Phryne was escorted to a table with ceremony by three waiters, who took her coat and supplied her with a bottle and a glass. The wine was Lambrusco, a strong, sweet red wine of the Po Valley. It was just what was needed on a frosty night.
Paolo was known in the Café Royale, and the proprietor himself came out of the kitchen to welcome him and his guest.
Paolo leaned back in the wooden chair and raised his glass. ‘I have completed my nymph, with the admirable assistance of this young lady. It has been a severe labour. Therefore, Guiseppe, we require food. What is good tonight?’
Guiseppe smiled a huge smile which revealed a treasury of gold teeth, and began to speak expansively in Italian.
‘Will you allow me to order?’ asked Paolo. Phryne nodded, impressed with his manners.
Guiseppe concluded his address with a wide gesture, and bellowed an order into the kitchen. Paolo poured Phryne another glass of wine.
‘Why did you come to Australia, Paolo?’
‘Ah. I come from Firenze—Florence. You have been there?’ Phryne nodded again. The faun’s countenance was fascinating in the flickering light, and she privately congratulated Amelia on her luck, or judgement.
‘Then you know that it is a city filled with art. If one is in the least susceptible, then one must appreciate it. My father makes cement. I believe that it is good cement, and he has made a fortune out of it. I do not like cement, and I have no head for business. When he sent me out on errands, I was to be found gazing with awe at the great gates, or the Roman marbles, or the bronzes in the public squares. This did not please my father. He sent me to oversee the cement works. I could not command the workers, and in any case I discovered Carrara marble was also mined there. When he told me I would never see his face again until I stopped being an artist, ah, bella. I thought of all the faces I would create and all the beauty I would have to surrender. My father has not such a compelling countenance to enable me to renounce all the world’s beauties. So he cut me out of his will. He is, in any case, a peasant, and peasants do not appreciate art. My mother was from a minor aristocratic house. She gave me all her money and said, “Go forth, my son, and create beautiful things. Come and see me when your father is dead. But you must leave Italy.” I took half of the money and I was free in the world. Ah. Here is the good Guiseppe with the pasta. This you will enjoy, bella. It is as I ate it in the old country, but better. Here the ingredients are of the quality which one cannot afford in Italy.’
Guiseppe set down a dish of strange green noodles, mixed through with oil, olives, chicken livers, onions and mushrooms. It smelt delicious. Paolo ladled out a plateful then continued.
‘I then asked myself, where should I go? America? I did not like the Americans I had met. I wandered down to the docks in Marseilles, and sat down in a tavern to think. There I met some of the crew of an Australian ship. They were stokers and boiler-minders, and such faces! Such bodies! I speak from an artistic point of view, you understand, I have no sexual interest in men.’ He took several huge mouthfuls of the succulent pasta, and waved his fork for emphasis.
‘They asked me to sit down, and I shared several bottles with them. It enabled me to try out my English on a native speaker, but I could not understand them at first. The accent is very marked, you understand. The ship was leaving that night. They took me on as the keeper of a racehorse, whose stableman had been arrested by the police for an affray in a brothel. Marseilles is a very rough place. I have always been fond of horses, so I agreed to take care of “Dark Day” until we reached Australia. He was going on to New Zealand. A stallion. The struggles I had with him! A beast of great pride; but the spirit of a demon. Later his owner paid me three hundred pounds for the bronze I made of him. I found his cure, though.’
‘What was that?’
