‘Quite possibly,’ agreed Phryne briskly. ‘But it will wear off. I will come and watch you train tomorrow, as I promised when I wasn’t myself, and then we may make some arrangements. But I am not toying with your heart, Lindsay — just your body. It is useless to fall in love with me — I do not want to damage you. Do you understand?’
‘No,’ confessed Lindsay, rubbing his face against her neck. ‘But whatever you say, Miss Fisher.’
‘I think,’ conceded Phryne, ‘that you had better call me Phryne.’
Mr Herbert gulped his drink.
Eunice Henderson, safe behind her veil, surveyed her lover with doting eyes. He was not tall, just the right size, and had delightful blue eyes, which were at present clouded with worry. He was worried about her ! The thought was intoxicating. He, in turn, was struck with how elegant his fiancée looked. The green gown revealed the long, swooping line from hip to knee, the small waist, and the light curve of her small breasts. He sat down on the chair next to her bed and took her hand. It was hot, and he wondered what her temperature was.
‘How do you feel, Eunice? I’m horrified by all this.’
‘I feel much better. Miss Fisher has been very kind to me. She is also going to find out who killed Mother.’
‘Oh. What about the burns, Eunice? I didn’t know that chloroform would burn skin like that. Poor girl! What does the doctor say?’
‘She says that it will heal without a scar if I don’t scratch, though that is very hard, for it itches like fury. However, it doesn’t hurt anymore, and it really was painful. Ally, I thought I’d never bear the train journey to Melbourne. I only managed it because I was reading Manon and I could hide my face. I’ve got some ointment and the doctor says I should stay in bed for a week yet. I do feel weak. Were you worried about me?’
‘My dear girl, can you doubt it? I was just about to storm Police Headquarters when the girl rang and told me where you were.’ He kissed the hand he was holding.
‘Lindsay has gone to talk to Miss Fisher, he wanted to meet her, he’s a crime buff. I bet he wouldn’t like murder so much if he ever saw a corpse. What happened on that train, Eu? I’ve only read the press reports, and they are very highly coloured.’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t wake until it was all over. Someone drugged the train, and dragged mother out of the window, no one knows how, and then she was found dead quite thirty feet from the track, and no one knows how she got there, either. It’s all a terrible mystery. If it hadn’t been for Miss Fisher the children on the train would have been dead, and the doctor still doesn’t know if I’ll have permanent liver damage. Can we talk about something else?’
‘Oh, Eu, I had no idea that it was so bad! What would you like to talk about?’
‘Us,’ whispered Eunice. ‘Now we can marry.’
‘Of course we can, as soon as you are better. Let’s put the notice in the paper tomorrow. The engagement is announced between Alastair, only son of William and Charlotte Thompson, of Right Street, Kew, and Eunice, only child of the late Walter and. .’ He faltered, and Eunice finished the notice:
‘The late Anne Henderson of South Yarra. We can’t put that in the paper, can we, with Mother not even buried? After the funeral, when I am up and about again, then we can marry. Unless you’ve changed your mind?’
‘Oh, Eunice!’ exclaimed Alastair Thompson, and embraced her with sufficient fervour to convince even the most obdurate lady that her swain had not changed his mind.
Phryne, who was not obdurate, was swapping kisses and confidences with the second pretty young man in her house. Lindsay was ardent; his breath scorched her face; his lips were demanding and could prove engrossing; but Phryne’s mind, which was seldom involved with her body at all, was ticking over nicely, and she was extracting much interesting information from Lindsay in between embraces.
‘So you live in the same house as Alastair? What a comfortable arrangement. Who does the housekeeping?’
‘Oh, a woman comes in every morning to make the beds and cook us some dinner to re-heat,’ said Lindsay, insinuating a supple hand down Phryne’s back. ‘What involved undergarments you wear!’
‘I shall teach you how to remove them,’ promised Phryne. ‘You will find that skill useful in years to come. But not now. Have you no sense of timing?’
‘That’s what the coach always says,’ chuckled Lindsay, removing his hand. ‘Very well, Miss Fisher, let us be proper. Alastair hasn’t got much cash, see, his people are poor — respectable, I mean, his father’s a doctor, but not much lettuce — so he lives with me. Pater gave me the house, and he pays for the housekeeper, and I like the company, so it all works out well. Amazing fellow, Alastair. I’m uncommonly fond of him. You know, even when he’s strapped, he’s never bitten me for a fiver till Thursday? None of the rest of my acquaintance have showed that restraint. Some of them look on me as a money tree. . I like this fabric, it’s so smooth. What is it?’
‘Silk,’ said Phryne, pulling down her skirt so that it almost reached her knees. ‘It is supposed to be smooth and I’m glad that you like it. I think that it’s about time that I flung you and your friend into the snow, Lindsay. I’ll see you tomorrow. What time?’
‘Nine in the morning,’ said Lindsay, reluctantly releasing Phryne. ‘At the boathouse. Why are you throwing us out? Have I lost my charm, already?’
‘No, my dear, you have all the charm you came with. But I have to go and read a post-mortem report, and talk to a policeman.’
‘Can I come too?’
‘No. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ She rang the bell. ‘Mr Butler, will you see the gentlemen out? And bring the car around. I’ve got to go into Russell Street.’
Lindsay collected his friend and left, not without a backward glance.
‘Well, what did you think of them?’ she asked Dot.
Dot grinned. ‘Lindsay is all right, Miss, if you like tom cats.’
‘You know that I do,’ agreed Phryne.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘You’ll be catching a crab directly,’ said Alice.
Lewis Carroll Alice Through the Looking Glass
Phryne steered the red car into the city. Detective-inspector Robinson (call me Jack, Miss Fisher, everyone does) had taken over the investigation and was anxious to interview her. He had promised the post-mortem report and any more information that came to hand.
She parked her car in the police garage and ascended the dank stairs to the small bleak office which Jack inhabited. He looked up as she entered; an undistinguished youngish man with mid-brown hair and mid-brown eyes and no feature which one could remember more than three minutes after he had gone. It was this anonymity which had made him a relentless shadow of some of Melbourne’s most wary crooks. They were now languishing behind bars, wondering how they had been detected, still not recalling the ordinary man on the street corner who had followed them doggedly for days. In private life he was a quiet man with a doting family, who grew grevilleas and rare native orchids in his yard. He would talk learnedly of mulch unless instantly and firmly dissuaded.
‘Ah, Miss Fisher. I hope that you are well? How nice to see you again. I won’t offer you police-station tea, because I’m sure you’ve tasted it before. I want you to tell me all about the murder on the Ballarat train.’
‘Delighted,’ said Phryne promptly.
As usual, she told her tale with dispatch and not an unnecessary word. Detective-inspector Robinson took notes attentively.
‘Dragged through the window, eh?’
‘Absolutely. I’m almost sure that she was pulled up, because of the hair caught in the crack in the sill, but where the murderer was, I cannot tell.’