Free Death at Victoria Dock by Kerry Greenwood

like this colour,’ Jane was looking at herself in the big glass with astonishment. ‘It makes me look quite different. But when shall we wear them?’
    ‘We shall go to the ballet on Tuesday night, as long as no other developments happen. Even if they do, Dr. MacMillan will take you. It is the Russian Ballet and they are doing Petroushka , which you will love. I would like to see it again but I might not be able to. It depends. Now, tonight I am entertaining Mr. Smith, who may have some important information for me, so I shall go up directly after dinner.’
    ‘Is he staying?’ asked Jane, trying to get a back view.
    ‘Don’t know.’
    ‘Well, I’ve got all that homework, anyway. Eh, Ruth?’
    ‘Geography,’ groaned Ruth. ‘Perhaps I shall have a shawl, a long traily one.’
    She snatched up Phryne’s shawl and glided around the room, watching the effect of the following fringes. Phryne reflected that in a few years’ time Ruth would be a force to be reckoned with. Jane, on the other hand, was not really interested in clothes. She was born plain and she did not seem to mind.
    ‘And Latin, and English, we’ve got to finish The Winter’s Tale .’
    ‘Well, it’s a good play. You should enjoy it.’
    ‘Mmm, yes, but you’d think that they would have taught him to spell. How now, varlet,’ said Jane. ‘Give Miss Phryne’s shawl back and let’s go and read it.’
    Ruth hung the shawl carefully over the back of a chair and followed Jane into their room to continue her attack on England’s Greatest Poet with some signs of enthusiasm.
    ***
    The girls, whose appetite was prodigious, dined with Phryne at six o’clock on Soupe Provençale , veal cutlets and fruit. Phryne was eagerly anticipating the advent of apricots and nectarines and her special favourite, white peaches, which spring was promising. Ruth and Jane took their baths as ordered and retired to their room, where Phryne could hear the buzz of Shakespearean dialogue with occasional breaks while they puzzled out what he meant.
    ‘But why is he jealous of her? She hasn’t done anything!’ protested Ruth. Jane murmured some reply and Phryne took herself upstairs to resume study of her shocker until Peter Smith should arrive.

Chapter Six
    ‘Tout passe, tout casse, tout lasse’
    (Everything passes, everything breaks, everything palls)
    French proverb
    Phryne flung the detective story against the wall. She had guessed the murderer in the third chapter and was not patient. She struck the author’s name from her list of books to be ordered just as she heard ‘Mr. Peter Smith’ announced. Dot brought him up to the salon, where he asked for whisky and water and sank into one of the plush chairs.
    Phryne dismissed Dot with a nod, but her maid drew her to the door.
    ‘Constable Collins has called, Miss. I’m going to the Latvian Club with him on Wednesday night.’
    ‘Good. I’m taking the girls to the ballet on Tuesday, so I’ll be home if you need me. Not that you are likely to…’
    Dot smiled. She was sure that she could handle Hugh Collins, but Latvians, being foreign and possibly dangerous, were another matter.
    Dot closed the door and Phryne poured a stiff whisky for her guest.
    ‘There is something going on,’ announced Peter Smith. ‘And I do not like it, because I cannot find out what it is.’
    His English was perfect, the accent blameless, but when excited his diction was too precise. He gulped down the drink and held out his glass for another. Phryne gave him unlabelled. There was no point in wasting Laphroaig on a distracted man.
    ‘What is going on? You mean the plot to kill Stalin?’
    ‘No, no, I already knew about that. You have stumbled on something nasty, Miss Fisher.’
    ‘Call me Phryne, please. And I can hardly be said to have been anything but an innocent bystander. They did not know that I was coming, did they? I did not know myself. Have some more whisky and take off your coat. It is better to be comfortable if you