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Rosie tiptoed down the hallway, snatching her foot back each time the floor threatened to creak. She’d survived her first day at Wardlow with blessedly little fanfare. Most of the household hadn’t even been home. Miss Fisher was away for a few days on a case, and Jane was on a school trip.After collecting Rosie from the train station that morning, Jack had given her a brief tour and deposited her bags in the downstairs guest bedroom, apologizing profusely – "feel terrible … rotten host … want you to feel at home…” – before rushing back to the station. Having spent most of her life surrounded by either policemen or criminals, Rosie had understood, and was inwardly grateful for the quiet comfort of a noiseless house.  She spent the day unpacking her suitcases, exchanging pleasantries with the rather delightful butler – “…here about two years now…rarely a dull moment…” – and napping.A butler named Butler, she pondered idly as she turned her pillow over, random thoughts ping-ponging about as she hovered close to sleep. Like that lady on the train – Adelaide from Adelaide. A brief, unbidden, yet welcome vision of her grandad’s smiling face floated up in her mind, crouching down to her eye level as he held out a flower - a posy for my Rosie. She woke up at dusk to the sound of heavy rain, and wandered over to the library. Her eye immediately went to Jack’s favorite cowboy westerns, which were interspersed with feminist tracts, saucy modern novels, thick anthologies, expensive-looking collectibles with hand-tipped illustrations, and piles of magazines and textbooks. She was flipping through a magazine – enjoying the steady patter of rain, glancing absently at a story about a thrice-divorced American – when Mr. Butler knocked at the doorway. The Inspector extends his apologies – she wasn’t surprised, given the upcoming trial, not to mention the storm – and would she like to take some supper in the library? By nine o’clock, she was tired again. By ten, the rain had slowed, the lights in the house were off, and Mr. Butler had brought extra blankets to her bedroom, bidding her goodnight.Now, close to midnight, Rosie crept down the hall between the guest wing and the kitchen, silently praying that the night would be as uneventful as the day had been; that she would make it back to her room without tripping in the darkness; and most of all, that the sleeping powders would be easily recognizable in the pantry so she wouldn’t wind up accidentally dosing herself with rat poison. Ever since she learned that her father and Sidney’s trial date had been set, she’d needed pharmaceutical help to keep her anxiety from thrashing her mind all night. For some reason, she slept better during the day. That was why she was staying here in the first place. When Jack had offered to host her at Wardlow during the trial – “As long as you need, Rosie. We really want to support you, if you’ll let us...” – she thought it might do her good to be surrounded by unpatronizing faces as she endured the spectacle and shame of family scandal. So far, it had indeed been a pleasant change of scenery, even if it meant becoming a fly on the wall of her former husband’s shiny new life.  Immediately after the “Pandarus Affair,” as the newspapers loved to call it, Rosie had returned to her sister’s house in north Melbourne. Huddling with Rebecca was a comfort initially, as they helped each other process their father’s treachery. Yet after a few months, watching her sister take refuge in her husband and children became a cruel reminder of the double betrayal Rosie had suffered at the hands of both father and fiancé. After all, Sidney had been even more to her than a lover – he was her childhood friend and one of her closest confidantes during her divorce.And so, for nearly a year now, Rosie had been living with a friend in Adelaide, and while the time away had been a necessary reprieve, she was glad to be back in her home city. Rubbing her throbbing temple, she wearily recalled the last time she’d met with Jack before she left for Adelaide, and before he left for England.* * * Over the rim of her teacup, she watched Jack attempt to control his enthusiasm for the omelet in front of him. As a bold step toward the friendship they both said they wanted, they’d decided to meet at a café they used to frequent when they were married. They'd both always found it unnecessarily dainty – too many peonies on the tables and too few sturdy chairs – but the food was excellent.Despite knowing Jack for almost two decades, Rosie no longer tried to guess what was on his mind. If she’d learned anything from her marriage, it was that the more she endeavored to pin Jack down, the more distant he became. Yet, it was clear to her that he was happy, well-fed, and of course, as handsome as ever. The tightness that had settled around his eyes in the years between the war and their divorce had dissolved, and he actually looked younger. Fortified, Jack settled back in his chair and fixed his eyes on hers. He suddenly smiled in a way that wrinkled his nose – the kind of smile that had always stopped Rosie’s heart. She realized she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen that expression on his face, and she forced herself to dismiss the clenching in her chest as misplaced nostalgia. “The last time we were here I thought you were going to throw a teapot at me,” he said with a light chuckle. Rosie smiled. She felt strangely honored that he remembered that occasion. It was one of the last times they’d dined together as a couple before she’d announced that she was going to live with Rebecca. By that point, Jack barely came home from the station and had even taken to sleeping on a cot in his office a few nights a week. He’d torn himself away from work to meet her here for lunch, but ended up slouched in sullen exhaustion throughout the meal, answering her questions with mumbles and grunts. Two weeks after that miserable lunch, she packed up what few belongings would fit in Rebecca’s small guest bedroom, and eighteen months later, they were divorced.   “I was so angry with you,” Rosie said. “Looking back now, I’m not surprised you always wanted to hide from me.”Jack’s grin faded into a wince. “It wasn’t you I was hiding from, Rosie. It was my life, back then. My routines … my stress … my racing thoughts…” his voice got quieter. “Everything just felt so hard…” he trailed off and closed his eyes. Rosie hummed her understanding. “What our life had become,” she finished for him. “Our marriage, and my expectations - had become a prison for you.” They looked at each other for a long moment. Rosie felt oddly grateful that he didn’t contradict her. Instead he cleared his throat and smiled again. “For what it’s worth, I’m so glad we can do this. That we can talk like this, finally.” There was an honesty in his voice that disarmed her completely. “It’s worth a great deal to me, Jack,” she murmured, allowing the moment to wash over them both. “I’m only sorry it took all this misery with Father and Sidney for us to get here.” She inhaled and looked down before letting more of the truth fall from her lips. “I’m sorry it took all of that, for me to realize you were always the better man.” She exhaled sharply before looking up at him.Jack startled. “Rosie…”“It’s alright,” she interjected quickly. “I’m not propositioning you.” With amusement in her voice, she smirked at his fretfulness. Once at ease, Jack slowly smirked back.“And I’m not - I’m not flattering you. I just…” She searched for the right words. “You know, even before we separated, even when things were good, there was always this sense with Father that you somehow weren’t…enough for me. That you should have been doing more, trying harder. Setting your sights higher. You must remember?” Jack nodded slowly.“He started singing Sidney’s praises as soon as I moved in with Rebecca,” Rosie continued, a trace of bitterness in her voice, “and I obviously bought into it.” She knew she must be wearing a pathetic expression, but it probably reflected how she felt – penitent, and rather stupid.“Rosie,” Jack rumbled. “Please look at me.” As she slowly fixed her gaze on his, she was transported to the many moments in their marriage when his blue eyes conveyed all the feelings he couldn’t put into words. When they brimmed with hope and adoration in their early days, and were later clouded over by the ghosts of war. When they were bloodshot from sleeplessness, and when they begged for her understanding. The few times they flashed with anger, as her words pierced him with surgical accuracy. Eyes filled with compassion as he comforted her in his office after Father’s arrest, and with resolution when he hugged her goodbye later that night at Rebecca’s doorstep. Now, they were simply overflowing with kindness.“You did nothing wrong,” Jack said gently, earnestly. “You merely trusted the people you should have been able to trust.” He leaned forward to cover her hand with his own. “What’s more, you were married to a man who didn’t know how to love you the way you deserved to be loved.” Rosie swallowed and closed her eyes. “Anyone in your position would have made the same choice you did.”“Not your Miss Fisher,” Rosie retorted. She flinched a bit even as she said it. This time, Jack didn’t retreat. With kindness still in his eyes and a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he simply shrugged, as if to say, perhaps. For a moment Rosie was reminded of the impish flirt wearing a constable’s helmet, whose sideways grin and natural charm had broken more than a few teenage hearts.A question passed silently between them, and having already revealed herself, Rosie decided to soldier on and answer it.“Jack … the truth is, when we separated, part of me hoped that you wouldn’t let me go, or that you’d at least, in some way…” she again struggled for the right words - “come after me.”Rosie thought she noticed Jack’s eyes widen ever so slightly at that, but she pressed on.“I know we were already living apart when you met Miss Fisher, and we probably both needed some space, but each time our paths crossed I wondered – hoped, really – that you’d make some sort of overture.” Again, a shadow of something like recognition passed over Jack’s eyes. Again, Rosie forced herself to continue. She would lament her dignity later.“That hope started dwindling after a while though.” She looked down at her hands. “I tried to convince myself that I needed to move on to better things, but if I’m honest, it was plain from the way you spoke about Miss Fisher – to me, to Father – even to Rebecca and Freddy…” Jack blushed at the mention of Rosie’s siblings. Clearly, he still didn’t realize how often he brought up Miss Fisher in random conversation. “It was plain to everyone, really, that you were besotted with her, and frankly…” Rosie waited for Jack to meet her eyes again. “Frankly, that hurt. Quite a bit.”For the first time that day, Jack looked stricken. “Rosie,” he shook his head, “Phryne and I never -”“I know, Jack. I never doubted your fidelity, even for a minute.” Her mind immediately shot to the legal fictions their solicitors had had to concoct in order to effectuate the divorce – the divorce she had asked for, and that Jack had borne with profound grace. The way he did everything in life. Rosie suddenly felt she could no longer bear the weight of this conversation, especially in the middle of a tearoom full of gossiping matrons and an abnormal number of poodles.“For the record,” she said, forcing a smile back into her voice, “in case you were ever wondering, I also remained faithful to you while we were separated, you know.” Jack’s heavy look started to soften. “Except for maybe a - a stray kiss or two.” A slow smile spread across Jack’s face. His eyes filled with fond appreciation, and to Rosie’s delight, a flash of mischief.“Well,” he said after a pause, raising one eyebrow, “you know I’d never begrudge a lady a kiss.” She blushed despite herself. Though it had been years since they’d shared a meaningful kiss, there were many throughout their history that she knew she’d never forget: their sweet, timid first-fumblings; the desperate pressing and clasping they’d indulged as they steeled themselves to be parted by war; even some of their awkward probing leading up to their separation – increasingly hopeless attempts to replace conversation and laughter with physical connection, which Rosie now remembered with a sort of tenderness.She wondered if Jack had stored up any of these memories.His expression grew serious. He was clearly still thinking about her earlier confession, but his eyes were mercifully free of pity.“Honestly, I don’t know what would have happened to us if I hadn’t met Phryne,” he said. Rosie wasn’t sure if she was imagining the way he caressed Miss Fisher’s name. “Just as I don’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t gone to war.” He looked down, furrowing his brow. “All I know is, by the time you moved in with Rebecca, I truly believed you were better off without me.”Rosie nodded, then shook her head ruefully. “Well, I did tell you that often enough.”Not in so many words, but the sentiment had eventually become a drum-beat in their marriage – “I’d rather be alone than sitting in silence with you…” – a beat that had slowly manifested in Jack’s posture, and the purse of Rosie’s lips, and the barrenness of their home, over the months and years that heralded their separation.“Truth be told, Rosie, I still believe you might be. Better off, I mean.” Rosie blinked. Was this his gentle way of saying that he was glad to be rid of her? “Why do you say that?” she finally asked, more weakly than she would have liked.Jack leaned in and took her hand again. For a mad moment, Rosie wondered if this was what it felt like to be friends with Jack Robinson – like being let in on a delicious secret. “You deserve to be happy, Rosie.” He looked into her eyes and squeezed her hand. “You deserve everything in the world.”She couldn’t help but smile back at him – at the boy who once snuck a daisy into her coat pocket while she was distracted by a hat in a shop window. “You deserve a life filled with joy, and passion, and comfort, and - and inspiration, in whatever form it may take.” She felt a prickle at the corner of her eye.“You were brave enough to insist that we both deserved more,” he continued, “and I have no doubt that you’ll find it.”He squeezed her hand again before letting go.Just as he sat back in his chair, a waitress appeared with their bill. “Thank you,” Rosie said, looking not at the young woman, but at Jack.  She was grateful for an interlude in which to blink back her tears and smooth her skirt. Bill sorted, Rosie began pulling on her gloves, but Jack looked like he still wanted to say something. She waited, although she had a hunch what was coming next. This entire afternoon they hadn’t once mentioned where Miss Fisher was now. But over the past few weeks, the newspapers certainly had, and from the moment she’d read about Miss Fisher’s latest exploit – “Lady Detective Turns Flying Ace” – Rosie had anticipated some sort of announcement.“I’m … going to be traveling for a few months.” There it was. “I’m leaving for England next week.”“To join Miss Fisher?” Her voice held steady.“Yes.”And do what, exactly? – Rosie fought the urge to ask – besides the obvious? What did people even do, once free of societal expectations, familial pressure, financial limitations, and, apparently, any notion of propriety or caution? If afforded that type of freedom, Rosie thought, she wouldn’t even know where to start. One could always start with a new hat, her subconscious offered. Or a new hairstyle. “What about your job?” She finally asked. Surely Jack wouldn’t toss over his career for a quick jaunt around the world.   “I requested a leave of absence, and as it turned out, didn’t receive much pushback at all.”Rosie nodded. Clearly Jack’s years of dedicated service had paid off. He certainly deserved a break.“Hopefully the job will be waiting for me when we get back.”Rosie turned his words over, careful to regard them with respect. Hopefully … we … “Are you going to ask her to marry you?” She’d already stepped off a cliff – she may as well do a nice swan-dive on her way down.“I don’t know.” Jack smiled softly, seemingly to himself. “She’s certainly not the most traditional person … but I trust her.”Rosie nodded again.“I know she wouldn’t ask me to – to join her,” he slowed his cadence, “unless she saw some type of future for us.”Rosie realized she was still nodding. She sat up a bit straighter.“So … you … want to marry her.” It wasn’t a question.Jack paused for so long that she wondered if he’d heard her. “Yes.”Rosie looked down at her hands, then up at the ceiling – who needed this many chandeliers? – then straight at Jack.“In any case,” he exhaled, his voice growing even softer, “I…” he swallowed, closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, Rosie was surprised to see that they were wet. “…I just need to be where she is.”She took a shaky breath. She appreciated his boldness, his belief in her ability to handle the truth.For all his reticence during their marriage, she’d always known that there were longings in his heart – to be free, to be understood – that even he didn’t fully grasp sometimes. Evidently, it took Phryne Fisher to pillage those depths and shepherd him out. Suddenly, Rosie was enveloped by memories of a seventeen-year-old boy with a cheeky grin under a mop of curly hair, urging her to ride atop his handlebars as he cycled along the beach – “Don’t you trust me, Rosemary?” –– of whispered conversations with the covers pulled over their heads, envisioning far-flung places they’d probably never get to see -  
   “…on a horse, through the desert!”

“…horse or camel?”

“…camel sounds bumpy…”

“…I guess you’ll just have to hold on tight…” –
– and of the night she found Jack asleep in his armchair after a thirty-hour shift, with The Lone Star Ranger lying open, facedown, on his stomach, just below where his sergeant’s badge was pinned to his police uniform. She’d gently closed the book and switched off the lamp next to him, hoping with all her heart that he was dreaming of cowboys and sunsets, instead of missiles and air-raids and the darkness of the human soul.      If anyone deserved the world, it was this man in front of her.“Sounds like you’re in for an adventure.”  * * *Rosie paused in the hallway as the memory washed over her. That meeting at the café had transformed her relationship with Jack. They’d kept in touch while she was in Adelaide, exchanging a few telegrams during his travels – “Happy new year – STOP - Wish all best - STOP - Regards from Rome” … “Reached Bombay early Jan – STOP – Phryne attempting Everest – STOP – Arriving Queensland approx March end” – and a few letters once he and Miss Fisher returned home.As soon as the trial date was set, following numerous delays and legal obstructions, Jack phoned to invite her to Wardlow. Neither had felt the need to linger on the obvious fact that he and Miss Fisher had emerged from their six-month odyssey as good as married.Wrenched back to the present, Rosie’s breath hitched as she heard a swoosh of fabric coming from the kitchen.Then, a soft, muffled giggle, followed by an even softer, but much deeper, wordless rumble.Rosie closed her eyes and exhaled, grateful that she’d apparently stopped just short of a humiliating encounter. A moment later, she heard the unmistakable sound of a soft groan.Jack’s groan.“Phryne,” he breathed, slowly, reverently. “My sweet Phryne.”Rosie steeled herself as she peered around the corner.There were no lights on in the kitchen except for a candle flickering on the table. Next to it, a figure was cloaked in shadow.It took a few seconds to discern that it was actually two figures, tightly entwined, foreheads touching, eyes closed, oblivious to the world. Miss Fisher was perched on the edge of the table, and Jack was standing between her legs. Motionless, but for the rise and fall of their synchronized breaths.Rosie whipped her head back into the safety of the hallway. As she turned to scamper away, she felt the bottom of her skirt snag, and she looked down. It was almost comical: she was stuck on a carpet tack. Literally pinned to her spot.Her head still throbbing, all she wanted was to crawl back under the plush covers of the luxurious bed in the guest room. “If you want, you can take the one on the first floor. That way you’ll have your own bathroom, and you can steal as many biscuits as you like from the kitchen,” Jack had suggested that morning with a friendly twinkle.Clearly, her proximity to the kitchen had also won her a prime view of Miss Fisher’s homecoming party. A party for two.Rosie barely suppressed a wild laugh as she slid to the floor in numb resignation. Another rustle of fabric sounded from the kitchen.
After the year she’d had, this may as well happen.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“My sweet Phryne.”Though barely louder than a whisper, his words filled the room for a long moment.“Are you sure you’re talking about me?” Miss Fisher lilted.“Mhmm. Quite sure.” Jack’s voice was muffled, as though his face were buried in a pillow. Or in the curve of someone’s neck.“Sweetest … loveliest…” – he punctuated each word with a kiss – “darlingest … angel…”Miss Fisher chuckled softly. Her voice was lower and throatier than Rosie remembered.“Feeling especially amorous tonight, are we?” She received another light kiss in response. “I assume you missed me?”“I always miss you.” He sounded gruff and gentle at the same time.An inquiring stillness settled around them.These two communicate just as much in silence as they do with words, Rosie thought. Her mind flew to the footie match where she first saw them converse without speaking. Though at that point she’d certainly heard tales of Jack’s … connection with the beautiful heiress, witnessing that connection had been a revelation, to say the least.Reaching to fiddle with her snagged hem, she chastised herself for padding around in stocking feet and causing the back of her dress to trail on the floor. As she worked to carefully untangle the silk threads from the peg jutting out of the carpet, she sleepily recalled her mother’s disdain for the cascading Victorian skirts of her youth – “It was like walking around with a baby elephant hanging from your waist!” – and she closed her eyes.

