She could have called home and had Mr Butler collect her but she was feeling, for some reason, pressed for time. This proved to be an error, because as she left the taxi and began walking up the garden path, one of those impromptu cloudbursts which made Melbourne weather the proverb it was fell upon her unprotected head. Within moments she was soaked to her French undergarments and partially deafened by thunder booming apparently some three or four feet above her and slightly to the right.‘Thunder on the right is supposed to be a good omen,’ she said to herself as she completed her trek through a rather nice formal garden to the front door and rang the bell with some force. ‘This may prove to be an interesting interlude.’The door opened and a magisterial butlerine figure enquired as to the lady’s business. His tone indicated that Phryne had only merited the term ‘lady’ out of charity and she had better have a good story if she wanted to get over the threshold in that condition.Phryne was in no mood to be buttled at.
What do You think about Murder On A Midsummer Night?
