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

‘Who is to say what is valuable to whom? She had some amazing dresses and I don’t think Henri would be interested in them! Or the men’s clothing she had either.’

‘Men’s clothing?’ Fen raised an eyebrow.

‘For her models. You know, a cloth cap, a pair of trousers… in case someone needed props for their portrait.’

‘Explains this tricorn hat, I suppose!’ Fen laughed as she pulled the dusty, felt-brimmed thing out from under the bed.

Together they set about sorting and tidying, placing various items in piles either for refugee charities or to sell. Fen kept a little pile of the best pieces separate, hoping that Magda might like them, and she hoped Henri wouldn’t mind if she took one of Rose’s feathered hatpins home for her mother as a small memento.

Simone was the most animated Fen had ever seen her, as she dramatically pulled long satin gowns and velvet housecoats out of the wardrobe and large tea chest at the bottom of Rose’s bed. ‘These fabrics are so beautiful! Oh, Christian and Catherine would love these!’

‘You should take them to them. I think Rose would like to think that her dresses were inspiration for the designers of tomorrow.’

‘And you’re right, Henri wouldn’t be interested at all. He was never one for commenting on what we wore.’

Fen wanted to question her more when Tipper suddenly started barking and emerged from under a pile of feather boas and scarves and dashed towards the door.

‘That’ll be James then,’ Simone said matter-of-factly and put the silk blouse down that she was folding and went to go and answer it.

Fen could hear the door click open and the yapping finally cease.

‘What ho!’ James popped his head around the door. ‘Captain Lancaster reporting for knicker-drawer duty.’

Thirty-Five

The sun was starting to set on what had been a rather long and emotional day for Fen. From finding Gervais dead this morning to spending the afternoon clearing out Rose’s clothes, well, it had left Fen far from fancying hitting the cold streets to go and meet up with Magda, who had telephoned just after James had left and asked Fen if she could make the time to see her.

Fen could hear the scream of a hungry or tired baby in the background, which she knew wasn’t Magda’s, plus shouts and general hollering, so Fen had assumed she was making the call from a municipal box in the hallway of her building. Although Fen’s feet still ached from squeezing them into Rose’s velvet high heels last night and she was desperate for a bath and bed, she had agreed. However hard done by Fen was feeling today, she had to remind herself that Magda and Joseph’s plight was far worse. At least if she went to see Magda tonight, she could take the bundle of clothes she’d set aside for her too; they might not be Atelier Lelong scarves or haute couture, but sometimes just something new was a treat.

Before heading out, Fen decided to run a bath, and enjoyed filling the deep steel tub up more than a few inches, which had always been the approved etiquette during the war. She decided to throw in some of Rose’s lavender-scented bath salts too – it wasn’t as if Henri was going to use them – and just before she undressed, she remembered the letter from Kitty that she’d picked up from the mailbox this morning. She fetched it from her coat pocket and eagerly opened the envelope before slipping into the hot bath.

Mrs B’s kitchen table, Midhurst,

Tiresome West Sussex,

October 1945

Darling Fen!

We are sitting here round the kitchen table with mugs of tea in our hands puzzling over your clues. Dilly got there first on the TRAIN one, swot, but I got PAINT, though really that was too easy.

I can’t believe you got to go to a real fashion house – how simply divine! I’m dying to hear more – please come home soon… and if some of those scarves accidentally fall into your luggage, promise I won’t tell!

We tuned into the wireless the other day and you’ll never guess what we heard? Josephine Baker singing just like you wrote about. I closed my eyes and imagined I was in a dark, smoky nightclub with you, wearing red lipstick and drinking hard liquor – then Mrs B stoked the fire (it’s perishingly cold here, you know) and the parlour was full of smoke, so in that way at least I didn’t have to imagine too hard. I’m sure you were with much more glamorous people than I was though: Mrs B has taken to wearing three cardigans and two pairs of thick stockings – Parisian fashion this is not!

Fen laughed at Kitty’s letter and could well imagine the scene in the old farmhouse. Kitty carried on with some local news and signed off.

Fen read the whole letter through again and then let it drop to the dry floor beside the bath as the steam filled her nose and the warm water soothed her tired muscles. She was just about to doze off when the buzz of the doorbell, and Tipper’s accompanying barking, roused her.

Fen listened as Simone answered the door and realised it was only James, returning from a brief freshen-up at his hotel to take Simone out. She got more of a shock when Simone breezily stepped into the bathroom, much to Fen’s embarrassment, to say a quick goodbye.

‘Oh, no need to cover up,’ Simone had said, sitting on the edge of the bath, ‘it’s not like I don’t see naked models all the time in the fitting room at Lelong.’

‘Ah, yes, well…’ Fen sat up a bit in the bath and grabbed a pink flannel to cover her slightly. ‘Anyway, have a lovely time tonight. Where are you two off to?’

Simone clapped her hands together once and held them in the prayer position, closing her eyes with excitement and anticipation as she replied, ‘The Ritz! A show and The