"Rebecca! Rose! Fred! Come look!” her mother called out, the first time she brought home a pair of cycling bloomers from the tailor.

“What freedom!” she exclaimed, as she kicked her heels in a little jig, her cheeks flushed pink, auburn hair escaping from her low bun, the feathers in her hat bobbing about.

“Why, I could ride across Australia in these!”

Rosie felt her heart clench.
How I miss you, mum. Your bravery and your ridiculous, wonderful pantaloons.
Jack cleared his throat.“I ran into Rose Weston today.”“Oh?”“In front of city hall.”“Mmm.”“She was picking up her nursing license.”“How nice.” Miss Fisher’s voice pitched slightly higher than usual. Jack paused. “She told me what you did for her.”The sound of gentle kisses began raining over Jack’s low rumble, like staccato notes. “What you did for - for all the flower maidens.” His breath hitched as the kisses grew slower, more purposeful. “What you’ve…” – he inhaled sharply – “been doing…” – he exhaled heavily – “…for two years.”With a soft groan, he seemed to tear himself away from the onslaught.“Phryne…” he said, with some effort – “…you’ve changed all of their lives.”After a long silence, Miss Fisher sighed.“I simply had the means, Jack. Anyone in my position would have done the same thing.”A sudden gust of wind swept along the back of the house, and the outside gate jangled faintly.“You know that’s not true.”Miss Fisher made a mewling sound and mumbled something. Her words were muffled – as if her face were buried in someone’s chest.When he spoke again, Jack sounded prayerful. “You are the most wonderful person I’ve ever known.”Rosie registered the ticking of the clock on the far wall of the kitchen.“Jack…” Miss Fisher whispered. A kiss – this time, the unmistakable click of lips on lips – echoed through the room.Two kisses.Three.A light rain began to patter against the windows, harmonizing with the distant clatter of the gate, the rubbing of fabric on fabric – of hands on fabric – and the rhythm of their shared breath.Rosie became aware of her own breathing. She cautiously searched her heart, and was surprised to find that she mostly felt guilty. Both for overhearing such an intimate conversation, and for the less-than-charitable thoughts she’d harbored toward Miss Fisher up until Jack announced that he was following her to England.As she stared past the wall in front of her, she pictured the boy who won her over with his humor and kindness.

“Come for a walk, Rosemary?” he would ask her with a cheeky grin, leaning on a post outside the police academy…

“Come for a ride, Rosemary?” he’d call out, laughing, as she sashayed away, hiding her smile…

“Can I hold your hand, Rosemary?” he entreated softly, the first time they spoke about the deaths of his father, and her mother…

Clearly, the boy who always had a smile in his eyes – who had battled enemies abroad, injustice at home, and restlessness in his heart – was finally at peace.Rosie smiled.“Well,” Miss Fisher said brightly, despite the slight tremble in her voice, “I’ll remind you of that the next time I’m forced to break and enter.”A husky chuckle reverberated through the floor and up Rosie’s spine.“I’m already reminded every day.”Still crouched, Rosie gave up on her skirt and glanced once more into the kitchen. The two figures, both still in shadow, had barely moved at all. The faint light from the single candle on the kitchen table danced over their huddled bodies.Rosie leaned her head back against the wall and wrapped her arms around her knees. Her little enclave felt even more secluded now that the rain had started up again.“And how was Bendigo this time?” Jack asked.“Fairly productive,” she replied, “but … I could hardly sleep for missing you, Jack.” She sounded almost bashful. “Is that ridiculous, after only three days?”“No,” he murmured. “I rather hate having the bed to myself.”“Oh?”“Mhmm. I was tempted to ask Mr. Butler for two blocks of ice to impersonate your feet.”Rosie stifled a snort.Miss Fisher laughed delightedly.She sobered quickly, then let out a heavy sigh.“I may have to go again next week.”“You’re joking.”“I really need another look at the books,” she said gently, “and there were quite a few staff absent today because of the storm.”Jack groaned. “I’m so sorry, darling.” She sounded sorry indeed. “I know this is terrible timing. You know I wouldn’t bother if it weren’t for—”“I know,” he grumbled.“Just another day or two.”As she hugged her knees and listened to the rain, Rosie wondered idly what type of case would warrant such inconvenient travel just as the Pandarus trial was getting underway. Perhaps a favor for some prominent member of high society?“In a few months you’ll be off for Singapore,” Jack muttered. There was palpable gloom in his voice.“Just for a few weeks,” she sighed. “Well, six at most. And you know I definitely wouldn’t bother with that if it weren’t for—”“I know, I know.” He whinged. “It’s just that…” his voice faded to almost a whisper - “I hate when you go.”His breathing became deeper, and the rustle of fabric grew louder. “I hate not knowing if you’re safe, or exactly when you’ll be back…” he trailed off.Forget high society, Rosie thought. Surely only a favor for the King could merit this level of exertion. And was it even safe to fly from Melbourne to Singapore alone?Squiggly figures began to form in front of her eyes as she continued to stare at the wall in front of her.“I wish you could come with me,” Miss Fisher said quietly. “I loved traveling with you. I loved knowing that even though our surroundings were changing every day … no matter where we were, or what type of … adventure awaited us…” – there was a smile in her voice – “stormy skies, or minor train derailments…” – they both chuckled – “…I’d still wake up next to you every morning…” – a soft kiss floated through the air – “and lay down next to you every night.”Rosie felt another pang of guilt for eavesdropping. This moment, full of private memories and shared longing, felt extraordinarily intimate.She recalled how she’d clung to Jack before he sailed off to war – “They say they’ll bring us back before year’s end, love” – and the sacredness of that desperation. The raw dread that had gripped her when she realized he may actually never return. And the dull ache that eventually took its place, when it became apparent that Jack had brought the battlefield home with him, and that he felt more comfortable warring with the crims of Melbourne than enjoying peacetime with his wife.She exhaled soundlessly.Hit with a fresh wave of drowsiness, she melted further into the wall behind her, and wondered what sorts of demons drove Miss Fisher from crime scene to crime scene, and adventure to adventure. From Bendigo to Singapore. On derailed trains, and treacherous flights. She hoped the lady detective found all those risks worthwhile.“Actually…” Jack said tentatively, “I wanted to talk to you about something.” He sounded serious.“Sounds serious.”“It is, but it’s a good thing.”“Oh?”“Or … I think it’s a good thing, at least.”“Mmm?”He took a deep breath.“I’ve been offered a promotion.”Rosie’s mouth dropped open.“Chief Inspector.” There was more than a hint of pride in his voice.Miss Fisher gasped. “How wonderful!”Jack let out a shaky laugh. “Honestly, I don’t think there were very many candidates. There was a great deal of restructuring after George’s arrest—”“Oh, don’t you dare do that, Jack Robinson!” Miss Fisher said sternly. “How many people do you know, who’ve received a promotion after taking a six-month leave of absence?”He chuckled again. “Well, I’m sure it also doesn’t hurt that I’ve been known to accomplish the work of two people in one day.” His voice pitched upward. “I wonder how that occurred, Miss Fisher?"“Hmmm … now that is a mystery.”Rosie brought her hands to her temples. For a moment, she sensed nothing but the blood pumping against her fingers, and the erratic pounding of her heart.When she came to, Jack was speaking.“…supervisory role, so there’s less fieldwork, and more flexibility.” He paused. “I’ll have more time to take on … other projects.”“Oh?”“I can coordinate with the other chiefs to oversee cases outside of Melbourne, and perhaps…” he slowed his cadence - “help you … with some of yours.”“Ohhh…”After a long silence, Jack seemed unsure again.“What are you thinking?” he probed.“Well … it all sounds rather perfect,” she said softly. “But I thought you loved being in the field.”“I did. I do – and I’d still be able to, but just ... on my own terms. A different sort of field, you could say. A broader one.”“Hmm … like Bendigo?” She sounded cautiously hopeful.“Or … Singapore, even.” He sounded like a man who was starting to believe his good fortune. “If I can manage to plan it properly.”As Miss Fisher let out a soft squeal, the edges of Rosie’s vision began to swim.“And it won’t be too much paperwork?” Miss Fisher teased. Pure delight was beginning to bubble out of her and fill the room.“Ah, that’s the best part of all. I’ll have people to help with that.”“Really!” She gasped. “Will you have a secretary?” Her voice turned mischievous. “A pretty one?”He paused for a second. “An assistant, yes...”“Oh?”“A very young, enthusiastic … fetching…”“Hmm…”“…assistant devoted purely to my needs…”“Mhmmm…”“…called Roger, I believe.”Miss Fisher guffawed. Jack’s hearty laugh wrapped around hers like a blanket.“…and an extremely devoted bookkeeper called Mrs. Gump. Apparently I remind her of her son.”As their joy rippled through the air, Rosie concentrated on her breathing.Miss Fisher hummed contentedly.“So, you’re sure you won’t regret it?”“Yes, love. I’ve thought about this.” He sounded sure indeed. “It’s time.”Rosie realized she was gritting her teeth painfully. She relaxed her jaw, and the throbbing in her temples eased a bit.“You certainly deserve it, Jack. More than anyone.” Miss Fisher’s voice shook ever so slightly. “And I’m not sure it’s my place to say, but … I am so proud of you.”Jack’s breath hitched. After several long moments, he cleared his throat.“I think it is your place to say.”The rain had given way to a soft breeze whistling outside the kitchen window. The candle on the table continued to dance.“Phryne…” he whispered. His voice was feathery, like he was speaking into her hair. “For the first time in my life, I feel…” he inhaled … “I want…” he paused, as if searching for the right words.The clock ticked expectantly.“You make me want to be more than a copper.”Rosie squeezed her eyes shut, grasping desperately for some thought to distract her. Finding none, she bit down on the inside of her cheek instead.She felt herself become untethered. With her senses in chaos, she succumbed to the thoughts that had lurked in the back of her mind since the moment she arrived at Wardlow. The thoughts that started circling, like lions in a cage, as Jack showed her the various rooms downstairs – “This is the library … unfortunately I can never get anyone to stick to an organization system…” – and as Mr. Butler offered her chocolate biscuits from a lovely porcelain canister – “These happen to be Inspector Robinson’s latest creation” – and when she spotted a lone sapphire cufflink under the chaise in the parlor.Unbidden images blitzed through her mind, laying siege to her consciousness. She pressed her forehead to her knees and interlocked her fingers behind her head, her forearms over her ears.She vaguely registered the voices coming from the kitchen, but they sounded distorted, as though they were under water.“…hope this means you can sleep in … stop abandoning me at the crack of dawn…”

Rosie can hear her mum’s rich laughter and raring cheers, spurring her on as she grabs for a tree branch – “Reach up, up, up, Rose!”

Even after she’s too high to get back down on her own, with knees scuffed and eyes smarting from the wind, she feels safe, anchored to the sound of her mother’s voice.

"George, look how far she climbed all by herself!”

“…sorry to say … even earlier to drive to City Central, but there should be fewer late nights, at least…”

Rosie bristles at the freckled sneer and messy plaits of her tormenter.

Like a hyena, the little bully cackles as she pulls Rosie’s hair. She knocks the book out of Rosie’s hands, and then scampers away, squawking over her shoulder.

"Don’t be such a stick in the mud, frowzy Rosie!”

“…at City South, but the main office is at Central.”
Her father’s large, warm hand squeezes her clammy one, as she watches the men shovel dirt back into the hole in the ground. She scans the faces of the gathered mourners – faces wincing and weeping and dripping and sniffing – and feels the corners of her mouth turn up. She hears her mother’s voice in her head:

"Funerals are way too gloomy … I daresay I’m tempted to skip mine…”

“…the desk there? I do hope it’s sturdy…”

Jack’s face is serene and adoring, as he tucks her hair behind her ear. His bare shoulders are smooth, and slightly bony. She blinks the sleep from her eyes.

“Good morning, Mrs. Robinson…”

“…also a bit more money … finally afford to book us an entire broom closet at the Windsor…”

Sidney reaches to fasten a string of pink pearls around her neck. His lips are supple, his voice honeyed, his scent potent, but his hands are cold.

“Only the best for the future Mrs. Fletcher…”

She clapped a hand over her mouth as a wave of nausea overwhelmed her. The walls and the floor spun around and beneath her, and her thoughts accelerated – memories splintering and thrashing her like driftwood in the sea.“You know Aunt P will want to throw a party…”

Jack looks at her wearily as he pulls on his pajama shirt. Soft green flannel ripples over the puckered scars on his shoulders and chest.

"I’ve told you before – I have no desire to be trapped behind a desk.” His knees crack as he climbs into bed. “At least being in the field makes me feel like I’m doing something.”

“…should get you a new hat…”

Her brother Fred raps his knuckles on the Business News section of the Melbourne Morning Herald. “You must convince Sidney to expand his operation.”

He gesticulates emphatically, scaring away a pigeon dawdling next to their table. “I know he’s doing well now, but if he expands to the Asian market, he could make a killing!”

“Surely the Chief Inspector should drive a Hispano…”

She sees herself in her aunt’s full-length mirror, arms slightly akimbo, her figure draped in ivory lace. Around her, three generations of women squeal their delight, floating on mini clouds of sage and lavender chiffon. Ribbons and measuring tapes litter the floor.

She is blushing, but for once, she doesn’t mind people fussing over her.

As her cousin kneels to pin her hem, and her sister reaches up to clip a stray thread from her veil, she catches snippets of the conversations swirling about.

"…take this in at least two inches…”

“…still planning to go to university?”

“…so George realized he was a very nice lad – quite honorable, and polite…”

“…obviously doesn’t make sense for her to go to university, once she’s married…”

“…such a dish! Those blue eyes! And did you know he sings?”

“…her mother would be so proud…”

It occurs to her that as happy as she feels in this moment, there’s still a lifetime of joy ahead of her. She could weep with gratitude.

“…motorcycle then.”

Her father’s voice is icy, but his eyes are ablaze.

“I stuck my neck out for you, and this is how you repay me?”

Jack’s face is unreadable, but his posture is resolute. He doesn’t say a word.

“If you do still have job when this ridiculous strike is over, it’ll be for Rosie’s sake, not yours…”

She considers saying something to diffuse the tension, to calm her father or support her husband, but she decides against all of it. She stirs her tea.

“…get you into more crime scenes, Miss Fisher…”
She chews a mouthful of Christmas pavlova, savoring the delicate meringue and tart berries. She’s half-listening to her friend – “…Sorrento for new year … you and Jack should join us…” – and half-listening to the music tinkling somewhere in the distance. She furtively scans the crowd.

Finally, amidst clusters of merrymakers, and the haze of tinsel and champagne bubbles, she spots him clear across the room, sitting at the piano. It dawns on her that she hasn’t heard him play since he returned home almost a year ago.

Suddenly, his eyes lock onto hers, and he smiles. Her heart stops.

“…really looking forward … more time with Jane…”

Her sister Rebecca sighs.

“Don’t you fret – the moment you have children, Jack will change his mind...”

Rosie’s heart clenched, as the room continued to spin.“…she already thinks of you … she told me … only father she’s ever known…”

Jack places a hand on her hip, but she jerks away, still smarting from his words.

He exhales and rubs the back of his neck. She can hear his joints groaning.

She rolls away from him, facing the wall.

“All I’m saying is, maybe we shouldn’t hang our entire happiness on having children.”

She brings the covers up over her head. He doesn’t reach for her again.

Rosie realized there were tears running over the hand that was still clapped to her mouth, forming rivulets down her wrist. She swallowed against the cotton in her ears.“…love you, Jack…”

She knows she must look manic, her hands balled into fists and her nostrils flaring. When she finds the words she’s looking for, she knows they will hurt him.

Right now, it feels good to hurt him.

She suffuses her voice with as much disdain as she can muster:

“Don’t you ever want to be more than just a policeman?”

“…my beautiful adventuress...”

He recoils as though she’d slapped him. Her words hang in the air.

“Don’t you ever want to be…”

“...my dashing policeman…”

She watches his face turn to stone, as her words reverberate around and through and between them.

“…more than just a policeman?”
A loud clang from outside jolted Rosie’s eyes open.“…get you upstairs, now.”“I’m quite comfortable right here. I’ve been informed that there’s a chief inspector between my thighs.”The house was still spinning, but the voices in the kitchen were finally sounding louder than the voices in her head.“We don’t want to wake Mr. Butler. Or Rosie.”The sound of her own name brought her closer to earth. She inhaled deeply.“Rosie’s down here? But that room is so small!”
     “…once you have children, Jack will change…”
“I thought she’d like the privacy. Especially once Jane gets back.”
     “…doesn’t make sense to go to university…”
“Oh alright. But I’ll be pouting the entire way.”
     “Only the best for the future Mrs. Fletcher…”
“Promise?”     “Don’t you ever want to be … more …”Rosie didn’t hear their laughter, or Jack’s growl – “Up you get, Miss Fisher!” – or the gleeful yelp that followed.She didn’t hear the heavy footfalls heading out of the room and up the stairs.     “Don’t you … want to be … more …”At last, she heard nothing at all.* * *After a long while – minutes, or perhaps years – she became aware that her bladder was near bursting. It was something of a relief to encounter a feeling she could identify and process.Her knees cracked as she stood up, and she felt the hem of her skirt tug at her again. With a strangled grunt, she grabbed a fistful of fabric and yanked hard.She splashed water on her face before glancing at herself in the bathroom mirror. She looked even worse than she felt.Frowzy Rosie indeed, she thought.It was obvious she no longer needed sleeping powders – she was more exhausted than she’d ever been in her life – but instead of turning towards her bedroom, she felt her legs carry her back down the hall and into the library.She switched on a lamp, and as her eyes adjusted to the soft light, she sidestepped the magazines she’d been thumbing earlier that day.She watched her fingers brush across a row of books, not even sure what she was searching for. Just as she was about to turn her attention to a stack of anthologies on the floor, a familiar spine caught her eye. She instantly recognized the well-loved, faded red cover. Hamlet.She couldn’t help herself. She flipped through the slightly yellowed pages.Page 144. This page was a bit more crinkled than the rest. Act 4, scene 5.“There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance,” she whispered.

