Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

Kerry Greenwood
and Phryne reflected that it was going to be a very trying evening
if this continued. She got up and examined the bronze.
It was very fine. The figure was of a young girl caught in a
windstorm. Her finely detailed hands and face were made of ivory.
She wore a decorated cloche hat and a raincoat which the wind
was blowing so that the cloth flattened against her body and billowed
behind her like a bell. Under the heavy cloth Phryne saw a
froth of lacy bronze petticoat. One hand was holding her hat, and
the other was grabbing her rebellious garment. It was innocent,
charming and accomplished, and Phryne liked it very much.
‘A lovely thing,’ she said to Simon. He smiled and his mother
made a harsh hissing noise. Mr. Abrahams patted her arm but he
might as well have been patting the slender carved mahogany arm
of his chair. Phryne knew the signs. This was a maternal lioness on
guard against a predator who was stalking one of her cubs. This
could be borne, as Phryne knew that her intentions were honourable.
However, if this dinner was not going to be unbearably dull,
she needed to get Mrs. Abrahams alone. An explanation would
either clear the air or expel Miss Fisher from the house—and
either would be preferable to this subdued hostility.
‘Mrs. Abrahams, perhaps you could show me the paintings
in the hall? I should like another look at that Renoir,’ she asked,
and the lady of the house accepted reluctantly.
When the door had safely closed on the slightly puzzled
male faces, Phryne said, ‘What have you got against me, Mrs.
Abrahams?’ and watched the closed face come alive in dazzling
rage. Porcelain, she fancied, cracked as Julia Abrahams
demanded, ‘What do you want with my son?’
‘I just want to borrow him,’ said Phryne sweetly. ‘I’ll give
him back when you want him. I know I can’t keep him, and I
won’t hurt him.’
Mrs. Abrahams cocked her sleek black head and considered
her visitor. When she spoke again, her voice had the same lilt
as her husband’s.
‘You don’t want to marry him?’
‘No.’