Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

4 Kerry Greenwood
‘It is,’ said Phryne honestly. ‘Quite lovely. My name’s Phryne
Fisher,’ she held out her hand. ‘Thank you for inviting me to
dinner.’
‘My son’s friends are our friends,’ replied Mrs. Abrahams,
barely touching Phryne’s fingers. ‘Do come in, Miss Fisher, we
are having drinks in the library.’
She led the way. There was a faint trace of accent, Phryne
thought, following her hostess’ rigid back along the hall and
through a solid oak door. But Mrs. Abrahams was not what she
had expected. She was dressed in expensive tailored clothes, certainly—a
rich plum silk dress which set off her golden complexion
and her black hair. Her legs were clad in silk stockings as fine
as Phryne’s own. They probably shared the same shoemaker and
certainly the same couturière. Mrs. Abrahams was impeccably
turned out, and even with her black eyes and scraped-back shiny
black hair had no flavour of the exotic at all. Mrs. Abrahams,
in fact, did not look any different from any one of Phryne’s
acquaintances, and she was oddly disappointed. All the verve
and enthusiasm which characterized Mrs. Grossman was flattened
and quenched. In an attempt to fit in, Mrs. Abrahams had
lost her flair. But she was very beautiful, and Phryne wondered
where she had found the interesting panache of diamonds and
feathers which decorated the left side of her sleek head.
The library was lined with books which looked as though
they had been read and contained a gasogene on a tray, an array
of interesting bottles, and three male Abrahams. They sprang
to their feet when Phryne entered and Simon came forward to
take her hand, kissing it with a certain fervour which indicated
that he remembered their encounter with pleasure.
Whatever difficulty Phryne was having with the mother, the
son, uncle and husband were instantly explicable. Simon was
the picture of a successful, well-loved and confident young man,
chafing a little at the restrictions of his father’s house and alight
with some idealistic purpose. Chaim Abrahams was self-effacing
and stout but a little rubbed at the edges, as though time
had not treated him well, though his suit was first class and his