There's a story behind this story but suffice it to say I love the work of art this story revolves around. It's set in the realm of my S2 stories several months after Homecoming.
-ooo-
Thursday, December 18, 1930. Mid-afternoon.
"Post for you, sir."
"Thank you, Collins."
Jack's eyebrows rose when he recognized the sender and return address on the large brown envelope Hugh handed to him. His brows rose higher still when he extracted the contents and started to read the letter.
He was just finishing when he heard female heels clicking across the reception room floor and a cheerful "Hello Hugh!" followed by an equally cheerful "Jack! I thought I'd pop in on the way home from my dress fitting."
Jack Robinson did what any man in his right mind would do under the circumstances. He shoved the contents of the envelope in a drawer as quickly as he could before he rose to greet his wife. At the last second he realized the envelope was still in plain sight and tried, in the guise of straightening the mess on his desk, to hide it under a file.
He wasn't positive she hadn't seen the envelope though, and when the phone on his desk rang he breathed a sigh of relief at Dr. Macmillan's request that they come by at their earliest convenience. "Shall we?" he asked Phryne and they left the station together before she could ask about it.
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...
Thursday, December 18, 1930. Early evening.
The instructions in the letter were to look in the Melbourne newspapers for notices of exhibitions. Unfortunately there was nothing in today's edition of The Argus or The Age.
Jack did a quick check to see if Phryne was within earshot. "Mr. Butler, do we still have last Saturday's copy of The Australasian?"
"Perhaps, sir. Let me just look… Yes. Here you are."
Jack flipped through the pages. He found a tiny notice in the Social Notes column on the Women's Realm page: 'Linocuts by Ethel Spowers, Eveline Syme, Dorrit Black, Nutter Buzacott, James Flett, Michael O'Connell, Eric Thake, and Frederick Ward are on view at present in Everyman's Library, 332 Collins Street, as well as a charming collection of Continental peasant craft.'
He had no idea what linocuts or Continental peasant craft were but the name he was hoping to find was listed. If he was going to fulfill the instructions in the letter in time he had to work fast. He found the telephone number he needed and asked to be connected.
"Iris Parsons, please, it's Inspector Jack Robinson." Jack asked when the receiver on the opposite end was finally lifted. He listened for a moment, his face falling at the response. "Would you have her call me as soon as she returns? She has the number. Yes, at home. Thanks."
This plan was off to a start. It remained to be seen if it could be executed in time. He definitely needed help.
"Mr. Butler, I may receive a call from Iris Parsons this evening. If I do, would you let me know without letting Miss Fisher know who it is."
"Of course, Inspector. Do I detect a hint of birthday-related subterfuge?"
"You do indeed."
"I'll be happy to help. I'm sure it can be very challenging to keep things from Miss Fisher."
"You've no idea, Mr. Butler."
Phryne swept in and the two men faced her with the most innocent faces they could summon on the spur of the moment. "Oh good, you're home. There's an exhibition at Everyman's Library I'd like to go to."
"Linocuts?" Jack didn't believe in coincidences but his gut feeling was this was might be one.
"Yes. Linocuts. Harold Herbert groused about modernist art several months ago and one of the artists, Ethel Spowers, wrote a wonderfully thoughtful piece that one should be tolerant of new ideas. I've never seen any of her work in person and I want to go to this exhibition if only to be able to argue with Harold. Do you want to go with me?"
Phryne had worked up a head of steam and he probably should be listening, just in case, but he was thinking through what he'd need to accomplish tomorrow and Saturday. He was so lost in thought that he didn't hear her invitation.
"Jack?"
He came back to the present moment. "Sorry, what did you say?
"I asked if you would like to go with me." This was odd. Usually he… well, he didn't hang on her every word, nor did she expect him to, but Jack definitely hadn't been paying attention.
"Go with you?"
"To the exhibition of linocuts at Everyman's."
