Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)
Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK) Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)
Raisins and Almonds 11 to for a decision, had agreed that white was the only possibility. So what if she’d had a little slip? So had Cec and no one was trying to debar him from his own wedding because he wasn’t a virgin. In fact he’d gone to considerable trouble and expense to make sure he wasn’t a virgin. No, white it was to be, and Dot Williams had very kindly agreed to go with Alice to the first fitting, in case she was nervous. No one in her family wanted her to marry. She was earning good money at the grocer’s shop, and her dad was a soak. But she had made up her mind. She was marrying him, and her dad couldn’t say nothing about it. Cec allowed his train of thought to wander even further, until he was brought back to the present by his mate Bert nudging him and advising him that he was grinning like a loon and asking whether he had taken leave of his senses? ‘Here you are with a soppy smirk on your dial, and we’re supposed to be paying attention,’ scolded Bert. ‘All right, mate, here I am,’ said Cec soothingly. Bert was a good bloke, but he was prone to go crook when he was nervous. And Bert was nervous because he didn’t know what to look for in this big bustling market. Neither did Cec, but his Scandinavian ancestors had bequeathed him some Viking fatalism. If they were meant to find out, they’d find out. They delivered the shoes for Miss Harrison, and she was so mollified that she offered them a tip, which they took graciously. ‘Now what?’ asked Bert. ‘I reckon we stroll around to the birdshop and see what Mr. Rosybum wants us to do next,’ said Cec. ‘And we get an idea of what this place looks like. He’ll be with his birds for half an hour. What’s up the stairs?’ They climbed, to be greeted with a wave of scents, all manner of flowers and wet stone. The top floor was full of florists—John Lane and several Irelands. They noticed Tintons Glass and China Repairer, Albert Fox, Fruiterer. Strolling by they saw through his window a man in titanic struggle with a pineapple, which was resisting having its crown chopped off. His language was
114 Kerry Greenwood most restrained. It reminded Bert of a book of Realist posters someone had sent Miss Fisher. He mentioned it to Cec. ‘They could make a bloody huge bronze out of it and call it “Spirit of Fruit” or “Man Conquering Nature”,’ he suggested. Cec chuckled. They stopped at Miss Ivy Brown, Pastrycook, and bought a pie and sauce. The rest of the top floor was inhabited by a couple of fancy goods shops, a music seller and a maker of the sort of solid leather trunks which can stand by themselves and house a modest family of three, and their dog. ‘Wouldn’t want to get a bodgy cargo net under that,’ said Cec consideringly. ‘Make a bloody big hole in the dock,’ agreed Bert through his pie. ‘Good pies, these. Right, now what about the next floor down? Just a quiet stroll, mate.’ ‘Too right.’ Cec was relieved. It looked like Bert was getting the feel of the place. He always liked to do that. In the trenches at Poziéres, Bert had often suggested a little recce into No Man’s Land. He said it relieved the monotony. They walked into Exhibition Street in time to hear a scream. ‘Murder!’
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<strong>Raisins</strong> <strong>and</strong> Almonds 11<br />
to for a decision, had agreed that white was the only possibility.<br />
So what if she’d had a little slip? So had Cec <strong>and</strong> no one was<br />
trying to debar him from his own wedding because he wasn’t a<br />
virgin. In fact he’d gone to considerable trouble <strong>and</strong> expense to<br />
make sure he wasn’t a virgin.<br />
No, white it was to be, <strong>and</strong> Dot Williams had very kindly<br />
agreed to go with Alice to the first fitting, in case she was nervous.<br />
No one in her family wanted her to marry. She was earning good<br />
money at the grocer’s shop, <strong>and</strong> her dad was a soak. But she had<br />
made up her mind. She was marrying him, <strong>and</strong> her dad couldn’t<br />
say nothing about it.<br />
Cec allowed his train of thought to w<strong>and</strong>er even further, until<br />
he was brought back to the present by his mate Bert nudging<br />
him <strong>and</strong> advising him that he was grinning like a loon <strong>and</strong> asking<br />
whether he had taken leave of his senses?<br />
‘Here you are with a soppy smirk on your dial, <strong>and</strong> we’re<br />
supposed to be paying attention,’ scolded Bert.<br />
‘All right, mate, here I am,’ said Cec soothingly. Bert was a good<br />
bloke, but he was prone to go crook when he was nervous.<br />
And Bert was nervous because he didn’t know what to<br />
look for in this big bustling market. Neither did Cec, but his<br />
Sc<strong>and</strong>inavian ancestors had bequeathed him some Viking fatalism.<br />
If they were meant to find out, they’d find out.<br />
They delivered the shoes for Miss Harrison, <strong>and</strong> she was so mollified<br />
that she offered them a tip, which they took graciously.<br />
‘Now what?’ asked Bert.<br />
‘I reckon we stroll around to the birdshop <strong>and</strong> see what Mr.<br />
Rosybum wants us to do next,’ said Cec. ‘And we get an idea<br />
of what this place looks like. He’ll be with his birds for half an<br />
hour. What’s up the stairs?’<br />
They climbed, to be greeted with a wave of scents, all manner<br />
of flowers <strong>and</strong> wet stone. The top floor was full of florists—John<br />
Lane <strong>and</strong> several Irel<strong>and</strong>s. They noticed Tintons Glass <strong>and</strong> China<br />
Repairer, Albert Fox, Fruiterer. Strolling by they saw through<br />
his window a man in titanic struggle with a pineapple, which<br />
was resisting having its crown chopped off. His language was