Chapter 19

The Seine worked its magic on Fen’s head and served to remind her too of how much she loved this city, especially in the autumn. The light from the low-lying sun shone through the orange and yellowing leaves of the horse chestnut and lime trees, creating a golden glow over the pavements on which she walked. She’d left Rose to prepare for her meeting just before lunch and had wandered the streets of Paris from the ?le de la Cité down to the Rue de l’Odéon.

Fen had pressed her nose up against the dusty window of the sadly closed Shakespeare and Company bookstore, but took a moment to remember how her father would take her and her brother there on Saturday afternoons to browse the shelves and catch conversations between the owner, Sylvia Beach, and her many distinguished literary guests.

Arthur had often talked of the shop too – it had been one of their many plans to come back and visit it together when the war was over – and Fen tried her best to hold back a tear or two as she saw the empty bookshelves and out-of-date posters stuck to the window. I wonder where they’ve gone? She thought of the books and of the stories she’d heard of rallies in Berlin where books were burned on huge bonfires. She hoped the tomes from Shakespeare and Company’s shelves hadn’t suffered a similar fate, or perhaps worse, been sold to line the pockets of the Führer.

To cheer herself up, she ducked into a café, just as a few unforecast raindrops started to fall. Fen had the letter she’d written the night before with her and thought about unsealing it and adding in a postscript about her night out. Kitty would love to hear about Josephine Baker, and would groan if she heard that Fen was being matchmade with an overly friendly mechanic.

‘…But I don’t much fancy writing about it,’ she said to herself as she paid her bill and slipped the letter back into the pocket of her trench coat. Of course, she’d only been matchmade with Gervais so that Simone and James could act more like a couple.

Simone’s words were still echoing around her head and Fen had to admit that for some reason or another she was feeling slightly uneasy about the pairing. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Simone, but she did wonder if Simone saw James as more of a meal ticket than a real, true and honest man to love and to hold. Perhaps having her own dear Arthur so cruelly taken from her made her more sensitive to it, but she detected more than a little ambition in the young woman’s attitude. Equally, she was very young and Fen only hoped James knew what he was doing, leading her on so much.

She checked her watch against the great tolling bell of Notre Dame and saw that to her relief if was now 5 p.m. Rue de l’Odéon wasn’t far from Rose’s apartment and Fen was glad to be getting back; cocktails aside, she just rather fancied putting her feet up.

As she neared the end of the Rue des Beaux-Arts, Fen heard a familiar ‘what ho’ from behind her.

‘Oh, hello, James.’ Her thoughts of a few minutes ago were still fresh in her mind. ‘Not with Simone?’

‘No, she’s at work, I assume.’ He looked guarded, or at least Fen thought that might be the reason for the sudden crossing of his arms in front of him. ‘You’re not jealous, are you?’

His question struck Fen right in the chest. It was absurd. Jealous? ‘Ha, no. I mean, absolutely no. You’re a very nice man—’

‘It’s just you left in rather hurry last night, and dammit, Fen, I don’t want you to think badly of me, as, of course, I was happy to walk you both home, but a man’s entitled to have a bit of fun and—’

‘Bit of fun? Should I tell Simone that’s all she is then?’ she snapped at James, which was as much of a surprise to her as it was to him, and due in part to the fact that her thoughts regarding it all were still rather fresh in her mind. She stopped, only yards now from the large double grey doors of the building, and took a stand. ‘Or will you tell her yourself, like a gentleman, that she’s nothing more than…’ Fen looked around her and in the dying light of the autumnal afternoon caught sight of the tailor, Dufrais et Filles. The mannequins in the window were dressed in the sort of outfits Simone revelled in. Fen pointed towards them. ‘…Well, nothing more than window dressing?’

‘Oh, that’s just ridiculous.’ James followed Fen as she entered the building and started climbing the many steps up to the fifth floor. ‘She’s not a child, she’s an adult.’

‘She must be a good ten years younger than you, James, if not more.’

‘So?’

‘So…you should know better than to take advantage of her. Unless you plan on marrying her?’ They both paused for breath as they climbed.

‘God no, it’s not like that. She’s just showing me the sights.’

‘Oh, so that’s what they’re called.’ Fen thought of the telephone kiosk clinch last night.

‘Well, who are you to say who I can and cannot see?’ James crossed his arms.

They stood face to face now, slightly panting, outside the door to Rose’s apartment.

‘Arthur told me to look out for you, but if you don’t want me to, then that’s fine. Really.’ Fen fumbled in her purse, trying to find the key, but her hand was trembling, she wasn’t used to confrontation and hated that she and James were having these cross words. Maybe it really was none of her business who James had fun with?

‘Dammit, I can’t find my key.’ Fen felt flustered. ‘And you breathing down my neck won’t help, James.’

‘Breathing down your neck? You’re the one giving me the third degree on propriety.’

Fen snorted and was about to say something about the noblesse oblige of his lordly status when she remembered that Rose seldom locked the door. She grasped the doorknob and, as expected, it clicked open. Fen exhaled with relief and let them both into the dark hallway, hoping the change of scene might also change the direction in which the conversation was heading.

‘She’s not that interested in me anyway…’ James said, pulling Fen very much back into the discussion.

‘Not you perhaps,’ Fen took a deep breath, ‘but she seems to think there may be a pot of gold hiding under your sunny disposition.’

‘What?’

‘Oh, James. You know what I mean. Mixed metaphors aside, I’m worried that if you rush into something with her…well, she might just be seeing you as some sort of golden-egg lay—’

James was following Fen through to the studio when she stopped suddenly. He almost toppled over her and grasped her shoulders to steady himself. Fen didn’t move though. She just stood there, her hand now clasped to her mouth as she took in the scene in front of her. One of the easels was on the floor, its canvas lying awkwardly on top of it. And next to it, with a paintbrush jabbed fully into her neck, piercing her throat, was the lifeless body of Rose Coillard.