‘When he would rear and scream — so that I feared for his knees and even more for my life — I fed him honey-soaked oatmeal and brandy. He did not relish the taste at first, but after a while he would sidle over and try to seize the bottle from my hand. It would make him calm and happy again and lie down in his stall. Fortunately, horses do not suffer from the hangover. I got to Melbourne and left “Dark Day” with regret. He was sorry to part with me, too, but I instructed his new keeper about the brandy. He arrived safe in New Zealand and sired many children. I wandered around Melbourne until I found this place, and Guiseppe took me to his chest. He found me a studio and introduced me to many artists, and I have not had to touch my mother’s money. I am a good sculptor. And I like it here. The food is good and the climate is like Florence and the women are beautiful and complaisant. A reasonable man cannot ask for more. Then, more was given to me. Amelia was at a party given for the gallery students, and when I saw her I realised that here was the body I had been looking for all my life. She was a crushed little thing, and I could hardly get a word out of her. Even the brandy did not make her effusive, just sleepy and sad. It was not until I had laid siege to her for many months that she let me get closer. It was a heart-breaking thing when I finally discovered why she was not the virgin which her bearing and manner led me to expect.’ Paolo finished his pasta and gulped more wine.
‘Imagine forcing a child! Her father was a monster and I am profoundly glad that someone has seen fit to remove him from this world. It was not, however, me. I am going to marry Amelia and remove her from that house of sorrow, and she will grow fatter and happier and have many children. She loves children. I, also. I must show you the figures I did of her protegés. Scugnizzi, street-children, one and all, but the vitality of those undernourished bodies! And another thing. Have you seen her portraits?’
‘Yes,’ said Phryne, laying down her fork. ‘I just bought an armload of them.’
‘Then you must have seen, bella. You are a lady of taste and refinement. She has a great gift. She needs to do more work, her lines are still uncertain and her colour needs developing, but she can catch a likeness. Only one in three hundred students has that skill. She will be very good, when she gets away and comes to live with me.’
‘What about your family? You are a Roman Catholic, aren’t you?’
‘This is not an impediment. I have spoken to Father John. She will become a Catholic, and thus avoid eternal damnation, which she would not like. Then we shall be married in the Church. I, in turn, will renounce the delights of my models, once we are married. Thus it is fortunate for me that you came to me when you did, for I shall always remember you, bella.’
‘I will also remember you, Paolo, carissimo. Have you any idea who could have killed McNaughton?’
Paolo shrugged eloquently. ‘It could have been anyone. But I think it is Bill the brother. Him I do not admire. He is too much like his godforsaken father. I can see him hitting his father over the head with a rock; yes, certainly.
‘Otherwise, bella, the possibilities are endless. He tortured his wife, and she has a secret lover. I do not know anything about him, but I assure you there is one. I overheard her speaking to him on the telephone. “No, dearest,” she said. “It is too dangerous. He will kill you. There is no hope for us,” she sighed, and hung up the receiver. Her sigh would have broken your heart, bella. It seemed to contain all the sorrow of the world. Then she turned and saw me and begged me to say nothing. Naturally, I agreed.’
‘Did you tell Amelia?’
‘Of course not. She had enough to bear. But what a man, this McNaughton! Everyone hated him. His servants loathed him. He dismissed his driver recently, and beat him and kicked him into the road. He might have crept back and laid an ambush. In any case, carissima, it was a good deed and I hope that you do not find out who did it.’
‘I have to get Bill out of trouble, Paolo. Therefore I must find out who did it.’
‘It is a sad world,’ said Paolo portentously, ‘when one who does Australia a single service must suffer for it. Here is Guiseppe with the fish. You will like this, bella, it is a Neapolitan recipe. Did you say that you hope to get the brother Bill out of jail? Then pe
rhaps I should take Amelia to my studio. He does not like me.’
‘You shall go and comfort Amelia. She needs you badly,’ stated Phryne, taking another glass of wine. ‘I shall deal with Bill. I promise that he will not say a word.’
Paolo took up her hand and kissed it.
The fish was highly spiced, and Phryne was feeling more than a little tipsy. She ordered strong black coffee and it came with a glass of cold water. She nibbled small almond biscuits and surveyed the room.
There was a shriek of recognition before Isola hurled herself across the café and threw herself into Phryne’s arms.
‘Carissima! It has been centuries. And Paolo, my dearest. How do you come to be here together? Aha! Paolo, you wicked goat, you have been seducing my friends again.’
Paolo grinned. ‘How could I resist, when all your friends are so like you?’
