'This was a good idea, Phryne,' he told her. 'I've been inside too long. This is a nice place, you know, Australia. The horizon is so far away. I could afford a small farm, perhaps, the acolytes could learn to plough and sow, and we could have a cow and a few goats, grow our own vegetables. Isabella . . .'

His voice trailed off. No, Phryne couldn't imagine Isabella as a farm wife, either.

278.

*279 'If only I could find Tarquin . . .'

'Gerald, look!' exclaimed Phryne. Gerald sat up in the water. She was pointing towards the little island where the goldfish swam. A boy was crawling out onto the land, out from the shell grotto. He was wavering. He was falling into the lake . . .

Phryne was shoved aside by the bow wave as Gerald powered past her with a fast overarm stroke. He churned through the water and arrived in time to secure the drooping figure as it flailed helplessly and went down for the second time.

Gerald grabbed and embraced.

'Tarquin,' he said tenderly. 'There now, don't grab. I've got you, you're safe. Lie on your back and I'll tow you to shore.

I have been frantic with worry for you, boy, searched everywhere. Were you locked in the grotto by that murderer? It's all right, he's dead, quite dead and good riddance . . .'

It is hard to babble while swimming and towing a child in a lifesaving chin-grip, but Gerald was managing it. Phryne waved to Sylvanus that his boat was not going to be needed.

Gerald reached shore and wrapped Tarquin in his towel, lifting the boy gently into his arms. Tarquin stared into his face with absolute worship and snuggled.

Phryne's eyes pricked with tears. She looked around for something to distract herself. The escape of Tarquin had attracted watchers. The horsemen and hearties were present, cheering the rescue. Amongst them Phryne saw three faces that she had memorised.

'Rally round, chaps,' she said to the horsemen. 'I need a favour. These three brutes and bounders play a game which involves throwing people into the water. They once did this to a young friend of mine and almost drowned him.'

'And you think a little cold water would do them good?'

asked Jill.

279.

*280 'I do.'

'Heave ho, then,' said Ann. Joined by Ralph Norton and even Johnson, the riders descended on Belcher, Beldham and Travis.

'No!' screamed Travis. 'I can't swim!'

'Neither could my young friend,' said Phryne relentlessly.

'You are to be reminded that it is a good idea to ask whether someone wants to join your rustic games before engaging them.

He was a Chinese boy,' she said. 'Throw a Chink into the Thames, I believe you said at the time. Well, today is Throw a Bastard into the Lake Day. You may proceed,' she said to the horsemen.

'One, two, three,' they chorused, and Beldham went into the water with a huge splash.

'One, two, three!' they laughed, as Travis struggled and tried to run away and was entered into the lake.

'One, two, three!' they giggled, and Belcher joined his Brook.

Phryne watched them struggling with vengeful pleasure.

'Don't let them drown completely,' she called to Sylvanus.

'Right you are, Phryne,' said Sylvanus, radiating relief from every pore. He had thought Isabella a goddess. He just hadn't known what goddesses were, before he met Phryne Fisher again.

Phryne went back to her hornbeam tree and her book.

Nicholas was still asleep in her bed. The room now smelt of iodoform, which was not erotic. Everything was approaching 'well' in the Dame Julian sense in her world. The murderer was dead. Marigold had her chosen parents. Tarquin was back with Gerald. Sylvanus was saved from exposure. Even if the little ratbag returned to his waspish personality, he could not do anything to Syl without exposing his own acquiescence in the scheme. The only remaining problem was the Templars'

finances, and that seemed insoluble.

280.

*281 Phryne dozed. She was still weary from the previous night's exertions. The hornbeam tree filtered light through its leaves and it fell as an enchantment on tired eyes. Phryne slept and dreamed of fairies.

Phryne was woken at five by a faun. He was not young, and the pursuit of nymphs over difficult country had shortened his breath and stiffened his limbs, not to mention what the consumption of nectar and ambrosia had done to his teeth, but a faun nonetheless, smiling a vastly relieved smile. Sylvanus was himself again.

'Hello, Syl,' yawned Phryne. 'What's the time?'

'Five, and karez is at six in case you want to attend. I'm going to.'

'How is everything?'

'I didn't let your brutes drown,' he said, grinning again.

'Though I did get a reasonable number of lucrative offers on that score from the polo players. But they were breathless and drenched and scared by the time I rescued them and they won't be flinging people into water for the foreseeable. In fact, I suspect that they will be hard pressed to accept water of any sort but Scotch-and- or bath-.'

