Night Train to Paris by Fliss Chester (best romantic novels to read txt) 📗

‘Oh, he’s a weaselly fellow all right, wanted more commission. As if everything in this life comes down to grubby francs. If only Valreas hadn’t stopped dealing with him.’ Rose huffed out a sigh. ‘Didn’t use to all be about money, of course, not when Michel still had hold of his moral compass. Used to hide all sorts of paintings for us, from the Germans, you see? Quite the daring chap. Probably sold his morals for a few francs now. Wouldn’t trust him with his own grandmother, but he does get things sold.’

‘What changed for Michel?’ Fen asked, intrigued.

Rose sucked in her teeth. ‘Enough now, let’s talk of more erudite things. Did you perchance see the Roman galleries when you and Captain Lancaster perused the Louvre yesterday?’

Fen let Rose talk as she listened, though admittedly with only half an ear. Her mind was gnawing over something and it was only as Rose was describing the great sarcophagus from the mausoleum of Anicii that Fen realised what it was. Michel Lazard… what a name. And only one small vowel away from Lizard… Had perhaps that moral compass of his been sold not after the war, but during, enabling him to become The Chameleon?

Seventeen

Apartment 5,

15 Rue des Beaux-Arts,

Paris, October 1945

Dear Mrs B, Kitty and Dilly,

A few days have passed now since I arrived in Paris and, boy, do I have some stories to tell you. Kitty, you would never believe it, but I have been to a bona fide fashion house and met some real designers. I’d watch out for names such as Christian Dior and Pierre Balmain – both lovely chaps, who I met at their drawing boards at the atelier my new friend Simone works in. Such beautiful fabrics too – if I can, I’ll see if I can get hold of some of Simone’s hand-me-downs for you all. I’m afraid I’m keeping the rather jazzy silk scarf Simone gave me for myself!

Paris is alive, though perhaps not totally ‘well’. At every turn, it seems you meet some brave person who was in the Resistance, but equally there are stories too sad to tell of loss and hardship. Still, I plan to see and do all that I can and I’m really trying very hard not to miss my dear Arthur too much.

Simone and James took me out last night and tonight we’re off again to see the marvellous Josephine Baker in revue. She’s recently back from North Africa and I daresay as fabulous as ever! I’ll write again soon and tell you all about it.

Kitty – did you get the answer to the clue? It was a play on words you see, a Pullman is part of a train, while ‘t’ or ‘tea’ fits in just before a shower, i.e. a rain shower! TRAIN. How about this one, it’s called a letter clue – so look to the starts of the words (initially, see?) to help solve it. Here goes: I watched it dry initially, perhaps an idler notes time? (5). Let me know how you get on.

Much love, etc.,

Fen xx

Fen hurriedly sealed up the envelope and caught up with James and Simone as they trotted (in James’s case; more of a glide in Simone’s) down the cantilevered staircase of the apartment building. They were indeed off to see the marvellous Josephine Baker, the American singer and dancer who had made her home in Paris many years ago. Fen felt a little as if she were just ‘hanging on’ as she had done when she was seventeen and snuck along to see Miss Baker at the Théâtre Marigny with her brother in those heady days just before they left Paris to return to Oxford.

Josephine Baker had been something of a favourite among Fen’s school friends, who all collected pictures of her extraordinary menagerie in their scrapbooks. And that night at the theatre back in 1934 had been an eye-opener, to say the least, not only because Miss Baker was really quite daring in her dancing, but also because Fen had never seen her nineteen-year-old brother blush such a deep shade of crimson when she was on stage. The memory made her smile and James asked her why she was grinning to herself quite so much as she closed one of the big grey doors behind them all.

‘I think sneaking out to see Josephine Baker when I was seventeen was quite possibly the naughtiest thing I ever did.’ Fen shook her head, ‘It was a blast though. That dancing!’

‘If you think that’s naughty,’ Simone emphasised the last word, ‘you should see what I had to do as a seventeen-year-old!’

‘Speaking of naughty,’ James said rather quickly, and Fen wondered if Simone had told him what she’d had to do as part of the Resistance, and if he disapproved. ‘I had a shirt stolen in the hotel.’

‘Really? Have you asked the laundry?’ Fen asked.

‘Well, that’s the darnedest thing, I don’t remember leaving it out for the maid. I’m sure it’ll turn up. Aha,’ he raised a hand and called out to the man walking towards them. ‘Ahoy there, Gervais!’

‘I didn’t know he was coming too.’ Fen pulled her coat tight around her, the chill autumn air of the evening cutting right through to the blue, flowery tea dress she was still wearing, with Rose’s blessing, from the outing to Atelier Lelong today.

‘We thought it might be nice for you to have some company, Fenella,’ Simone trilled as she slipped her arm into James’s. The slight shrug to her shoulders gave Fen just the message Simone intended and Fen opened and closed her mouth like a goldfish a few times as she tried to think of what to say to put Simone off trying to matchmake her. Arthur was barely cold in his grave – the thought of replacing him with someone else was as far from her mind as it was possible to be.

Still, Fen thought, manners maketh man, or in this case woman, and she waved a cheery greeting