Free Away With The Fairies by Kerry Greenwood Page A

difference between that and True Confessions . We only print the relatively quiet ones but we’ve had letters which would curl your hair. Women have written to Artemis about rape and divorce and horrible happenings. I don’t know how Miss L … Artemis stood it. Stands it … It’s like having a sewer emptied on the desk. Revolting. And Mrs Charles-worth talks about poison! It’s already out there, people doing things to children and women dying of … illegal operations, and …’
    ‘Yes. But I rather think that Mrs Charlesworth’s point is that it should stay out there, not come into her nice clean office.’
    ‘But still,’ said Miss Prout, who had cleared her plate, ‘it’s rather exciting. To think that there are people—women—who do such things.’
    Phryne’s sympathy for Miss Prout was evaporating rapidly. Her fascination with the wickedness of the world was jejune and she would undoubtedly be a leading light in any true confessions magazine, inciting the readers to commit more sins so that Miss Prout could vicariously (of course) enjoy them. And the readers, not Miss Prout, would endure the consequences and Miss Prout would point the moral and adorn the tale.
    ‘Who is Artemis?’ she asked abruptly. ‘You started to say Miss L and then stopped.’
    ‘I meant …’ Miss Prout thought frantically, ‘I meant Miss Herbert, of course, but that’s a dead secret. I’ll be fired if they find out that I told you. And you mustn’t mention it to her,’ added Miss Prout cunningly. ‘No one’s supposed to know.’
    ‘Of course,’ Phryne agreed. ‘No one will know from me, I assure you. If you’ll excuse me for a moment, Miss Prout, I see a friend of mind over there. Back in a tick,’ said Phryne. ‘This may amuse you in my absence.’
    From the sideboard she collected a bundle of scandal sheets from London, dropped them on Miss Prout’s table, and walked quickly away, behind the fountain.
    ‘Bunji, old thing, how lovely to see you. The Tasmanian flight went well?’
    Bunji Ross, dressed in a frock in honour of her visit to Melbourne instead of her usual flying leathers, grinned amicably around a spoonful of Charlotte Russe.
    ‘Hello, old bean! Flight went like a dream. Bit of a tricky landing but we got them back. Nasty place to shipwreck, the south coast of Tassie. You look a bit frayed, Phryne. Have a drink?’
    ‘Thanks, I can’t. Got a job on a women’s magazine for a bit. I’ll explain later.’ Phryne patted Bunji’s shoulder and went back to collect Miss Prout. She detached her with some difficulty from the scandals of London, and went back to Women’s Choice in some confusion of mind.
    Miss Herbert as the guide philosopher and friend of “Is This Problem Yours?”? Miss Herbert of the inappropriate make-up, devoted heart and soul to the pursuit of fashion? Phryne didn’t think so.
    ‘What’s that great bundle of fabric?’ asked Miss Herbert, kicking a little away as she sat down with Hilda and the flower fairies.
    ‘My Worth dress. I’ll hang it up,’ said Phryne. ‘I thought we might do a special feature on remodelling old clothes. If, of course, we can persuade Mrs McAlpin to do the photographs for us.’
    ‘What do you have in mind?’ asked the elderly woman, picking up a pencil and a layout pad.
    ‘We start with this ball dress, circa 1908. It cost me three quid. It’s a couture model. Put it on a stand for the first photograph.’
    ‘Never makes much impact, clothes on stands. Why not dress someone like Miss Herbert in it to show how it ought to look on the person?’ asked Mrs McAlpin. ‘Then we can show it being remodelled and cut down, and then a big picture of Miss Herbert in the finished product.’
    ‘Sounds good,’ said Phryne. Miss Herbert was struck dumb. She blushed and faltered, ‘But you can’t … I mean, I’m not a model.’
    ‘Even better. We can save money on a model and we can show a dress on a real woman, not a painted doll,’ said Mrs