Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

Raisins and Almonds 1
‘Zabaglione,’ he said triumphantly. He poured her a glass of
Chateau Yquem Sauterne, fragrant and grapey. Phryne sipped,
smiled, and picked up her spoon.
Over café negro, black as night and sweet as sin, Simon
returned to his previous subject.
‘Tonight?’ he pleaded. Phryne touched his lips with one
forefinger.
‘Perhaps,’ she whispered.
Robby, manifesting himself at her left shoulder with a light
for her cigarette, did not voice his own opinion aloud.
‘Half your luck!’
999
Kadimah was as ordinary as a church hall, and as extraordinary
as a landing of Well’s Martians. It was as sane as porridge and
as lunatic as singing mice.
There was a row of them, over to one side. They were singing
a Yiddish song about—perhaps—cheese, or the dangers of
mousetraps. ‘There is no such thing as a free munch’, possibly.
Phryne was a little overwhelmed. She followed the willowy form
of her lover to the set of tables and chairs farthest from the door,
where the singing mice were somewhat muted by distance.
Nearby was an English language class, patiently repeating
‘Am, is, are, was, were, be, been,’ in the charge of a tired young
woman with seamstress’ hands. The students and revolutionaries
were seated in a group, with one teapot per person, one cup and
one ashtray should anyone have tobacco. Only one person was
smoking; a pipe evidently loaded with old rope.
A play was rehearsing next to the singing mice—whose ears,
now Phryne had recovered enough to look, were made of stiff
paper and whose whiskers were definitely glued on.
‘The Young Judeans,’ said Simon. ‘They’re doing the 1928
Follies. Should be a very funny show. It’s at Monash House on
the third of October and there’s a dance afterwards. Would you
accompany me?’ he asked, and Phryne nodded. She could not
pass up an offer like that.