'Excellent.' Phryne stretched. Lin's cousin was avenged.

'Tarquin is nestled into Gerald's bosom as though he has never been away. The imprisonment and waiting seem to have rubbed some of the edges off the dear boy's character, which is an improvement. We've both got the goods on each other but he doesn't seem to want to exercise any sway.'

'Super,' said Phryne.

'Owe it all to you,' said Sylvanus, kissing Phryne's hand.

'Anything I can do for you?'

Phryne thought about it, and expressed a wish. The faun's lecherous grin showed again, crinkling his bright eyes.

281.

*282 'Done and done,' he said. 'I'll put a girdle round the earth in forty minutes.'

'Well done, fair sprite,' murmured Miss Fisher.

Phryne returned to the Iris Room to see how Nicholas was feeling. He was sitting up in a chair, reading one of her detective stories. His eyes were clear and he did not seem to be feverish.

'Hello!' he said. 'I wish I had this Miss Marple on my team.

She can see straight through any malefactor.'

'Yes, old ladies are mostly like that,' said Phryne. 'Do you feel like coming to karez?'

'Are you going?'

'If you are. Otherwise we can sit here and read detective stories.'

'Karez it is,' he said.

Phryne went to her bath and adopted certain precautions.

She wore her cornflower shift, as she would have to change into karez garments. Nicholas in flannels joined her and they were absorbed into the buzz of acolytes, changing clothes, listening to the soothing, slow, erotic music in the main tent. Puffs of hash smoke were already scenting the heavy air. Phryne caught sight of Sylvanus. He winked at her. It was the most obscene wink of her experience.

She took the faun's hand and he led her and Nicholas into a corner of the tent where a fold of material carelessly slung from a rope hung down. Phryne had brought along her bag, which was not unusual. She settled herself down on a mattress and Nicholas lay down beside her, close to the edge.

Kissing began with a sigh and a rustle like birds nesting for the night. Nicholas surrendered himself to gentle kissing and touching. He could not lean on his left shoulder, but he did not even need to move. Phryne positioned herself so that he 282 *283 could reach all of her salient features, and as the drugged karez hour went on, he heard her sharp sigh several times.

Then he was conscious of cool air moving across his belly.

Miss Fisher had imported a pair of scissors, and had cut through his karez undergarments with careful nibbles, so slowly that he had not felt it. She stood to remove her own. The tent was darkened and the moaning of the semi-orgasmic was becoming louder.

Phryne straddled Nicholas and they came together at last, slow and close and so fiery that he felt that his bones might dissolve. Careful of his wounded shoulder, Phryne rode him with thighs strong enough to control a hysterical horse. He melted, he groaned; his mouth was covered by Amelia, who lay head to head with him. He stiffened in every muscle and then fell back, spent, exhausted, and terribly happy. He closed his eyes, just for a moment. When he opened them again it was obviously later. He was conscious of time having passed.

'Come along,' Phryne whispered, pulling him by his un-wounded hand. 'We have to get out before the lights come up.'

He crawled into the dressing annex. Phryne found his clothes and arrayed him. Then they went out of the smoke and erotic fug into the cool night air.

'Oh,' said Nicholas, coming awake all at once.

'Indeed,' said Phryne, and kissed him lightly. 'Don't worry,'

she told him. 'I have taken precautions. There will be no unfortunate results. But I just wanted you. And I never could stand karez for too long. My Sapphic friends say I'd make a perfect lesbian if I didn't have this strange yen for male genitalia. But there it is,' she added.

'Yes,' said Nicholas.

'Now, we are going to the horsemen's fire to get some coffee,' said Phryne. 'Then back to change for the party. Are you too tired?'

283.

*284 'Oh, Phryne,' he said, embracing her. 'At the moment, I could fly.'

'Good,' she said. 'Let's fly.'

The New Year's Eve Bal Masque, positively the Last Best Party of 1928, was just starting as Phryne and Nicholas returned. She had donned her folly dress, a concoction of sunshine yellow silk gauze and a froufrou skirt edged in black maribou. It had a daringly tight bodice. It was to be worn with a feathery mask.

Nicholas was in correct evening costume, his blue eyes height-ened by the black domino. His black suit had been made in Paris. It had that faint air of the fantastical which Paris tailor-ing brings to a conventional garment.