“Why do you call me Rosemary?” She finally asked him one day. “You know my real name is Rose.” She tilted her head in challenge, curious how he’d use the opening to charm her.

Instead, his eyes softened.

“From Hamlet,” he said. “Act 4, scene 5.”

She blinked at him.

“There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance,” he murmured. “Pray, love, remember.” He was looking straight into her eyes.

“And there's pansies, that’s for thoughts. There’s fennel for you, and columbines…” His voice, normally jaunty and light, was like molasses.

“There’s rue for you, and here’s some for me…” he trailed off and looked at the ground, suddenly shy.

She snapped her mouth shut, and swallowed.

”You know, I think I will go for a walk with you, Constable Robinson.”

“There’s rue for you, and some for me…” she finished. Her eyes were wet.Over the years, Jack tended to reserve the endearment for special moments – “I love you, Rosemary,” he breathed into her hair on their wedding night – but he never used it since returning from the war.Perhaps he’d thought better of it once people started wearing rosemary in their lapels on Anzac Day. Perhaps, like Rosie herself, he’d realized after many readings that the passage was actually quite depressing, and that Hamlet and Ophelia were hardly a model of romance. Perhaps he’d simply forgotten. She never knew for sure. Now, all she knew was that it didn’t matter anymore.She closed the book and put it back where she found it.She glanced up, and spotted another name she recognized. John Maynard Keynes. She stood on tiptoes and stretched her arm out. 
     “Reach up, up, up, Rose!”
She’d read some of Keynes’ pamphlets in school, but this was a newer work – more of a textbook, really. Postwar Monetary Reform.With the thick volume under her arm, and her hair still mussed from earlier, she suspected she looked a bit like a weird schoolgirl.
     “…stick in the mud, frowzy Rosie!”
As she switched off the lamp, she languidly imagined chopping off that bratty little bully’s braids. She didn’t even remember her name - Millie? Tilly? - but what a mean little shit she was.Rosie picked up her skirt, and walked back to her room.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Rosie was jolted awake by a loud bang.It took her a moment to remember where she was: sprawled on a plushy four-poster bed, her cheek pressed against a crinkled page of an enormous book. As she lifted her head the bolded words at the top of the page slowly came into focus. “Chapter Four: The Economic Consequences of War.”She winced as she sat up, and took further stock of her situation.She was back in Melbourne. She’d arrived yesterday from Adelaide, and she was staying in the house where her former husband lived openly with his new … lover? fiancé?She jumped at another loud bang, and registered the muffled voices of a young girl and what sounded like several boisterous men.That must be Jane, returned from her school trip.Rosie groggily struggled to remember Jane’s last name, and the few details she’d gathered about the girl over the years. Had she changed her name to Fisher? Was she legally adopted yet? She dragged her legs over the edge of the bed. She was still wearing yesterday’s clothes.Today was Saturday. In less than forty-eight hours, she would be in a courtroom, listening to lawyers condemn her father and former fiancé before a group of men who would decide their fate.She pinched the bridge of her nose as she walked over to the small dresser across from the bed. Her sinuses were still tender from last night’s … episode.It occurred to her that she hadn’t actually spoken to Miss Fisher since that shameful moment during the Pandarus investigation, when she’d insulted the woman in her own home. Now, it was back in this house that Rosie sought refuge in the midst of crisis. And it was in this house, crouched in the hallway like a mouse, that her mind had decided to buckle under the weight of a lifetime of unaddressed trauma, while Jack and Miss Fisher embraced in the next room. It was almost poetic, really.She rummaged around in a drawer and selected a gray silk skirt – knee-length this time, she made sure – and a light blue top. As she pulled on a fresh pair of stockings, she contemplated the events of last night.Clearly, the precipice of this trial was not the best time to subject her mind to the burden of the unvarnished past. Why, then, Rosie finally asked herself, did I ever decide to stay here? She sighed at her reflection in the mirror, before heading to the bathroom.When Jack had initially phoned to invite her to Wardlow, she answered yes almost immediately. After she hung up, she reasoned that it would be easier to endure the trial while surrounded by people who were not just unafraid of scandal and gossip, but who practically welcomed it. People who wouldn’t see her as a victim or a charity case. And since her siblings weren’t planning to attend, she may as well accompany Jack, who would be testifying.All of that remained to be true. And yet there was something else, something she still couldn’t fully articulate, that had made Jack’s suggestion simply feel right at the time. A vague sense that, even though it would probably be awkward to spend several days – if not weeks – under her former husband’s roof, there was a part of her that knew she would find a kind of catharsis at Wardlow.Like most of Melbourne, Rosie was aware of the constellation of wayward souls who’d found refuge in Miss Fisher’s home. From the young Miss Jane; to Miss Fisher’s protégé, Dorothy; to the former convent laundress who was rumored to be working as Prudence Stanley’s cook, instead of suffering the sad fate of most unwed mothers. It seemed that everyone who came into Miss Fisher’s orbit ended up finding themselves, or at least finding a fresh start.I suppose – she thought, as she cleaned her teeth – I came here hoping to find one of those for myself.  As she switched off the bathroom light and ventured down the hall to the kitchen, she squared her shoulders. The simple truth was, she was bored to death of living in the shadows. Even if her stay at Wardlow yielded nothing more than a few deep sleeps in a plushy four-poster bed, at least she would have finally experienced something fresh. Something interesting.The aroma of homemade bread engulfed her as she neared the kitchen, and she momentarily forgot her troubles.Sitting at the table was a girl wearing traveling clothes, who looked to be about fifteen years old. Her cheeks were pink with excitement and her long braid was slightly wind-swept. She was blowing into a steaming mug of what looked like cocoa, when her eyes met Rosie’s.Two men bickered loudly just outside the back door, and there was a faint rustling noise coming from the pantry.Rosie suddenly felt unreasonably nervous. In his invitation, Jack had assured her that the house was like a revolving door of colorful characters – “honestly, there’s never a dull moment,” he’d promised – but she still couldn’t help dreading the prospect of awkward mealtime conversations. In fact, aside from walking in on Jack and Miss Fisher en deshabille – a fate she had narrowly escaped last night – the thing she’d probably feared most about staying at Wardlow was being trapped in a miserable conversation until dessert was served.“Hi, I’m Jane,” the girl said cheerfully. “Jane Ross.”
Ross, yes. That sounded familiar.
“I’m Rosie Sanderson.”She opened her mouth to add that she was Jack’s former wife, but stopped herself. She wasn’t sure how much Jane knew, but over the past year, Rosie had learned that it was better to assume people knew more about her than she knew about them. Over-introducing herself to every new acquaintance, causing them to nod and deepen their pitying expressions, always made her feel like an idiot.With Jane, she needn’t have worried. “It’s very nice to finally meet you, Miss Sanderson! Everyone’s been looking forward to your arrival.”“That’s … so kind of you to say.” Rosie exhaled a bit, and sat down across from Jane.“I’m sorry if I woke you,” Jane continued. “I got an early train and I was hoping to surprise Uncle Jack. I didn’t realize you would be sleeping downstairs.”“It’s alright, I barely heard you.”
Uncle Jack.
Jane sipped her cocoa. “I think Auntie Phryne is also home.”Rosie started to nod, but stopped herself again. Miss Fisher was home, but she wasn’t supposed to know that.Mr. Butler emerged from the pantry cradling a bushel of herbs. “Good morning, Miss Sanderson.”Rosie was really starting to enjoy interacting with this man. His gentle queries about how she slept, and whether she preferred tea or coffee in the mornings, made her feel like she was back in her gran’s sun-drenched kitchen, getting ready to gather eggs from the henhouse.As Mr. Butler turned to the stove, Rosie addressed Jane.“Jack told me some time ago that Miss Fisher had taken in a young girl as her ward. It’s been wonderful to hear how much you’ve grown since then, in his letters.”Jane beamed. “Yes, I met Auntie Phryne about two years ago. I was a suspect in a murder.” She spoke as if being pegged for murder was a routine occurrence for most normal people. “Once the case was solved, she took me in rather than sending me to Welfare.” She chuckled and took another sip. “I don’t think Uncle Jack was too convinced about it at the time.”Jane’s eyes suddenly widened, as though she just realized who she was speaking to. “I mean, Inspector Robinson, he was, then,” she added quickly. “H-he helped us deal with my mother, and then he helped Auntie Phryne get the adoption through...” As Jane stammered into her cocoa, Rosie marked another one of her questions answered: Jane had been legally adopted, after all.“…the Inspector and I became … friends, eventually.” Jane paused and smiled shyly. “We exchanged lots of letters while they were traveling, and then they came to see me in Rome…” Her voice trailed off. “It’s been really nice,” she concluded. “I see my mother a few times a year, but … I never knew my father.” She glanced at Rosie, then down into her cup.Rosie felt her heart swell. “That’s lovely,” she said gently. “I’ve always known that Jack would be a wonderful father.” Jane looked up at her again, this time with a hopeful expression. “I’m so glad you found each other.”As the child blinked furiously, Rosie decided to rescue her by changing the subject.“Are you planning any more trips to the continent?”Jane took a breath. “Not anytime soon,” she said. “I wanted to be here for the rest of the school year.” After a moment her bright smile returned. “But Auntie Phryne might take me to Japan in the spring!”As if on cue, Rosie heard light footsteps skipping down the stairs in the front hall. Wrapped in an effervescent cloud of perfume and swishing fabrics, the lady of the house floated into the kitchen. She was wearing black trousers and a bright green top, and her lips were painted her signature red. Her sleek hair was slightly longer and fuller than Rosie remembered it. She was smiling warmly, and her arms were outstretched.Rosie felt her knees crack a bit as she stood up.“Rosie, how wonderful—” Miss Fisher gasped as she noticed Jane. “Jane! You’re home early!”The girl laughed and fell into her arms. “So are you! A seven o’clock train became available, so some of us volunteered to wake up earlier.”Miss Fisher laughed and tightened her embrace. “I’m so glad you did!”With a final squeeze to Jane’s shoulders, she turned her full attention to her guest, reaching her hands out to clasp both of Rosie’s.“I wish I could’ve welcomed you properly yesterday, Rosie. I do hope you had a comfortable night.”As the two women looked into each other’s eyes for the first time in a year, something conciliatory passed between them. To Rosie, it felt like mutual understanding.“It was no problem at all, Miss Fisher. Mr. Butler took good care of me, and I was so tired from the journey that I spent most of the day sleeping.”“Please, you must call me Phryne.” She squeezed Rosie’s hands before releasing her and gesturing for her to sit down.“Phryne. Yes.”Feeling considerably lighter, Rosie noticed that a basket of scones had materialized in the middle of the table. As they all sat down, Rosie helped herself to one. It was still warm.“Did you sleep well?” Phryne picked up a scone as well. “I hope the room isn’t too cramped. There’s a larger one upstairs.”“I’m very comfortable down here,” Rosie said. “Jack thought I’d appreciate the easy access to the biscuit tin.”Phryne laughed. “Well, you’ll have to fight this one for them.” She nodded towards Jane.Rosie smiled as she buttered her scone, then looked up at Phryne. This woman’s eyes are practically turquoise, she thought. Like robins’ eggs.“Thank you for opening your home to me.” She hoped she sounded as earnest as she felt. Even though the invitation had come through Jack, it was still Miss Fisher’s – Phryne’s – house.It suddenly occurred to her that if Phryne and Jack did marry, all of this – the house, the fortune, and each piece of silver Mr. Butler was currently polishing in the dining room – would become Jack’s with a flick of a pen.Her mind shot to the last passage she’d read before drifting off last night: “The Great War, like other mass conflicts throughout history, resulted in widespread redistribution of wealth,” Keynes argued. “States must now exercise the law of taxation to regulate the flow of property through inheritance...” Rosie thought of the Richmond boy, the son of a policeman and a seamstress, who had saved up his constable’s salary for months in order to present her with a modest opal ring – the one that currently resided in a satin-lined box at the bottom of her trunk, along with some of her mother’s jewelry.The idea of Jack Robinson inheriting the world felt surreal and awesome, and yet perfectly appropriate. With a small pang of guilt she realized the one thing he may not automatically inherit was a title, because he was divorced. Perhaps there’s a way around that, she thought. Or perhaps Phryne can have a word with the King…She wasn’t sure if it was the scones or the economic theory, but she felt strangely calm.  “It’s my pleasure,” Phryne said. “Actually, it was Jane who suggested it first. I was only sorry I hadn’t thought of it myself.”Mr. Butler poured them tea. Phryne took milk, Rosie took lemon, and neither took sugar.“I know this is a very difficult time for you,” Phryne said, her voice low and solemn, “and I want you to know that I support you completely. I know what it’s like to be … disappointed by a parent.” She smiled wryly. “I spent most of my childhood hiding from my father and trying to take care of my mother.”Rosie’s eyes widened a bit. “I didn’t know that.” She regarded Phryne thoughtfully. “All the more generous of you to fly your father all the way to England.”Phryne chuckled. “Well, our relationship works best when there’s at least one ocean between us. And honestly it’s a miracle I didn’t tip him out of the plane.”Jane laughed, and Phryne bumped her shoulder affectionately.As they sipped, Rosie thought about the picture they made: a trio of bereft daughters, taking refuge in tea and scones. For a brief, futile moment, she wondered why the world was so lacking in good men.“At least you got a world record out of it,” she said finally.“True,” said Phryne. “It’s especially nice to hold any record that doesn’t start with first woman.” She gestured quotation marks with her fingers.Rosie gasped out a small laugh, and Phryne and Jane both looked at her curiously. “Sorry, it’s just that my mother used to say the same thing. She set a quite a few records in her youth, in athletics. Especially cycling.”“How marvelous!” Phryne seemed genuinely impressed. “Jack did mention that your mother was a sportswoman.”Jane nodded enthusiastically.Rosie smiled. “Yes. She loved being outdoors. Swimming, riding horses … and once cycling took off, she became known for going even further than the men.” Jane gasped, and Rosie grinned at her. “She was also a fierce suffragette.”“That’s incredible!” Jane exclaimed.“Truly,” Phryne echoed. “You must come with me to my adventuress club sometime!” Her energy is quite infectious, Rosie thought. “Several of the women are cyclists, and I’m sure they’ll have heard of your mother. What was her name?”“Maggie. Maggie Davis.” Rosie’s smile faded a bit as she looked down. “Until she became Margaret Sanderson.”They fell silent for a few seconds. “My mother’s name is Margaret, too,” Phryne murmured.Rosie smiled wearily. “Mum died when I was thirteen. Pneumonia.” She paused, and briefly concentrated on the warmth of the cup between her palms. “When she fell ill, I was so shocked that something as mundane as cough could slow her down.” She gazed into the half-filled cup. “She just seemed so larger than life. So unconquerable.” As she looked up at Phryne, it occurred to her that aside from her mother, she’d never met anyone more unconquerable than the woman in front of her.“I’m so sorry,” Phryne said softly.Rosie nodded her thanks.Suddenly, there was a loud commotion outside, and two grease-stained men stumbled into the kitchen through the back door. They seemed to be wrestling over a wrench, but froze when they saw Rosie.“Albert Johnson, Cecil Yates,” Phryne said, gesturing toward each of the men, “this is Miss Rosie Sanderson.”“How do you do,” Rosie said.“Mornin’,” one of the men barked.“Good to know ya,” said the other, with a jaunty smile. He paused, then fidgeted with his wrinkled shirt collar, smearing it with grease. “Um, I mean … pleasure to make yer acquaintance.” He bowed clumsily.The men rummaged in one of the lower kitchen cabinets – wordlessly, yet extremely loudly – and pulled out a few rags. As they strode back towards the door, Mr. Yates saluted awkwardly at Rosie with the wrench.In the corner of Rosie’s eye, she saw Jane stifling a giggle and Phryne shaking her head, suppressing a grin.It was clear that these men had been prepped for her arrival. Rosie smiled to herself as she sipped her lukewarm tea. The idea of Jack and Phryne sitting down to coach their … rougher associates, on how to conduct themselves in front of her – “no cussing or spitting in front of my disgraced ex-wife, please” – amused her greatly.“Do you cycle, Miss Sanderson?” she heard Jane ask.Rosie cleared her throat. “Um, I used to, with my mother, when I was small. After she died I didn’t feel up to it much, and it wasn’t until I met Jack that I started riding again once in a while.” A warm feeling came over her as long-forgotten memories floated up in her mind. “When we began courting, it was fashionable to ride tandem bikes, or to perch on a boy’s handlebars, so he was a bit surprised when I told him I had my own bicycle.”For a second, Rosie wondered if such images of her courtship with Jack would be unwelcome. To her relief, Phryne and Jane both laughed delightedly.“Of course, it was my mother’s. My sister and I shared it.”Mr. Yates stuck his head in the back door. “Cab’s up and running,” he said to Jane, “if you still want a ride to the library.”“Okay, I’ll go get ready!” Jane scampered off, leaving Rosie and Phryne at the table.Mr. Butler was still polishing silver in the next room. Rosie found the faint clinking of metal on wood oddly comforting, and she felt emboldened to address something that had been on her mind all morning.“Phryne…” she started, “I want to apologize, for what I said to you the last time I was here.” She swallowed, and looked down at her hands. “I told you that you were making things worse for Jack ... but I couldn’t have been more wrong.”She forced herself to look up, and was grateful to find only kindness in Phryne’s eyes.“No apology necessary, Rosie. You were worried sick about your father, and understandably concerned about Jack.”Rosie let out a dry chuckle. “I’m sure he was mortified.”“He doesn’t know,” Phryne said with a secretive smile. “He wasn’t there, remember? And I never told him.”Rosie felt lost for words. “Oh…”“I didn’t see the point in telling him. And to be honest, at the time I wasn’t so sure you were wrong.”While Rosie was still formulating a response, Phryne cleared her throat. Apparently they both had things they were itching to say, now that Jane was out of earshot.“I appreciate your understanding about our living situation, especially in front of Jane.”Rosie chuckled at that. “Of course. I’m in no position to judge. I was practically living with Sidney by the end…” she sighed, “and anyway, these types of arrangements aren’t so unheard of these days.”Phryne hummed appreciatively, and Rosie suddenly felt emboldened again. “Especially if … there’s an engagement involved?” She hoped her expression was light and teasing.Phryne blushed. “Not at the moment.” She fidgeted with her teacup as she said this, but she was smiling bashfully – the notion of marriage seemed to please her.For a moment, Rosie wondered whether it could be Jack’s decision to hold off on the engagement.
How surprising.
“Well, no need to rush things.”“No,” Phryne agreed. “Although we do have Jane to think about.”Interesting, Rosie thought. Perhaps Jack will adopt her. And what a marvelous prospect that was, both for Jane’s sake and his.“After we got back from England, he started spending a lot of time here, and after about a month we figured he may as well move in and let Dot and her husband have his bungalow.”“Ah, yes.” Rosie nodded. Jack had apprised her of that development in one of his letters. It made perfect sense for the newlyweds to rent Jack’s house, no doubt at a very affordable rate. Given the current economic situation, it seemed almost grotesque to maintain an extra home for no one’s benefit.“Does Mrs. Collins still work for you?”Phryne’s face lit up at that. “Yes, as my assistant. She comes here almost every day, and she still keeps this whole operation running.” She beamed with pride.As a companionable silence settled around them, Rosie could hear excited voices upstairs. It seemed that Jane had finally surprised Jack with her early homecoming. Their chatter grew louder as they bounded down the stairs and into the kitchen.“Good morning, sir,” Mr. Butler greeted Jack, before pulling a steaming loaf of bread from the oven.“Good morning, Mr. Butler.”Jack was wearing brown trousers and a navy jumper over a collared shirt. He wore no tie, and his hair was slightly less controlled than it normally was when he was working. He looked comfortable, and younger than he did a decade ago. To Rosie the sight felt both familiar and foreign at the same time.Chief Inspector, her mind whispered.“Morning, Rosie,” Jack said, smiling broadly. “You’re up early – I hope all the commotion down here didn’t wake you.”She smiled back. “It didn’t. My sleep schedule is completely erratic these days.”“Alright, but if you want to move upstairs, just say the word.”By this point, Rosie was quite sure she preferred her current accommodation: close to the library and Mr. Butler’s delightful conversation, and as far as possible from Jack and Phryne’s bedroom.Phryne’s eyes twinkled at Jack over the rim of her teacup. He passed behind her on his way to the stove, and lightly brushed the nape of her neck with the backs of his fingers. It happened in the blink of an eye, but the confident intimacy of the gesture took Rosie’s breath away.She had always known Jack to be tender and affectionate, especially in the privacy of home. Even in the darkest days of their marriage he never failed to brush a kiss to her temple before he left for the station.But when it came to Miss Fisher, every aspect of his person – from the tilt of his head, the angle of his body, even the volume and cadence of his voice – centered around her the moment he sensed her presence. His connection to Phryne had always seemed even more visceral than love, and as Rosie bore witness to it again now, she was frankly surprised that he’d held himself back from this woman for so long.She surveyed her heart for traces of regret over their divorce. On a certain level, it stung to admit that Jack never would have initiated the proceedings himself, and that if Rosie had called off the separation, he would have stayed true to his marriage vows for the rest of his life. But as she watched Jack brush past Phryne again – this time reflexively smoothing a wayward strand of her hair – Rosie felt something settle in her gut. Clearly, his heart, which had always held mysteries that she couldn’t fully solve, was lost to her the day he met Phryne Fisher.She drained her last sip of tea, and decided never to doubt the wisdom of their divorce ever again.Mr. Butler began beating eggs in a large bowl while Jack stood beside him, stripping stalks of rosemary and thyme.“Miss Sanderson was telling us about her mother’s cycling records,” Jane said.“Ah, the magnificent Maggie Davis.” Jack smiled as he began chopping the herbs. “I knew about her even before I met Rosie, from the sporting magazines I read as a child. I always wished I could’ve met her.”“She would have adored you,” Rosie said. “She probably would’ve wanted to adopt you.”As they all shared a laugh, the two cabbies reentered the kitchen and helped themselves to the basket of scones in the middle of the table. “Morning, gents,” said Jack. Mr. Yates mumbled a hello around a mouthful of pastry, and Mr. Johnson grunted as he stuffed a few in his pocket.Jane followed them back outside, leaving the door ajar.“Speaking of which,” Jack said, “Jane wants to go riding later, so I need to pick up my bicycle from the shop before noon. What are everyone else’s plans?”“I have a meeting with Martin today,” said Phryne, “my business manager,” she explained to Rosie. “He should be here around two o’clock.”Rosie considered her own plans. “I should probably pay Rebecca a visit.”The telephone rang from the entryway. Mr. Butler summoned Phryne out of the room – “Mrs. Collins for you, Miss” – leaving Jack and Rosie alone in the kitchen.“I’m sure Rebecca has plenty of questions about Adelaide,” Rosie added.“And about the welcome you received at Phryne’s … den of iniquity?” Jack teased, his eyes twinkling.Rosie blushed. Of course Jack knew that her sister had been her primary sounding board throughout their marriage, including the arduous years leading up to their separation, and the eighteen-month separation itself. He was right to suspect that Rebecca had fielded most of Rosie’s early gripes about the shameless Phryne Fisher, often over wine.“She’s like a wart that keeps growing back,” Rosie vaguely recalled opining one evening, when she was feeling especially tipsy and poetic.She raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she squeaked.Jack chuckled, and began slicing the now-cooled loaf of bread. Rosie could hear Jane chatting with the cabbies outside.“How did you convince Mr. Butler to let you tamper with his kitchen?”“It was a compromise. I couldn’t get used to being waited on, so I insisted on at least lending a hand with the cooking.”Rosie watched with interest as he slid the slices of bread onto the grill with one motion and adjusted the temperature settings. Clearly, he had picked up some new skills during their separation.He opened a few cabinets and pulled out jars of jam and a tin of kippers. He arranged them on a tray, then finally turned and sat down in the chair Phryne had just occupied.He regarded her carefully. “Are you doing alright so far?” He sounded truly concerned.Rosie thought of her quiet supper in the library yesterday, the breakdown she’d had in the hallway last night, and the moments she’d just shared with Phryne and Jane.“Yes. It’s been lovely.”Jack seemed relieved. “I hope you’ll treat the house as your own. I know we’re an odd bunch, but this is probably the most welcoming place in Melbourne for weary souls.” From his tone, Rosie could tell that he counted himself among the blessed.She smiled and nodded.“But if you do start to feel uncomfortable—”“I won’t be shy about it, Jack. I promise. I know I can always run back to Rebecca’s.”Mr. Butler placed several steaming plates of eggs on the table, along with a stack of toast and the tray Jack had assembled. Rosie caught the aroma of butter and fresh herbs, and her stomach moaned with appreciation.“Thank you, Mr. Butler,” Jack said. “Has Jane eaten?”“Yes, sir. She was famished when she got home, so I fixed her a cold sandwich.” Mr. Butler smiled as he retreated.Yes sir, indeed, Rosie thought, forcing her face to remain impassive. As her mind worked to process the rather surreal image in front of her – Jack Robinson, the reluctant aristocrat and consummate father – she focused on her eggs.She wondered if Jack remembered the time he donned an apron and pretended to be her butler, while she was laid up in bed with a twisted ankle. “At your service, m’lady,” he’d said with a cheeky grin.“Tell me more about your travels,” Rosie said as she reached for a slice of toast. “The newspapers reported when you arrived in England, but they seemed to lose track of you two on your way back.”Her favorite headline had been “Melbourne’s Favorite Flapper Steps Out with Bobby Beau.” It ran next to a photo of Jack and Phryne emerging from a London theater in formal dress.He let out a rumbling chuckle. “When I left for England, I really had no idea what to expect. I think I was picturing guided tours.” Rosie smiled at the thought of Phryne hanging off a double-decker bus, brandishing binoculars.“We did some sightseeing in London and Paris, but most of the time we drifted from place to place with no set plan.” He slathered a slice of toast with jam. “Once word got out that Phryne was in England, people were constantly reaching out to her. She’d get calls from friends in Scotland Yard, asking for help … or people she knew from her bohemian days would invite us to come and stay with them on the continent…” he paused to chew. “Once, a professor friend of hers invited us on an archeological expedition in Egypt, and on the way there we stumbled across a train robbery.” He shook his head affectionately, and a dreamlike image flashed through Rosie’s mind, of Jack and Phryne chasing masked villains through a sandstorm, waving swords. “And so, every few weeks we’d be on a train, or a boat, heading for some new place.”Rosie hummed as she chewed. Truthfully, it sounded wonderful. Her mental picture of Jack and Phryne wielding swords morphed into a scene of the couple surfing atop a moving train.“And Everest?”Jack gasped out a laugh. “She made it to the second base camp. Her goal was to reach the third, but I think she decided to take pity on the old man waiting for her in Nepal with a band of sherpas.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I was quite worried, because she barely had time to train … but I should have known better than to doubt her.”He smiled at his empty plate. Outside, Jane and the cabbies chortled loudly.Feeling somewhat high on herbed eggs and raspberry jam, Rosie decided she couldn’t resist.“You know ... I asked Phryne if you two were engaged.” He looked up sharply, eyes wide. “She said no, but she seemed…” Rosie watched the muscle in his jaw twitch - “well, the idea made her smile a lot.”Jack swallowed. He looked down, and just as Rosie began to worry that she’d gone too far, an expression rather like bliss flashed across his face.“Sorry to pry,” she said quickly.“It’s alright.” His voice cracked slightly. “You’re not prying.” Though his face barely moved, Rosie could see cautious hope in his eyes, mixed with gratitude and what could only be described as joy.She felt momentarily awestruck. “You look…”Jack blinked at her expectantly. She searched for the right words.“…so in love.”He blushed, but didn’t break eye contact. “I am.”His head unconsciously tilted in the direction of Phryne’s laughter.“You already knew that though.” He raised an eyebrow and smirked slightly.Now it was Rosie’s turn to blush. “Yes,” she took a breath - “I suppose it just struck me afresh. Seeing you, and the life you’ve built together, here in … your home.” She continued to meet his gaze.Jack nodded, a friendly twinkle still in his eyes.“You’re finally where you belong,” she finished.His smile faded into an unreadable expression. “Honestly,” he said slowly, “sometimes I still think I’m dreaming.” He glanced out the window, shaking his head in wonderment.She wasn’t sure if he was referring to his relationship with Phryne, his newfound fatherhood, the lavish lifestyle that had been dropped into his lap, or the grand adventure his life had become. Given everything she knew about his history, she assumed he meant all of it.Just then, Phryne swept back into the kitchen. Jack’s eyes lit up immediately.“Dot will come by later this afternoon,” she reported, “and I thought Hugh might join us for dinner.” She put her hand on Jack’s shoulder and cocked her head inquiringly.Though she was clearly waiting for him to respond, Jack merely looked up at her with a reverent expression. He slowly reached up to where her hand rested on his shoulder and covered it with his own, caressing her wrist with his thumb.“That sounds perfect,” he nearly whispered.Rosie averted her eyes, but she couldn’t help but smile. There was obviously some ongoing, perhaps unspoken dialogue between these two on the topic of marriage, which she had unwittingly tapped into. Though she was still curious, she made a mental note not to broach the subject again. It was already a miracle that her nosiness hadn’t made things more awkward this first morning.Phryne finally cleared her throat. “Dinner?” she mumbled, sounding slightly dazed.“Yes. Good plan … for dinner,” Jack stammered. He reluctantly released Phryne’s hand and began straightening his already-straight collar. He looked sheepishly at Rosie.She raised an eyebrow, but felt herself grinning. “I’m looking forward to it.”A car horn honked loudly outside. As Jane poked her head in – “Let’s get a move on!” she cried – the adults finally gathered their bearings.Jack grabbed both his and Rosie’s coats from the entryway, and dropped a chaste kiss to Phryne’s forehead before heading out the door and discussing directions with the cabbies. In a flurry of “see you later,” and “dinner’s at seven,” and “have a nice day,” they were off – Jack in one cab, and Rosie and Jane in the other.As Mr. Yates started the car and she settled in next to Jane, Rosie surveyed her emotions again. To her relief, the angst that had ebbed and flowed throughout breakfast had given way to a calm self-assurance. She’d expected meals at Wardlow to feel like running through a field full of landmines, but instead, she’d managed to examine the landmines and disable them one by one. Hopefully she could keep it up.She noticed Jane struggling to balance the enormous stack of books on her lap.“What have you been reading?” she asked, reaching a hand out to help.As Jane chattered pleasantly – “…relate to the characters in the English novels, but I love the settings in the American ones…” – and the familiar sights of her home city rose to greet her, Rosie inhaled deeply.She felt content.* * *With the house swiftly cleared out, Phryne finally sat down to finish her breakfast. She relaxed into her chair and realized she’d been holding tension in her shoulders.Mr. Butler topped up her tea.“It’s been an eventful morning, hasn’t it?” she asked.“Indeed it has.”Phryne chewed her toast. “How do you think it’s going so far?”Mr. Butler smiled in a way that was somehow both respectful and fatherly.  “I think we’re off to a roaring start,” he said.She nodded thoughtfully.“So…” she probed, just as he was starting to turn away – “do you think this was a good idea?”He set down the teapot, and folded his hands.“I think … these are difficult times,” he paused - “and we need all the friends we can get.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

