Chapter Three
"Phryne, this martini is heavenly," pronounced Miss Charlesworth, smacking her lips in a most un-schoolmistressy manner. "Who is your genius?"
"The butler, Miss Charlesworth," replied Phryne. "And I hope you have no more luck appropriating him than you had when you tried to steal my then-assistant, now business partner to be your Agony Aunt. You remember Dorothy? Was Williams, now Collins – though, like me, she keeps her maiden name for work purposes." She gestured to the smiling woman who was delicately nursing the nearest thing to sin in a glass that she could imagine. Miss Fisher might swear by a martini, but Miss Williams felt herself quite daring enough with an amontillado, thank you very much.
"An excellent notion," remarked Miss Charlesworth approvingly. "Mr Collins doesn't mind, I hope?"
"It was his idea, Miss Charlesworth," said Dot proudly.
"A refreshingly Modern Man, then – or a well-trained one!" joked Miss Charlesworth. "You are to be congratulated." Then she turned and raised an eyebrow to Miss Fisher.
"Delighted though I am to have the chance to see your face and drink your gin, Phryne – why am I here?"
Phryne's lips twisted to a wry grin. "You know me far too well for comfort, Regina – and I still struggle to feel comfortable calling you that," she admitted.
"I can only suggest you place some soft cushions in the small of your back, then, because you're going to need to be comfortable with it," retorted Miss Charlesworth acerbically. "I say again," and in so doing, settled herself back in her own chair with every sign of staying put until she had an answer – a true journalist, "why am I here?"
Phryne duly relaxed back into her armchair, glass dangling languidly from one hand, and gave the words bluntly.
"Jack's had a poison-pen letter suggesting that he's crooked. Corrupt. 'Bent' was the precise word used."
"Resorting to words of one syllable – always a hallmark of the gutter press," said Miss Charlesworth thoughtfully. She gazed into her glass for a moment, and asked of no-one in particular, "Is it true?"
Phryne's reaction was the merest tightening of the lips. Dot, on the other hand, could scarcely have leaped to the attack more avidly if it had been her own husband's honesty being questioned.
"Of course not! The Inspector – the Chief Inspector – is a thoroughly honest man …"
"Calm down, Dot, darling," said Phryne soothingly. "Regina had to ask. It's her job. If she hadn't she'd have been no use to us." She turned back to the older woman. "What Dot says is true, though. Jack can look at every case he's been involved in with a conscience that's as clear as Mr Butler's block of boiled water ice."
"I suspected as much," said Miss Charlesworth calmly. "He's not got a bad poker face, but it was plain as a pikestaff that he was head over heels for you even at that awful time when poor Lavender was murdered. Anyone that bad at hiding their heart couldn't really be on the take."
Phryne wrinkled her brow. "Really? But that was …" her words died away and she could only gaze wonderingly at her former teacher. That was when we'd barely met.
Regina raised an elegant brow. "Really."
Then placed her glass firmly on the table and clasped her hands on her lap in a businesslike fashion.
"So, what you want to know is – where are the hints of scandal? What is it that my esteemed competitors believe has been hidden from them?" She nodded judiciously. "I think I can help with that. Give me a couple of days."
"Two days?" asked Phryne. For an idol of instant answers, this seemed … idle.
Regina nodded as she rose to her feet and collected her things. "Two lunches, two dinners. I will telephone you after that."
As if responding to a stage manager's cue, the telephone rang. A few moments later, Mr Butler appeared at the door.
"The Chief Inspector is on the telephone, Miss."
"Hang on, Regina, will you?" asked Phryne, a sixth sense tugging at her brain as she went to pick up the receiver. "Hello, Jack? Are you coming to join us?"
"Phryne, is Soo there?"
"Well, yes, I think so? Hold on," she covered the mouthpiece. "Soo?" she called.
"Yes, Miss?" came a voice from behind her, making her jump. Phryne cursed inwardly. It was in many ways pleasing to have staff like Lin Soo and Mr B who were so marvellously discreet, but there were times when she'd wish they would wear hobnailed boots. Or tap shoes, perhaps. Her errant mind conjured an image of Soo and Mr Butler clasped in a ballroom hold, spinning on polished parquet in an endless spiral of canter-time Viennese pivots; then dismissed it because the idea of Soo allowing a man to lead her anywhere, even on the dance floor, was ridiculous.
"Yes, Soo's here. Do you need to speak to her?"
"No … no, I just wanted to check. There's been another letter. Delivered here, to the station. I'm … on my way."
"Another letter? Jack, what did it say? Was it about Soo?" But the line was dead. In the time-honoured manner, she rattled the lever, but to no avail; the Chief Inspector was no longer On The Line.
Miss Fisher replaced the handset with more force than was strictly necessary, and turned to face what had become a full audience of Regina, Dot and Soo, with Mr Butler hovering in the background pretending to straighten the coats on the hall stand.
She could only shrug. "He wanted to know if Soo was here, and when I said she was, he ..." she flapped a hand dismissively, "hung up."
"A letter about Miss Lin?" The query came, unexpectedly, from Mr Butler. "Is she in danger of some kind?"
"I don't know, Mr B – but Soo, as Jack wanted to be reassured that you were here, maybe stay in for a while, hmm?" suggested her mistress gently. "At least until we know what's bothering him."
The little maid scowled. She was generally accustomed to looking after herself, and after the constraining environment of her grandmother's residence, relished the freedom afforded her at the Robinson house.
Phryne was about to come up with some placatory words, but was forestalled by her factotum. "Soo, I would be happy to take you a little further through my cocktail recipes, if you would like?"
A dazzling grin confirmed that she would Very Much Like, and the pair disappeared kitchen-wards
The perceptive Miss Charlesworth narrowed her eyes but said nothing.
"She saved his life," remarked Phryne conversationally.
"Ah, that would account for it," Regina replied.
"Account for what?" asked Dot, frowning.
"Well, you must have noticed the rather charming May-September romance that's burgeoning between your maid and your butler, Phryne?"
Miss Fisher opened her mouth to ridicule the idea, before her eyes opened wide, her jaw dropped and she turned to gaze at the doorway through which her staff had just passed. Then the shocked expression turned to a grin as broad as – well, the Pacific Ocean.
"Mr Butler" she whispered admiringly. "You old dog, you!"
"Don't be silly, Phryne," Miss Charlesworth contradicted briskly. "He wouldn't dream of presuming. More's the pity," she reflected.
