Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

Raisins and Almonds
corporation extensive. Benjamin Abrahams was thick set, strong,
middle aged, and prosperous. Phryne looked for the phantom
cigar that always hovered in his mouth when convention would
not allow him a real one. His handclasp was firm and warm and
he beamed on Miss Fisher.
‘The Hon. Detective Lady!’ he exclaimed. ‘What can we fetch
for you? A little sherry, maybe, or would you like a cocktail?’
‘Sherry, if you please,’ murmured Phryne. She tasted it with
pleasure. It was amontillado, to be sipped with reverence. The
company sat down in comfortable chairs which could have been
real Chippendale and surveyed Phryne, who surveyed them back
with perfect poise.
‘The pictures in the hall are absolutely beautiful.’ Phryne
opened with a conventional remark. ‘Have you been collecting
for a long time, Mr. Abrahams?’
‘Since I arrived in Paris just after the war,’ said Mr. Abrahams.
‘They are a good investment, and besides they are beautiful, nu?
I have a big canvas in the drawing room you will like, I think,
if you care for the later Impressionists. Of the earlier I have alas
only a few pieces—they were too expensive for me then; now,
they are worth thousands, then only hundreds, but I did not
have the hundreds, eh? But Toulouse-Lautrec I could afford,
the Pissaro and some Sisley, also some rare books and drawings,
manuscripts. I brought them with me when we left and came
here; also my dear Julia has exquisite taste and she ordered the
decoration of this house to set them off.’
Mrs. Abrahams waved off the compliment with a negligent
hand. She was good, Phryne considered, a very finished product
of some English finishing school, perhaps.
‘Cream walls, yes,’ agreed Phryne. ‘With just touches of old
gold and bronze. Very stylish. But what do you think of the art
moderne, then?’
‘Myself, I have no taste for it,’ admitted Mr. Abrahams. ‘But
Simon likes it. See, there on the mantelpiece: the bronze girl.
Simon dotes on her.’ He grinned and Mrs. Abrahams stiffened,