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

‘I don’t have that sort of money, and anyway—’

‘Eighteen hundred then?’ he cajoled.

‘Is it by Delance? It looks very similar to another of his works, you see.’

‘Like I said, what’s in a name, eh? Fifteen hundred? Best and final.’ He stuck his hand out to shake on it.

‘I’m sorry, no.’ Fen backed off away from the hard sell she was receiving but couldn’t help but overhear the slightly offensive muttering coming from the vendor as she walked away. ‘How rude,’ she said to Tipper, who growled a little in reply. When she was quite out of earshot of the kiosk, she spoke to the dog again. ‘And how despicable! Rose’s painting turning up at a street kiosk like that… Ooh, if I get my hands on whoever sold it…’

Without much to say in return, Tipper just wagged his tail and carried on sniffing everyone and everything he came across, while Fen pondered the consequences of her find. She had to bottle up her instinct to walk right back up to that cretinous man and reclaim the painting on behalf of Rose’s estate, stolen as it was; but with no proof on her, she’d just as easily be accused of theft herself. Plus, she didn’t want to admit it, but the police might have been right after all… Fencing a painting to a street dealer was much more like something a burglar would do, and not exactly the modus operandi of a murderer.

Thirty-Nine

Walking all the way to the Marais district and back had been a long enough jaunt for Fen, but it had been positively exhausting for little Tipper, who now insisted on being carried. Fen picked him up and shifted her handbag along her arm so that he could sit comfortably for the last few hundred yards or so. She herself was glad of the exercise, having treated herself to a steak in one of the quayside cafés after her encounter with the kiosk vendor.

Fen opened the large door to the apartment building and fished around in her bag for the spare key Blanquer had given her for the mailbox. She let Tipper slip down and he sniffed around by her feet. The key opened the mailbox up again easily and Fen was almost surprised to see a few more letters addressed to Rose in there. News obviously wasn’t travelling that quickly.

She picked them out and gave them a cursory glance. More bills it seemed. Then her heart leapt – a letter addressed to her from England! She pocketed them all and scooped up Tipper before climbing the staircase up to the fifth floor, a new lightness to her step.

Once settled with a hot tea infusion beside her, Fen opened up the letter from home.

Mrs B’s kitchen table, Midhurst,

Boring old West Sussex,

October 1945

Dearest Fen,

We got your last letter and all feel terribly sad for you. Poor Rose! With a paintbrush, you say? And blackmail… and a countess dripping in diamonds… lumme, you have had a time of it. No wonder you didn’t feel like setting us any more clues. Dilly and I agree with you though, it all definitely sounds suspicious.

Speaking of Dil, she’s been and found out some bits and bobs from the library about Arthur’s pal James Lancaster. He’s proper posh, I mean I hope you’ve been doffing your cap at his nibs! Larks aside, though, I can see why Arthur wanted you to look out for him. The library in Midhurst had the papers and Dil saw an obituary for not only his father (a Lord Lancaster!) and mother, but an older brother as well and, gosh, this is the saddest, James’s fiancée too. He was due to marry the Right Hon Lady Arabella St John. She died in the Blitz with his parents, and his brother, Oliver, was taken in Dunkirk. Sounds like he might need a shoulder to cry on, Fen.

Must dash, Mrs B is still cracking the whip at us. Winter beet is ready to harvest and grumpy old Mr Travers’ calves are being weaned, so we’ve offered (kicked in the seat of our pants more like!) to help.

Cheerio, dear friend, and please come back soon.

Much love from us all,

Kitty xxx

Kitty’s letter was a breath of wonderful fresh air – Fen could just imagine her chatty young friend scribbling it among the scones and jam of the farmhouse kitchen table – but it also caused her a pang of sadness too. Poor James. Not only had he lost his family, but, like her, his fiancée, too. Why hadn’t he said?

Fen folded the letter up, not knowing quite what to do with all the information within it. She was just pondering how best to offer some sort of support to James when Tipper started barking at the door.

‘What is it, kiddo?’ Fen asked as she pushed herself up and headed towards the hallway. ‘Honestly, shush would you? It’s not like you haven’t had the most outrageous lunch for a little dog. What more can I do for you?’

Fen opened the door, still talking to Tipper, and James answered for him.

‘You could stop following him everywhere and spying on him for a start,’ he said, but as Fen looked up, she could see a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

‘Oh James, come on in. Yes, I have some explaining to do…’

‘It’s not that I mind you popping up so unexpectedly when I’m in, let’s say, a private moment.’

‘Oh, don’t remind me!’ Fen briefly covered her eyes with her hands and hoped she wasn’t blushing too much.

‘But if you could do it next time looking less like something dragged from the bottom of the English Channel.’

‘How rude!’ Fen sat herself down on one of the armchairs and gestured towards the saggier one for James.

He laughed at her. He was in such a good mood she didn’t feel it was right just now to bring up the terrible loss of his family. Maybe he had got over Lady Arabella and had some