fates,’ said Marie darkly. ‘I don’t want a husband. What would I want a husband bothering me for? I’ve got music to learn. A husband would want me to have dinner with him and have babies and things. I haven’t got time for all that sort of thing.’
‘Well,’ said Diane, slowly, ‘there might be a lot of fun in having a husband who wanted to do the same sorts of things as I do. You know. Holidays. Hiking? Skiing? He might turn out to be a jolly chap and quite a dear to have around. He might have his own plane. And he might let me fly it.’
‘He might at that,’ agreed Phryne. ‘But you might also have your own plane and you could let him fly it.’
‘That’s true,’ said Diane, thinking about it. ‘You can fly, can’t you, Miss Fisher? My brother said you were a famous flier.’
‘Only in a plane. It isn’t as hard as driving a car, you know.’
‘Only a bit further to fall if you make a mistake,’ said Joannie, shuddering. ‘Not for me! I like jolly things, like theatres and shopping and nice little dinners. And I’d have a house full of babies. I like babies.’
‘Someone has to,’ said Phryne.
‘And books,’ said Joannie. ‘Lots of books. I could fill up a library with the books I want! When I’d read all the French ones I could learn Italian. And Spanish. But not German. It’s a lumpy language. Ugly.’
Joannie looked up in surprise and blushed like a poppy as Jean-Paul gave her an approving smile—Jean-Paul had lived through the siege of Paris as a child and did not approve of Germanness in any shape or form. Rose giggled.
As Jean-Paul turned away, Rose said in a piercing whisper, 24
Queen of Flowers - Pages 16/3/04 4:38 PM Page 25
KERRY GREENWOOD
‘Joannie! I’ll tell your mother you were flirting with the waiter!’
‘Rose, you mustn’t! I wasn’t!’ gasped Joan.
‘I’ll tell!’ threatened Rose, giggling again.
This was the outside of enough. Phryne had never approved of schoolgirl malice. ‘Rose,’ she said, ‘I might mention that if you wish to wound your friend, you could manage do it with greater propriety and a good deal more wit. And you can do it elsewhere. Now, here is roast chicken with beans and piped potatoes. Bon appetit!’
Rose did not blush but stared down at her plate in abject misery. Phryne felt annoyed. Had she had such tender and explosive feelings at that age? Probably. But she had had the advantage of a steely will, a firm intention of doing exactly as she wished, and better manners. Also, perhaps, a greater measure of cunning. And a good idea of what she wished. And she had done it. All of it. Some of it unwise and some of it perilous, but she had left her family, established herself, and now had just what she wanted. She tried not to feel smug and bent a forgiving smile on the wretched Rose.
Kind Joannie coaxed Rose into tasting the chicken and soon they were discussing futures again. Phryne ate well, declined another glass of champagne in case she should set a bad example, and listened as they talked quietly, wary of setting Rose off again. They were nice girls, she decided. Nice and ordinary and plain, destined for nice ordinary fates.
Except the bone-thin, dedicated Marie, who would probably find her viola a more attractive partner than any man, unless he could engage her interest, possibly by standing between her and her music stand. Joannie would have her books and her babies. Diane would find a stout lad from one of the Public Schools who would take her hiking and skiing and 25
Queen of Flowers - Pages 16/3/04 4:38 PM Page 26
QUEEN OF THE FLOWERS
eventually on a long walk down the aisle to the tune of the march from Lohengrin. She would then have strong, stocky children who would always have skinned knees and would grow up to be engineers. And Rose . . . Yes, what about Rose?
Rose was a puzzle. Noisy, bright, intermittently hysterical, jumpy, overendowed, ill advised. Used to alcohol, too. She hadn’t even gasped at her
‘Well,’ said Diane, slowly, ‘there might be a lot of fun in having a husband who wanted to do the same sorts of things as I do. You know. Holidays. Hiking? Skiing? He might turn out to be a jolly chap and quite a dear to have around. He might have his own plane. And he might let me fly it.’
‘He might at that,’ agreed Phryne. ‘But you might also have your own plane and you could let him fly it.’
‘That’s true,’ said Diane, thinking about it. ‘You can fly, can’t you, Miss Fisher? My brother said you were a famous flier.’
‘Only in a plane. It isn’t as hard as driving a car, you know.’
‘Only a bit further to fall if you make a mistake,’ said Joannie, shuddering. ‘Not for me! I like jolly things, like theatres and shopping and nice little dinners. And I’d have a house full of babies. I like babies.’
‘Someone has to,’ said Phryne.
‘And books,’ said Joannie. ‘Lots of books. I could fill up a library with the books I want! When I’d read all the French ones I could learn Italian. And Spanish. But not German. It’s a lumpy language. Ugly.’
Joannie looked up in surprise and blushed like a poppy as Jean-Paul gave her an approving smile—Jean-Paul had lived through the siege of Paris as a child and did not approve of Germanness in any shape or form. Rose giggled.
As Jean-Paul turned away, Rose said in a piercing whisper, 24
Queen of Flowers - Pages 16/3/04 4:38 PM Page 25
KERRY GREENWOOD
‘Joannie! I’ll tell your mother you were flirting with the waiter!’
‘Rose, you mustn’t! I wasn’t!’ gasped Joan.
‘I’ll tell!’ threatened Rose, giggling again.
This was the outside of enough. Phryne had never approved of schoolgirl malice. ‘Rose,’ she said, ‘I might mention that if you wish to wound your friend, you could manage do it with greater propriety and a good deal more wit. And you can do it elsewhere. Now, here is roast chicken with beans and piped potatoes. Bon appetit!’
Rose did not blush but stared down at her plate in abject misery. Phryne felt annoyed. Had she had such tender and explosive feelings at that age? Probably. But she had had the advantage of a steely will, a firm intention of doing exactly as she wished, and better manners. Also, perhaps, a greater measure of cunning. And a good idea of what she wished. And she had done it. All of it. Some of it unwise and some of it perilous, but she had left her family, established herself, and now had just what she wanted. She tried not to feel smug and bent a forgiving smile on the wretched Rose.
Kind Joannie coaxed Rose into tasting the chicken and soon they were discussing futures again. Phryne ate well, declined another glass of champagne in case she should set a bad example, and listened as they talked quietly, wary of setting Rose off again. They were nice girls, she decided. Nice and ordinary and plain, destined for nice ordinary fates.
Except the bone-thin, dedicated Marie, who would probably find her viola a more attractive partner than any man, unless he could engage her interest, possibly by standing between her and her music stand. Joannie would have her books and her babies. Diane would find a stout lad from one of the Public Schools who would take her hiking and skiing and 25
Queen of Flowers - Pages 16/3/04 4:38 PM Page 26
QUEEN OF THE FLOWERS
eventually on a long walk down the aisle to the tune of the march from Lohengrin. She would then have strong, stocky children who would always have skinned knees and would grow up to be engineers. And Rose . . . Yes, what about Rose?
Rose was a puzzle. Noisy, bright, intermittently hysterical, jumpy, overendowed, ill advised. Used to alcohol, too. She hadn’t even gasped at her
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