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

The apartment was quiet and still now. Perhaps Simone had gone to church? Fen ticked herself off for not finding the local Anglican one. What would Mrs B and Rev Smallpiece say? What with one thing or another, it had been weeks since she’d been. She said a few prayers next to her bed and then dressed and fussed over Tipper, who had made his bed for the night in the crumpled silk of the old turban.

‘I’m sure that’s a dreadful waste on such a hound as you, young sir,’ Fen tutted while stroking his head. ‘But enjoy it while you can. Got to dash. It’s back to the dog basket for you though later!’

She checked the mailbox at the bottom of the apartment building’s staircase as she left and, to her joy, there was a letter addressed to her in it.

‘Kitty!’ Fen exclaimed out loud, recognising the handwriting on the front of the envelope. She glanced at the large clock that hung above the mailboxes, however, and saw she was running late for her appointment with James. ‘Later…’ she whispered and tucked the letter into her trench coat’s pocket, tapping it and holding her hand over it protectively as she walked along the few streets to get to the café.

‘You look well,’ James said as he stood and pulled out a chair for Fen in the café. ‘Not such a raucous night as it might have been in Elsie de Wolfe’s day?’

‘Elsie de who? I heard that name mentioned several times last night.’

James laughed. ‘De Wolfe. Society hostess with the mostest before the war.’

‘I suppose you would know all about that, Viscount Lancaster…’ Fen cocked an eyebrow at her friend, who laughed in return. ‘Speaking of which, thank you for inviting me to breakfast via Simone. I’m not sure she’s wholly thrilled at our little date though.’ Fen blushed a bit as she said those last few words. ‘Not that it is, by any stretch of the imagination, a date, as it were.’

James just smiled at her and raised his hand to call the waiter. ‘Simone’s a charming young woman, but, well, I’m feeling more and more like a lion tamer every day,’ he joked as the waiter approached. ‘Breakfast? Coffee?’

‘Oh yes, rather. I felt tickety-boo first thing, but perhaps I did have one too many glasses of fizz last night.’ She rested her forehead in her hand. ‘I’m getting away with it at the moment, but something to take the edge off wouldn’t hurt.’

‘Another drink?’

‘No, James! I meant just a coffee. And maybe an omelette…’

James chuckled and ordered them both a simple herbed omelette and a coffee each.

‘Well,’ he sighed. ‘This is very civilised.’

‘As was last night, it really was a super do. The gallery is simply divine by night. And I met Christian and Pierre from Simone’s atelier again and Christian’s sister Catherine. They were a really fun bunch and Christian took me for a couple of turns around the dance floor. I hadn’t realised Henri Renaud knew them all so well. Apparently he was responsible for getting Simone the job there after the war.’

A couple of coffees appeared between them and Fen took a sip before carrying on.

‘And, most importantly, I spoke to Henri about Michel Lazard. He couldn’t exactly deny that he had seen him, but he was very quick to tell me that he hadn’t been expecting him and he’d sent him packing pretty pronto. I really must try to find him and ask him what it was all about.’

‘Good luck with that one.’ James started fiddling with the cutlery on the table, obviously hungry.

‘Then there was a perfectly pleasant man, though very strange-looking, called Valentine Valreas, who’s an auctioneer. He almost bit my ear off when I said I was friendly with Rose, as if she were the Devil himself… or, worse than that even by his standards, Le Faussaire!’

‘Motive?’ James looked up at Fen. ‘And why didn’t he like her?’

‘I have a feeling it’s Lazard that’s the root cause, but the crux of it is, those “copies” of Rose’s really were starting to get her into a bit of hot water.’

‘An angry auctioneer, a dodgy dealer, an armed Arnault brother…’

‘An Henri with an inheritance and maybe a blackmailer with a bludgeon… I know, I know… the list of suspects is becoming impossibly endless! And I’m trying to approach the whole mystery like a crossword – you know, keeping an eye out for indicators and clues – but I’m pretty stumped.’ Fen sat back with her coffee and sighed. ‘So what’s all this about you being a lion tamer?’

‘Ah,’ James said as the omelettes arrived and he tucked in straight away. After a quick chew and swallow, he continued talking. ‘It’s Simone. She’s a great girl and all that, stunning and obviously very elegant, but, boy, is she headstrong.’

‘You’re not about to come over all misogynistic now, are you? Women are allowed to know their own minds. It is 1945 after all, not 1845.’

‘I know, I know,’ he waved his fork in the air, then skewered another bite of omelette. He popped it in his mouth and swallowed quickly. ‘And I think it’s a wonderful thing to know your own mind. Lord knows we’ve all been pushed and pulled and told what to do for so long by the powers that be… it’s just she really knows what she wants and she doesn’t mind telling me. All the time.’

Fen analysed his words as she chewed. ‘Rather forward in coming forward as it were, you mean?’ James nodded and Fen carried on. ‘Well, when a girl wants to be the future Lady Lancaster, can you blame her?’

‘Well, I don’t think Lady Simone will be happening any time soon, but yes, that’s what she’s got her eye on and it’s rather unattractive. Or am I being a spoon?’

‘A spoon?’

‘Yes, a fool, a fusspot. Perhaps an old bachelor like me shouldn’t be so choosy. So what? She wants a title, I have a title. Maybe