the perfect Communist State, and although their philosophy would seem to encompass the mass slaughter of all capitalists, they kindly did not include Phryne in this category and she looked forward to their stout defence of her person when The Day arrived and she was about to be strung up to a lamp post. 'Nah, she's a good sheila,' Bert would drawl. Cec would say, 'Too right,' and the rope would be removed from around her neck by the respectful Comrades ...
This fantasy amused Phryne as she entered her drawing room.
Bert—short and balding and becoming stout—was drinking beer, as was his custom, and Cec—tall and lanky and blond—had a small glass of arak, a drink he had encountered at Gallipoli. Simon had accepted a glass of white wine and Phryne took another cocktail—two before lunch! she reproved herself Then she forgave herself instantly. It had been a long morning. The girls were exhibiting Molly to the assembly Phryne marvelled at their ease in company. That had been the hardest thing for the newly ennobled Phryne to learn and she still had no taste for idle chat, but jane and Ruth could have been taken into any drawing room in Melbourne without disgracing themselves. Phryne was proud of them.
Cec had the puppy cupped in his big hands and was examining her points. Molly, like all creatures, trusted him instantly and chewed unceasingly at his thumb as he said slowly, 'I reckon she's part sheep dog, eh, Bert?'
'Yair, maybe,' agreed Bert, not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings. 'The inside part. Maybe a touch of whippet, too. Got that deep chest.'
'Reckon,' agreed Cec, detaching the teeth from his thumb and giving the puppy back to Jane. Ember wreathed himself around Cec's ankles, and the tall man bent down to stroke him.
'Ember thinks that Molly is his kitten,' said Jane.
'Well, that's fine,' said Cec. 'Cats are good mothers.'
'But Ember is a boy cat,' Jane pointed out. Bert said something like 'Not any more,' took a gulp of beer, and caught Simon's shy smile. He grinned at the young man. Mr Butler struck the gong—a custom on which he insisted—and they went into lunch.
In deference to the weather, there were small egg and bacon tarts, a couple of cold chickens and a whole salmon on a bed of torn lettuce, lovingly enveloped in a mayonnaise cloak. It sat next to a neatly carved ham and a profusion of salads. Phryne, who loved beetroot, observed that it was in aspic and thus she might preserve her dress unstained. There was something about the nature of beetroot which made it fly as for refuge to the most expensive cloth available. Only the Chinese laundries could really remove beetroot stains.
'Spinach salad and boiled eggs,' said Mr Butler. 'Asparagus vinaigrette, Miss Fisher. Cucumber and onion. I hope all is to your satisfaction, Miss? Can I help you to some salmon?'
'Oh, you can,' said Phryne, suddenly ravenous. Mrs Butler's mayonnaise was not made with condensed milk and mustard. It was an alchemical combination of oil and egg and, since it was to be for the salmon, lemon juice. It was delicious. So was the salmon, the scales and fins of which evidently had been the magnet which had drawn Ember that morning to disembowel the dustbin. Phryne had heard Mr Butler grumbling about it in the yard. Ember was a cat with expensive tastes.
The rest of the company was obviously as hungry as Phryne, and there was a clatter of cutlery as each diner marked down a dish as his or her own. Their tastes, luckily, were different. Simon took cold chicken and cucumber. Bert tucked into salmon mayonnaise as though he hadn't been born in Fitzroy and had only seen them in tins. Cec had ham and salade Russe. He liked beetroot, too. Dot, who loved onions and sharp tastes, feasted on cucumber in vinegar, spinach and bread and butter. Jane preferred egg and bacon tart and Ruth a taste of everything on the table. Ruth had been hungry all her life until Phryne had rescued her, and still found such a variety and amount of food astonishing. If she struck a taste which did not please her, she swallowed it anyway and moved on to the next. Mr Butler was quietly pleased. Mrs B had been worried about the salmon. Cooking such a huge fish whole was a task requiring split second timing. One moment it was still grey and raw in the middle, the next falling off the bone and overdone. The kitchen had been tense all morning. Now he could tell her that it had gone down a treat. He might even get a taste of it himself. And tonight Mrs B would be calm enough to appreciate the pictures. There was a new Norma Shearer,
After about ten minutes, Phryne put down her fork and sighed. Nothing like food to centre the spirit and steady the nerves. The asparagus, particularly, had almost reconciled her to Rabbi Elijah. She sipped a little more of the new hock coming out of South Australia—quite good, if a little young to leave its mother—and said, 'Ladies, gentlemen. We have a case.'