Jack's taste in art tended towards more traditional paintings like the Streeton landscape she'd caught him staring at several times before she rotated it off the parlor wall. When he asked where it was she had the painting moved from storage and hung in his study. But living with Phryne had opened his eyes, literally and figuratively, to appreciating art in all its forms… Now she was inviting him to attend the same exhibition mentioned in the letter and he wouldn't have to dream up a reason to invite her. This was almost too good to be true.
"Why don't we go on Saturday? I'll be off work in the afternoon. We can go to lunch before if you like."
"Saturday is difficult for lunch but we could squeeze in the exhibition. I have an appointment at the hairdresser in the afternoon and afterwards I need to pick up my dress for the party. I'll be right back. I need to make a note of it in my diary."
The telephone rang and Mr. Butler's eyebrows signaled it was indeed a call from Iris Parsons. Jack spoke very briefly with Iris and made arrangements to meet her the next day.
He replaced the receiver just as Phryne returned from her study. "Oh," she said, "anything interesting?"
"No. I just needed to…" Jack thought fast. "Just… checking on paperwork." Well, that wasn't a complete lie. Paper was involved and paperwork was the least interesting thing in the world as far as Phryne was concerned. Maybe she'd lose interest in the call.
Hmmm. Paperwork was Jack's bailiwick, not hers thank heavens. "Drink before dinner?" she asked.
.
...
Thursday, December 18, 1930. Very late.
The more Phryne thought about it the more not knowing what was in the large brown envelope on Jack's desk was driving her to distraction.
Jack received correspondence from all quarters but she hadn't missed his attempt to slide this particular envelope under the files and paperwork on his desk so it wasn't in plain sight. When he turned to get his coat and hat she'd taken the opportunity to quickly lift the files covering it and she'd seen the sender's name on the envelope. While she would never begrudge letters or the relationship between the correspondents, the fact that it was sent to the station rather than the house was, well, a little unusual.
A collection of stamps sufficient to cover the cost of mailing by air and 'Fragile' and 'Do Not Bend' printed in big block letters added to the intrigue.
Before she could ask "Oh, what did you receive from…" Jack had insisted that Mac needed to talk with them about a detail in her latest report and the subject of the mysterious envelope was dropped for more pressing matters. Now he was fast asleep.
She made a mental note to try again tomorrow and reached for the book on her nightstand.
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...
Friday, December 19, 1930. Early morning.
Jack hastily downed a cup of tea and declined Mr. Butler's offer of a more substantial breakfast. "I have a stop to make on the way to the station," he explained and set off for his first stop of the day.
"I know it's very short notice ladies, but do you think you can do it?" Jack asked. He waited patiently while the two sisters conducted a silent assessment of the illustration he held and then began working through the process aloud.
"It'll take some careful cutting…" Mrs. Sanger mused.
Her sister, Mrs. Whittier, nodded. "Shouldn't be too difficult though…"
"No, it would just take a little time… Or we could stitch the red on a white one. That would be quicker."
"The boss might be keen to do something different. We could get all sorts of custom business after a job like this."
"And when word gets out that Miss Fisher has a…"
The sisters nodded at each other, convinced they could indeed produce what the Inspector wanted and that their employer would welcome the opportunity to count such a well-known person among its customers.
"Let's hear what the boss has to say," Mrs. Whittier interjected. "I'll ask him to come in."
"It's very large, Inspector," the shop manager remarked when he saw what Jack had in mind. "Of course we can do it, but…"
"I think a regular size would do," Jack replied. "A large one would be unmanageable for one person, don't you think?"
"When did you want it?
"Tomorrow evening at the latest. I know it's an unusual request, and very short notice…"
The sisters nodded encouragingly at their boss. "We can do it," Mrs. Sanger promised. "The stitching won't take long once we get the pieces cut and pinned."
"Inspector, we welcome the opportunity to perform a special request for our customers," her boss stated. "I think both our reputations will benefit."