Sylvanus bounded up, dressed as Harlequin. He was in competition with several Pierrots, who would be spoiled for choice amongst five Columbines. The smoke had been cleared, the tent sprayed with eau-de-cologne, and the buffet laid out against the far wall. Gerald was wearing a Savile Row suit, Isabella wore an indigo-blue evening dress icy with Waterford crystal drops. Sabine, Pamela (in gentleman's dress), Marie-Louise, Minou, Amelia and Alison were all at the bar. For this last party, the bar tent had been opened on one side and so had the Templar tent, so that the greensward enclosed between them was large enough for all the guests and available for dancing.

The music, Phryne saw, was going to be interesting. Not usually given to mingling, the brouhaha of the night before had brought all of them together: the belly dancers and Arab musicians, the choral singers, the medieval musicians, and the jazz people. They had sat together, played together and got drunk together, and now they saw no reason why they should be separated. Jazz players in a small place like Melbourne knew 284 *285 all the other jazz players in town, and the same went for every speciality. They hadn't had anything to say to each other before, and now wondered why.

'One in, all in,' explained Tabitha, escorting Nerine, who was bringing with her a nervous Terence carrying a large jug and Thomas carrying a tray of glasses. They reached Phryne and Nicholas with an inaudible sigh of relief and set down their burdens on the white-clothed table.

'Have a drink with me, my honey-lambs,' said Nerine.

'It's a new cocktail, invented in her honour,' said Tommy.

'Made of mint, sugar, bourbon and pineapple juice, and real toothsome,' drawled Nerine.

'Called a Nerine,' said Tabitha, filling glasses. 'Cheers!'

'Bottoms up,' said Nicholas, sipping even though he had sworn off bourbon forever. The bourbon was not stressed. The Nerine was, in fact, deliciously acid. He said so.

'Gotta go,' said Nerine. 'Enjoy the music, y'all. You ain't heard nothing like this concert's gonna be.'

They went, thoughtfully taking their jug. Masked figures were arriving from the polo set and the horde of hearties. The impeccable evening costume of the Grammar Boys was a joy to behold. The improvised costumes of the Wonnangatta Tigers were remarkable for their ingenuity. Ann, for instance, was wearing a medieval undergown in bright red, a soft Japanese kimono and a bunch of hibiscus in her hair, which was loose around her shoulders. Jill wore a strictly tied kimono and trousers, in which she looked severe but decorative. Dougie and Murph were wearing their own moleskins and the short gowns and surcoats from the costume store. They looked a good deal more like the knights of the time than the acolytes had, Phryne thought, hard-bitten men who were used to the saddle and knew which end of a sword was the naughty one.

285.

*286 They liked their new clothes, and swaggered as though they had just won the Battle of Agincourt.

Seated on folding chairs (which they must have brought with them as there were no folding chairs in the house) were three gentlemen in grey suits. Their sole concession to the masque theme was a domino each. By the strong green tinge, they were drinking Nerines, as absinthe was not on the barman's menu.

Phryne was about to go across and ask them who they were when the music began and she had to stay put.

The players had tossed for their performing order, and the Arabs had won. The three belly dancers came on, standing perfectly still as a tall man repeated verses from Omar Khayyam.

'Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring 'The Winter Garment of Repentance fling: 'The Bird of Time has but a little way 'To fly-and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.

'But come with old Khayyam and leave the Lot 'Of Kaikobad and Kaikhosru forgot: 'Let Rustum lay about him as he will, 'Or Hatim Tai cry supper-heed them not.

'Ah, Moon of my Delight, who know'st no wane 'The Moon of Heaven is rising once again: 'How oft hereafter rising shall she look 'Through this same garden after me-in vain!'

At the end of each verse, the dancers came awake in a jingle of bracelets, twirled their rounded bellies and curved their smooth brown arms. Now that Phryne was not feeling 286 *287 disgruntled, she could appreciate how erotic they were. And how skilled. How long did it take to get that sort of muscular control over the whole abdomen? They danced through the hearties, fighting off unwelcome grabs while allowing the well intentioned to stuff folded money into their garments.

'And when Thyself with shining Foot shall pass 'Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on the Grass 'And in thy joyous Errand reach the Spot 'Where I made one-turn down an empty Glass!'

'So, the theme is wine,' said Nicholas.

'I don't know that there are many jazz songs about wine,'

Phryne replied. That theme was too facile for the air of suppressed excitement being generated by the musicians.

The jazz players were next. Nerine leaned into her microphone to croon.