10:45 AM - Comrade
Jack breathed a sigh of relief as he settled into the passenger seat. He hadn’t expected Rosie to be quite so sentimental this first morning, but of course, this was an emotionally taxing time for her. All told, she seemed as comfortable as he could hope for under the circumstances. He felt a surge of gratitude for Mr. Butler’s perfect hospitality and Jane’s friendly nature.As for Phryne, he felt silly for having worried at all. Poised and magnanimous as ever, she’d embraced Rosie as she would any soul in need.He smiled inwardly. It seemed every time he thought he couldn’t possibly love her more, she managed to amaze him all over again.
“…asked Phryne if you two were engaged … the idea made her smile a lot...”
Closing his eyes, he recalled the moment he’d treasured in his heart for many months now, yet seldom allowed himself to revisit. If he concentrated even a little, he could still feel the refreshing chill of the evening desert air on his face.
The sandstone under his bare feet was rough and cool, and the woven blanket draped over both of their shoulders gave off a faint spicy smell. They’d climbed up to the roof of their boarding house in Morocco, and he was relishing the ethereal expanse of stars around them – the most vibrant night sky he’d ever seen. He turned to tell Phryne this, and found her gazing up at him tenderly.
She tucked her damp hair behind her ear with one hand, and tightened her end of the blanket around herself with the other. As she opened her mouth to speak, her eyes sparkled with complete trust and expectancy.

"Do you think we should get married, Jack?”

