Introducing the Honourable Phryne Fisher

decorously covered by thigh and hand, it was evident that both bodies had just joined. The satyr was crouched, and the whole structure depended upon his cloven feet and the long legs of the nymph, whose toes were just touching the ground.

Technically, it was a difficult piece, presenting intriguing problems of mass and balance. Of itself, it glowed with an innocent eroticism and good humour.

‘It is lovely,’ commented Phryne. The sculptor looked as surprised as if his anatomy textbook had just spoken.

‘Thank you, but the curve of this arm is not right. Will you lean back a little more, signorina, and bend your wrist down. . no, it does not work. You need something to embrace.’ Paolo left the clay and dived for Phryne, arranging her limbs around him.

‘You see, she is joined to him, thus. . move that leg a little. . and his arms are holding her weight. . thus.’

Phryne’s mouth was near the artist’s, and his arms were very strong. She relaxed a little, and he shook her.

‘No, no, no! She is not languid, she is afire with passion. The body is thrust against him, with force, to engulf him. So.’ He leaned forward without warning and kissed one breast, then the other. Her nipples hardened. The Renaissance head bent to suckle. Phryne gasped. Her hands tightened on his back. She arched. For a moment, he held her strongly, and he felt her tremble.

‘Later. Do not move,’ he said, stuffing a big cushion into her arms.

Stunned, Phryne clutched the pillow, frozen with tension into the position she had been placed. Clay flew. She heard it fall with sad little sounds to the floor. She could not see the progress of the figure, but Paolo was pleased.

‘Oh, excellent, excellent. . now the shoulder. . do not move.’ Phryne was torn between rage and laughter. The studio was getting very cold. She fell into her model’s dreaming trance and recalled the Paris studios where her dearest friends had been surrealists. She had once been offered a Dada dinner, which consisted of boiled string. She heard the sculptor calling her as if from a long way away.

‘Vieni, carissima. See what you have done. It is finished.’

She untangled herself from the cushion and bent her stiff limbs. Paolo seized her and rubbed her into mobility with his large, strong hands, then led her to the covered model.

‘See, bella, what you have wrought. For weeks I have been trying to capture that curve, that intense clutch — and there it is. It is complete.’

‘What shall you cast it in?’

‘Silver-gilt, nothing else. Nothing else is good enough for such a work. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.’

He kissed Phryne enthusiastically and she discovered that her aroused passion had been frozen, not absent. It was now thawing.

She beat the sculptor to the warm blankets of his bed by a short half-head, and wrapped them both. The blankets were clean, as was the sculptor. He smelt delightfully of clay and leather and tobacco and something vaguely herbal. She continued to kiss him, caressing the pointed ears, the mobile mouth and the long, beautiful line of muscle from back to buttock. He laid his head upon her breast and sighed with pleasure.

‘Ah, bella, how fortunate I am to find you. Sure a pure line; so delicate, so true.’ He rubbed his face across her breasts, catching at the nipples as his mouth passed. ‘And now, do you want me?’

Phryne, who had always been a woman of strong passions, was decided. ‘I do,’ she answered, then clutched him close.

Paolo was a good lover; deft, sensitive and passionate. What woman could ask more? As he lay with her he breathed praises into her ear; bella, bella, bellissima.

Satisfied, Phryne kissed her lover firmly, got up, and donned her clothes.

‘You must go? But I do not even know your name,’ he cried.

‘You are coming too. I’m taking you to dinner. Is there anything good around here? My name is Phryne Fisher. I’m investigating McNaughton’s murder.’

‘Then you are not a professional model,’ concluded the artist in triumph. ‘I knew it. No model could have made me finish my nymph. Only a new young lady could be a sufficient inspiration. Have you seen my fiancee? Is she well? She told me not to come to her, or I should not be here.’

‘Amelia is fine. I have just come from there. I wanted to ask you some questions about the matter. But I was. . diverted.’

‘Ah, signorina, do not think that I am insensible of the honour. I, too, have been much diverted. But now I shall dress and we shall go to dinner. I thank you for your care of Amelia. As it is not possible for even the most foolish of policemen to think that I had anything to do with the murder of that swine, I shall go to Amelia tomorrow, and I shall not leave her. Especially since I have finished the nymph,’ added Paolo artlessly.

‘Why Amelia, above all the others?’ asked Phryne suddenly. Paolo had found trousers and boots but could not locate his shirt. He searched hopelessly, then found it on the model’s throne, whence he had flung it.

‘Why Amelia?’ repeated Phryne. ‘It is not her money; she gets none under her father’s will.’

‘That I know. It is nothing. She has a little money, but it is not that. I could have had princesses — and have, in my time,’ he added complacently through the folds of the shirt. ‘Look at that shelf, over there, Bella.’

Phryne surveyed the shelf. There were five nude statues, each beautifully modelled, and each was of the same woman. Paolo breathed in Phryne’s ear.

‘Look at her. She is perfect. The length of limb, the straight back; for a sculptor she is perfect in every way. You should see her as I do, bella—without her clothes. You, now, are pretty — in fact I would say that you are striking. You would never be mistaken for anyone but yourself. If you were modelled as Venus or Diana or St Joan everyone would say, “Ah! Miss Fisher,” because you have the distinctive face. But the body — pure of line, yes, delicate of bone, assuredly. But only that. As you age — I beg your pardon, bella—you will sag like every other woman. You will still be beautiful and distinctive. But my Amelia will be a sculptor’s dream; old, sagging, pregnant. She is the universal woman. When I met her she was ashamed — her father was a brute, a swine, a beast. But I coaxed her, I flattered her, I taught her to pose nude and enjoy her body, and now she is complete. I could never find another like her. Money, pah! A body like that you could search a century for and never find. It is undoubtedly due to the special intervention of St Anthony, who has guarded me all my life, that I have found her, and I would not risk losing her for the undoubted pleasure of wiping her detestable father off the face of the earth.’

‘Ah,’ agreed Phryne. ‘Dinner?’

‘We shall go to the Cafe Royale,’ announced Paolo. ‘If you are paying. You can ask me whatever you like, and I shall answer, bellisima.’

He had found all his clothes. He took his hat, keys and cigarettes, and led the bemused Phryne out of the studio.

The Cafe Royale was the haunt of bohemians and artists. Phryne had always meant to go there. One entered through a small, iron-studded door which led into a cobwebby cellar with many barrels, and then into a large, smoky room with lanterns hanging from the beams. It was a little like the Hall of the Mountain King and a little like the hold of a ship. It smelt delightfully of garlic, roasting meat, Turkish cigarettes and coffee. The log fire had been burning all day and the smoke added to the aromatic, raffish air.

Phryne was escorted to a table with ceremony by three waiters, who took her coat and supplied her with a bottle and a glass. The wine was Lambrusco, a strong, sweet red wine of the Po Valley. It was just what was needed on a frosty night.

Paolo was known in the Cafe Royale, and the proprietor himself came out of the kitchen to welcome him and his guest.

Paolo leaned back in the wooden chair and raised his glass. ‘I have completed my nymph, with the admirable assistance of this young lady. It has been a severe labour. Therefore, Guiseppe, we require food. What is good tonight?’

Guiseppe smiled a huge smile which revealed a treasury of gold teeth, and began to speak expansively in