[Fen Churche 02] - Night Train to Paris

a different way, that was how puzzles were solved.
She pulled her hand back as they approached two large grey-painted doors, each eight or nine feet tall and easily three feet across. Together they made up one massive doorway. To either side of the building, there were private art galleries, the one to the left was already open for business, but sadly the one to the right was boarded up and closed. The name painted in beautiful gold curling script above the window was Jacob Berenson… a Jewish name, if Fen wasn’t mistaken. Was that why this gallery, and not the one next door, was empty? Fen said a silent prayer for the absent owner, hoping that he hadn’t been driven too far from his premises by the Nazis, or for too long.
James set his kitbag down and looked to Fen for confirmation before pressing his shoulder to one of the large grey doors, while turning the sturdy-looking cast-iron ring.
She nodded and the massive door shuddered open, scratching its well-worn arc across the encaustic tiles, and revealed the communal hallway behind. The daylight helped show the intricate patterns of the floor tiles, and as Fen’s eyes adjusted to the darkness of the vestibule, she noted the set of tidy mailboxes, all named and numbered for the apartments and their occupants. A door the other side of the hallway led to a courtyard, which she remembered from her youth and attempts Rose had made to get her to ‘draw from nature’ by studying a bit of bark of one of the old lime trees. Now, though, Fen pointed James towards the cantilevered stone staircase, with its ornate cast-iron handrail that swirled and seemed to grow organically from the tiled floor.
‘Ready for the climb?’
She picked up her suitcase and led the way, James following on behind as she swiftly made it up the first few storeys. By the fourth floor, she had started to slow down, and she was gratified to hear James’s breathing deepen and quicken too as they climbed.
‘A few more to go, I’m afraid,’ Fen pointed up to where a ceiling lantern illuminated the landings of the uppermost floors.
By the time they reached apartment five, they were both a little out of breath. Fen paused before pressing the white button next to the door, wondering how old Madame C managed this climb every day. A moment later though they both heard the flat buzz of the electric doorbell sound in the apartment, followed by a rapid barking that was, in its turn, followed by a shushing and a voice calling out in a melodious tone, ‘It’s open!’
Fen pushed the door open and had barely got her foot over the threshold when the scampering sound of claws over wood parquet floor greeted them. She looked at James. ‘Ah, yes, I forgot. I hope you’re at home with dogs?’
‘Dogs I’m fine with,’ James muttered as the miniature poodle-like thing jumped up and clawed his knees, ‘rats less so.’
‘Bonjour, Tipper,’ Fen leaned down and picked up the squirming little ball of fluffy energy. ‘You’re not a rat, are you, little one? Don’t listen to the frightful man.’ She was rewarded by a swift few licks to her nose, which made her laugh and James recoil in disgust. ‘Tipper here is some sort of poodle crossed with… well, with whatever fancied his mother in the back alley. Maybe a Cavalier King Charles? He’s a sweetie, though, you’ll get used to him.’
‘I’ll probably end up sitting on him…’ James was interrupted by the sight and sound of Rose, who appeared in the hallway to greet her guests.
‘Fenella!’ She approached, and Fen caught the familiar aroma in the air that she so associated with the older woman, that of floral ylang-ylang perfume teamed with turpentine and oil paint, and just a hint of some aromatic tobacco. ‘Welcome, welcome.’
‘Rose, it’s so lovely to see you again. I’m so sorry we’re so terribly delayed.’ Fen met her hostess with a kiss on each cheek and then turned to introduce James. ‘This is my friend Captain Lancaster.’
‘James, please.’ He stuck out his hand and was slightly nonplussed when Rose cocked her head on one side and proffered her hand as if to allow James to kiss it.
Fen noted how quickly James adapted to Rose’s left-field greeting, bringing her hand close to his lips, but not too close, before gently letting her go. He has been brought up the right way, Fen thought to herself, as Rose arched her neck and brushed some unseen speck of dust off the front of her housecoat. She also couldn’t help but observe how masculine and large James appeared in comparison to the supremely feminine apartment. The hallway was narrow and his frame seemed to take up most of its width. Just next to him was a spindly console table, painted white with delicate gold ring handles on its drawers, its puny legs like matchsticks compared to his bulk. The walls were painted a soft shade of pink and a delicately patterned Persian carpet covered a short length of the geometric parquet flooring.
‘Do come through to the studio, my dears,’ Rose beckoned them as she wafted off down the corridor, her voluminous velvet housecoat in the most jewel-like shade of amethyst purple, flowing out behind her.
Fen looked back at James and gestured for him to leave his kitbag with her suitcase where the hall widened.
‘Quite the welcome,’ James whispered to her, his eyes twinkling.
Fen raised a brow. ‘Oh, James, you just wait.’ She winked at him as they followed Rose into the light-filled room at the front of the apartment.

Three
In most apartments of this size and style, the room they entered would have been a spacious salon or parlour. Here, however, the light streaming in from three floor-to-ceiling windows meant it was the perfect place for an art studio. Canvases were stacked up against the wall behind two large easels that faced one of the windows, while in between them sat a small table that