My very dearest Tilly,

You know I would never normally write so frequently, and surely only if something noteworthy has cropped up but let me tell you it has. I will respond to your letter another day, terrible news about your mother. My sympathies.

Anyway, as you well know we always summer on the Riveria, Bertie and mummy and me. England is just too terribly dreary and one can never rely on good weather. Garden of England they say Kent is - pah! Well they could call it the desert of England and it would still be raining more days than not.

No matter though, the Riviera always shines!

This year we are staying with a family friend. Mummy seems to find new family friends whenever the coffers are a little low and this year is no different so we will be with Major Lupin. Mummy calls him Wolfie - some little joke from when they were children together here or some other - and certainly the canines in his mouth suits the nickname. He’s an odd character in many ways but what a villa! And he serves a terribly good spread. Knows all the locals, and everyone else worth knowing too. A little lemon orchard on the land is glorious and you should see the view from my balcony. Glorious.

Well, the darnedest thing. Do you remember Rupert? He went to Marlborough so knows Boris but we met him at Henley one year. You’ll have read in The Times about the trouble his father got into - fraud! The shame! Well it turns out Rupert is here too, staying over yonder with his aunt. He is terribly handsome these days let me tell you, and doing well all things considered. Gold mining I think? Wolfie knows the aunt so we took luncheon together yesterday, right on in the orchard. A table was laid out and we sat there gaily, wine flowing and honestly the French know how to bake bread don’t they. I had wanted to sit next to Rupert but instead I had Mummy on one side and the Aunt’s neighbour on the other - Madam Denise - she is ‘old money’ apparently but I would just call her old. You should see the size of the rocks on her fingers though - woof! Bertie sat at the end of the table in effective silence, you know what he’s like. English weather personified.

I digress greatly. Rupert, sitting diagonally across from me, in broad daylight flirting with me. The cheek! Flirting in front of my mother and his aunt like that. Well it certainly seemed like flirting. His eyes are terribly intense and he kept looking at me and all around, a signal of sorts, I was sure of it. A little crease in his brow as though he were thinking terribly romantic thoughts about me. Wolfie in turn seemed to be staring him out too something rotten - no doubt he thinks I’m too young for courting so I’m sure that’s what his bright blue eyed stare was about.

I must get to the point Tilly. We were sitting there at lunch, eating and drinking and being thoroughly merry (though I could NOT understand a word of what Madame Denise was saying, my French is not all that bad and she really was sinking the vino) - out of nowhere a rainbow of a bird landed on the table. You should have seen it. Green body and a tail made from all colours under the sun. Hopping around the table, it seemed to be looking for food but never touched a morsel. Do tropical birds eat seafood? Surely they don’t like foie grois. It was hardly a pigeon so I wouldn’t have suggested feeding it the breadcrumbs. After hopping around for a few moments and all of us at the table truly mesmerised by this bizarre sight before us, the little bird seemed to see the morsel it was after. Mere seconds later, and my mothers’s diamonds had been quite whipped from her neck and the bird was 30 feet in the air and travelling southward.

Now what do you make of that? Have you ever heard of a parrot thief? Well I never.

And you think that’s strange enough? Well it gets stranger. Of course one does try to make sense of strange happenstances and so my mind goes to magpies and other such creature and perhaps this bird was nothing more than the Riveria’s version of a magpie. Well perhaps. Of course we spend the rest of the afternoon drinking more wine and eating more bread and informing the police of the parrot thief but of course they say ‘madames, ce qui put metre fait?’ And they have a point.

We moved inside as a chill dropped into the group, the sun setting didn’t cause the chill, rather I think it was the absurdity falling into us all. We au-revoired Rupert and Madame Denise, and Wolfie and Rupert sustained a long handshake goodbye as I continued to console mummy. As Rupert turned to leave I heard a tiny chime come off the marble floor and a flash of light. Which I thought nothing off as we waved them off but later.

Oh later. Oh Tilly you will never guess what I found. I am quite sure of it. I could not be mistaken I have seen these diamonds nigh on every day of my life while at home. And heard the story of Papa’s gifting them more times than that.

It was the centre diamond from the necklace. I am very, very sure of it.

And now I have it here in my room. What did that darstadly parrot do? How did it land on the floor? Where is the rest of the necklace?!

I will go to the police in the morning but I want you to tell me what to do nonetheless. I need some wisdom from my most sensible friend.

My love, in confusion,

Maggie