The Moonlit Murders: A historical mystery page-turner (A Fen Churche Mystery Book 3) Fliss Chester (most read book in the world txt) š
- Author: Fliss Chester
Book online Ā«The Moonlit Murders: A historical mystery page-turner (A Fen Churche Mystery Book 3) Fliss Chester (most read book in the world txt) šĀ». Author Fliss Chester
āEmbarkation begins at four.ā James was looking at his watch, his own suitcase and a duffel bag resting beside him. Heād added to his wardrobe, it had seemed, while in Paris, and although Fen wasnāt sure what heād bought, heād managed to fill a whole new case with clothes, and his army-issue kitbag was dwarfed by the new sturdy case.
āHere we are.ā Fen accepted her case from the driver and nodded a thanks to him. āReady. Though if you offer me anything more exciting than a dry cracker, I mightāā
āI get the picture.ā James laughed while raising a hand to stop her in her tracks. āDonāt worry, Iāll eat for the both of us. Something about sea air always makes me ravenous.ā He patted his stomach. āThe De Grasse better have a decent chef on board, as being that close to the ocean, Iāll be on ten meals a day!ā
Fen laughed at him. James was definitely in better spirits than sheād seen him recently. Better really than sheād ever known. Heād been understandably circumspect when theyād first met, not understanding why she had appeared and worried that sheād possibly scupper his own investigations into Arthurās death.
Then in Paris more recently heād begun to open up, but heād been distracted by the allure of a beautiful, if fundamentally treacherous, young woman. Being duped like that had knocked the wind out of him and it was only after theyād booked their passage at the offices of the French Line shipping company that sheād noticed a renewed spring in his step. Perhaps James was happy to be on his way home too, after all?
āWeāll only be on the ship for a matter of hours, barely enough time to fry a tomato, James, before weāre back in Southampton.ā Fen put her case down, flexing out her fingers as she spoke.
James merely raised his eyebrows at her and then picked up his bags. āEven so,ā he said, āIām going to fill up on as much decent French food as I can before we board. Donāt say I canāt tempt you with one last medium-rare entrecĆ“te with some fried potatoes before weāre back to eating the boot-leather of good old English beef?ā
Fen smiled at him. Her nausea from the journey had subsided and her stomach was beginning to rumble. All of a sudden, seizing the chance to indulge in one last delicious French meal didnāt seem like such a bad idea. āLead on, MacDuff!ā She picked up her battered old case again. āOr should that be Le Duff?ā
āIād swap you a haggis for a steak hachĆ© any time.ā He chuckled at her and led them both away from the bus, towards the sea.
Much to Jamesās disappointment, there wasnāt much left of Le Havre, let alone a bustling street of shops and cafĆ©s. He kicked some rubble down what would have been a road and Fen sighed. What had they expected? Theyād been spoiled in Paris as, although it had been bombed, it hadnāt been obliterated like this once beautiful port town had been. All that was left was the odd boulevard of burnt tree trunks, buildings torn apart like dollsā houses with their fronts wide open and piles of crushed stone around them.
Working parties and their building-site shouts replaced the noises one would have expected to hear in a busy town centre. There was no rattle of a tram or chatter of a marketplace. Only the rhythmic thud of stone being moved and the splintering of wood as any useful pieces were pulled from heaps of yet-to-be-cleared ash. There had been no sign of a proper bus terminal even, it having been obliterated no doubt and now temporarily replaced with a prefab hut.
āFestungā¦ā James said as he kicked at a broken brick, barrelling it into a pile of its fellows.
āWhatās festung?ā Fen asked him, as she placed her suitcase down and sat on it while waiting for an answer. Picking over rubble made walking harder, especially while lugging a suitcase, and, after the early start this morning and lack of food, she was quite weary.
āI knew about it, of course, but I had never imaginedā¦ā James trailed off, but copied Fenās idea and sat himself down on his own, much newer suitcase. āI thought there might be at least one cafĆ© left.ā
āJames? Festung?ā
āIt means āfortressā in German. We heard about it via the Resistance listening stations ā coded memos that went backwards and forwards between German high command and the last officers left here as the Allies advanced. Le Havre was meant to be defended like a medieval fortress, last man standing and all that. Hence the bombing of it last year. We did this, you know.ā He nodded his head in the general direction of the desolation.
āDid the townsfolkā¦ I mean, were there many casualties?ā Fen looked at James, hoping the answer wasnāt going to be what she feared. Behind him stood the remains of a smart nineteenth-century apartment building, its spiralling central staircase now exposed to the elements like the spinal cord of a dead animal.
āYes. But most of the French had left by the time the German garrisons had taken up their final stand.ā
They both sat there on their cases and looked at the flattened town around them. It took a few minutes for either of them to speak, and it was James who broke their contemplative silence after glancing at his watch.
āWell, weāre not going to get fed sitting here. Ready for the walk to the docks?ā
āI suppose weād better get going.ā Fen looked down at her own watch. It was bordering on lunchtime, but the sun was creeping down towards the western horizon, hiding itself behind the occasional greyish cloud. It was November now and it wouldnāt be too long before it disappeared altogether over the horizon. Fen looked towards it and realised that due west of where they were sitting were the docks and, beyond them, the wide Atlantic Ocean. Between the docks and the sea itself, she saw
Comments (0)