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

‘Not tonight, James, I’m just about holding it together, stitch by stitch almost literally. I don’t think I can cope with thinking about… well, anyway, thank you,’ she said, remembering her manners. She took a deep breath. ‘Tonight should be interesting. I’ll try to get some more information out of Henri at the very least.’

‘More information?’ James moved over to where Rose had always kept brandy in some decanters and poured himself a glass. ‘What’s happening tonight then?’

‘Henri has invited me to a reception at the Louvre. A fundraising do to lure in some more wealthy patrons, or thank them for their donations or some such. The thing is, I had a rather interesting chat with him earlier, followed by an even more interesting stroke of luck.’

James put down the decanter and empty glass. ‘Right, well you can tell me all about it on the way to the Louvre.’

‘But you’re meant to be having dinner here with Simone?’

‘And let you walk all by yourself to the museum? Simone can keep the kippers warm,’ he winked at her and picked up his coat. He helped Fen into one of Rose’s less voluminous velvet housecoats and then called out to Simone, who had the grace to only look a little peeved. She air-kissed them both goodbye and moments later Fen and James were walking side by side down the Rue de Seine to the Louvre.

‘So, you see, Henri had received a blackmail letter, too,’ Fen said, as they walked between the pools of light cast by the street lamps, the ground glistening after a brief rain shower that afternoon.

‘Crikey. Same wording.’

‘He didn’t show me, but it sounded like it. He said they’d both received one last week and Rose had come to him with hers, all in a pother about it. He’d reassured her that it must just be some charlatan trying his luck, but he had his suspicions.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘Gervais “The Wrench” Arnault.’

James was quiet for a moment, then said, ‘Henri certainly has it in for the Arnault brothers. First he sends us off to talk to Antoine and now Gervais is heading for the noose.’

‘Perhaps for good reason,’ Fen said thoughtfully. ‘Both the letter we found and the one Henri received were covered in grease and oil. Straight from a mechanic’s garage perhaps?’

James stayed pensively quiet and they walked, both lost in their own thoughts for a few moments longer. As they crossed the Pont des Arts, James reminded Fen that she had said that she’d seen something else of interest.

‘Oh yes, so when I was leaving Henri’s gallery, something caught my eye, well, someone to be more accurate.’

‘Who?’

‘Lazard, complete with Saint Tropez-style striped blazer and slacks on. And it’s odd—’

‘Because that sounds more like something you’d see at Henley Regatta rather than Paris in the autumn?’ James interrupted her.

‘Well yes, that… and that Henri had just been telling me that he really only knew Lazard by reputation, not personally very well at all.’

James huffed out a laugh. ‘Well, be careful in there tonight. I’m sure Henri is more than open to helping you find Rose’s killer, but don’t forget, there is still a murderer on the loose.’

‘I know.’ Fen looked at James and then over to where she could see a red carpet, lit each side by large candle flares, that led into the main entrance of the gallery. ‘Though I think I should be more worried about this outfit staying stitched together than getting myself into trouble. Wish me luck!’

‘Good luck, Fen.’ With that, James leaned down and kissed her on the forehead and then was gone, leaving Fen to walk the red carpet into the Louvre museum on her own.

Thirty

The Louvre, it turned out, was the most perfect place for a party. ‘I suppose it was a royal palace,’ Fen had mused to herself as she’d accepted a glass of something that she thought might have been champagne, although she wasn’t sure.

She had decided to wait for Henri just inside the main entrance, and as she stood with her back to a large marble pillar, she could not only take in the marvellous architecture around her, but also watch the other guests as they spilled into the gallery from the chill night outside. Fen could quite imagine herself at a ball at the court of Louis XIV, except that, like her, the ball dresses of the women around her had that air of ‘make do and mend’ and the white tie and tails of the gentlemen had the whiff of mothballs and cedar wood.

But there were smiles on people’s faces and they embraced and air-kissed each other. She caught snippets of conversation – mentions of names such as Elsie de Wolfe and various countesses and how this felt like the pre-war parties. Fen sipped her champagne and watched as the crowds mingled and moved, couples introducing singles, men and women flirting and laughing, jewellery that might not have been aired for five years or more glittering under the electric chandeliers that illuminated the gallery.

‘Fenella!’ Henri’s voice cut through the crowd and Fen looked around to see him moving towards her.

‘Good evening, Henri.’ Fen air-kissed him on both cheeks, as it seemed the correct thing to do in this company.

‘Glad to see you enjoying the fizz,’ he nodded at the glass. ‘We had it safely stored at a château in the Loire, much like our precious artwork! Ah,’ he gripped Fen’s hand and held her at arm’s length, giving her an appraising look, ‘you remind me of Rose in so many ways. How did you find such a unique dress?’

Fen cocked her head on one side and smiled at Henri. ‘I’m not entirely sure if you’re teasing me or not… you know this is one of Rose’s turbans?’ She pointed to her chest and shook her head. ‘With a lot of help from Simone and her needles!’

‘She is a woman of many skills indeed.’ Henri nodded in admiration