Night Train to Paris by Fliss Chester (scary books to read .TXT) 📕

Rose continued. ‘She thinks the little Dutch one, like the one in your bedroom, Fenella, was missold to her on purpose.’

‘Did she buy it through Lazard?’

‘Yes, more’s the pity, and he probably fleeced her. Still, she can afford it, the fox-murdering old wotsit.’ Rose extracted her hand from Tipper’s mouth and used it to pull her long rope of pearls out from under him, then she started twisting them round her fingertips. ‘That naughty man though. He gets me into all sorts of trouble and he never passes this untold wealth onto me!’

‘Why do you use him then, Rose? I agree your art is far superior to the quayside kiosks, but maybe Lazard isn’t the dealer for you? Surely others exist.’

‘I suppose I could have a word with that Arnault chap.’ Rose sank back into her chair. ‘Though his brother is… Well, Henri can deal with that.’

Fen remembered Gervais’s comments from the night before about how much he thought of Rose. Apparently she didn’t feel as warmly.

‘Will Madame Tambour want her money back?’

‘How did you…? Oh never mind.’ Rose gesticulated as far as the rope of pearls would let her. ‘Michel can deal with that. He sold her the daubing. Anyway, in better and much more exciting news, I have Magda and Joseph coming again later today. I think I’ve tracked down their Cezanne to a farmhouse in the Rhineland.’

‘Good gosh! How did you manage that?’

‘I have my ways, dear girl. Some less legal than others. But it usually comes down to the military wives and their big mouths. They can’t believe their luck that not only is Herr Bosch home from the fighting, but he brings a little souvenir back with him too. And not just the clap!’ She laughed at her own joke, but then became more serious again. ‘These rumours start and eventually they find their way to me. I shall prepare to leave for Germany soon, after I’ve… well, I need to finish deciphering the list and I need to speak to Henri again.’

Fen pushed herself up from her chair. ‘I feel this is my cue to head back to London then.’

‘No, no, dear girl. Stay as long as you like. You might be able to teach that young Simone a thing or two about morals and manners if you stay under the same roof as her.’

Fen laughed a little. ‘I’m not sure I’m much of a good example after last night.’

‘You’re still you though, and all the better for it.’ Rose paused. ‘Will you stay and see the Bernheims again? They’re coming after lunch.’

‘I’d love to, but the forecast is for rain this morning, then brightening up this afternoon. And I’m desperate to go and see if Shakespeare and Company is still there.’

‘Oh yes, that dusty old bookstore. I’m sure Magda will quite understand. Be back by six though, chérie! Cocktails!’

Fen smiled for the first time that morning. She wasn’t sure she’d be up for whatever concoction Rose would come up with later, but if she was going to be able to manage one sip, she better go and clear her head in the autumn sunshine and take in some fresh air on the banks of the Seine.

Nineteen

The Seine worked its magic on Fen’s head and served to remind her too of how much she loved this city, especially in the autumn. The light from the low-lying sun shone through the orange and yellowing leaves of the horse chestnut and lime trees, creating a golden glow over the pavements on which she walked. She’d left Rose to prepare for her meeting just before lunch and had wandered the streets of Paris from the Île de la Cité down to the Rue de l’Odéon.

Fen had pressed her nose up against the dusty window of the sadly closed Shakespeare and Company bookstore, but took a moment to remember how her father would take her and her brother there on Saturday afternoons to browse the shelves and catch conversations between the owner, Sylvia Beach, and her many distinguished literary guests.

Arthur had often talked of the shop too – it had been one of their many plans to come back and visit it together when the war was over – and Fen tried her best to hold back a tear or two as she saw the empty bookshelves and out-of-date posters stuck to the window. I wonder where they’ve gone? She thought of the books and of the stories she’d heard of rallies in Berlin where books were burned on huge bonfires. She hoped the tomes from Shakespeare and Company’s shelves hadn’t suffered a similar fate, or perhaps worse, been sold to line the pockets of the Führer.

To cheer herself up, she ducked into a café, just as a few unforecast raindrops started to fall. Fen had the letter she’d written the night before with her and thought about unsealing it and adding in a postscript about her night out. Kitty would love to hear about Josephine Baker, and would groan if she heard that Fen was being matchmade with an overly friendly mechanic.

‘… But I don’t much fancy writing about it,’ she said to herself as she paid her bill and slipped the letter back into the pocket of her trench coat. Of course, she’d only been matchmade with Gervais so that Simone and James could act more like a couple.

Simone’s words were still echoing around her head and Fen had to admit that for some reason or another she was feeling slightly uneasy about the pairing. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Simone, but she did wonder if Simone saw James as more of a meal ticket than a real, true and honest man to love and to hold. Perhaps having her own dear Arthur so cruelly taken from her made her more sensitive to it, but she detected more than a little ambition in the young woman’s attitude. Equally, she was very young and Fen only hoped James knew what he was doing, leading