It took some getting used to but once she did, she was very grateful to that barber. Phryne loved it, the girl at the club loved it and none of her colleagues had dared voice their disapproval to her. She really didn't miss being weighed down by her Victorian sensibilities.

She gave no more thought to it until a couple of weeks later as someone familiar walked past her in the street. Mac stopped and stared after them as she realised that the doll the barber had talked about was a living breathing one, clutching her daddy's hand as they walked down the road. For there was the barber and his little daughter. A girl with fox red hair. She could spot one when she saw it. A carefully made wig, made from the plait a doctor had carelessly donated.

That clever devoted man had made a little girl very happy. Mac once had a father like that. He was her hero and she was his Lisbet.

Later that evening she raised a glass to clever and devoted fathers all over the world. There weren't enough of them, in her opinion.