Isola slapped playfully at his cheek, and missed. Phryne, finding Isola something of an armful, deposited her on a chair brought by a waiter, who winked. Phryne should have guessed that Isola had captured Paolo. She had a supernatural talent for finding skilful lovers. Sometimes they came in odd shapes, but if they had been Isola’s choice they could be relied on to be worth the trouble. She had been honing her instincts on Melbourne men for some years.
‘How is the poor Amelia?’ demanded Isola, tossing back her thick tangled hair. ‘I heard of the death of her disgusting father. I suppose that it was not you, Paolo?’
‘No, I regret.’
‘Pity. I was intending to kiss the murderer soundly.’
‘It is a sad loss to me,’ murmured Paolo. ‘But I did not do it, Isola. Amelia, it appears, is fairly well. Tomorrow I go to her. Phryne has taken over the investigation.’
‘Phryne, if you find him I shall be seriously displeased,’ announced Isola in her deepest, throatiest voice.
‘I shall be desolated,’ said Phryne politely. ‘What is that dress, Isola? You must be freezing.’
‘It is the mode Égyptienne. Is it not seductive?’ Isola stood up. She was clothed in a long, white, closely pleated gown. A collar of bright turquoise beads covered her shoulders, and her magnificent breasts lifted the fabric so that it fell uninterrupted to the floor. She looked like a lewd Corinthian column. She certainly looked seductive, but Isola would have looked seductive in gunny sacks tied with old rope.
‘Is this new?’
‘But certainly. Have you not seen the illustrated papers? There have been great discoveries at Luxor. They have found the tombs of many kings, and in them linen and jewellery and many fine objects. Everyone knows about Luxor! Even the children are playing pyramids. Madame le modiste in the building where I live made this for me, provided that I wore it into society. I am the first, but there will be many others. Do you like it, Paolo?’
‘Magnificent. I would like to sculpt you. To capture the smoothness and lightness of the fabric, while suggesting the body underneath, presents a fascinating problem. Come and model for me and I shall essay, Isola. If your current lover does not object.’
‘Him? Pah! I have discarded him. He demanded that I leave the stage and go and become a good wife. Me, I have sung for princes. But I have no time to sit for you, carissimo, at the moment.’
Glancing hungrily at one of the waiters, she floated away.
Paolo shrugged again. ‘Ah, that Isola! The only woman I have ever met who looks on love in the same way as a man.’
‘Still, her judgement is to be trusted,’ observed Phryne. ‘And you have to admit that she is magnificent.’
‘Assuredly. She has always been so. The gown, that Égyptienne gown, I shall obtain one from the modiste and sculpt Amelia. I shall call on the woman tomorrow and have the gown and some clay sent to the house. Amelia likes sitting for me, it calms her. My mind is clear, now that I have completed the nymph.’
‘Are you selling it?’ asked Phryne. Paolo shook his head. ‘I am collecting sufficient pieces for an exhibition. There, bella, you may buy if you wish.’
‘I will look forward to it,’ said Phryne. ‘And now I must go. I have to be at court tomorrow. I shall see you again, Paolo.’
‘At the house of McNaughton,’ agreed Paolo, standing up.
Phryne paid Guiseppe the surprisingly small total and took herself wearily home.
There had been no word about Candida. Jack Leonard was running out of what he had previously thought was an endless fund of aeroplane talk. Molly had gone upstairs to feed baby Alexander, and now sat rocking him and dropping tears on the upturned face. The baby resented this and did not suckle freely.
Henry Maldon started when the telephone rang and snatched it from the receiver. ‘Yes?’
‘Henry Maldon?’ whispered an androgynous voice.
‘Yes.’
‘We’ve got your little girl. She’ll be fine if you sit tight and don’t call in the police. A letter will arrive tomorrow. Carry out the instructions and you will have her back unhurt. Call the cops or try anything, and you’ll have her back in little pieces.’
‘I won’t call the police,’ gasped Henry. ‘Is she all right? Let me speak to her.’
‘Tomorrow,’ promised the voice, and there was the final click of a breaking contact. Henry threw down the phone and swore.
