Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

0 Kerry Greenwood
Phryne liked Bert and Cec more than most people she had ever
met. They were, of course, red raggers, but they did not espouse
any particular figurehead or warlord, being neither Marxists or
Leninists or Trotskyites. They were IWW—Industrial Workers
of the World, called Wobblies. Their main aim appeared to be
the establishment of the perfect Communist State, and although
their philosophy would seem to encompass the mass slaughter
of all capitalists, they kindly did not include Phryne in this
category, and she looked forward to their stout defence of her
person when The Day arrived and she was about to be strung
up to a lamp post. ‘Nah, she’s a good sheila,’ Bert would drawl.
Cec would say, ‘Too right,’ and the rope would be removed from
around her neck by the respectful Comrades….
This fantasy amused Phryne as she entered her drawing room.
Bert—short and balding and becoming stout—was drinking
beer, as was his custom, and Cec—tall and lanky and blond—
had a small glass of arak, a drink he had encountered at Gallipoli.
Simon had accepted a glass of white wine and Phryne took
another cocktail—two before lunch! she reproved herself. Then
she forgave herself instantly. It had been a long morning. The
girls were exhibiting Molly to the assembly. Phryne marvelled
at their ease in company. That had been the hardest thing for
the newly ennobled Phryne to learn, and she still had no taste
for idle chat, but Jane and Ruth could have been taken into any
drawing room in Melbourne without disgracing themselves.
Phryne was proud of them.
Cec had the puppy cupped in his big hands and was examining
her points. Molly, like all creatures, trusted him instantly
and chewed unceasingly at his thumb as he said slowly, ‘I reckon
she’s part sheep dog, eh, Bert?’
‘Yair, maybe,’ agreed Bert, not wanting to hurt anyone’s
feelings. ‘The inside part. Maybe a touch of whippet, too. Got
that deep chest.’
‘Reckon,’ agreed Cec, detaching the teeth from his thumb and
giving the puppy back to Jane. Ember wreathed himself around
Cec’s ankles, and the tall man bent down to stroke him.