A shiver ran down his spine.Jostled by a bump in the road, he came out of his reverie and scanned his surroundings. They’d only been driving a few minutes.In the corner of his eye he saw Bert glance in his direction, stifling a grin as he puffed away at his cigarette.Jack rolled his eyes. “Alright, go on then.”“Eh?” Bert grunted.“What is it this time?” Jack sighed. “Are my shoes too shiny? Is my powdered wig showing?”“Nope,” Bert mumbled, shrugging.“Then pray tell what’s so amusing, comrade.” He waited, threading his fingers loosely in his lap.Despite himself, Jack felt a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t know what the cabbie was planning to rib him about today, but the jokes usually only reminded him of his good fortune.He’d officially changed his address to Wardlow three months ago, and the move had taken surprisingly little effort. All his clothing and personal items – which he and Phryne spent a heady weekend packing – fit neatly into a few battered trunks, not counting almost a dozen boxes of books. Between himself, Cec, Bert, and Hugh, the transfer was completed in a single afternoon. Then, almost overnight, thanks to Dot’s organizational sorcery and Mr. Butler’s deft hand, all of Jack’s possessions were neatly slotted throughout the house, as though they’d been there all along.The real challenge was getting used to the level of luxury that was suddenly thrust upon him. He’d gotten a taste of Phryne’s lavish lifestyle during their travels, but still, having meals sent up by hotel staff was nothing compared to having a butler serve him tea and toast in bed every morning of his life.Thankfully, he quickly found ways to satisfy his working-class industriousness, from lending a hand in the kitchen to taking over care of the garden. As comfortable as Jack now looked and felt at Wardlow, the two red raggers had found the whole process endlessly amusing, as they still occasionally liked to remind him. “Nice cufflinks,” Bert muttered one evening as he drove Jack to the Stanley estate. “Thank you,” Jack responded with mock seriousness, as he thumbed one of the sapphire studs. “I hear they bring out my eyes.”This morning, Bert merely chuckled around his ciggie, clearly holding back.“Albert,” Jack warned.Finally, the cabbie removed the gasper from his mouth and glanced sideways at Jack.“Toffed up a few weeks now, ain’t ya?”Jack rolled his eyes again. “Three months,” he said with a sigh.“Ah. Right.”Silence.“Why do you ask?”The cabbie grinned. Jack could tell he was in for a doozy.“Already got a dame on every floor, eh?”Jack’s mouth dropped open.He knew the expected response – and only proper response for a gentleman – would be dour disapproval. Ideally something about his honor. And Phryne’s honor, and Rosie’s.Instead, and quite unfortunately, he heard himself snort.With his eyes still trained ahead, he composed himself, rolling his lips together. He took a breath … and decided to hang propriety, just this once.“Pity there’s only two floors,” he said dryly.Bert guffawed.As their choked laughter subsided into wheezes, they both continued looking straight ahead. Jack shook his head as he took in the sheer absurdity of his situation.Three years ago he was sleeping on a cot in his office, convinced that his work was the only reprieve he had – that he would ever have – from his failing marriage and his wartime nightmares. This morning he’d woken up in the kind of house his grandfather would have boasted about working in, and he’d made toast for his ex-wife as they chatted about his recent jaunt around the world.Two years ago he’d been absolutely certain that he’d squandered his only chance at love – a love that had been so virtuous, and yet so rife with unmet expectations. Now, he was happily living in sin with a goddess who was not only devoted to him, but who allegedly smiled at the notion of marrying him.Smiled at his ex-wife, about the prospect of marrying him.He removed his hat and ran a trembling hand through his hair.“Seems nice, that Miss Sanderson.”Jack glanced over at Bert curiously. He looked sincere.“She is.” Jack faced forward again. “She’s a very classy lady, and incredibly strong. She’s the only one of George’s relatives attending this godforsaken trial.”“Least she don’ have ta testify,” Bert grumbled.Jack chuckled. To Bert’s chagrin, both he and Phryne had been designated as witnesses for the Crown, since they were the only adults held captive on the Pandarus. Watching Bert prepare to testify had been interesting, to say the least. “Excellent, Mr. Johnson,” Jack overheard one exhausted attorney in the prosecutor’s office - “but can we try again with less swearing? And please let’s avoid referring to the police as ‘flatties’…”“Thank goodness for that,” Jack replied. “No one should have to testify against their only living parent.”Bert grunted his agreement.Jack sobered as he considered the other major irony of his life: that days from now, he himself would be testifying as the lead investigator in the criminal case against his former father-in-law. A case involving words like child exploitation, and trafficking in persons.As he looked out the window, he pictured the stern face of the man who used to call him son – the man who, at one time, Jack had endeavored to impress.After a few moments, Jack could sense the cabbie grinning again.“What now?” he asked wearily.Bert cleared his throat.“You an’ Miss Fisher…” he puffed at his cigarette.“Yes?”Silence.“Me and Miss Fisher what, man?” He could hear the exasperation in his own voice.“Er … ya might wanna think about … bein’ a bit more … discreet.”Jack furrowed his brow. “Discreet?”“Yeah, with Miss Sanderson ‘round an’ all.” Bert shrugged.Jack felt a surge of indignation. From the moment Phryne leapt into his arms on the dock in Southampton, he’d allowed his natural reservedness to fall away when it came to public displays of affection. He’d delighted in warming her hand as they walked through the windy streets of London. And when they braved the bittersweet sights of Paris – revisiting houses and back alleys that were still haunted by ghosts of trauma – he’d placed a steadying arm around her each time her steps faltered. Together they’d decided that they had nothing to hide from the world, and he now reveled in the fact that he could touch the small of her back whenever he wanted.He wasn’t sure if it was thanks to Phryne’s fame and title, or his own good reputation, but thus far, they hadn’t received much grief from anyone whose opinion mattered. He certainly hadn’t expected to receive any from their friends – and especially not the hard-drinking, freewheeling friend next to him.He huffed. “Well, I don’t think we were planning to be especially … inappropriate, in front of Rosie…”The cabbie snorted. “Not what I mean, mate.”“Then?”Bert turned off the car, shaking his head. Jack noticed that they’d arrived at the mechanic’s shop.“Ya know…” Bert drawled, sitting back in his seat, “the walls in that house ain’t soundproof.”Jack’s mouth went dry. This could very well be the most humiliating moment of his life.“I’m well aware of that,” he croaked.“Are ya?” Bert said cheerfully. “The walls, the floors, the parlor doors … the kitchen windows … the pantry—”“Alright, Albert.” Jack said through gritted teeth, his face burning. “I get your point.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll take that under advisement.”He stepped out of the car and started towards the shop. “Well, thanks for a pleasant ride. I don’t know where I’d be without your … insights.”“Givin’ out free fares now, am I?” Bert grumbled behind him.Jack chuckled to himself. They both knew he’d just refilled both cabs with petrol.He didn’t turn around. “Put it on my tab,” he called back. * * * * * * * * * * 
2:15 PM - Valentino
“I still can’t believe you’re staying there.”Rosie adjusted her wide-brimmed hat as the afternoon sun emerged from behind a cloud. She sipped her lemonade and watched her nephews chase each other around the yard.She shrugged. “It’s convenient. You know Jack is testifying—"Rebecca huffed dramatically.“And besides,” Rosie continued, “I don’t want to put you out again.”It was the excuse she’d already given several times over the phone: Rebecca and Paul’s four boys were getting too big to sleep in one room, and it would be a hassle to chauffeur Rosie around for however long the trial lasted.The truth, they both knew, was that Rosie was tired of playing the spinster aunt, like some tragic heroine in a Victorian novel. Moreover, talking to family members about the trial only seemed to remind her that while all three Sanderson children had been cruelly robbed of both mother and father, she was the only one who’d lost a fiancé as well – the only one stupid enough to fall in love with a murderous thug.“Anyway,” she said, “it’s been quite pleasant so far. It’s a beautiful house, and they’ve been very welcoming.” She laid back on her lawn chair, and pushed her hat forward so it covered most of her face. “That butler of hers must be a trained chef.” She wiggled her bare toes. “There’s homemade jam,” she added helpfully.Rosie’s eyes were closed, but she could sense her sister’s unease.“Are you sure you’re not just punishing yourself?” Rebecca finally asked.Rosie swallowed, but kept her eyes tightly closed. “For what?”“For divorcing Jack, perhaps?” Rebecca said carefully. “For choosing Sidney over him?”Rosie remained silent.Rebecca sighed. “For missing the signs we all missed?”Rosie frowned under the brim of her hat. Her mind shot to a ripped skirt hem, and her own blotchy face in the bathroom mirror after she’d scooped herself up off the floor last night.She cleared her throat. “I don’t think I am. It … it doesn’t feel punishing. It’s been quite … entertaining, in fact.” She heard Rebecca groan. “The daughter is delightful, and it’s interesting to hear about their travels…” She let her voice trail off. She could hear her nephews cackling at the other end of the yard.“I don’t know how you can listen to all that,” Rebecca said incredulously.“Mm?”“It doesn’t hurt you at all, to hear their stories?” She waited, but Rosie said nothing. “To see them with a child?” She paused again. “A fifteen-year-old child?”Rosie felt her body stiffen.“You and Jack could have had a child that age—”Rosie cut her off with a wry laugh. “Yes, if I’d fallen pregnant.” She could see Rebecca’s stricken expression even without looking up. “And I could have been happily married right now, if Sidney hadn’t turned out to be a louse.” She exhaled sharply, removing her hat from her face. “And I suppose I could have been in bloody Parliament, if I’d gone to university.” She sat up, shielding her eyes from the sun. “But alas.”Rebecca waited a long moment before speaking. “I’m sorry, Prim.”Rosie took a shaky sip of lemonade. She reached over to the cheese tray on the small table between them, and stabbed three cubes with one skewer.“It’s just that … I know I wouldn’t be strong enough to do what you’re doing,” Rebecca said gently. “I’m not even strong enough to attend the trial.” She shook her head, scoffing to herself. “Fred can’t even bring himself to show his face in Melbourne.”Rosie smiled weakly. Their brother had taken off to Western Australia right after their father’s arrest. Though she missed him, she took comfort in the odd telegram assuring them that he was fine, and ultimately, she understood his desire to disappear.“Well, you know how he worshipped Father,” she said.“Mm.” Rebecca refilled both their cups. “Anyway, all I meant was, if I were in your position ... if I were divorced from Paul, and I had to watch him move on…”Rosie braced herself as she chewed a cube of sharp cheddar. Clearly Rebecca wasn’t going to let this go.“…If I had to observe his new life up close, see him with another woman day after day…”Rosie could feel Rebecca’s eyes scanning the side of her face.“…I-I don’t think I could help but feel … sad. Or at least, uncomfortable. Even if I was no longer in love with him.”In the distance, Rebecca’s two oldest sons were now wrestling savagely, while the younger two busied themselves with dirt.“I just want to make sure you’re alright, Prim.”Rosie finally turned to meet her sister’s concerned gaze. “I’ll be fine,” she promised. “It just feels like where I need to be, for now. Something about closure, perhaps.” Smiling reassuringly, she reached over and squeezed Rebecca’s hand. “And thankfully, I’ve got a big sister I can run to if things get hairy.”Grinning, they both relaxed again.As she stretched out, Rosie reflected on the morning she’d just had at Wardlow – the rich conversation around the kitchen table, and the calm feeling that had come over her at certain points. The strange fascination she’d felt, as she watched Jack move through a space that was entirely new, in a body that looked entirely familiar.“I suppose I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel slightly envious,” she admitted with a sigh.“Oh?”“Of how content they are.”She nibbled another piece of cheese. Between Mr. Butler and Rebecca, at least she knew she wouldn’t go hungry.“Even when Jack and I were at our happiest, I was always … longing for more.”She recalled the images that had flashed through her mind as Jack described his globetrotting adventures over breakfast: him and Phryne fighting villains in exotic lands, and surfing atop moving trains.Then, like a sequence in a dream, those images morphed into a scene of herself and Jack as newlyweds, lying side by side with the covers pulled over their heads, indulging their wild fantasies.
     “We should ride horses through the desert…”

“Horses or camels?”

“Camel sounds bumpy…”

“I guess you’ll just have to hold on tight…”
She wondered idly if Jack and Phryne had ever ridden camels during their travels.“Well, there’s still time,” she heard Rebecca say. “You’re only thirty-five. Paul’s cousin just had twins, and she’s older than me.”“Mhmm,” Rosie mumbled absently, before registering her sister’s words. “Wait … what?” Startled, she turned to find Rebecca looking at her with an earnest expression.“Oh,” Rosie sat back. “I wasn’t talking about children.” She watched her nephews tussle around. “To be honest, of all the things I regret about my marriage, not having children was probably the easiest thing to get over.”“Really?”“I’d rather be childless and divorced, than stuck in an unhappy marriage for the sake of the children.”Rebecca nodded slowly. “True.” She cleared her throat. “So then, what is it that you long for now?”It was a good question, but each time she searched her mind for an answer, all Rosie found was a familiar cache of memories.
     “It obviously doesn’t make sense for her to go to university, once she’s married,” her aunt opined, as a gaggle of chattering women get to work on Rosie’s wedding gown...

“Only the best for the future Mrs. Fletcher.” Sidney fastened an expensive string of rare pearls around her neck...

“Maybe we shouldn’t hang our entire happiness on having children,” Jack suggested wearily, as she rolled away from his touch...
“I don’t know,” Rosie finally replied. “Maybe that’s the problem. I don’t think I ever took the time to figure out what I wanted from life, or who I was, apart from being my husband’s wife.” She hugged her knees to her chest. “Wife and mother. Since I was fifteen, that’s all I ever pictured for myself.”“Well,” Rebecca said after a pause, “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being just a wife and mother…” There was a trace of disquiet in her voice. “I find my life … fulfilling … most of the time.” She fiddled with her skirt.Rosie squeezed her sister’s shoulder. “Of course you do. I didn’t mean that.”“What else is there, anyway, for married women?” Rebecca wondered aloud. “We can’t all be pilots and heiresses and detectives.” She shot a quick glance at Rosie. “And you shouldn’t compare yourself to those women who can.”Rosie felt a surge of affection for her sister. She hummed gratefully. “You’re right.”They sat in silence for a few moments, watching the boys climb a tree with practiced ease.
     “Reach up, up, up, Rose!”
She closed her eyes as a gentle breeze ruffled her hair.     “George, look how far she climbed all by herself!”Her mother had been gone for over twenty years, but she could still hear her joyful, rich voice carrying in the wind, up through the branches of the magnolia tree that Rosie spent her childhood conquering.“Since when did you want to be in Parliament?” Rebecca chirped.Rosie snorted in surprise. She’d forgotten her earlier outburst. “I don’t. I just meant, I might have done something. Been something more.”“Well, you’re certainly clever enough.”Rosie smiled ruefully, realizing how long it had been since she’d considered her own intellect. Her own potential.
     “You must convince Jack to try for a promotion,” Rebecca pleaded with her over dinner, while Jack worked late…

