t you Georgiana Rannoch?”

It was a smartly dressed English lady, probably in her late forties. She was sitting with an exquisite and obviously French woman. I agreed that I was.

“Would you like to join us?” the first woman said. “It’s rather full at the moment but we have room, don’t we Coco?”

The Frenchwoman nodded and smiled. “Bien sure,” she said, waving a cigarette holder in my direction.

The Englishwoman stuck out a hand. “You look the spitting image of your father. I used to know him well. I’m Vera, by the way. Vera Bate Lombardi, and I believe we’re related, at least through marriage.”

I sat down on the chair she had pulled out for me. She waved imperiously and a waiter appeared. “My lady will be joining us, so set another place and you’d better bring us another bottle of Veuve Cliquot.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to dine with a rather bossy Englishwoman who claimed to be related to me, but it was better than standing like a wallflower.

“I actually stayed at Castle Rannoch when you were little,” she continued, “although I don’t suppose you remember me. We went out riding together once. You were a splendid little horsewoman.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I don’t often get a chance to ride any more and I miss it.”

“So do I,” she said. “I’m in Paris most of the year now, traipsing around behind Coco, and one can hardly get a decent gallop in the Bois de Boulogne..”

“You do not traipse behind me,” Coco said in English. “It makes you sound like a dog on a lead. Since you take bigger strides than I, then I am usually running to keep up with you. But you must introduce us, Vera. This very English young lady will not speak to me unless properly introduced.”

I laughed, but Vera said, “Sorry. Bad of me. Coco, this is Bertie’s daughter, Georgiana Rannoch. And this is my dear friend and business partner, Coco Chanel.”

Certainly Madame!

One of the comments yesterday triggered a memory of my own. The poster wrote:
A favorite memory, though not about food. I went to the Carnavelet Museum in Paris specifically to see one painting. The room where the painting was hung was under construction. I was disappointed until I asked if there was any way I could get in. Certainly madame! The head curator himself took me to the painting, escorting me through the sawhorses and equipment!


Now the French are known for being remote, bloody minded and difficult. But my experiences are similar to yesterday's poster. In fact last year when I was researching Naughty in Nice I needed to look around the Negresco Hotel. Originally I planned to have a murder take place there. Now the Negresco is still a top hotel, reeeeeely expensive (try $1000 a night). I walked up the front steps and was stopped by a young man dripping with braid. You cannot enter, he said, looking at my non-designer attire. I told him I was a famous writer who wanted to write about his hotel. He took me to his boss and I handed the boss my card.
He opened his arms wide. "Feel free, madame," he said. "Go where you want to."

And so I spent two delicious hours poking into every corner of the Negresco hotel. 

Here are some pictures I took. I could also have helped myself to their priceless artwork collection, had I been criminally minded and carried a bigger purse!

It'sDay 7 of my month of French fun and counting down to Naughty in Nice!

Comment on your French experiences for a chance to win a fun French prize (no, it won't be naughty!)
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Yeah, New Cover is up.

I noticed today that my new cover for the next Lady Georgie book, Naughty in Nice, is now up on Amazon and the book is available for pre-order. I'll try and put a sample up on my website so that you can check it out, but I'll say in advance that it will be a lot of fun--Riviera, casinos, Coco Chanel, blue Med and smoulderingly handsome Frenchmen. What more could you want?

And what do you think of the cover?

Rain, Rain Go Away!

Yesterday it started raining in Northern California and my thoughts turned instantly to Arizona. I started going through my wardrobe deciding which clothes I needed to take with me, which items from my office. Our condo is actually well stocked with clothes basics but there are some items I need for when I'm giving talks etc. And some favorites that have to come with me to both places.

Now I know that rain is a good thing. After a dry summer we need a good wet winter in California to fill those reservoirs, prevent fires and make things grow. But I'm sorry. I just don't like rain, or cold--apart from the occasional crisp day on the ski slopes. Other people say that they couldn't live without the four seasons, but I would be happy with sun every day. In fact I feel cheated if I don't wake to blue skies.

This aversion to rain and dark skies is strange, considering I was born and grew up in a country where rain and dark skies are the norm for much of the year. But I realize now that I've always suffered from SAD--the seasonal disorder that makes the body not work well in lack of sunlight. Not only do I find it hard to leave the comfort of my bed in winter, I actually feel depressed. Clearly my body was designed to hibernate and not emerge until springtime (no wonder I've always had an affinity with bears!)

But I have a book that needs to be written during the winter months. So I do the next best thing to hibernation--I escape to Arizona. I wake to the sun sending stripes on my wall through the fronds of the palm tree outside my window. We go for long walks in the desert and take photos of cactus and birds and the most incredible sunsets. And I've come to the conclusion that the stork actually dropped me into the wrong country at birth. I wasn't supposed to be British. The Brits put on their wellies and raincoats and stomp merrily through the puddles, chanting things like, "This rain will be good for the cabbages."

But I DON'T DO RAIN.

And I've just realized that I've set my next Royal Spyness book on the French Riviera where my heroine has joined all the English who flee south for the winter. So maybe I'm not such a strange bird after all. Maybe most of my compatriots would seek sunshine if they could, and indeed many Brits now own homes in Spain or take a winter holiday in the Caribbean. And maybe my heroine is becoming an alter ego.

Hands up--who likes the four seasons? Who would opt for eternal summer?

Where to begin?

I'm about to start a new Royal Spyness book and as usual I'm in terrified mode. I'm not one of those people who outlines, so I start knowing very little... where I'm going to set it (on the French Riviera) and some unpleasant things that may happen to Georgie (not going to tell you).

But the problem with every book is where to begin. Where do I come into this particular story which is part of someone's life? Some writers give us a body on page one. I am the other kind.. I like to set the scene, introduce characters and watch them interacting before anything too bad happens. Not quite as thrilling, I must admit, but that's just the way I work.

So I need to start on a gray, bleak day in London, to make the prospect of the Riviera more enticing.

But my WRITING TIP FOR THE DAY:  and write this in letters of flame ten feet high on your wall NOTHING IS WRITTEN IN STONE.
Toy with various opening scenes. Be prepared to toss out the first 50 pages if you realize you could have come into the story later, or just get started, to have something down in black and white,and then go back in the editing phase and polish up the beginning.
Obviously beginnings are important. People pick up a book in a store, read the first page and decide whether to buy it. That's why I'm always a little worried that I don't have a body. So my first page has to be witty and/or funny. I hope I feel in a witty mood today!

I'll keep you posted as to how I'm progressing.