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

the smartest ladies round the table were drinking. James tried to convince her that the gin and tonics were really rather good, but she demurred and stuck with her choice of fizz.

The pair of them sat themselves down in the comfortable bucket chairs and, despite the near constant look of superiority coming from Mrs Archer, and perhaps because of the loud music and strong liquor, the young people all settled into good-natured conversation and catch-ups on the day’s events.

Fen was about to tell Eloise and Genie all about how to solve cryptic crosswords when the officer she’d met in the corridor outside her cabin appeared at the table. Tall with grey-flecked hair, he was unmistakable, and Fen paused mid-sentence as he introduced himself to them all.

‘Bonsoir, I am the first officer on board the De Grasse.’ Bisset was nothing if not charming and did a wonderful job of sweet-talking the frown off Mrs Archer’s face, while obviously capturing the attention of Eloise and Genie too, much to Spencer’s obvious annoyance. The latter had lit up another of his massive cigars (in protest, Fen reckoned) and was puffing away at it, blowing smoke into everyone’s faces.

Through the haze he created, Fen saw James’s face turn from relaxed and quick to laugh to suddenly alert and fixated on something. Fen followed his gaze, as like a pointer his whole body was now turned to face a spot across the room from their table.

‘James, what is it?’ Fen asked, gently touching his arm and noticing how taut it was.

He seemed to ignore her, although Fen knew he had heard.

She touched him again. ‘James, are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

It took a moment, but then James turned to her, placing the hand that wasn’t holding his ice-cold drink over hers. Fen saw that some of the colour had drained from his face and he took a deep slug of the extra-strong gin and tonic.

‘I think I have, Fen,’ he said once he’d swallowed. ‘I think I have.’

18

‘James?’ Fen put her drink down and turned her full attention to her friend, who was shaking his head in disbelief.

Before he could offer her an explanation, he bolted from the table and headed over to where a group of men, most in uniform, had entered the saloon. Fen watched as James introduced himself to one of the chaps, a friendly looking man of average height with mousy brown hair and, from what Fen could see through the cigar smog, a nice smile and clean-shaven face.

‘Does James know that man?’ Eloise leant over and asked Fen.

‘I don’t know, he said he’d seen a ghost, so I can only imagine it’s someone he’s recognised from a while ago.’

‘How strange.’

Eloise seemed captivated by James’s departure from the table and Fen wondered for a moment if perhaps she might be sweet on him, despite her family’s insistence on marrying that Reginald chap.

‘Oh heavens!’ Eloise blurted out as the pair of men moved away from the door and started to make their way across the crowded saloon bar towards them.

‘Are you all right, Eloise?’ Fen asked, wondering why James’s return had elicited such a squawk.

‘Yes, yes, absolutely. Just a little tipsy already, I fear.’ She sat back in her seat and resumed her conversation with Bisset and her aunt.

Fen turned to find that James was almost at the table, the nice-looking gentleman with him.

‘Fen,’ James gestured for the man to sit next to her while he found another chair to bring up to the table. ‘Can I introduce you to Lieutenant Frank Johnstone?’

‘You certainly can. Good evening, Lieutenant Johnstone. I’m Fenella Churche, Fen.’

‘Fen Churche, like the…’ Frank Johnstone’s American lilt stopped as he read Fen’s face and she was impressed that what she thought was only the slightest of eyebrow movements on her part had stopped him in his tracks.

She laughed though and nodded. ‘Yes, like the London station.’

‘Well, James old man, you’ve done very nicely for yourself.’ Frank eyed her appreciatively and, as if on cue, both Fen and James blurted out, ‘Oh no, we’re not… It’s not like that…’

‘We’re just friends,’ Fen concluded, hoping James wouldn’t be too embarrassed by the mistake. He didn’t seem fazed at all and introduced Frank to the rest of the company.

‘Frank was in the diplomatic service with me before the war. Switzerland and then London, that’s right isn’t it, Frank?’ James asked, and simultaneously beckoned over the waiter for more drinks.

While Frank agreed and explained to the group that he had indeed been in the diplomatic corps before the war, James asked Bisset if another space could be made at their table in the dining room. With a nod of confirmation from the first officer, James went back to talking to Frank.

‘After all these years… I thought you’d been killed in that skirmish in Bordeaux!’ he clapped his old friend on the back and the two men were soon lost to reminiscences and memories, laughing and slapping their hands on their knees at anecdotes that seemed to get funnier and funnier.

By the time they all left the saloon bar to head into the dining room, Frank had become an integral part of the group, with even Spencer leaning in to hear stories of the heroic, and sometimes devilishly complex, missions he had been party to during the war.

‘Well, he seems nice.’ Eloise winked at Fen as they followed the men into the dining room. ‘If only I weren’t set to marry Reginald T. Vandervinter…’

Dinner was a delightful affair, with Sebastien Bisset charming all the lady folk around the table, even Mrs Archer. By the first course, which was a rich tomato soup, a far cry from the watered-down tinned variety that Fen had tasted once or twice during the war, Bisset had managed to get the story of Eloise and Mrs Archer’s flight from Paris out of them. Fen had leaned in, interested to know more too.

‘Dear William had been so in love with France, you see,’ Mrs Archer had