Chapter 39

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 exciting news of his own regarding Simone?

‘Tell me, though, what were you doing in my hotel reception last night? Looking like the Kraken?’ His eyes twinkled.

‘Honestly, James, I wasn’t that bad! And anyway, why weren’t you at The Ritz like you said you would be?’

‘Ma?tre-d’ lost our booking. Simone was terribly disappointed, but I’ve got us a table there next week.’

‘Ironed out your worries about her then? Decided not to be a…a “spoon”, was it?’ Fen wondered if the thought of Lady Arabella had been behind James’s reticence with his new girlfriend the other night, and not so much Simone’s pushy behaviour.

‘Still lion-taming, but she says someone like her would be good for me. Anyway, stop trying to change the subject, Fen,’ he cocked his head on one side, and Fen was pleased to see him back to a more playful version of himself.

‘I know, I do owe you an explanation. And I’m sorry I interrupted your little tête-à-tête. But, you see, the thing is, I was there because I was following Henri Renaud.’

‘I see,’ James sat forward, his elbows on his knees and his fingers making a steeple in front of him. ‘But what were you doing following Monsieur Renaud in the first place.’

‘It was terribly badly behaved of me, and I had to grovel to poor Magda this morning, but you see I caught sight of him on my way over to visit her last night, and I saw he was carrying a package that looked very much like a painting wrapped up in brown paper and tied with string.’

‘Hmm, highly suspicious for an art dealer.’

‘Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, James.’ Fen tutted and sat back in the chair. ‘It was long after gallery opening hours. Perhaps that’s why I thought it so odd.’

‘And did Magda forgive you?’ James asked, more seriously now.

‘Yes, the darling, she did. And she told me something very interesting. Joseph was here, in this apartment, just after Rose had died. He found her body before we did.’

‘What?’ James looked startled and shifted in his chair.

‘He let himself in, he was due an appointment anyway and you know she never locked the door. He said Tipper barked like billy-o, but he couldn’t bring himself to call the police.’

‘Why on earth not? If he had, it would have spared you the—’

Fen raised a hand to shush him. ‘Don’t worry about me. And you have to understand, the authorities haven’t exactly been just and fair to Joseph and his family these last few years. And before you start pondering, no, he wouldn’t have killed her. He had no motive and was rather shaken up, by all accounts.’

‘Agreed,’ James rubbed his chin. ‘And it explains Tsarina, and the countess, hearing Tipper bark.’

‘Yes, but it doesn’t explain why Tipper didn’t bark.’

‘I thought we just agreed that he did?’

‘At Joseph, yes…’ They both looked at the little dog who was curled up in a ball, snoring gently on the chaise longue. Fen thought for a moment and then shook her head, ‘…But not at the murderer.’