tired; and Lydia was watching her narrowly.
‘Oh, Lydia is the person to advise you,’ gushed Beatrice.
‘My husband says that she has a mind like a man when it comes to money. Of course, she’s made her fortune in her own right — it’s all her own money, so she can spend it or invest it as she likes.’
This was not in accord with Phryne’s briefing at all. She wondered where Lydia had got her money. From her husband? It did not seem likely. Feeling increasingly unwell, she left.
CHAPTER NINE
Algernon Swinburne ‘Before Dawn’
Phryne returned to the hotel feeling sleepy out of all proportion to her exertions. She wondered what had been in the bitter tea (of which she had drunk three cups), at Madame Breda’s. She sent a boy down to the kitchen for mustard and mixed herself an impressive emetic. She began to be sure that she had been poisoned. Calmly and coldly, she drank down a large quantity of the revolting mixture, sat quietly until it worked, then dosed herself again.
Phryne began to shiver, and drank down a glass of milk in small sips. Her digestion settled down, after its rude shock, and she was suddenly very awake, purged and cold.
She decided that she was not going to be sick again, cleaned up carefully, and opened the bathroom window to freshen the air. She inhaled several breaths of smoky normality before she shut the window, and decided that the best thing to do was to go to bed until she was back to human temperatures again.
She undressed, dropping her clothes on the floor, and padded barefoot to the huge bed, heaped with covers, dived in and snuggled down. She wanted to think, but fell asleep in a moment, exhausted.
Waking about two hours later to voices in the sitting-room, she heard someone say clearly, ‘That’ll fix her!’ and the outer door shut. The lock clicked. Phryne tiptoed out to the doorway and surveyed the room. Only one thing had been moved: her coat. She picked it up and shook it. Out of the deep pocket flew the third small crunchy packet of the day, and this time Phryne was taking no chances. She opened it, and shook out some powder; touched to the end of her tongue, it had a powerfully numbing effect. She flushed packet and powder down the water-closet.
She surveyed the room helplessly. Nothing else appeared to have been moved. She was sure that the voices had not been there long; she usually woke easily. Perhaps they would not have had time to secrete any more little packages. She noticed that her main door had a bolt, and she threw it, then put herself back to bed, puzzled. The bed was heaped with bolsters and could have slept a regiment.
It was when she rolled over to the centre of the massive bed and encountered a warm human body that she realised Sasha had not gone.
He woke as she touched him, and enfolded her in a close embrace; feeling her instant resistance, he released her and fumbled until he found a hand. This he began to kiss, delic- ately, only stopping in his passage up her arm to answer her questions.
‘Sasha, what are you doing here?’
‘Waiting for you.’
‘Why are you waiting for me?’
‘I want you,’ he said in surprise. ‘You are magnificent. I also, am magnificent. We shall be magnificent together,’ he concluded placidly, reaching her shoulder and burying his face in her neck.
This accorded with Phryne’s idea of the situation, and as far as she could see Sasha did not constitute a danger to her life. Her virtue, she felt, could take care of itself.
‘Were you asleep when I went out to lunch?’ she asked, relaxing into his arms and running her hands down his muscular back with pleasure.
‘Certainly. I can sleep anywhere and I had not slept for three nights; therefore I sleep like a dog.’
‘Log,’ corrected Phryne absently, as the skilful mouth crept down toward her breast, and she felt her body beginning to react. ‘Kiss me again,’ she requested, and Sasha kissed her mouth. By the time she came up for air three minutes later, she was so aroused by the beautiful, amoral boy, his well-taught hands and the touch of his soft mouth that she would not have cared if he had lain down with her in Swanston Street.
He rubbed his face across her breasts, catching at the nipples as his mouth passed, and his hands caressed her as she drew him towards and over her, and locked her strong thighs around his waist.
As Sasha sank towards her, she abruptly recalled that his other persona was death, and joined with him in an odd mixture of ecstacy and horror. Their love-making was an encounter of strength. Phryne caught glimpses of them in the long mirror, like small bits cut from an erotic French engraving: Sasha’s mouth coming slowly down onto a nipple which strained to meet him; a flash of thighs conjoined as if welded; the curve of her breast against the upper muscles of his arm, scored across with a long red line.
They finally collapsed, quite spent, into each other’s arms.
‘You see,’ observed Sasha contentedly, ‘I told you. Magnificent.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Phryne.
‘Perhaps you will bear my baby,’ commented Sasha. Phryne smiled. Carried away by passion she certainly was, but her diaphragm had been in place since last night. She had always had a realistic view of her ability to resist temptation. She did not reply. Sasha, having slept so long, was now awake. She threw him a gown and said, ‘Do you wish to bathe? Dot will be back soon.’
‘You are anxious not to offend your maid?’ asked Sasha, puzzled. ‘But I do not wish to bathe. I wish to keep the scent of you on my skin. My sister will be jealous! She wanted you, also.’
‘I’d rather have you,’ said Phryne, and leaned across the bed to kiss him. He really was a darling.
Sasha pulled on the tights and leotard, which Dot had mended and washed. Phryne donned a lounging robe and ordered tea. The tray came, and with it an anxious manager.
‘Excuse me, Miss Fisher, but there’s a policeman below, and he has a warrant to search your room for. . for. . drugs! I don’t know whether we can stop him from coming in. So I will bring him to your door in about ten minutes. Perhaps you will arrange matters, if you will be so kind, by then.’
With an economical gesture, which indicated Sasha and the mess of garments, the manager left. Phryne poured a cup of tea.
‘What would you have me do?’ asked Sasha. He was lounging back in his chair, seemingly unmoved by the imminent invasion. ‘Are you still concerned that my presence will shock your maid?’
‘No,’ said Phryne. ‘And here she is at last.’
Dot opened the door, closed it behind her, and leaned on it, as if prepared to defend the portal with her body.
‘The cops!’ she gasped. ‘That snooty manager said the cops are waiting! He’s having a real ding-dong go with ’em in his office. Oh, Miss, what are we going to do?’
‘First, we calm down. Next, we search the rooms for anything that might have been hidden.’
‘What kind of thing?’ stammered Dot, staring wildly around.
‘Small packets of white powder,’ said Phryne. ‘Where would you hide one, in this room, Dot?’
In answer, Dot took a straight-backed chair, stepped up onto it, and scanned the top of the wardrobe. She leaned at a dangerous angle, reached and clutched, and showed Phryne her hand. Another small packet, crunchy and made of muslin.
Phryne lost no time in flushing it, also, into the plumbing, reflecting that if the storm-water mingled at all with the drinking water, the whole of Melbourne would be out on a jag of truly monumental proportions.
‘Dot, you are a brick! Now, quick, a little tidying, so that we shall not shock the policeman.’
‘What about ’im?’ demanded Dot.
‘He stays where he is,’ stated Phryne. ‘I am not going to be involved in a French farce.’
This went right over Dot’s head, but she flew into action, sweeping up armloads of clothes, making the huge bed with a few economical movements, and hanging up coats and dresses. In five minutes the rooms presented a thoroughly respectable facade, belying the frantic activity needed to produce it. Sasha drank tea and smiled.
When the expected knock on the door came, Dot responded. She swung the heavy oak aside, and greeted the manager and his attendant policeman with freezing hauteur. Phryne was impressed.
‘This is the Honourable Phryne Fisher. Miss Fisher, these gentlemen have a search warrant. I have had it
