The Moonlit Murders: A historical mystery page-turner (A Fen Churche Mystery Book 3) by Fliss Chester (best ereader for pc .txt) 📗

‘Miss Churche, wasn’t that thrilling? To dine at the captain’s table.’ Fen noticed that Genie still looked as bright-eyed and perfectly made up as when she’d first sat down at the table. Perhaps Dr Bartlett had been administering her tonics and elixirs rather than white wine and cognac, which was what Fen had found constantly refilled in her glass over the course of the dinner.

‘Please, call me Fen, but yes, it was rather special, I agree.’ Fen, despite her queasiness now, had really enjoyed the meal. ‘It’s been an age since I’ve had caviar, long before the war in any case.’

‘And on those cute Russian pancakes, weren’t they divine? What were they called again? Beanies? Bellinis?’

‘Blinis,’ Fen helped her out.

‘Blinis. I think I could die happy now I’ve tasted them with caviar on top.’ Genie was glowing with excitement.

‘Life will be one long party when we’re in Los Angeles, sweetheart,’ Spencer rested a hand on her leg.

‘Oh Spencer, do you really think those producers you know will take me on?’ Genie had turned towards him, a genuine look of pleading in her eyes and an extra floof of the bright red boa for good measure.

‘A doll like you? Easy as pie! You’re a de Havilland in the making.’

‘Oh Spencer!’ Genie clapped her hands.

‘Is that the plan then?’ Fen asked.

Genie looked back at her. ‘Oh yes. Broadway first, then Hollywood, isn’t that right, Spen?’

‘Spencer, sweetheart, you know that,’ Spencer corrected her, not unkindly, but firmly all the same.

Genie blushed as Spencer squeezed her knee and then removed his hand and Fen thought quickly of something to say to fill the silence.

‘I hope I’m not being too rude to ask, but are you two an item?’ It had been bugging Fen since she’d first encountered the glamorous couple in the Nissen hut café, and although she knew curiosity killed the cat, she couldn’t help herself.

Genie leaned in and rather conspiratorially whispered something in the affirmative into Fen’s ear, then, in a more normal voice, said, ‘But, of course, Spencer is waiting until we get to New York to buy the ring. He says there’s a wonderful shop called Tiffany & Co, where all the smartest people go.’

‘How wonderful.’ Fen felt genuinely happy for the younger woman, despite her own dashed engagement hopes. Arthur had proposed shortly before he’d headed off to France and they’d not had time to announce the engagement, let alone buy a ring. Fen didn’t want maudlin thoughts to spoil the evening, so she smiled at Genie again and continued. ‘I’d love to see America, one day.’

‘I wish you’d stay on,’ Genie pleaded, and there must have been something in her tone to draw Eloise back into their conversation.

‘Why don’t you?’ the American asked, making it sound like a simple choice, as if she’d merely enquired ‘ham or cheese in your sandwich?’

‘Oh Miss Churche, Fen…’ Genie bit her lip. ‘I just think we could all have a ball together!’

Eloise raised her eyebrows in a conspiratorial way. ‘Fen, Aunt M would be pleased as punch if you’d stay on. I’ve not had a suitable companion for years.’

There was a slight awkward pause as those around the table realised what Eloise had unconsciously implied. Genie showed some real strength of character by laughing it off.

‘Let’s face it, I’m not going to pretend that I’m the sort of companion your aunt would approve of,’ Genie took a long slug of whisky as if to clarify the point.

‘Oh I’d love to,’ Fen replied, laughing at Genie’s comic acting. ‘I mean, I’m jolly excited about going home. But, gosh, America – land of the free and all that. It does sound like a wildly exciting place to be. More exciting than Oxford, or Midhurst.’

‘Nothing wrong with Oxford or Midhurst,’ James said, raising his glass patriotically at the mention of their names.

‘They sound positively quaint,’ Spencer chipped in. ‘Please tell me they’re exactly as we Americans imagine them, full of Brits on bicycles and market squares and those funny dancing men.’

‘Morris dancers?’ Fen found Spencer’s preconceptions amusing. ‘Oh they’re there all right, pints of warm, flat beer in hand…’ she raised an eyebrow and Spencer laughed. She carried on, ‘They’re beautiful though. The towns, I mean, not the bearded men with bells on sticks. And I have missed them, Oxford especially, which is where my parents are. I haven’t seen them… oh, it feels like an age.’

‘Me neither,’ Genie all but whispered, but Fen didn’t get a chance to ask her about her parents as another white-coated waiter arrived at the table, enquiring as to whether anyone wanted more drinks.

‘Whisky?’ James nodded at Spencer and Genie. ‘Sherry for Fen, and a glass of champagne for you, Miss Miller-Wright?’

‘Please, call me Eloise. It’s only Aunt Mariella that insists on such formality. But if Lord James sees fit to drop the moniker, then some American like me need not stand on occasion.’

They all laughed and James sent the waiter off with their order. ‘Quite right,’ he said when he turned back to them all. ‘I’m only a viscount through accident of birth and through accident of Herr Hitler deciding to cause a ruckus. Let’s just dispense with the lot of it.’

This obviously delighted Genie, who giggled at the thought and whispered to Fen, ‘Who’d have thought it, me at a table with socialites and a viscount!’

‘Please don’t include me in that description.’ Fen laid a hand on Genie’s arm. ‘I’m only a middle-class girl from Oxford who spent the war in a field in West Sussex!’

‘Those beautiful pearls would suggest otherwise.’ Genie raised an eyebrow and Fen reached a hand up to her throat in a self-conscious way. ‘Oh, I don’t mean to embarrass you.’ Genie touched Fen’s knee with her hand.

‘Not at all, I rather forgot I was wearing them. But now you’ve reminded me, they feel like a noose around my throat!’ Fen unpinned the brooch and unwound the pearls so that they hung more loosely around her neck. ‘That’s