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

‘I thought I’d heard voices… I should have searched the apartment,’ Joseph lamented but was quickly and kindly shushed by his wife. They were hugging each other tightly, Joseph’s hand caressing the side of her neck where Simone had tried to strangle her.

‘No one could blame you for leaving in a hurry,’ Fen assured him, then turned once again to Simone. ‘And to make it look like a burglary, you stole some of the paintings… And no doubt if we search your room now, we might find Rose’s jewels too, do you think? I’m betting those pearl earrings you were wearing the other night weren’t actually a gift.’

Simone closed her eyes and was breathing heavily through her nose, like a racehorse at the gate. James released his grip a bit and merely held her now by the wrists. He looked at her as he posed the question. ‘Sold some of them, the paintings I mean, for a quick buck? Fen, what did the man at the kiosk say when you asked him about the Delance?’

‘He was cagey about where it had come from all right… “it was a young man, I think, but it was hard to see”.’ Fen thought back. ‘Simone, you said yourself you use fashion like a disguise. And I know how nifty you are with a needle and thread… James, your missing shirt!’

‘Dear Lord, was that you, Simone?’

‘Paired with some old trousers and a cap from Rose’s portrait props, you could pass as a young man, just about.’ Fen squinted at Simone.

‘It was easy enough to find a cap and trousers. I missed that nice string of pearls you found down the side of that saggy old armchair though.’ Simone raised one eyebrow in defiance.

James turned his back and Fen didn’t want to assume, but she thought she might have seen him wipe his face with his sleeve. Simone currently had a lot to answer for and Fen carried on with the interrogation.

‘Henri then told you to murder Gervais, didn’t he?’

‘He said it would be the last one,’ she wore the expression of an employee forced to do a double shift. ‘And then he would let me be.’

‘What was his aim? Were we right in thinking he’d stolen the paintings?’

‘Yes,’ Simone confirmed. ‘He was never as passionate about returning all the stolen artwork to the Jewish families as Rose was. He just hated to see such beautiful pieces be taken away and used as nothing more than decor by plump German hausfraus. He hated that they cared nothing about the art and only wanted to know the value. He sold some and planned on keeping others, a retirement gift to himself, I suppose.’ She laughed. It was a hollow sound.

‘And Gervais had worked out that something was amiss?’ Fen asked her.

‘Yes, he’d noticed the manifests were different. More paintings going to the auction house than there should be. He’d been blackmailing them both, but once Rose was dead, he had approached Henri with a deal. One hundred thousand francs or he’d—’

‘Go to the authorities?’ Fen interrupted.

‘No, don’t make me laugh,’ Simone smirked. ‘Henri is the authorities. Or as good as, with his connections. No, Gervais threatened something much worse. The Mob.’

‘Blimey,’ Fen took a step back and looked at Simone.

‘I was sent to kill him as—’

‘As you’d learnt to shoot in the Resistance?’ Fen finished her sentence for her.

‘Henri had recruited me back in the early years of the war. I was trained, among other women like Catherine, but in the end, I was used more as a lure to fool Nazi officers.’

‘I know, you told me,’ Fen bit her lip as she thought. ‘And I bet Gervais would have been more than happy to see you that night in his garage.’

‘I left you just before ten o’clock,’ James said, looking at the beautiful young model, still held loosely by her wrists.

‘And I wasn’t back from the Louvre party until almost midnight, leaving Henri there, so he couldn’t have done it.’ Fen tutted to herself, then added, ‘Plenty of time for you to commit a murder, though.’

‘The hard part was getting lover boy here to leave me alone that night. I did quite a good job, though, I think, of putting you off. “James, you do love me, don’t you?” “James, I think we should marry”.’ Simone pouted at James in the same way she must have done that night. He looked disgusted and, if he wasn’t holding her captive, Fen was sure he would rather have been anywhere else but in her presence. Poor James, she thought, the ultimate lion tamer.

The sound of sirens filled the air and Fen knew her time for questioning Simone would soon be gone. Antoine Arnault and Michel Lazard had made it out of the gallery now, both looking pale and obviously in shock. Fen thought it might only be minutes before her own adrenalin gave out and she too would start taking on board what they’d all witnessed in that room.

‘Just one more question, Simone?’ Fen asked. ‘Before they take you away.’

Simone looked at her and shrugged.

‘Was it worth it, just for the apartment?’

‘You think I only killed for that place? Once married, I would be in houses far more splendid.’ She nodded towards James. ‘But what Henri knew about me could have ruined any chance I had of becoming a rich man’s wife. More than that, he could have had me executed.’

‘For being a traitor… Surely if he knew you were The Chameleon, he would have turned you in long ago.’

‘But he did know. He knew all too well. And he kept that knowledge, curated it like one of his paintings, ready to use when he needed it. He knew what lengths I’d gone to during the war to catch those SS officers. Sometimes they took more than just a wink to get down an alleyway. He said to me, “No English gentleman will marry a