“You must convince Sidney to expand to the Asian market,” Fred advised emphatically, over a pot of tea…
As the memories washed over her, Rosie wondered how much time she’d spent in her life convincing men to be all they could be.She vaguely registered that Rebecca was still talking, and had apparently moved on to juicier topics.“…and she may be generous, but the woman has absolutely no shame. Marion Harris just saw them on St. Kilda Beach, and she was half naked! One of those newfangled bathing costumes for teen-aged girls…”As she sipped her lemonade, half-listening, it occurred to Rosie that Fred had been wrong about Asia. Given the current trade routes and inflation patterns, America was probably a much smarter investment at the moment.“…imagine, living together, openly…”Rosie watched her nephews swing from their tree branches, squealing loudly.“…terrible influence on the boys…”With a heavy sigh, Rosie sat up.“You do know that I was practically living with Sidney at one point, don’t you?” she said with amusement. “Where did you think I was, all those nights I didn’t come home?” She chuckled at Rebecca’s indignant expression. “And for what it’s worth, I’m fairly certain Sidney and I were … intimately involved, long before Jack and Phryne were.”“Ah, yes,” Rebecca said with a knowing smile. “Your divorce party.” She wiggled her eyebrows at Rosie. “That lasted two whole days, didn’t it, Prim?”Rosie rolled her eyes, warily recalling the night her divorce was finalized. Sidney had turned up at their door just as Rebecca was opening a third bottle of wine. He was flirtatious and charming as usual, but his hooded gaze was more intense than ever. With a bouquet of roses in his hand and his car still humming behind him, his intention was clear. “Is there a Mrs. Robinson at this address?” he asked with a smirk.Suddenly tired, Rosie felt an urge to crawl into a plushy bed with no one but John Maynard Keynes for company.Rebecca was still fired up, however. “Anyway, our house was still your official address. It was all perfectly dignified. Plus, you got engaged.” She shook her head vehemently. “This business of … of … simply shacking up,” she grumbled, “it’s downright scandalous.”Rosie yawned. “Well, lord knows I’m used to scandal,” she mumbled, struggling to sit up. She wondered how it was possible to feel drunk from lemonade and cheese. “If it’s any consolation, I think an engagement might be imminent. Phryne has a daughter, after all.”With one last huff, Rebecca composed herself. After a long moment, she reached out and squeezed Rosie’s hand.“Alright. If you could go anywhere in the world,” she lilted, “do anything, with anyone, what would you do?”Rosie grinned at her. It was the type of question they used to ask as children, back when they shared one bed.“Hmm,” Rosie pretended to think hard. “I’d sail around the world with Valentino.”Rebecca guffaws. “I think I’d do the same, but with John Gilbert.”As their giggles subsided, Rebecca poked Rosie’s arm with her finger. “Really though, what would you do.”Just then, a gust of wind whipped through the trees and enveloped the two women, and Rosie paused to savor the way it kissed her cheeks.“I would go cycling with mum,” she said softly. “Down that trail near our old house.”“Mmm,” Rebecca murmured. “Good choice.”Thinking fondly of scuffed knees and muddy skirts, Rosie finally stood up. “I should head back.” She stretched her arms over her head. “Thanks again for the hat.”As she helped Rebecca tidy up, a question occurred to her.“Say, do you remember that red-headed girl who used to live around the corner from us? Milly? Tilly?”Rebecca thought for a second. “Nelly. Nelly Brown.”“Ah.”“Why?”“No reason. I was just wondering.” Rosie yawned again. “She was so mean to me.”Rebecca chuckled. “That’s because Bobby fancied you.”Rosie stared at her blankly. “Who?”“Bobby Finch – the boy who lived behind us. How can you not remember?”Rosie furrowed her brow. “Fred’s friend? The one with the square head?”Rebecca chortled. “Yes. Nelly fancied him, and he fancied you.” She laughed even harder at Rosie’s confused expression. “Why do you think he was always throwing balls over our fence?”Rosie shrugged, heading to say goodbye to the boys. “Poor aim?”Rebecca grinned, shaking her head at Rosie’s back. “Oh, Primrose…” * * * * * * * * * * 
3:50 PM - Meadow
“Careful!” Jack called out. “Slow down!”With a whoop, Jane screeched to a halt, mere inches from a thorny bush. She leaned her bicycle carefully against a tree, fished an apple out of her rucksack, and flung herself down on the grass, stretching out like a starfish.Jack grinned as he approached. Jane was clearly falling in love with cycling for the same reason he had – that sense of freedom and abandon that only a good sweat and a cool breeze could bring.He laid down as well, mirroring Jane, so that the tops of their heads were almost touching. They’d taken a familiar route and arrived at a familiar spot on the side of a hill, partially shaded by trees. The weather was perfect, and Jack felt like he could fall asleep.“Uncle Jack?” “Mm?”“How did you meet Miss Sanderson?”He opened his eyes. He wasn’t entirely surprised at the question. Jane was endlessly curious, and though she’d always seemed unphased by Jack’s presence at Wardlow – had welcomed him with open arms, in fact – he could hardly expect her to spend a morning with his ex-wife and not have any questions.He cleared his throat. “I was in the police academy, and Rosie’s father was the chief inspector in my district.” He interlaced his fingers behind his head. “I saw her for the first time at a dinner at George’s house, but I was way too nervous to talk to her.”He heard Jane chuckle, and he smiled fondly. These were memories he was always happy to revisit. “I figured out when she usually passed by the academy, so I could find excuses to run into her … and one day, I worked up the courage to ask her on a walk.”“Very brave of you,” Jane said firmly.“I had to ask her about a dozen times before she said yes, though. And quote Shakespeare to her.”Jane laughed in surprise. “Which play did you quote?”“Hamlet.” He remembered it like it was yesterday. “I called her Rosemary, because of Ophelia’s speech in Act Four.”Jane hummed appreciatively.“How old were you?” she asked after a pause.“Seventeen. And she must have been … almost sixteen.” It sounded unbelievably young to him now. “We got married three years later.”“I’m almost sixteen…” Jane murmured, almost to herself.“We were very young,” he added quickly. “Too young, I think, even for 1912.” He hoped he sounded convincing. The last thing he needed was for Jane to start thinking about marriage.“Miss Dot and Constable Collins are young,” she reminded him. She took a bite of her apple.“True,” he conceded. “But I think Rosie would agree that we were very naïve.”Jane chewed slowly. “What do you mean?”Jack fidgeted nervously. Talking to Jane about romantic relationships was Phryne’s domain, but he supposed if Jane had questions about marriage, it made sense for her to ask him.“Well, when we met, we thought we had a lot in common.” He picked a blade of grass and rubbed it between his fingers. “I’d lost my father a few years earlier, and she’d lost her mother around the same time…” He paused. It was back in England, when he first shared these memories with Phryne, that he realized it was this mutual loss of a parent that had initially bonded him and Rosie as teenagers.“We both loved being outdoors, and you know I couldn’t believe my luck, finding a girl who loved to cycle.” He grinned as Jane tittered softly. “She was also clever and pretty, and I suppose she found me charming,” he said with amusement. “Since her name was Rose, I decided to shower her with flowers, so I’d sneak one into her coat pocket when she wasn’t looking, or I’d press them into the big books she was always reading…”After a moment, he felt Jane stir. “What changed?” she probed tentatively.Jack swallowed, and picked another blade of grass. He’d expected that these next few weeks would give him cause for reflection, but he hadn’t anticipated that his first such conversation would be with Jane, and so soon after Rosie’s arrival.He sat up and turned himself around, so that his and Jane’s legs were facing the same direction. As he leaned back on his hands and looked out at the meadow below them, he couldn’t help but recall the alcohol-soaked nights he used to spend agonizing over the demise of his marriage. The guilt that had often threatened to crush him. The loneliness that would seize him as he struggled to fall asleep in a bed that was not only cold, but that promised to never be warm again.He drew a shaky breath. These were fragments of his life he rarely thought about these days, yet the memories still lurked in dark corners of his mind.“As we got older,” he said thoughtfully, “life got harder, and more complicated, as it often does. There was the war, of course, which … shattered me…” he sighed - “and then there was my work, which became more and more stressful as I rose through the ranks...”He wrapped his arms loosely around his knees. “Over time, we realized how different we really were. We stopped being able to communicate, stopped sharing each other’s dreams … and we grew apart.” He glanced over at Jane. She was still lying down, looking straight up into the trees above, but clearly listening intently.“Eventually…” Jack took his time finding words that were honest, yet age-appropriate for Jane. “Eventually, there was nothing left. Perhaps because there wasn’t enough holding us together in the first place.”Jane hummed her understanding.“It was quite heartbreaking, at the time…” he heard himself say, perhaps more for his own benefit than for Jane’s.They were quiet for a few seconds. Jane tossed her apple core near a nearby bush, attracting the attention of a fat robin.“But then?” she offered, with a smile in her voice.Jack laughed. “But then … a certain lady detective locked herself in one of my crime scenes.” Jane was grinning up at him now, and he felt his heart swell. That was, and always would be, his favorite memory.“She understood me, in a way no one else ever had.” He looked back down the hill, feeling strangely lost for words. “The first time I saw her…” he ran his hand through his hair.“Your heart flew?” Jane chirped, “like Ferdinand?”He let out a wet chuckle. “Yes, exactly.”Jane had been devouring his collected Shakespeare, and like Jack, had taken to memorizing her favorite passages. Lately, she was entranced by The Tempest.“Act Three,” said Jack.“Scene One,” she finished.Jack nodded. “It was exactly like that.” He smiled to himself. “I didn’t know that kind of love was possible.”“Mmm.”After a moment, Jack noticed that Jane was lying ever so still, with her eyes tightly closed. She seemed pensive, and he wondered if there was some deeper concern that Rosie’s visit had stirred up for her.“Is there something troubling you about all this?” He asked finally. “Not a … a boy?” He could hear the dread in his own voice.Jane blushed. “No, it’s not that.” With a heavy sigh, she sat up next to Jack. Her anxiety was palpable.“Auntie Phryne told me about her life in Paris, and the man she was with.” She hugged her knees to her chest. “The man who hurt her.”“Oh … I see.”Of course. A few weeks ago, Phryne and Mac had hosted a conference on “violence in the home” – a problem most people preferred to deny even existed. Thanks to Phryne’s sponsorship and Prudence Stanley’s promotion, the event had been a smashing success.“When will people understand that women aren’t property?” Phryne exclaimed in frustration one night as she prepared her opening speech. From across the room, Jack had watched her scatter papers all over the bed and absently chew the back of her pen, and he was sure he’d never seen a more beautiful thing in his life.“She said he was kind to her, at first,” Jane explained, “but then he changed.” As she gazed out at the lush fields below them, her voice grew quiet. “I don’t understand how someone can say they love you, and yet hurt you so badly. Like what happened to my mother.” She looked down at her shoes. “I just don’t want Auntie Phryne to be hurt again.”As realization dawned, Jack gently rested a hand on Jane’s shoulder. Despite her cheerful spirit, every so often Jane’s eyes still spoke of her childhood trauma, and Jack longed to ensure that that trauma stayed firmly in her past.“Jane, you don’t ever have to worry about Phryne—”“I know you’d never hit her—”“No, it has nothing to do with me.”She looked at him quizzically.“Well, of course I wouldn’t,” he said. “But what I mean is,” he exhaled, “you don’t have to worry because you can trust how strong she is. She freed herself, after all … she escaped DuBois, and made herself into the person she is today.”Jane nodded slowly.“She survived,” Jack continued, “just like your mother did. And you can rest assured that no matter what happens between Phryne and me, or if … anything were to happen to me…” he swallowed, “she’ll be strong enough to carry on, for your sake, and for all the people who rely on her.” It was a sentiment Jack had repeated many times to himself. “You believe that, don’t you?”She seemed to understand. “Mhmm,” she said after a moment. “I do.”He smiled reassuringly. “You know,” he continued, “that’s what Phryne wants for you, too. To be strong and independent, regardless of whether you ever choose to marry.”“Hmm,” Jane tilted her head to one side.“Whether you choose to marry when you’re … forty or fifty years old,” he clarified.Jane chortled at that. As she relaxed, leaning back on her hands, Jack could tell that she was seeing the wealth of opportunities she’d been given – her beloved school, her travels, her books – in a whole new light. Beyond rescuing her from a life on the streets, Phryne had gifted her with self-sufficiency, and that was truly priceless.They sat side by side for a few minutes, simply enjoying the breeze and the sway of the grass.“Are you and Auntie Phryne going to get married?”Jack's eyes widened. It was a perfectly reasonable question, and one he knew to expect, yet he still felt woefully unprepared.“We’ve-” he cleared his throat - “We’ve discussed it, and … we haven’t ruled anything out.” He glanced at Jane and caught her hopeful expression. “H-how would you feel? About Phryne and me … getting married?”He couldn’t believe he was openly discussing this subject for the second time in a single day.Jane grinned. “I’d like that very much.” She was looking at him expectantly, much the same way Phryne had looked at him on that rooftop in Morocco.“Jane already thinks of you as a surrogate father,” Phryne had whispered last night in the darkness of the kitchen, as her fingers danced across his chest. “You’re the only father she’s ever known.”Jack smiled back at Jane, but he suddenly felt his mouth go dry. The awesomeness of the opportunity in front of him – a serious chance at having a family … a wife and a daughter, with just a few strokes of a magistrate’s pen – hit him with full force, and as the sky went from gold to dusky grey, a dull foreboding wrapped around his heart.After some time, they retrieved their bicycles and started walking them up the hill. Jack felt unusually tired, but Jane seemed to be back in good spirits.“You know, Hamlet really isn’t very romantic,” she quipped as she kicked off.Jack chuckled. He realized he loved learning how Jane’s mind worked, and that the more he learned, the more he wanted to watch her grow.“Only father she’s ever known,” his mind whispered.“No, it’s really not." They started riding side by side. “Like I said – I was naïve.” * * * * * * * * * * 
5:20 PM - Martini
“Bit of light reading?”Rosie looked up from her book, and blinked a few times at the man in the doorway.At some point in the last hour, she’d unconsciously curled herself into a ball on the enormous armchair she’d commandeered. The library was bathed in yellow lamplight, and she registered Mr. Butler opening and closing the oven door a few rooms away.“Sorry to disturb you,” he said with a chuckle. “I was just looking for a ledger.”“Oh,” she stammered, “you must be the business manager.” She vaguely recalled Phryne mentioning him this morning.“Yes, Martin Campbell.” He extended his hand, and as he moved towards her, Rosie noticed that he was quite tall, and that his black hair was lightly streaked with gray at his temples. “And you must be Miss Sanderson.”“Rosie, please,” she said, still feeling somewhat disoriented. “Um … I don’t know where the ledgers are.”He chuckled again, and the lines at the corners of his eyes wrinkled pleasantly. “No matter, I don’t need it right now.” He eyed the chair next to her.“Would you … care to join me?” she asked.As they chatted – “So … Keynes,” Martin said as he sat down, “what do you think of his probability theory?” – Rosie realized it had been ages since she’d flirted with a man. Even longer since she’d flirted with an intelligent one.Perhaps it was all that conversation with Rebecca about shacking up, and divorce parties, and Valentino … or perhaps it was all the dairy she’d consumed that day, but for whatever reason, she found herself glancing too often at his lips.By the time Phryne poked her head into the library, Rosie was finally feeling relaxed.“Are you saying you’re a socialist?” Martin was saying with mock horror.“Simple taxation isn’t socialism.” Rosie rolled her eyes playfully. “It’s just … investing in the future.” She smiled at Phryne, who was standing in the doorway with a twinkle in her eye.“You disappeared on me, Martin,” Phryne said.“Sorry, I got distracted.” He didn’t sound sorry at all.Glancing from Phryne to Martin, Rosie wondered if this meeting had been orchestrated, and to her surprise, she found she didn’t care.“Would you like to stay for dinner, Martin?” Phryne asked, her voice pitching slightly upward. “We’re expecting a few other friends as well.”“I’d be delighted,” he said, flashing a quick smile in Rosie’s direction.Later that evening, her second martini in hand, Rosie found herself in a position she never would have imagined even a year ago: chatting breezily with a handsome gentleman, while her former husband, his lover, his lover’s daughter, and their delightful friends buzzed about the room.Jack was currently handing Mr. Collins a drink, and Mrs. Collins was nodding enthusiastically at something Phryne just said. Jane was sitting by the window, fiddling with the gramophone.It was almost painfully sophisticated.“I understand you’re staying here for the time being,” she heard Martin say.“Yes,” she sipped her drink. “At least for now, the plan is for me to stay during the trial.”“Hmm … quite a modern arrangement, isn’t it?” He was smiling with his eyes. “Although I suppose I shouldn’t expect anything less from those two.”Rosie glanced at Jack again. She’d never exactly thought of him as a modern man, but as she watched him laugh with Mr. Johnson and Mr. Yates, she realized she didn’t know of any other man who could look so comfortable hosting a party in a house that belonged to his free-spirited, noble-blooded companion.“Indeed,” she said with a smile.“And what are your plans for after the trial?” Martin asked. “Will you stay in town?”“To be honest, I haven’t given it much thought.” She shrugged. “I’ve been floating around for the past year, between my sister’s house in north Melbourne and my friend’s house in Adelaide…” she took another sip - “but it would be nice to have a place of my own.”The truth was, she’d never seriously considered living alone, but as she heard herself say the words, she felt something settle in her gut. Suddenly, she desperately wanted to decorate a room for nothing but her own pleasure. Perhaps she could devote an entire wall – no, an entire closet – to just hats.“Well, forgive me if this is too forward,” Martin said quietly, “but if you do stay in Melbourne, I hope to cross paths with you again … and not just at my clients’ houses.” When he smiled, Rosie noticed that he had a dimple in his left cheek, and for a mad moment she wondered what it would be like to kiss this tall, dark accountant.She’d always thought that Jack kissed too gently, too carefully, even after he’d shed his youthful timidity. Sidney, by contrast, was always bold and forceful. So tired had she been of waiting for Jack to assert himself – to seize the next promotion, to open up to her, to sweep her up in his arms and refuse to let go – that she’d found Sidney’s confident tone and loud motorcar all the more attractive. Only in hindsight did she understand that what she’d tasted in Sidney’s kiss was arrogance.In the corner of her eye, she saw Jack place his hand on the small of Phryne’s back.“You deserve a life filled with passion,” he’d told her that day they met for tea, before he left for England. Now, as his fingers moved subtly against the material of Phryne’s dress, like they were itching to get under it, Rosie suspected he’d found his passion. She wondered if she would ever find hers.She swallowed as her eyes traveled from Martin’s dimple, to his salt-and-pepper hair, to his hopeful brown eyes. She wasn’t sure how to detect passion, but in this moment, she was grateful for what felt like something different, and potentially fun. Something free from expectation, and too many years of history.“I hope so too,” she said. * * * * * * * * * * 
11:30 PM - Morocco 
“Do you think Rosie is comfortable here, Jack?”He looked at her in surprise. Phryne had abandoned her book, and was lying on her side with her head propped up on her hand.“I think so,” he said. “She seemed quite happy at dinner … though not as happy as Martin.”Phryne’s smile turned mischievous, and Jack grinned.“…and she promised to speak up if she starts to feel cramped.” He held his place in his book with one hand and stroked Phryne’s hair with the other.“And you?” he asked, “are you comfortable?” He sat up a bit straighter. It was something he’d meant to ask her all day.“Of course,” she said breezily.“Oh?”“You’re surprised?” she chuckled.Jack smiled. “Well, I know you want to help her, give her a soft place to land … but you must admit, most women wouldn’t be so friendly towards the ex-wife.” He’d wondered about it at breakfast, and then again at dinner. Her willingness to house Rosie had been remarkable enough, but watching her befriend Rosie – eating with her, laughing with her, making plans to visit the Adventuress Club with her – was almost surreal.Phryne thought for a second, then smiled slyly.“I suppose it depends.”She pushed herself up and straddled his lap. When she spoke, her voice was like honey.“Are you mine?” she murmured. She lightly traced her fingernails down his temple, and Jack shivered. “Or are you Rosie’s?”Jack breathed out a laugh. As his arms encircled her, his book dropped to the floor.“You know I’ve been yours since the first moment I saw you,” he nearly whispered.Like Ferdinand and Miranda, he thought.Phryne’s lips curved into a contented smile, and he traced her cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs.“Then I’m comfortable.” She wrapped both arms around his neck and touched her forehead to his. “I love every part of you. Everything that makes you, you. And that includes your history with Rosie.”She twirled his hair around her fingers and Jack closed his eyes, relishing the sensation.“Besides,” she added, “you let Vic stay here.”He chuckled lightly but kept his eyes closed.Vic Freeman had indeed visited soon after Jack moved in, having finally been convinced to return to the land of the living. He’d only stayed three days before moving in with his brother Charlie, but for those three days, Jack hadn’t particularly enjoyed sharing meals and awkward pleasantries with Phryne’s first love. As hard as he’d tried to relate to the man – he’d recognized the shellshock in his eyes, for sure – Jack wasn’t eager to repeat the experience anytime soon.He cracked one eye open. Perhaps he could have some fun with this.“Are you saying,” he drawled, “that you’re not even a bit jealous?” A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and Phryne’s eyes widened ever so slightly.“That’s right,” she said, pursing her lips adorably.“So you don’t mind leaving me here…” he rumbled, “all alone, with Rosie, while you take off to Bendigo?”Just as he’d hoped, Phryne bit her bottom lip as she tried to contain her smile.“Not a bit,” she said defiantly.“You don’t mind us driving to court together…” he pushed her gently onto her back - “listening to hours of testimony…” he leaned over her - “reminiscing about … George Sanderson…”She stifled a laugh.“Ah, you’re right,” her breath hitched as he kissed her neck - “that sounds like boatloads of fun, and so romantic…”“Jealous, Miss Fisher?” he breathed into her ear.“Hmmm … perhaps I should be,” she sighed. “Perhaps I should go downstairs and … poke holes in all of Rosie's stockings.”Jack snorted into the crook of her neck. He pushed up on his elbows and found Phryne grinning broadly.It was the latest bruhaha at Jane’s school: On a recent weekend excursion to Sorrento, a vengeful girl named Daisy had punished her man-stealing friend by cutting holes in the betrayer’s stockings. She was now known around the school as “Crazy Daisy.”“Perhaps that’s what a proper girlfriend would do,” Phryne said with a small smirk.Jack chuckled. Proper girlfriend. It was a favorite phrase among Jane’s classmates.“Is that what you are?” he asked, cupping her cheek. "My girlfriend?"Phryne paused a moment. “I don’t know,” she lilted. “Is there anything else you want me to be?”Suddenly, Jack’s heart started pounding.“You know,” she said, as she reached up and brushed his tousled hair from his forehead, “we’ve been back in Melbourne four months now.”He controlled his breathing. “Is that so,” he managed.“I haven’t changed my mind.”He swallowed. “I see.”“Six months is only two months from now,” she added.She wore an expression so open and trusting, Jack felt his heart might burst out of his chest.“Is it?” he said teasingly. “Brilliant deduction, Miss Fisher.”He slipped his hand under her camisole, and silenced her with a kiss.Sometime later, Jack tightened his arm around Phryne’s sleeping form. It was very late, but he couldn’t stop thinking about their conversation in Morocco – a conversation he’d half expected Phryne to forget.

