Read Online Away With The Fairies by Kerry Greenwood - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kerry Greenwood
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and closed the door with a final click.
‘Phew!’ whispered Miss Prout.
‘Come out,’ said Phryne. ‘Let’s get some tea, maybe some lunch. Before we tackle Hilda and the fairies.’
‘Tea!’ scoffed Miss Prout. ‘I need a drink!’
‘Very well,’ said Phryne. ‘Then we’ll go to my club.’
‘The Adventuresses Club was formed in 1919,’ Phryne instructed Miss Prout as they walked quickly down Little Lonsdale Street and mounted the steps into a three-storey building, solid bluestone with sea-green tiles on the floor. ‘Women who had done all sorts of things in the war—driven ambulances, climbed mountains, flown planes, written novels—could not find life comfortable without a few like-minded friends to talk with. In fact, Miss Elspeth, who started it, was a quiet woman with a very respectable husband. She said she could stand the respectability all week but occasionally needed to remember, in suitable company, what being unrespectable felt like. She bought this building meaning to open a small hotel. When several of her exploring friends came to dinner here and had a wonderful time, Miss Elspeth converted it into the Adventuresses Club. It was going through a decline when I came to Melbourne and I was able to put a bit of capital into it. There’s a quiet room where silence is absolute. No talking at all. In a woman’s life, silence is the rarest commodity there is. There’s a large room for parties and lunches, there’s a few small bedrooms for visitors and there’s an End of Tether room.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Miss Prout, agog.
‘It’s soundproofed. One can scream and not be heard. Space to scream is another thing that’s severely limited in modern female life. We keep a fairly good table, which will improve when I can lay my hands on a good well-trained female cook. At the moment we have M’sieur Paul, and he is very temperamental. Hello, Kate. One guest for lunch, I’ll sign her in. This is Kate, doorman and chucker-out. Who’s in for lunch, Kate?’
Massive Kate rippled a few muscles complacently. She was dressed in a military style uniform with frogging.
‘Not much company, Miss Phryne. Miss Alice said you won’t forget the Directors’ meeting on Friday?’
‘I’ll be there. Have we found a cook yet?’
‘Miss Joan reckons she’s got a good prospect.’
‘Jolly good. Come along, Miss Prout.’
‘Is everyone called by their first name?’
‘Yes. Have you ever thought that by losing your own name in marriage you lose a good portion of your identity? That to become Mrs George Smith is to be entirely obliterated except as an adjunct to, or relict of, Mr George Smith? The one name left is the one you were christened with. Besides, no one who is voted into the Adventuresses cares a straw about titles. We’ve got quite enough status to be going on with. So everyone is Miss Whoever.’
‘My first name,’ said Miss Prout shyly, ‘is Laetitia.’
‘And mine is Phryne. Long story.’
‘You’re a private detective, aren’t you? I’ve heard of you.’
‘Yes, but I prefer not to mention it. This way.’
Phryne led Miss Prout into a modern electric lift. She pressed the button marked ‘three’ and they were whisked skywards at alarming speed.
‘We got a modern lift to cut down the expense of keeping an elevator operator and to make getting to lunch faster. Some of us don’t have a lot of time.’
The doors hissed open on a pleasant roof garden. White iron tables and chairs were scattered around a central fountain under striped awnings. It looked European and summery. Phryne sat down and extended a hand without looking and a uniformed maid put a menu into her grasp.
‘Vegetable soup, roast lamb, ugh, in this weather, cold collation, lemon meringue pie or Charlotte Russe. Very good. Just the salad, entirely omitting beetroot, and the pie, Jill. Miss Prout?’
‘I’ll have the same, if you please.’
‘And a gin and tonic, rather stressing the gin and
‘Phew!’ whispered Miss Prout.
‘Come out,’ said Phryne. ‘Let’s get some tea, maybe some lunch. Before we tackle Hilda and the fairies.’
‘Tea!’ scoffed Miss Prout. ‘I need a drink!’
‘Very well,’ said Phryne. ‘Then we’ll go to my club.’
‘The Adventuresses Club was formed in 1919,’ Phryne instructed Miss Prout as they walked quickly down Little Lonsdale Street and mounted the steps into a three-storey building, solid bluestone with sea-green tiles on the floor. ‘Women who had done all sorts of things in the war—driven ambulances, climbed mountains, flown planes, written novels—could not find life comfortable without a few like-minded friends to talk with. In fact, Miss Elspeth, who started it, was a quiet woman with a very respectable husband. She said she could stand the respectability all week but occasionally needed to remember, in suitable company, what being unrespectable felt like. She bought this building meaning to open a small hotel. When several of her exploring friends came to dinner here and had a wonderful time, Miss Elspeth converted it into the Adventuresses Club. It was going through a decline when I came to Melbourne and I was able to put a bit of capital into it. There’s a quiet room where silence is absolute. No talking at all. In a woman’s life, silence is the rarest commodity there is. There’s a large room for parties and lunches, there’s a few small bedrooms for visitors and there’s an End of Tether room.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Miss Prout, agog.
‘It’s soundproofed. One can scream and not be heard. Space to scream is another thing that’s severely limited in modern female life. We keep a fairly good table, which will improve when I can lay my hands on a good well-trained female cook. At the moment we have M’sieur Paul, and he is very temperamental. Hello, Kate. One guest for lunch, I’ll sign her in. This is Kate, doorman and chucker-out. Who’s in for lunch, Kate?’
Massive Kate rippled a few muscles complacently. She was dressed in a military style uniform with frogging.
‘Not much company, Miss Phryne. Miss Alice said you won’t forget the Directors’ meeting on Friday?’
‘I’ll be there. Have we found a cook yet?’
‘Miss Joan reckons she’s got a good prospect.’
‘Jolly good. Come along, Miss Prout.’
‘Is everyone called by their first name?’
‘Yes. Have you ever thought that by losing your own name in marriage you lose a good portion of your identity? That to become Mrs George Smith is to be entirely obliterated except as an adjunct to, or relict of, Mr George Smith? The one name left is the one you were christened with. Besides, no one who is voted into the Adventuresses cares a straw about titles. We’ve got quite enough status to be going on with. So everyone is Miss Whoever.’
‘My first name,’ said Miss Prout shyly, ‘is Laetitia.’
‘And mine is Phryne. Long story.’
‘You’re a private detective, aren’t you? I’ve heard of you.’
‘Yes, but I prefer not to mention it. This way.’
Phryne led Miss Prout into a modern electric lift. She pressed the button marked ‘three’ and they were whisked skywards at alarming speed.
‘We got a modern lift to cut down the expense of keeping an elevator operator and to make getting to lunch faster. Some of us don’t have a lot of time.’
The doors hissed open on a pleasant roof garden. White iron tables and chairs were scattered around a central fountain under striped awnings. It looked European and summery. Phryne sat down and extended a hand without looking and a uniformed maid put a menu into her grasp.
‘Vegetable soup, roast lamb, ugh, in this weather, cold collation, lemon meringue pie or Charlotte Russe. Very good. Just the salad, entirely omitting beetroot, and the pie, Jill. Miss Prout?’
‘I’ll have the same, if you please.’
‘And a gin and tonic, rather stressing the gin and
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