[Fen Churche 02] - Night Train to Paris Fliss Chester (essential reading .TXT) 📖

Fen smiled in relief. She would be able to tell Simone the good news this evening at least now. And from what Henri was saying about Rose, how kind and generous she was, well, it sounded like she really couldn’t have been implicated in what the blackmailer had written about. Fen made a hasty decision to talk to Henri about it. ‘One more thing, while I’m here. Henri, I have to admit something to you.’

‘Taking that hideous carpetbag of hers home with you after all, dear girl?’

Fen smiled again, and carried on, reassured that Henri’s good humour would help them both to come to terms with what she was about to say. So she told him about finding the letter from the blackmailer as he sat there, his hands pressed against his chin again in his prayer-like pose. He listened carefully as Fen described not only the contents of the letter but the envelope in which it had arrived.

‘So, you see,’ Fen finished explaining, ‘I just couldn’t equate it in my head with the woman I knew. And I wondered, assuming you’re the “HR” the author is referring to, if you knew anything about it?’

‘I’m afraid I did, yes. But I can tell you absolutely that it is unfounded lies. As I said, Rose and I had no secrets, but I must own up to keeping this little one from you last time we spoke.’

Fen frowned a little in consternation, but didn’t interrupt Henri.

‘You see, she came to me when she received a similar letter a week or so ago. I advised her we should both do the same: ignore them.’

‘You received one too?’

‘Yes, about a week ago and again today in fact.’ He sat upright and then pulled one of the desk drawers open. From it, he retrieved an envelope that looked identical to the one that Fen had found in Rose’s mailbox. It was slightly grubby and had a handwritten address on the front. Most notably, it had also been hand-delivered as there was no stamp or franking mark on it at all. Henri carried on talking, ‘It’s nothing but a work of fiction from a racketeer who thinks he can extract a fast buck from us.’

‘I get the impression you have an idea who it’s from?’

‘I’m afraid I have my suspicions.’ He paused. ‘As I said last time we spoke, Rose had had dealings with the Arnault brothers. The oily, grubby marks on the envelope confirms it in my mind. Are these not the greasy fingerprints of a mechanic? I would wager my life that the author of these letters is Gervais “The Wrench” Arnault.’

Fen frowned in thought. She had so wanted the blackmailer to be The Chameleon, even if that hadn’t really made a lot of sense. But there was no doubting Henri’s logic and deduction – the letter he had shown her, and the one she had back in the apartment, bore signs of grease and oil. And she really didn’t think Gervais ‘The Wrench’ Arnault was also the master of disguise and double agenting that The Chameleon purported to be.

‘Thank you, Henri, and again for letting Simone and me stay on. I’ll let her know the news.’ Fen got up to leave.

‘Farewell and take care, dear girl. Perhaps as a thank you to me you can both start to clear away Rose’s belongings? Send them to the Red Cross or whatever, I don’t think I’ll find a use for her dresses and beads. Or indeed that damned list any more.’

‘The list? You really want us to just throw it away?’ Fen asked, her obvious confusion showing.

‘My dear, what use is it now? I don’t have the cipher for Rose’s code. Without it, the list is useless. Our Jewish friends might be able to spot their paintings from the descriptions, but without the cipher there is no proof. Antoine and Gervais, under Rose’s instruction, labelled each painting with that code of hers. What is the point of the list if we can’t decode it?’

‘So you’re just going to give up? After all you risked?’

‘I don’t see what else I can do?’

Fen thought for a moment. ‘Do you know how I can contact Michel Lazard?’

‘Rose’s art dealer? Yes, why?’

‘I just think that he’s a missing cog in the wheel. Someone I’d like to speak to, see if he knew if Rose had any enemies.’ Or if he was one of them… Fen thought to herself.

‘I’m not sure what use Lazard would be to you, to be honest, Fenella. He is good for two things in this world, and two things only. One is selling almost any picture you give him, and the second is that he will try to charm the stockings off almost every woman he encounters, with varied results.’

‘I thought you barely knew him?’

‘I really don’t. But the man has a certain reputation… Look, why don’t you join me at a drinks reception tonight, at the Louvre. It’s a sort of benefit for the wealthy patrons to see that the art they fundraise for so generously has been restored to the museum. You won’t look out of place in one of Rose’s fabulous outfits. Do come, it will be something to cheer you up.’

‘If by fabulous you mean outrageous,’ Fen bit her lower lip. Rose had been such a massive personality she’d been able to pull off velvet turbans and floor-length patchwork coats with aplomb. Fen wasn’t sure if there would really be anything appropriate for her to wear and she wasn’t even sure if she was in the mood for a grand gala. Henri could obviously read these thoughts as they played across her face.

‘I’m sure you’ll find something as chic as you, my dear,’ he said, and then added, ‘and it really would be such a shame for you to miss tonight. Rose was invited, you know, and I think if she could look