'Yair?' asked Bert. 'I suspicioned as much, but since you invited us to such a bonzer lunch me and Cec'll listen to whatever you want to say.'
'Good. This is the Eastern Market murder, you've read about it?' The company nodded. 'Well, then, this is what happened.' Phryne ran through the sequence of events as seen by Miss Lee. 'I'm investigating the papers found in his pocket. They seem to have a Jewish connection. Dot, I want you to go to the Eastern Market and talk to the stallholders around Miss Lee's shop. Someone must have noticed who came in and out that morning, and you might be able to find someone who knew the customers.'
'Someone ought to have noticed that hat,' agreed Dot. 'Even Miss Lee remembered it real well.'
'See what you can find out, Dot. And you Bert dear, I want you and Cec to take a job at the market, and see what there is to be seen.'
'You don't have nothing to go on,' protested Bert.
'Quite right. It's pure intuition. Something is afoot and I want to know what it is. Just exist there and see what information drifts your way. Usual rates?'
The two men looked at each other.
'How long?' asked Bert. 'Only we can't leave the taxi business for more'n say a week tops—Cec's saving up to get married end of next year.'
'Oh, congratulations!' said Phryne. Phryne's first case had involved her with a rapist and abortionist. One of his pitiful victims had been Alice Greenham, the girl of Cec's heart, but she had hitherto put off his suit until she felt that he had had enough time to change his mind. His dogged refusal to do so had at last, it seemed, paid off. Cec grinned.
'Champagne with dessert, if you please, Mr Butler,' said Phryne. 'Can you tell Mrs B with my congratulations that we could not have had a better lunch at the Ritz in London? It was superb. Especially the salmon mayonnaise,' added Phryne, who had been aware of a certain amount of plate-flinging while it was cooking. Mr Butler bowed and withdrew to get the champagne glasses and tell his wife the good news.
'All right, Miss, we'll do it,' conceded Bert, 'but it ain't going to be easy if you don't know what we're looking for.'
'I know. Give it a try. I'm gambling on a feeling— that's never reliable as a cause of action but it often works, eh?'
Bert agreed and took some more chicken.
'What about us?' asked Ruth, taking up an asparagus spear and sliding it into her mouth. She wasn't sure how to eat them until she had seen Phryne do the same. The taste was new and she savoured it. Phryne was watching. Was Ruth to be pro- or anti-asparagus? She liked feeding her adopted daughters new things; their reactions were different. Jane decided right away if a taste was good or not. Ruth was willing to give even boiled pumpkin ten or more tries before she decided that she loathed it. Ruth reached for another piece. Asparagus was definitely on her menu.
'You're going to afternoon tea with the Levin family. Just watch and listen. Customs will not be different, or not noticeably. If it's a kosher house you won't get milk with your tea if there are meat sandwiches. Talk to Simon about it—he'll brief you. Now, this afternoon I will see the autopsy report on the poor young man, and we'll go from there.'
'But, Miss Fisher,' protested the scion of the Abrahams fortune, 'you haven't given me a task! I'm part of this team, too, aren't I?'
'I have a task for you,' said Phryne, with such deep meaning that Simon blushed and took a sip of wine the wrong way.
When he had finished coughing, the conversation turned to the Eastern Market and the changing face of the