‘Was that them?’
‘Yes, Jack. They say that we have to wait for a letter. Oh, Jack, how am I going to tell Molly? And how are we going to bear it?’
‘You can bear most things,’ said Jack. ‘You’re a brave man. What about the time you walked out of the Sahara?’
‘That’s different,’ snapped Henry. ‘That was only me. This time, it’s Candida.’
Haggard with exhaustion and strain, he poured another whisky. It was going to be a long night.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Wrest once the law to your authority To do a great right do a little wrong
Shakespeare The Merchant of Venice
The Melbourne Magistrates’ Court was cold and stony, and Phryne was not feeling very well. The crowd of solicitors did not elevate her mood. All men, it appeared. She caught sight of Jillian across the depressing courtyard and struggled through the press of suits to catch her by the arm.
‘Ah, Phryne, I have spoken to the prosecutor and he has no objection to bail with reporting conditions. The informant is our old friend and he hasn’t any objection either. I just have to go in and get the matter on, and we should have Bill out in two ticks.’
Phryne caught sight of Detective-inspector Benton, and called to him. He ploughed through the crowd towards them.
‘Miss Fisher! How is the detecting?’
‘I still have much to learn. Thank you for not objecting to bail. Tell me, can I see the body? And can I have a look at the murder weapon?’
‘What will young ladies take up next? Very well, Miss Fisher. Come over to my office once you have regained possession of your client and I will show you the weapon. You can’t see the body, I’m afraid, but you can read the Coroner’s Report if that will do.’
‘It will indeed,’ said Phryne, pleased. She really did not like corpses much. She pushed her way into Court One and saw that Jillian Henderson was on her feet. She looked as plump and self-confident as the city pigeons outside, and as sure of her place.
‘If I might draw the court’s attention to the matter of McNaughton, your Worship?’
A very old magistrate found his glasses, focused them on Jillian and smiled thinly. ‘Yes, Miss Henderson?’
‘A bail application, your Worship. I have spoken to the informant and the learned prosecutor, and I believe that they have no objection.’
‘Is that the case, Senior-sergeant?’
A huge policeman scrambled to his feet. ‘Yes, your Worship. The informant agrees that there is no reason why the accused should not be bailed.’
‘Very well, Miss Henderson; now all you have to do is convince me.’ The magistrate leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes.
Phryne was close enough to hear the pro
secutor mutter: ‘Damn the old cuss! This’ll take all day.’ He sorted his notes, looking for the details of the crime.
‘This is an alleged murder, your Worship. The victim was my client’s father. The evidence against him can be summarised in three points: Firstly, he had a violent argument with his father. Secondly, he cannot be proved not to have been at the scene of the crime when his father died. Thirdly, he is very strong, and the crime required strength. For want of better evidence, your Worship, I shall be moving that the matter be struck out at Committal. For the moment, your Worship, even supposing that my client did kill his father, which is strenuously denied, there is no point in keeping him in custody. In your Worship’s vast experience, your Worship must have seen a lot of domestic murderers. They do not repeat their crime. I may add to this that my client is a man of unblemished reputation with no criminal record. He has never come to the attention of the courts before. He is willing to surrender his passport and offer a surety and agree to whatever reporting conditions your Worship considers proper. As your Worship pleases. .’ Jillian sat down. Phryne was impressed. So, evidently, was the magistrate.
‘Yes, well, I see no reason not to accede to your request, Miss Henderson. Stand up, accused. You are bailed on your own recognisance to appear at this court on the 17th of August 1928, at ten of the forenoon, and not then to leave the precincts of the court until the matter has been dealt with according to law. You are required to report to Carlton Police Station between the hours of nine in the morning and nine at night every Friday until the date of your hearing. Should you fail to report or appear or otherwise breach the conditions of your bail a warrant will be issued for your immediate arrest and you will have a further charge to answer in addition to those already preferred against you. Is that clear?’
Introducing the Honourable Phryne Fisher Page 25