“Do you think we should get married, Jack?”

Just then, the entire world – the desert air, the ground under him, the distant noise of street merchants packing up their wares – fell away, and suddenly nothing existed but her, and him, and this question.
He blinked, mouth agape, and reached for the rooftop wall.
Her voice turned playful. “Isn’t that what you monogamists do when you fall in love?” she grinned, “get married?” She drew closer, tightening the blanket around them.
He let out a shaky laugh. “Um … not necessarily,” he stammered. “I mean, we don’t have to. We could just, be together … live together, even…”
Phryne’s grin twisted into a sarcastic smirk.
With a chuckle, Jack pressed on. “Cohabitation is quite the trend now, you know.”
She shook her head in amusement as she wrapped her arm around his side.
“It’s true,” he said, dropping a kiss to her temple. “Table Talk magazine said so.”
He looked down at the sandstone roofs below them, and inhaled deeply. They both well knew that unless and until they announced an engagement, there would always be a cloud around their relationship. Rumors, whispers … jokes about aging spinsters and kept men.
“You know I don’t do things by halves, Jack,” she said after a moment. She looked out at the city. “I’ve never been a fan of marriage, because I’ve seen too many women like my mother, trapped in horrible ones…” She sighed. “But … I want to share my life with you, completely.” She looked back up at him, and Jack thought he might actually fall into her eyes. “Don’t you want that as well?”
For the first time, something like nervousness flashed across her face. She’s serious.
He cleared his throat. “I want that more than anything, Phryne.” He tenderly stroked her chin with his fingertips. “These two months have been like a dream.” He swallowed. “But it’s only been two months, and … I’d hate for you to feel obligated to me once we’re back in Melbourne. To feel at all stifled.”
She frowned, and he instinctively smoothed her brow with his thumb.
“I won’t,” she said firmly, shaking her head. “I know I won’t feel that way.”
Jack drew a tremulous breath. She was clearly waiting for a definitive answer, and he knew he’d be a fool to squander this moment.
He hugged her close to his chest so that the blanket ensconced them both like a cocoon.
“How about…” he chose his words carefully - “we wait a bit, before deciding about marriage?”
Phryne brought her hands around his neck and leaned back to consider him.
“Hm?” he said. “How about we get back, settle in … continue this … rather miraculous journey we’ve started…” they both chuckled - “and revisit the subject after we’ve been home a while?”
Phryne smiled. “Okay,” she said simply.
“Six months, perhaps?” As he said it, he realized he’d been holding his breath.
“Six months it is.” She stood on tiptoes to kiss him sweetly. 
With a contended sigh, she turned in his arms and looked up at the sky.
“Isn’t it glorious, Jack?”
As Phryne snuffled softly in her sleep, Jack kicked himself for thinking it remotely possible that she – the woman who never did anything by halves – could forget something as momentous as Morocco. In fact, she’d been doing exactly as he’d asked: she'd been waiting.He told himself it was sensible to wait, and never a good idea to rush into marriage. That’s what he’d told his colleagues, his mother, and Mrs. Stanley. It’s what he’d told Jane earlier that very day. But as logical as his excuses may be, Jack was loathe to admit the real reason he’d deflected her question on that rooftop: that the moment Phryne Fisher suggested he marry her, he suddenly became the man who had everything he ever wanted, and that terrified him.He molded his body to hers, wishing he could see the world the way she did. In sharp colors, bold questions – “Are you mine, or are you Rosie’s?” … “Isn’t that what you monogamists do?” – and adventures ripe for the picking. He wished he knew what it was like to be planted firmly in the present, without concern for the future or guilt for the past.He wished he could silence the inner voice that reminded him that he’d already failed once at marriage, and that if he ever lost Phryne - drove her away, by holding her too tightly - he would surely never recover.“My greatest passion,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes closed.As he breathed into her hair, he imagined that he was inhaling her courage, and exhaling his fear. Eventually, he slept.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Phryne stirred just as the sky was beginning to lighten. As she eased herself awake, her mind grasped at the tendrils of a lovely dream. The details were rapidly fading but there had definitely been a plane – a pink plane – and although she’d been sitting behind the controls, she wasn’t navigating. Instead, the plane dipped and rolled of its own accord while she sat back and squealed, one hand flung out wide, the other holding onto her purple cloche. As she braced herself for another delicious dive, she felt strong, familiar arms snake around her shoulders, and a rich, deep voice rumble into her ear from behind. “I wouldn’t bother with the hat, Miss Fisher.”  She reached back to bury her hands in her companion’s wind-swept locks, causing her cloche to fly off her head and into the clouds.As she came to, she sensed Jack’s warm presence behind her, his hand on her stomach and his heartbeat firm against her back. She’d subconsciously reached around to caress the back of his head, just as she had in her dream. With her eyes still closed, she smiled, relishing the silky texture of his pomade-free curls.It was rare for her to wake up before him. Most mornings he let her sleep while he got ready for work, and by the time he roused her for a languid goodbye – his lips pressed to her forehead, her cheeks, her shoulders … his hands gently kneading the skin of her arms, her waist, her calves – he was usually fully buttoned up and coiffed.She turned gingerly to face him. As she watched his mouth twitch in his sleep, she recalled the other mornings like this during their travels, when she’d woken up early and considered the man who’d sailed across the world to be with her. 
One such morning in London, she was entranced by the way the sun slowly illuminated his face. By the time he was entirely bathed in gold light, she realized that even if she did feel the urge to be with another man (a notion that seemed more and more unlikely with each passing day), the prospect of sharing Jack with anyone else – even the idea of anyone else – had become frankly unthinkable. It was a blasphemy that her greedy heart could never allow, no matter how wary a small part of her still felt about monogamy.

Another morning – an unusually chilly one, in Paris – Jack’s soft snoring enveloped her as she came to consciousness and took stock of where she was. Hours earlier, they’d stumbled across a laneway filled with painful memories of the last time she’d been in love in France, and she’d reflexively reached for Jack’s hand. Sensing her anxiety, he’d wordlessly steered them towards their hotel. As she lay still the next morning, listening to the sweet noises he made in his sleep, mingled with the early-morning stirrings of the Parisian streets below, she understood that her love for this man was not only fierce, but hopeful – a healing tonic that made her believe in things she’d long dismissed as the stuff of fairy tales.

Yet another morning, in Marrakesh, as the warm desert air wafted through the open window of their modest rented room, she traced his mouth lightly with her finger. She couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment the resolution had settled in her gut – perhaps it had been a thousand little moments throughout their travels – but as her fingertips moved across his slightly parted lips, she was absolutely certain that these were the only lips she wanted to kiss for the rest of her life.
This morning, Phryne felt nothing but quiet contentment. How could she not? “I’ve been yours since the first moment I saw you,” Jack had whispered last night. She never doubted his devotion to her, but somehow she also never grew tired of hearing him confirm it. She smiled indulgently as she replayed his sexy, teasing drawl – “Jealous, Miss Fisher?” – and the besotted expression he’d worn as he stroked her cheek – “Is that what you are? My girlfriend?” She thought of how his breath visibly hitched when she alluded to Morocco, and her face softened. She combed her hand through his hair, resisting the urge to fling her arms around him and squeeze him in the way that always made him laugh.The moment she raised the question under the stars that night, many months ago – “Do you think we should get married, Jack?” – she’d noticed him steady himself on the rooftop wall, and her heart had filled with tender affection for him. She understood why he wanted to wait some time before seriously discussing marriage: so he could be sure that she was sure. She knew that even though nearly a year had passed since he met her in London, he still occasionally wondered if he would always be enough for her. As she drank in the sight of his chest moving up and down – as steady and dependable in sleep as he was at every other moment of his life – she could only hope that his doubts would eventually yield to their joy, and this thing they were building together. This rather miraculous thing. * * * * * * * * * * Jack registered the pleasant sensation of fingers massaging his scalp. Smiling drowsily, he blinked awake and found Phryne gazing at him with such adoration in her eyes, it seemed ridiculous that his fears had robbed him of so much sleep last night. He’d discovered during his cadetship that waking up before the sun helped keep his anxiety in check. And ever since London, he could also count on Phryne’s reassuring presence in his bed to set him to rights after a sleepless night. “Morning, Miss Fisher,” he rumbled. “Morning, darling,” she murmured. She clambered on top of him and burrowed her face into the crook of his neck. Today was Sunday, but they wouldn’t get to enjoy a lazy morning in bed. The trial was starting tomorrow and he needed to make progress on his pending cases. Still, he allowed himself a few moments of quiet bliss. He wrapped his arms around her, savoring the silk of her skin and the light floral scent of her hair.He turned so that his cheek was pressed against the top of her head. Through his sleepy haze, he spotted a few papers on her vanity that he hadn’t noticed last night. They looked like they bore an official seal.“What’s that?” “Mm?” Phryne lifted her head groggily, and Jack smiled – she’d nearly fallen back asleep. “Oh, it’s a letter from the Deputy Finance Minister. Urging on the investigation in Bendigo.” She settled back on his chest.Jack groaned and held her tighter.  “You only just got home two days ago.” He kissed the top of her head. “Just tell him you’re needed here. That there’s a … a public safety issue.”“Oh!” Phryne gasped softly, “is there?” “Of course,” he yawned. “The Melbourne constabulary can’t get a wink of sleep without you.”“Mmmm,” she nodded.“…without the soothing sound of your snoring.”“I beg your pardon!” Jack chuckled. They both knew he would never actually discourage her from doing her work, but he did so hate sleeping alone.“Anyway,” she said, “I already let him know I can only get away one or two nights this week. I want to time the trip so I can watch you testify.” “You don’t have to do that.” He ran his finger down the length of her spine.“I want to.” She slid her hands under his shoulders and spoke quietly against his neck. “After all, between investigating dull financial crimes and supporting my … my proper boyfriend…” – Jack smiled, though his stomach fluttered slightly – “…there’s no contest.” As he languidly stroked her back, Jack thought of all the times in the past few months she’d adjusted her life to accommodate his. All the Friday nights she came home early in order to ensure she’d make it to his cycling race the next morning, where she’d await him at the finish line sporting a wildly inappropriate outfit. The mind-numbing dinner parties she’d sat through at the Chief Commissioner’s home. And that afternoon he’d spotted her at the kitchen table, arranging tulips to take to his mother’s house. “Do you think pink is too aggressive, Dot?” she asked, tilting her head to consider the carefully-selected blooms.“I don’t deserve you, Miss Fisher,” he murmured.Phryne simply shook her head and mumbled unintelligibly into his chest, before propping herself up on her elbows. “Speaking of deserving,” she grinned, “when will your promotion take effect, Chief Inspector?” He breathed out a laugh. He’d certainly felt proud when he learned of the promotion, but he’d underestimated how giddy the news would make Phryne, and how much additional pleasure he’d derive from her giddiness.“In about six weeks. They want to wait until the dust settles from the trial.”“More than enough time to plan for Singapore, then,” she said gleefully.He grinned back at her, daring to imagine another international adventure with the woman of his dreams. More train journeys with her head resting on his shoulder. More breathtaking views from the back seat of her plane – views of the reddening horizon and of her gloved hands deftly working the controls. It was almost too wonderful to bear, and he felt something like a bubble growing to bursting in his chest.“Jack,” she sat up, “have you told Rosie yet? About the promotion?” Just like that, the bubble deflated a bit. Of course Phryne knew enough about his history with Rosie to suspect that he’d been putting off the inevitable. He sighed. “No. I thought I should wait until after the trial.” “Are you sure? Perhaps it would be better to tell her early, while she’s here.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I figure she’s already stressed enough, and to be honest…” he swallowed – “she might not want to be around me once she finds out.”As he hauled his legs over the side of the bed, he sensed the creaking of his joints and the familiar wave of guilt that always seemed to know where to find him these days. Like clockwork, every time he recalled another broken promise to his former wife, the guilt was always close at hand.Phryne knelt behind him and rested her chin on his shoulder. They’d seen each other through more tough spots than he could count, but navigating this new relationship with his ex-wife was unfamiliar territory. He half-expected her to declare that Rosie would be crazy not to desire his friendship. “Well,” she said finally, with a light squeeze to his shoulders, “you know her better than I do.” Jack chuckled as he turned to capture her lips. He should have known it was beneath her to put down another woman. “Just remember, people may be discussing it around the courthouse, and it would be awful for Rosie to overhear the news when she’s already feeling vulnerable.”Jack hummed his agreement. It was hard for him not to be distracted by the dreamy way Phryne moved about the room first thing in the morning. It was rare for them to get ready for the day together like this. “Up and about before eight o-clock, two days in a row,” he teased.“We have a guest, Jack!” She sashayed to the washroom.He caught himself smiling as he dressed. Though he’d been living at Wardlow for three months, and shared many a hotel room with Phryne during their travels, he still savored the experience of performing his morning routine in her presence – the casual intimacy of it all. He recalled a similar feeling in the early days of his marriage. This heady mix of amazement, contentment, and gratitude. The calm delight of knowing that the woman he loved delighted in him. Only back then, it was all overlaid by the fallacy that if he applied himself enough, he could ensure that that woman would never feel anything but delight. That it was up to him, and well within his power, to keep her happy always. It was a burden so impossible that a small part of him had felt relieved when Rosie left him. And of course, he’d swiftly felt guilty for feeling relieved.As he cleaned his teeth he heard the cabbies opening and closing their doors outside. “I still think I should drive Rosie today,” he said, loud enough for Phryne to hear while she rummaged through her closet.“I also offered to drive her but she insisted on taking the tram. Said she didn’t want to impose.” She emerged from the closet and Jack noticed she was wearing a flowy pink top – one of his favorites. He chose a tie from his wardrobe and walked over to Phryne’s vanity, where she was using something on her eyelashes that looked to him like a medieval torture device. He knew she was waiting until the last possible second to apply her lipstick. Any earlier, and the color would wind up on his lips instead of hers. “I remember visiting my father a few times,” she said. She rubbed a luxurious-smelling lotion between her fingers and applied it to her face and neck. “Janey was so scared … and that was just the holding cell at the local police station.” She shook her head as if to shoo the memory from her mind. “In any case,” she sighed heavily, “it’s quite unnatural, to see one’s parent behind bars.” She rubbed some lotion between the backs of her hands, and then up her forearms. Jack always found it mesmerizing when she did that – something about the way her wrists moved against each other.He stooped down to feel the lush softness of her skin. Nuzzling her neck, he breathed in the familiar mixture of her cosmetics and her natural morning scent, which he now knew was different from the perfumed, earthy scent that clung to her in the evening.He caressed her shoulders. “I have to go up there in the afternoon.” He met her eyes in the mirror. “Perhaps I can pick Rosie up.”She nodded appreciatively, and for an instant Jack pictured her as a young girl – scared but strong, trembling but defiant, holding tightly to her sister’s hand as they shivered in a drafty police station. A place where no little girl should be. He wished there was some way he could take away her troubling memories – bear them for her, even – but he also knew it was her past that made her as compassionate as she was. She was magnificent, and he felt emboldened by her courage. As he watched her apply powder to her cheeks and neck with a soft round brush, masking the freckles he’d first discovered back in London, he briefly imagined a world in which he could have this kind of intimacy with this indomitable woman – have it, and expect it – every morning of his life. A world in which he could look down at the lovely hand that was now stroking his wrist, and see a ring. A ring which would declare to the world that she was his, and declare to him that they were partners, in joy and in sorrow. This time around, he knew how important the sorrow part was.“Shall we go down?” she asked.Jack closed his eyes, smiling bashfully into her hair. “In a minute.”  * * * * * * * * * * Rosie felt a bead of sweat roll down her back. The tram was sweltering, and she was thoroughly regretting turning down Cec’s offer to drive her all the way across town.She huffed ruefully to herself. Imagine if Martin could see me now. Last night’s dinner felt like years ago. It had been the most pleasant evening she’d had in quite a while. Roast lamb and good wine, and a handsome accountant entertaining her with his humble humor.  “I recently acquired a small runabout," he said casually during the luscious cherry cheesecake. “Barely larger than a skiff, but she’s sturdy … Perhaps you’d like to come sailing with me one afternoon?” It was all so delicious that she managed to stave off her thoughts about today.As expected, a cold dread came over her the moment she woke up this morning, but she somehow managed to dress herself and float down the hall to the kitchen. She sat nervously at the table, barely registering the muted conversation around her. At some point Jack pushed a warm scone into her hand, and she thought she saw Phryne sneak a flask into her purse just as Cec was leading her out the door. She’d have to investigate later. For now, she was clinging to the rail of the tram with one arm and clutching her umbrella, purse, and coat in the other. As they rounded a sharp corner, she spotted the sign she hadn’t had to see in over a year.
City Gaol.
 * * * * * * * * * * “Afternoon, Inspector, Constable.” The desk officer greeted Jack and Hugh. “The prisoner is already in the interrogation room.” “Thank you, Gibbs.” Jack acknowledged the other officers on duty with a nod. “Collins, you can take the first run at Johnson.”“Really? Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!”Jack was pleased with the progress they’d made so far. They were ahead of schedule and on the brink of extracting a confession in this latest case. Not only that, but if the interview went smoothly, he might make it home in time for dinner. He wondered if there was any cheesecake left over from last night.“Gibbs,” he gestured toward the guest register, “could you check whether Miss Sanderson is still here? She was visiting her father earlier today.”“Er…” the young man scanned the page in front of him. “Yes, sir. It looks like she signed in this morning, but there was a long wait for the visiting room. Sanderson – er, the inmate – only came down from the cells twenty minutes ago.”Jack winced. He’d hoped Rosie would make it early enough to avoid having to wait. She must have had a very unpleasant morning, but at least this meant he could drive her back to Wardlow. He turned to make his way down to the cells, but something on the register caught his eye. He took the liberty of reaching down and angling the page so he could see it more clearly.
“Fletcher, Sidney.” 
It looked like there were quite a few guest entries under his name.  “Did Miss Sanderson visit Fletcher as well?” It wasn’t inconceivable, but as far as he knew, Rosie had no desire to see her former fiancé outside of the courtroom.The officer glanced down again, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “No, sir. He’s had … other visitors.” He avoided Jack’s eyes.“What other visitors?” Strictly speaking, he was supposed to file a written request for this information, but he pressed on all the same.“F-friends of his…” the young man swallowed - “the people who write to him…” He lowered his voice, and finally looked at Jack straight on. “Women people.” Jack’s mouth dropped open. It was no secret that Fletcher was a cad in every sense. Even the newspapers described him as an abuser, manipulator, grifter, and of course, a womanizer. But to see evidence of how deep the man’s arrogance went – that while Rosie was picking up the pieces of her life, the man she once hoped to marry was happily corresponding with a legion of demented admirers – caused the bile to rise in Jack’s throat. A fresh wave of guilt washed over him.“What an absolute wanker…” he heard Collins mutter behind him. Jack cleared his throat, and finally allowed the page of the register to drop from his hand. “Indeed.”  * * * * * * * * * * “And how is Rebecca?”Rosie was gripping the leg of the table between them. She’d grabbed on the moment he walked into the room – shuffled, more like, given the chains around his ankles – and she couldn’t seem to let go. “She’s fine. I saw her yesterday. The boys are … getting tall.” She chewed her bottom lip. How could she begin to describe how her sister was doing these days? Should she talk about the deep lines that had begun to form around Rebecca’s eyes since their family was disgraced?“You’re not staying with her?”“No … I’m staying with Jack and Phryne.”George scoffed, and his lips curled into a sneer.“Living together now, are they? Without so much as an engagement?”Rosie felt the breath leave her body. The man was casting judgment on Jack’s living arrangements while sitting shackled in the city jail, awaiting trial for human trafficking. It was so absurd she could barely speak. Instead, she focused on processing the image before her: her father’s disdainful expression, his grey regulation jumpsuit, and the round, wire-rimmed spectacles that once belonged to the man who taught her how to play tiddlywinks.“Will you be visiting with Sidney as well?”Her tongue loosened up finally.“Why would I do that?”“He’s your childhood friend, isn’t he? A friend of the family.”She let out a disbelieving laugh. Was it possible he was losing his mind in here?“Do you understand that he flipped on you, Father? That he’s testifying against you in exchange for a lesser charge?”It had been the news story of the year: Sidney Fletcher, the child abductor and accused murderer, facing a 30-year prison term while the former police commissioner faced life. The news had enraged the public, but Rosie wasn’t surprised. As deserving as Fletcher was of prison, making an example of a powerful political figure was a higher priority for the prosecutor.“He’s my godson.” His voice was wooden and hollow.Rosie tightened her grip on the leg of the table. “He represents everything I’d hoped for,” she said, “and everything I’ve lost.” He fixed his impassive gaze on the wall behind her.“Meanwhile,” she continued, “your actual son is living in a cabin in some godforsaken wilderness.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. How she missed her brother. “He can’t even show his face in Melbourne.”George’s face remained like stone, but she thought she saw something flicker behind his spectacles at the mention of Fred. He shook his head wordlessly, defiantly … and suddenly, Rosie felt something click into place in her mind. She drew an astonished breath before speaking.“You admire him, don’t you.” His eyes snapped onto hers.  Bingo.“He’s the kind of man you always wished you were,” she said slowly. It was all so disappointing, and yet there was a kind of comfort that came with grasping the truth. “He’s the kind of man you always wished Freddy was … and that you wanted Jack to be.”He simply blinked at her. “You wanted Rebecca and me to marry men like Sidney.” Power-hungry men, she thought. Money-hungry men … full of selfish ambition.Eventually, George huffed. “It sounds like you’re faulting me for wanting my daughters to marry well.” His dry lips twisted into a sarcastic smile. “Shall we add that to the charges?”A chill ran down Rosie’s spine. That her father could speak so flippantly, so mockingly, about his misdeeds shook her to her core. No matter what sentence the judge handed him, surely he deserved it. “Mum was teaching us to be independent—”“She was teaching you to climb trees!” Rosie’s eyes widened, and she noticed that she’d let go of the table. Her hands were now balled into tight fists in her lap, and her nails were digging into her palms. She found the pain oddly grounding.“Your mother wasn’t perfect, Rosie.”“I never said she was.”“She was beautiful, but she had no sense.” He said it as though he was describing a zebra at the zoo, instead of the late mother of his children. “No business sense, perhaps I should say.” Rosie had never struck anyone in her life – not even the hair-pulling Nelly Brown – but for a moment she felt the overwhelming urge to hit her father. To slap the indifference off his face. She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. She needed to calm down.  I came back to Melbourne to face this, she told herself. I knew it wouldn’t be easy.  Over the distant clang of metal doors and shouts of prison guards barking orders, she could hear her mum’s voice in the recesses of her mind:
“Reach up, up, up, Rose!” 
Only when George spoke again did she open her eyes.“Rosie, you must understand.” He was trying to sound gentle, but she only heard condescension. “A man doesn’t become successful, and gain … influence in the world, by being passive. By being … unambitious—”“So he does it by being corrupt? By selling children?" She glared at him. “Father, no one will remember you as anything but a dirty cop.” It dawned on her that she didn’t actually know how far back his corruption went, or when exactly he began dabbling in crime. For all she knew, his dark machinations were brewing while they were playing tiddlywinks. With her words hanging in the air, his expression slowly morphed into a look of utter contempt.“Well,” he muttered, “I suppose Jack has found an alternative route…” She frowned. This seemed an odd shift of topic.“…moving up in the world by bedding a rich slut.”Rosie inhaled sharply. She wished she could wake herself up from this disturbing dream. Jack is ten times the man you are, she wanted to say. And Phryne is so much like mum. “They … they love each other,” she heard herself stammer. “Quite madly...” She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to say that, but it was true. And truth was her only lifeboat in this sea of delusion.George let out a cruel laugh. “Please. He won’t even marry her.” He thrust his chin into the air imperiously. “He always was … disappointing.”Rosie stood up. She suddenly felt the urgent need to leave this room. Via the door, out the window – whichever would get her farthest away in the shortest time.She wasn’t sure why she’d even come, or what she’d been expecting to find. Now it was clearer than ever: her father was long gone. He was murdered by this husk of a man in a grey jumpsuit.As she stepped away from the table, a thought occurred to her. “Why do you hate Phryne so much?” It was confusing. George’s disdain for Jack – disguised envy, most likely – was one thing. But the way he spoke about Phryne was so venomous that it took Rosie aback.  He didn’t answer. He didn’t even move his gaze from the wall.“Goodbye, Father.” She headed for the exit. Just as her hand wrapped around the cold door handle, George pushed his chair away from the table with force, scraping the floor loudly.“She’s paying for the girls’ solicitors, you know.”Rosie turned around with a weary sigh. For the first time that day, she thought her father looked almost pitiful. He was still seated, and from this vantage point she could see the shackles around his wrists and ankles, and the deep wrinkles between his eyes. The wayward white hairs that stuck out around his head, and the slight tremor of his hands. He looked like a lonely old man, grousing at the neighborhood children.“She’s funding their civil lawsuits,” he continued. When Rosie stayed silent, he pounded his fist on his knee. “She’s taken your husband, and now she’s taking your inheritance!”Rosie breathed a tremulous laugh. Of course, his grievance had all to do with money. As she watched his adam’s apple bob up and down, and one of his lumpy grey socks sag around his ankle restraint, she thought of all the ways in which this man had directed the course of her life.      A childhood full of trees and tiddlywinks; bicycles and books.      A young womanhood marked by grief, and timid suitors desperate for the Chief Inspector’s approval.      A married life fraught with unfulfilled promises.      A heart so confused about what she needed in a mate, that she’d divorced a good man and welcomed a murderer into her bed … and now hung her 35-year-old hopes on martini-fueled flirtations over cherry cheesecake. She turned the door handle. “I’ve inherited enough from you, thanks.” * * * * * * * * * * “Sir? They’re done.”Jack vaguely registered Collins’s voice through the blood pounding in his ears. He was standing in the hallway outside the visiting room, his eyes unfocused on a rusty pipe running from floor to ceiling. Though his face was stoic, he was digging his fingers into his crossed arms.“S-sir? Miss Sanderson is in the vestibule, waiting for the door to open.”Jack couldn’t get the words to stop replaying in his head.      “…bedding a rich slut…”
     “He won’t even marry her…”