"I'm relieved to hear it," Jack thought as he left the Lord and Kingston office and started down Swanston Street. "My reputation has had more than enough excitement as it is."
.
...
Friday, December 19, 1930. Midday.
Iris waved when she saw Jack entering the courtyard at the National Gallery School. They found a bench and exchanged pleasantries before getting down to business.
"Have you had lunch Inspector? I'll share mine if you like. I won't have time to finish it all before I leave here to go the gallery."
"That's very kind of you Iris. I had to skip breakfast this morning." Jack handed her the contents of the envelope he had received the previous day.
She assessed the item Jack handed to her, turning it over, holding it up to the light, getting an idea of its construction and how to deal with it. "Right. So it's a linocut… what kind of paper? tissue… buff… I'll need to mount it first…"
"This isn't, ummm, quite what I would have guessed…" Iris was at a loss for words. She liked Inspector Robinson very much and she didn't want to inadvertently cause any embarrassment. "Although Miss Fisher's tastes are eclectic… Where did you get this?"
"Iris, it isn't from me. Read the letter." Jack popped the last bite of sandwich in his mouth.
The young woman started nodding as she scanned the page. "I understand perfectly now, Inspector. Let me think for a minute. Do you have any idea where she might hang it?"
"No, I've no idea. Although considering the sentiment behind it, she may want it in her study. That's where the sketch of Janey and the Pirate Girls watercolor you did for her last birthday are hanging now."
"What about the second item in the letter?"
"It's already in the works." he replied. "It's why I missed breakfast. So I'll leave this with you?" he asked.
"Yes." She tucked the linocut into the back of a sketchpad in her satchel to keep it safe. "I'll try some different moldings and let you know…"
"Iris, you have a far better sense of how to make this work than I do. I trust your judgment. Do you think you can frame it in time?"
Iris nodded. "This is exciting. Does Miss Fisher have any idea?"
"I don't think so. It's very difficult to keep things from her though."
The slight smile on Jack's face encouraged Iris to tease him, just a little. "I'd better get to work then. She is a detective, after all."
"And she's a good one," Jack replied.
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...
Friday, December 19, 1930. After dinner.
"Inspector, telephone for you." Mr. Butler kept his expression perfectly unreadable until Jack caught up to him. "It's Miss Parsons," he said in a very low voice.
Jack instinctively wanted to check whether Phryne was paying them any attention but Mr. Butler stopped him. "Don't turn, sir. Miss Fisher is watching. Would you like me to distract her for you?"
"Mr. Butler that would be very helpful. If I can keep all this secret until Sunday it will be a miracle."
.
...
Friday, December 19, 1930. Very late.
Jack was up to something he didn't want her to know about, Phryne decided.
He had already taken her to the ballet for an early birthday present, so it wasn't birthday-related.
The conversation about the exhibition, the phone call he had received last night, and he still hadn't said anything about that envelope. It had mysteriously disappeared from his desk at the station and hadn't reappeared on his desk here at home. While she wasn't above peeking in police files while Jack wasn't looking she was reluctant to pry into what seemed to be a personal matter.
And when she mentioned the letter she had received his "I had forgotten she was in London" had sounded surprisingly uninterested.
She simply itched to say "Of course you knew she was in London. I saw the envelope on your desk!" but before she had a chance to reply the telephone had rung for him and after dinner he'd disappeared into his study to do battle with paperwork. Or so he'd said.
Luckily Mr. Butler had suggested they do a final run-through of the food and drink for the party and she was distracted from dwelling on how much she was beginning to despise paperwork.
She huffed in frustration and turned off the light on her nightstand.
.
...
Saturday, December 20, 1930. Very late.
Phryne's last thought before she drifted off to sleep was she'd completely forgotten about the mysterious envelope.
Jack's behavior had become progressively odder throughout the day. He'd declined her offer to pick him up at the station to go to the exhibition. He met her at Everyman's Library and they'd wandered together, looking at the works on the walls, but he'd seemed nervous as a cat, especially when she mentioned she particularly liked Miss Spowers' linocut of a sea of umbrellas on a wet afternoon.
