Murder in Montparnasse by Kerry Greenwood Page B

went to every show,’ said Lin Chung. ‘I watched her every night. Then I waited at the stage door. Once I had managed to gather the courage to talk to her, she would sometimes allow me to take her out for supper. It’s hard to recall how much I adored her. I could just sit and watch her eat lobster—she was fond of lobster—and I even loved the way she banged the claws to get at the meat.’
    ‘I know,’ said Phryne, reminded of René Dubois and roasted chicken.
    ‘I spent my whole allowance on her,’ said Lin Chung. ‘Grandmother was displeased. Someone told her that I had contracted an unwise relationship with a non-Chinese.’
    ‘And you are still doing it,’ said Phryne.
    ‘So I am,’ said Lin Chung softly. ‘So I received instructions to break off this friendship at once. What do you think I did?’
    ‘You defied her,’ said Phryne. ‘At that age and in that situation, I would have gone to the stake for René Dubois. Singing the whole time they were lighting the fire, too.’
    ‘Yes,’ said Lin. ‘I had written the letter to Grandmother. I went out to post it. And there I saw my Jonquil, kissing a man. Kissing him as I would have wished to kiss her. I stood there with my defiance in my hand and watched as she caressed him, standing in a corner of the theatre doorway.’
    ‘Poor Lin,’ said Phryne.
    ‘Then she walked past me with him—and I knew where they were going—and she saw me and waved a hand, carelessly. And I heard her say as they walked away, “Nice little Chink.” I was devastated. I tore up the letter and went home to my digs and for six months I seriously contemplated suicide.’
    ‘Oh, Lin dear,’ said Phryne.
    She drew him into her arms and his mouth came down on hers. Phryne knew about sex, now. As the clever fingers slid down her spine, seeking the pressure point which would light her response, she considered that, perhaps, after all, things had improved.
    Breakfast was late and served by Mrs Butler. Mr Butler was, it appeared, absent on some errand. Phryne expected that he was at the employment office, seeking a new position. Mrs Butler slid a perfectly poached egg onto a warmed plate and Phryne ate with pleasure.
    ‘Have the hens started laying again, Mrs B?’ she asked. Surely hens were a safe topic.
    ‘Seven this morning, Miss Fisher. Are you likely to be in for lunch?’
    ‘I have to go and visit a young woman, but I will be home for most of the day. Mr Bert and Mr Cec are coming, as is Detective Inspector Robinson, and Madame Fleuri, probably not in that order. So, a light lunch, possibly for all of them. Bert and Cec always need feeding.’
    ‘Pies, perhaps?’ offered Mrs Butler. ‘I’ve got three cooked and they can be reheated easily.’
    ‘Sounds wonderful. Thank you.’
    ‘Another egg, Mr Lin?’ asked Mrs Butler, to show that there were no hard feelings and this wasn’t her stupid idea. Lin accepted.
    ‘What do you have to do today, beautiful man?’ asked Phryne.
    ‘We must sort and package the spices. I will bring you some saffron and some of our curry powder, ready to be ground. It is the best in Melbourne.’
    ‘I’m sure it is,’ Mrs Butler beamed on Lin Chung and bustled away.
    ‘And you?’
    ‘You heard. I wish I had some clue about that poor girl. I’m a firm believer in direct action when there is some action to take but I don’t have a clue as to who snatched her or what they are likely to do. I mean, Lin dear, those Chinese pirates had kidnapping as a cottage industry. They had to hand over the subject or their credit would be shot. Westerners do not handle these things as well.’
    ‘I believe there has been an epidemic of kidnappings in America,’ said Lin. ‘The Mafia make a good living out of kidnapping.’
    ‘They’ve got the organisation for it,’ said Phryne. ‘This sounds like someone who is making it up as they go along . . . now why should I think that? The actual grab was well arranged. And how did they know she was