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

‘Honestly,’ Fen rolled her eyes and pushed him out the door. ‘But, James, do call round later or tomorrow morning. And drop me a line to let me know which hotel you find.’

‘Will do.’ He threw her a quick salute and disappeared down the stairs.

Fen waved and then slipped back into the apartment. She had become fond of him, especially now he was a lot less gruff than he used to be, but she had to agree with him, if anyone could fend for themselves in this world, it was ex-SOE operative Captain Lancaster.

Four

Fen picked up her suitcase from the hallway and carried it back into the studio room. Light was streaming in through the three large windows and Fen blinked a few times, her eyes smarting with tiredness.

Rose stood waiting for her, holding open one of the doors that led off from the room.

‘The smaller of the two again, I’m afraid,’ Rose explained. ‘Dear Simone has taken the suite…’ she laughed to herself ‘… as l like to call it. I mean, it has a basin, that’s all.’

‘I thought that was your room, Rose?’

‘Ah, well, Tipper and I do just fine in the box room at the front of the apartment, you know the one between the studio and the kitchen. Closer for midnight snacks and you know…’ The older woman rubbed her thumb and forefinger together to indicate that Simone might well be paying a little bit more for the privilege of the larger room.

Fen nodded. ‘Understood, and thank you so much for letting me stay. Of course I’ll pay—’

‘De rien, dear girl, I wouldn’t hear of it.’ Rose raised her hand to shush Fen. ‘And Simone being here is more of a favour to my friend Henri. He took pity on the girl during the war and asked if I could help her out. Poor thing had nowhere to stay after her last, well, dalliance broke down, if you understand my meaning. Now, pop yourself in there and grab forty winks or so. I’ll be quiet as a mouse out here, though I can’t vouch for Tipper.’ The dog woofed on cue and Fen laughed.

‘Don’t worry, Rose,’ she stifled another yawn. ‘I think I could sleep through the fall of Rome at the moment.’ She pressed her hand against her mouth again as another yawn came out.

‘Of course, dear girl.’ She turned to leave, then said, ‘Oh, and before I forget, a letter arrived for you yesterday, from England it looks like. I’ve left it on your bed. Unpack and settle in, dear. I’ll see you for a little drinkie later, and there’s some bread and pâté and yesterday’s soup I can heat up for you if you wake up in time for lunch. You know where the bathroom is, make yourself at home.’

Fen smiled at her hostess and set her case down on the floor of the bedroom as Rose left and closed the door behind her. Fen looked at the bed – a double no less, with a pretty upholstered bedhead – and then noted the other, familiar, pieces of furniture. Opposite the bed there was a chest of drawers and a makeshift hanging rail for any longer garments. Just like in the studio, the walls were covered in a patchwork of paintings, some framed and some just canvases stretched across their wooden frames. A few looked familiar, as if they were copies of more famous works that Fen might have seen in art books or exhibition catalogues.

Perhaps Rose was a famous forger after all, thought Fen as she crossed the room to the window that overlooked the courtyard of the apartments.

As Rose’s flat was on the fifth floor, Fen could look down and see the crown of the tree below her and countless other windows, some still shuttered or with curtains closed and some allowing a direct view into the lives of the people waking up to the day in the flats around her. The window in this room was of a more normal size to the ones at the front of the building and Fen pulled the heavy curtain across it to block out the morning light. She turned towards the invitingly made-up bed and reached down to pick up the letter that was lying on the floral counterpane. She glanced at the handwriting and knew at once that it was from Kitty, her dear friend to whom she had only just sent a letter from the station.

Fen shook her head slightly at the inconvenience of having letters cross in the post but opened it up, and despite having to practically force her eyes to stay open, she devoured the news from West Sussex.

Mrs B’s kitchen table, Midhurst,

Boring old West Sussex,

October 1945

Darling Fen!

PARIS! I mean, that’s where you are by now, and it’s the answer to that clue you put in your letter from Burgundy. Do send more, and more letters too in general please, they’re a heck of a lot more interesting than reading whose sheep have got stuck in whose ditch as reported in the Midhurst Herald, that’s for sure.

By Jove, what a time you’ve been having!! Mrs B says we should never have let you go gallivanting across the continent only to find bad news. And Fen, we are all really, really sorry about Arthur. He was such a nice and clever man. I hope you hurry home soon, dear friend, so we can give you one of these big mugs of tea and an even bigger hug. Gosh, now you’ve got me crying.

Not much else to report here. Dilly has decided to move to London and learn secretarial skills. I’m sure she’ll be ace at it, she’s so good at everything. Mrs B says she’ll be wasted in town as she’d make such a good farmer’s wife, but Dil is adamant. I think I’ll stay on for a while longer. Mrs B’s knees crack every time she bends over to hang the washing from