[Fen Churche 02] - Night Train to Paris by Fliss Chester (best ereader for graphic novels .TXT) 📕

that Simone had styled by wrapping the turban fabric around Fen’s waist and layering it up until it criss-crossed over her chest and then wrapped around the very top of her arms to form a piece that was perfect for an evening reception.

‘I love it! Thank you, Simone.’

‘My pleasure. Now you have to be careful not to unravel until you get home.’ Simone laughed again and left Fen staring at herself in the mirror.

Unravelling before she left the apartment might be the first challenge, but still, the overall effect of the outfit was fabulous, just as Henri had suggested, and she felt, for first time in ages, like the belle of the ball.

Belle she might be, but she still had half an hour to spare before she had to leave. Fen knew James would be over soon to spend some quiet time with Simone, and she would have to update him on what Henri had said, and more importantly about whom she had seen going into his gallery. But there were some other people she wanted to update too, and Fen sat herself down, carefully in order not to break a stitch, in one of the armchairs, to write a letter to Mrs B, Dilys and her dear friend Kitty.

Rue des Beaux-Arts, Paris

October 1945

Dear Mrs B, Kitty and Dilys,

It’s hard to put pen to paper when the news you have to share is rather sad, and not only that but utterly horrifying. Since I last wrote, events have taken a terrible turn and my dear friend Rose has been murdered. James and I found her body here in this apartment, and although the police are ruling it as a bungled robbery (as some jewellery and artwork have gone missing), I fear there might be a more sinister force at work.

She was killed with one of her own paintbrushes, dastardly though that thought is, but it strikes me that it was a violent and desperate act, and there would have been many other ways for a mere burglar to have incapacitated her if they so wished. Also, this apartment is on the fifth floor and although Rose was living comfortably, there are many more wealthy people in the building (including a Russian countess dripping in diamonds apparently!).

And, the piece of evidence that really makes me think this isn’t a burglary gone awry is that I have recently discovered that Rose was being blackmailed, I think misguidedly, as thankfully her good friend, and heir, Henri agrees she was an absolute angel. So, me being me, I’ve decided that I’ll have to work out who did it!

Sorry for my rambling, and Kitty, I would love to send you another clue to work on – did you get the last one? I was watching paint dry – but I don’t think I’m in the right frame of mind to think one up now. I will approach this mystery like a crossword instead… and in order to find out who killed Rose (let’s call her my one across), I’ll have to find the answer to my three down… simply put, who blackmailed her!

Very best, etc., etc.,

Fen xx

Fen put the pen down and rested her eyes for a bit. Whether it was the effect of a little too much wine or whether she was just exhausted from the last few days’ goings-on, she felt like she could hit the hay and sleep for a week, rather than go out and have to be polite and the veritable life and soul.

She looked over to where Tipper was curled up on the chaise longue. ‘You’ve got the right idea, lad,’ she said quietly, not wanting to wake him up.

She carefully slid the large tome of Art History that she’d been using as a ‘desk’ down the side of the armchair and flicked the letter onto the coffee table so the ink wouldn’t run. As she pushed herself up from the armchair, her hand came in to contact with something that had slipped down between the cushions. She fished around and caught it, and pulled it up from where it had been hiding.

‘Oh, Rose…’ Her voice, or maybe the sound of his mistress’s name, woke Tipper up and he looked alertly at the long pearl necklace that Fen had pulled out. ‘What is this doing here?’ She held the string of pearls up and dangled them, letting them catch the warm, golden light of the electric light bulbs. ‘She must have lost them,’ Fen told Tipper, who was now more interested in chewing his own tail. She felt tears approaching at the sight of this familiar piece of Rose. ‘I wonder if…’ she said briskly, trying to pull herself together.

She brought the necklace up to her mouth and rubbed one or two of the beads against her teeth. Their grainy texture told her all she needed to know, but when she let them spool into her hand and clasped it shut over the pearls, they warmed to her touch almost instantly – she was sure then, they were real pearls all right. Poor Rose, Fen would have loved to have surprised her with this treasure, but now there was no one to return them to.

‘They say you’re never cold with a pearl necklace on,’ Simone said as she walked into the room. ‘Where did you find them?’

‘Just here,’ Fen pointed to the chair, ‘I suppose Rose must have lost them, else the thief would have taken them from her jewellery box.’

‘What a thing to miss…’ Simone stared at them. ‘You should put them on, they’d set off that outfit beautifully.’

‘Oh no, I mustn’t. I mean, they belong to Henri now.’

‘Well, you can ask his permission when you see him later.’ Simone shrugged and then responded to the buzz of the doorbell, leaving Fen to save the silk of her skirt from an overenthusiastic Tipper, who was running round in circles by her feet before dashing off to greet James too.

‘You look smashing Fen,’ James stood back and admired his friend as