from her bed, and fell asleep. Dot’s father and two uncles had been in the Great War. She had heard it all before.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Florence: It’s not my fault.
Nicky: Of course it’s your fault, Mother, who else’s fault could it be?
Noel Coward
The Vortex
The doorbell pealed. Phryne looked at her watch. Eleven o’clock.
‘Charles!’ she exclaimed.
Mr Butler admitted a trembling figure and supplied it with a drink.
‘Charles, there you are at last!’ Phryne saw that Charles had not borne stress well. His normally pink face was white. At some time he had bitten his lip hard enough to draw blood, and his mouth looked swollen and bee-stung. As he put out a hand she noticed that all his fingernails had been gnawed to the quick.
‘You said that I had to come,’ he faltered. ‘So here I am. I suppose they are going to lock me up?’
‘Yes, Charles, for a while. But only until I can find out who really did it. Have another drink and we shall talk. Where have you been?’
‘I spent the first night at a hotel. Then, you won’t believe this, Phryne, but Ben Rodgers has been hiding me.’
‘Ben Rodgers? But you tried to steal his girl! Why should Ben hide you?’
‘I don’t know.’ Charles drained the brandy and soda and held out his glass for another. ‘He’s making arrangements to get me onto a ship, he’s been really helpful. Only a week ago he was threatening to kill me and I thought he meant it. I was scared to death of him. Then he passed the word around that he was willing to help and came and got me from the hotel. I’ve been in his flat. The police had already searched it, you see. I explained about Nerine. The stupid tart had told Ben that I was trying to seduce her. He’s fiendishly jealous. When I explained what I wanted of her, Ben became quite polite. Said he had mistaken my intentions. Also said that Nerine wouldn’t leave his band, which is true. Of course, he despises me. But he’s been very good. If you hadn’t persuaded me to give myself up I would have been on a cargo carrier to New Zealand tonight.’
‘I spoke to Bobby,’ said Phryne, still puzzled by Charles. Every time she spoke to him his character seemed to flicker.
‘And you said that Vic was alive.’
‘Yes. Or he was alive, until 1920. He was in Gippsland. He came back from the war shell-shocked. I don’t know how long he was in Melbourne before he went bush.’
‘Oh, I can tell you how long. About six months. I have always wondered about that interval. My mother kept me away from home for six months in the spring and summer of 1916. That was when she told me that Victor had died. And she never stopped taunting me with him. Vic was brave, I was not—and I’m not. Vic was clever, and I’m not—that’s right again. The only thing I had that Vic didn’t have, apart from being alive, was the business. I’m good at business. My factory makes very good blankets. But blankets are not glory. I suffered because of Vic. And my mother knew that he was alive all that time, the bitch. The conniving old bitch! How could she do that to me?’
‘A good question, to which I don’t know the answer. But there is a further complication. Your father’s will left you the business, and the house and the money to Victor. He never got around to changing it, apparently, or perhaps he knew that Vic was still with us. So Vic must be found, or proved dead. Do you see?’
Charles saw. He tossed down his drink and held out the glass for yet another refill, fizzing with outrage.
‘So it’s not enough that I’m to be accused of a murder I didn’t commit, but Victor must turn up and steal my inheritance! It’s too much! Why does everything always happen to me? Why didn’t he have the grace to die like a hero?’
‘Charles dear, do stop asking unanswerable questions and pay attention. What about the murder of Bernard? Did you know him?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you knew that he had incriminating photographs of
CHAPTER SEVEN
Florence: It’s not my fault.
Nicky: Of course it’s your fault, Mother, who else’s fault could it be?
Noel Coward
The Vortex
The doorbell pealed. Phryne looked at her watch. Eleven o’clock.
‘Charles!’ she exclaimed.
Mr Butler admitted a trembling figure and supplied it with a drink.
‘Charles, there you are at last!’ Phryne saw that Charles had not borne stress well. His normally pink face was white. At some time he had bitten his lip hard enough to draw blood, and his mouth looked swollen and bee-stung. As he put out a hand she noticed that all his fingernails had been gnawed to the quick.
‘You said that I had to come,’ he faltered. ‘So here I am. I suppose they are going to lock me up?’
‘Yes, Charles, for a while. But only until I can find out who really did it. Have another drink and we shall talk. Where have you been?’
‘I spent the first night at a hotel. Then, you won’t believe this, Phryne, but Ben Rodgers has been hiding me.’
‘Ben Rodgers? But you tried to steal his girl! Why should Ben hide you?’
‘I don’t know.’ Charles drained the brandy and soda and held out his glass for another. ‘He’s making arrangements to get me onto a ship, he’s been really helpful. Only a week ago he was threatening to kill me and I thought he meant it. I was scared to death of him. Then he passed the word around that he was willing to help and came and got me from the hotel. I’ve been in his flat. The police had already searched it, you see. I explained about Nerine. The stupid tart had told Ben that I was trying to seduce her. He’s fiendishly jealous. When I explained what I wanted of her, Ben became quite polite. Said he had mistaken my intentions. Also said that Nerine wouldn’t leave his band, which is true. Of course, he despises me. But he’s been very good. If you hadn’t persuaded me to give myself up I would have been on a cargo carrier to New Zealand tonight.’
‘I spoke to Bobby,’ said Phryne, still puzzled by Charles. Every time she spoke to him his character seemed to flicker.
‘And you said that Vic was alive.’
‘Yes. Or he was alive, until 1920. He was in Gippsland. He came back from the war shell-shocked. I don’t know how long he was in Melbourne before he went bush.’
‘Oh, I can tell you how long. About six months. I have always wondered about that interval. My mother kept me away from home for six months in the spring and summer of 1916. That was when she told me that Victor had died. And she never stopped taunting me with him. Vic was brave, I was not—and I’m not. Vic was clever, and I’m not—that’s right again. The only thing I had that Vic didn’t have, apart from being alive, was the business. I’m good at business. My factory makes very good blankets. But blankets are not glory. I suffered because of Vic. And my mother knew that he was alive all that time, the bitch. The conniving old bitch! How could she do that to me?’
‘A good question, to which I don’t know the answer. But there is a further complication. Your father’s will left you the business, and the house and the money to Victor. He never got around to changing it, apparently, or perhaps he knew that Vic was still with us. So Vic must be found, or proved dead. Do you see?’
Charles saw. He tossed down his drink and held out the glass for yet another refill, fizzing with outrage.
‘So it’s not enough that I’m to be accused of a murder I didn’t commit, but Victor must turn up and steal my inheritance! It’s too much! Why does everything always happen to me? Why didn’t he have the grace to die like a hero?’
‘Charles dear, do stop asking unanswerable questions and pay attention. What about the murder of Bernard? Did you know him?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you knew that he had incriminating photographs of
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