Chapter One

Cat-like, the Honourable Phryne Fisher stretched, and smiled. The sun was filtering through her curtains, and she had enjoyed a very recuperative nap. If there was one objection she had to married life, it was that her (slightly inadvertently but so far entirely successfully) chosen life partner was a Morning Person, who could rise with the lark.

Fortunately, she was becoming increasingly adept at capitalising on the opportunities said Rising (in every sense, she smirked) offered, and then going back to sleep until a more civilised hour tapped gently on her consciousness and waited to be invited in.

Throwing back the covers, she padded to the bath and turned on the taps. The first important decision of the day made (Essence of Rose), she addressed the second, and alongside it, the third.

She was going to grasp the chance offered by a gap in investigative challenges to go and visit Mrs Hugh Collins; and she was going to do her utmost to persuade Dot to return to her former role as assistant, companion and Right Hand Woman. That meant dressing appropriately.

The cerise day dress, perfectly accessorised with matching amethyst collar and bracelets. The Paisley shawl would pick up the rose shades, and also tone nicely with her favourite peacock cloche and Mary Janes.

She would drive herself, thus guaranteeing that no-one would notice the missing stitch in the hem of the dress, the snag in the shawl or the drooping feather on the cloche – apart from her target audience.

Bathing was undertaken with due ceremony. Coffee and croissant were perhaps inhaled rather than consumed, but Patience had never been one of Phryne's strong suits.

(Her closest friends could, however, attest to her strengths in Clubs – ouch, Diamonds – never during the day, Calling a Spade a Spade and most definitely Hearts).

Surveying her reflection in the hall mirror, she nodded in satisfaction, snatched up her bag and strode out to the Hispano-Suiza, sitting obediently outside the gate of 221B The Esplanade.

The journey to South Melbourne was achieved in the traditional fashion – to wit, faster and more gleefully than was considered appropriate by more or less everyone but the controller of the vehicle. The city was all the better for the experience.