At some point during her birthday party he'd transformed from preoccupied to visibly relaxed. The only clue she had was Mr. Butler communicating something to him via a couple of significant looks and nods. After that he was charming and affectionate until the last guest left and then he was positively, well, extra affectionate. She wasn't complaining. Just concerned.
Tomorrow she would solve this, one way or another. Then the strains of the last waltz she and Jack danced to bubbled up in her memory and she drifted off.
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...
Sunday, December 21, 1930. Mid-morning.
She stretched and turned and stretched some more. When her hand encountered a piece of paper instead of a warm man Phryne blinked and focused and read with heavy-lidded eyes:
Happy birthday, Phryne. Please come downstairs when you wake up.
The warm man she expected to find in bed greeted her with a kiss at the foot of the stairs and led her to a chair in the garden. A little table was set for breakfast and a flat parcel and a small white envelope lay at her place.
She yawned and blinked in the bright morning light. "Be warned Jack. I'm up but I'm not really awake yet."
"I know love. This will be simple," Jack teased. When she raised a brow, he merely said "Open the envelope first."
He sat back and watched as her eyes widened while she read.
.
Dear Miss Phryne,
I had the most amazing experience earlier this week. It was pouring rain and we were dashing from our taxi to the steps of the National Gallery and I saw a scene that made me think of you.
Imagine Trafalgar Square and the steps up to the museum teeming with people holding umbrellas. Then the crowd parts and a woman and a child are guided to a waiting car. They are protected from the rain by a huge umbrella.
Open the parcel now please.
Phryne's eyes were as big as saucers when she unwrapped a framed print. She glanced up at Jack in disbelief before finishing the letter.
The scene is called 'Wet Afternoon' and the artist is Ethel Spowers and she's from Melbourne!
I loved this linocut because the red and white umbrella and the woman protecting the child reminded me of you taking me under your wing and caring for me and my mother and everyone else. I was missing you terribly and it helped me feel not so alone while I'm so far from home.
The man at the gallery where I bought this print said that Miss Spowers is back in Australia now and he thought she may have an exhibition in Melbourne very soon!
I explained all this in a separate letter to Jack and asked him for his help. I didn't give him much notice I'm afraid because I didn't think to give you this for your birthday until I started packing for our journey to France. No matter how carefully I pack things still get jumbled up and rumpled and I didn't want this print to get damaged while I'm traveling.
I hope you're opening this on your birthday and that it will be a very happy one.
Much love,
Jane
.
Phryne's eyes were suspiciously bright when she looked up again from Jane's letter.
"This was in Jane's envelope from London. The envelope you didn't want me to see."
"I wondered if you peeked."
"I detected. Besides, it was practically in plain sight on your desk, Jack.
"I couldn't get it into my drawer without risking you seeing it."
"And the exhibition?"
"Jane told me to look for it in all the papers. I've discovered the Women's Realm page of The Australasian is a treasure trove of useful information."
"Was it a happy coincidence that I already knew about it?"
"Call it serendipity."
She fixed him with a thoughtful eye. "I wonder… Have you had even more paperwork than usual?"
Jack's lips twitched. "I have. I've been reliably informed that the print is on paper and my source said it was buff."
"Buff?" The telephone calls. The last piece of the puzzle fell into place. "It was Iris on the phone, wasn't it? Iris framed this."
"Brilliant deduction."
She let out a little snort of laughter. "You and Jane are quite a pair, Jack."
"She has quite an example to follow, Phryne."
"If she's spending her money on art..."
"She'd just be following your example again."
"I was going to say she'll need an increase in her allowance." Phryne reached across the little table and squeezed Jack's hand. "Thank you for helping her."
"It was my pleasure. But we're not finished. Jane helped me too."
"What else could you possibly…?"
"Jane had the idea for my gift to you." He handed her a long tube wrapped in brown paper and topped with a red bow.
Phryne eyed the size and shape of the parcel and she hefted it, getting a feel for the weight of it and giving it a little shake. "But you already gave me… Jack. Did you finally get me a sword?" she teased.
"Not this time," he laughed. "This is very much in keeping with Jane's gift," he said as she pulled a red and white umbrella from the tube.
She unfurled the umbrella and compared it with the print.
"The red and white stripes are the same."
Jack nodded. "That was the plan."
"You did this..." Phryne's voice trailed off.
"Two very enthusiastic ladies at Lord and Kingston did it."
"I knew you were up to something, but I never dreamed it would be anything like this." She glanced up at the cloudless sky. "It's too bad it isn't raining today."
The corners of Jack's mouth ticked up. "Umbrellas keep the sun off too, don't they? You could test it during a walk along the beach."
She met his gaze with a delighted smile. "We could take a picnic lunch!"
He fished something from his pocket and held it out to her. "I have the key to your aunt's bathing shed and Mr. Butler is packing the picnic basket as we speak."
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...
Sunday, December 21, 1930. Not very late.
"Your nose and your cheeks are pink!" Phryne exclaimed when Jack came in from the bathroom.
"It isn't surprising," he said as he slid into bed next to her. "I was in the sun most of the afternoon while you were under an umbrella."
"It was your idea that I test it in the sun," she reminded him, combing her fingers through his tousled hair. "It worked very well. Anyhow, you'll turn brown and I'll just get more freckles."
"I like your freckles." He pressed several light kisses on her shoulder. "They're like little flecks of gold dust on your skin."
"That was rather poetic. They're tolerable when you describe them that way." She snuggled around him and let out a blissful sigh. "I had a wonderful birthday, Jack. The party, the gifts from you and Jane, plus..." She struggled to stifle a huge yawn. "Plus a lazy afternoon at the beach."
She was already dozing when Jack turned to smile at her. He leaned over and turned off the lamp on her nightstand and reached for the book on his.
.
.
-ooo-
A/N: The image for this story is 'Wet Afternoon' by Ethel Spowers. Spowers was an Australian artist who studied in Melbourne and Paris and London. She created the Wet Afternoon linocut in 1929 and fifty impressions of it were made.
Wet Afternoon was first exhibited at the Redfern Gallery in London from 23 July 1930 to 23 August 1930. This is where Jane bought the impression she sent to Phryne. Jane paid around £2 for it unframed. In April 2013 impression number 13/50 of Wet Afternoon sold for £85,250 at auction in London.
The notice of the exhibition at Everyman's Library in Melbourne really did appear in The Australasian on Saturday 13 December 1930. And Harold Herbert, a prolific and well-known Melbourne artist, disparaged modernism in art in an article entitled 'A thought on modern art' in The Argus, 19 April 1930. Ethel Spowers' response, where she called on 'all lovers of art to be tolerant to new ideas, and not to condemn without understanding' appeared in The Australasian on 26 April 1930.
All of the works of art and the artists and the exhibitions and newspaper articles (and the umbrella manufacturer!) mentioned in this story are real except Iris Parsons. Iris is an original character who appears several times in my S2 stories on Fanfiction. She is a student at the National Gallery of Victoria Art School in Melbourne and to earn money she works in galleries preparing works for exhibitions. I called on her in this story for her framing expertise, but she is busy becoming an artist in her own right.
I have a soft spot for war artists and Australian landscape painter Arthur Streeton was one in WWI. He was a key member of the Heidelberg school of Australian impressionism and I've imagined the landscape the Jack admired and Phryne hung in his study is Streeton's 1889 painting, 'Golden Summer, Eaglemont.'
Jack had Phryne's umbrella made at Lord and Kingston Umbrellas of Melbourne. The address is described as Swanston Street (off Town Hall) in an advertisement on page 1 of The Argus, Melbourne, 24 September 1930.