“He always was disappointing...”
He closed his eyes.“Sir!” Collins nearly shouted. Jack finally turned around. “Hm?”“The guard needs clearance to escort Sanderson back to the cells,” Collins said softly, motioning for him to sign a roster.Jack cleared his throat. “Right.” After his last interview, he’d excused the officer on hall duty while he waited for Rosie to finish with George. He’d been in a good mood – he’d be home for dinner after all – and thought he’d let the young man have a break.He hadn’t realized how much the sound carried into the hallway. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized how much hatred an old man’s voice could carry, either.He initialed where Collins was pointing on the roster, and immediately started for the door that separated the visiting wing from the rest of the jail.“Would you mind driving Rosie to Wardlow, Collins?”The door swung shut before the constable could answer. * * * * * * * * * * Rosie draped her coat over her shoulders. She was beginning to feel chilly, but after spending all day in a stuffy metal box, she couldn’t get enough fresh air. She released her hair from her bun so the wind could ripple through it. She’d been surprised to find Constable Collins waiting for her outside the jail, but she was glad to be spared another tram ride.  She hadn’t felt like talking as they drove, but thankfully, the constable didn’t seem much for conversation either. At one point she took a swig from the flask she’d discovered at the bottom of her purse.Once back at Wardlow, she’d sat down on one of the patio benches rather than going straight inside.As the sky turned pink, she couldn’t stop thinking about her mum.  “She was teaching you to climb trees,” the man in the grey jumpsuit had snarled earlier. How grateful Rosie was for those climbing lessons. It was up in that magnolia tree that she’d learned courage, and trust. The power of an encouraging word.
     “Reach up, up, up, Rose!” 
What else would her mum have taught her if she’d lived?  How to accelerate a bicycle around a tight corner.   How to hem her own skirts.   How to navigate a difficult marriage.   How to gain admission to university.   How to run for Parliament. The sky began to swim, and Rosie realized there were hot tears running down her cheeks. She gritted her teeth. It was all so unfair.“Rosie?” She whipped around and found Phryne in the doorway, poking her head out cautiously. She looked very concerned.“…are you alright?”Rosie swatted at her tears, knowing how odd she must look with the state of her hair and the way her nose turned bright red when she cried. She’d been out of the house all day, and sitting on this bench for at least an hour.She opened her mouth to say that she was fine but the words caught in her throat. After a long moment, she turned her whole body to face her hostess. “Phryne … could you teach me how to drive?” * * * * * * * * * * Jack swirled the amber liquid in his glass before knocking it back, bracing for the burn down his throat. Without hesitation, he poured another.On his desk were his cheap whisky, the Sanderson case file, and his wristwatch. He turned the watch over and moved his finger across the engraving. 
John James Robinson II. 1890.
He bowed forward and cradled his heavy head in his hands.He’d decided to become a policeman to follow in his father’s footsteps. John James Robinson II, whose kind eyes and hearty laugh were taken from this world when Jack was only fourteen. Snuffed out by a fleeing bootlegger with a nervous trigger finger. When did it happen? Jack thought bitterly. 
When did I let George Sanderson replace you, pa?
He downed his whisky, regretting all the time and energy he’d spent – wasted – trying to win favor in George’s cunning eyes. The double and triple shifts he’d put in at the station, working to make sergeant and then detective inspector. Trying so hard to buy a house that he once chided Rosie for wasting money on a new hat – the first new hat she’d bought in years. Trying so hard to produce grandchildren that even their intimacy quickly went from sweet to robotic. What did he have to show for it now? Divorced, so spectacularly that his wife ran straight into the arms of a murderous villain. Promoted – and how proud he’d felt to finally take up Chief Inspector – but still just a policeman, living in a house he didn’t own. Could never own, without taking half of his lover’s estate from her.With his vision swimming from the drink, he reached a trembling hand into the top drawer of his desk and drew out what had become both treasure and talisman to him over the last two years. A reminder not to take himself too seriously, and that despite all he’d been through in life, he was still the luckiest man on earth.He traced the edges of Phryne’s mugshot with the tips of his fingers, careful not to smudge it even in his impaired state. This photo had buoyed his spirits during tough investigations and warmed his heart on lonely nights before he’d followed her to England. But right now, the sight of her playful pose made his stomach churn.How could he ever be enough for this woman?What could he ever hope to offer her, that she couldn’t find a hundredfold elsewhere? Tonight, he didn’t even have the energy to talk to her, to offer her his companionship.
     “He won’t even marry her…”
His finger hovered over her adorably puckered lips. “I don’t deserve you, Miss Fisher,” he whispered. * * * * * * * * * * “What a thrill!” Rosie whooped as she put the car into park. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes watering with excitement.“You were marvelous!” Phryne declared. “We must take the Hispano next time!”Rosie laughed breathlessly. Phryne had wanted to take the Hispano tonight, and only yielded when Bert insisted they take his cab. They switched seats so Phryne could pull in close to the curb.“You’ll be driving yourself in no time,” she said as she adjusted the mirrors.Rosie started pulling her hair back into its bun.“My mum would have wanted me to learn.” With a deep exhale, she melted into her seat. She was now officially exhausted, body and mind, but also deeply content.Phryne hummed thoughtfully. “She gave you a taste of this kind of freedom as a child, with your bicycle.” She finished parallel parking and turned the engine off. With their mission accomplished, the women shared a warm smile. “I realized today,” Rosie said, “hearing him talk about mum…” her voice cracked a bit, but she knew she wasn’t going to cry. “He felt threatened by her. Resented her, for having a life apart from him.” Phryne nodded. “So many men are threatened by accomplished women. It’s a shame.”Through the open windows, Rosie could hear Jane chortling with Bert in the garden. Rosie sighed. “I suppose every man, however deep down, wants a woman to support him.” She chuckled to herself. “Rebecca likes to say they’d be wandering naked in the woods if it weren’t for us.”Just then, her stomach growled loudly, and she blushed as Phryne’s eyes widened.“Poor dear! You haven’t eaten all day, have you?” Phryne hopped out of the car. “Let’s get you fed.”As Rosie climbed down and scanned the floor of the cab for dropped hair pins, she wondered whether there would be cheesecake again tonight. Though I really do need to lay off the dairy…She didn’t notice that on the other side of the car, Phryne’s cheerful countenance had begun to fade, and a new furrow had formed in her brow. * * * * * * * * * * Though he’d spent the evening staring at his wristwatch, Jack lost track of the time. It was only once his head became too heavy to hold up that he stood, swaying slightly on his feet. He glanced at the clock on the wall.  8:12.He knew he should call Wardlow so someone could pick him up … but for some reason, the task felt too strenuous.With his hands resting on his desk, he leaned his body forward, breathing deeply. He squeezed his eyes shut. It was a Sunday evening, and he should have been sitting down for supper with his beloved new family an hour ago. Instead he was at the station, drinking alone in the dark.  Disappointing, his mind whispered.He clenched his jaw painfully. After several long moments, he righted himself on legs that felt like lead. In a series of motions that were no longer habit, but still lived in his muscle memory, he dragged himself to the cabinet in the corner of his office, jimmied the handle … and pulled out a metal folding cot. * * * * * * * * * * 
“…every man wants a woman to support hi—”
“Shall I proceed with supper, Miss?”Startled, Phryne nearly dropped her empty glass. The longer they lingered over cocktails the more the furrow in her brow had deepened, and by this point, she was completely distracted by her own thoughts. She glanced at the clock on the mantel. 
8:40. 
“Yes, please. Thank you, Mr. Butler.” She glanced around the parlor. Jane was chatting away to Rosie, Bert, and Bert’s new lady friend. They all seemed in good spirits, but she couldn’t put off supper any longer. Rosie was famished – judging from how many cheese biscuits she’d eaten since they returned from their driving lesson – and Jane had school in the morning. Not to mention tomorrow was the first day of the trial, and they’d all need their sleep. “Has Jack called?” She knew he hadn’t.“I’m afraid not, Miss.” Mr. Butler picked up a tray dotted with biscuit crumbs, then paused. “Although, when Constable Collins dropped off Miss Sanderson, he did mention that the Inspector may be staying late at the station.” He smiled kindly before returning to the kitchen. Trusting Mr. Butler to get everyone situated at the table, Phryne ducked into the study. She chewed her lip as she dialed and waited for the line to connect.“Robinson.” She slammed the phone down.For several seconds, she simply stared at the top of her writing desk, trying to control her breathing.This wasn’t so out of the ordinary. It wasn’t the first time Jack had had to work late, even on a Sunday. Nor was it the first time he’d forgotten to call. 
Then why was her heart pounding so hard? 
She pasted a smile on her face as the joined the group in the dining room. “Have you ever been to Japan, Miss Sanderson?” Jane was asking Rosie.Despite her best efforts, Phryne couldn’t follow the conversation. Instead, she kept glancing at Jack’s empty chair. Clearly, either his interviews at the jail had created more work for him to complete by tomorrow, or something was wrong. Her gut told her it was the latter … and her heart kept reminding her that he hadn’t called. She considered phoning back to ask if he needed her help, or to offer to bring him something to eat. But after living with him for months, she knew what his response would be: “You don’t have to do that, Miss Fisher,” or, “I’ll be fine, love.” If they were in public, the refrain would be accompanied by a loving touch. If they were alone, a lingering kiss.The ironic thing was, since returning to Melbourne she’d discovered that integrating Jack’s needs into her life was surprisingly easy. Whether she was watching him race, or accompanying him to some social event he was dreading, or coming home early from a trip so she could curl up behind him while he slept, being there for him was a pleasure in itself. The difficult thing, it seemed, was for Jack to ask her to be there.  “Every man, however deep down, wants a woman to support him...” Phryne wasn’t even sure she believed that statement, and two years ago she would have scorned the very notion. But as her eyes flitted back to the vacant spot at the other end of the table – the spot that now belonged to the man whose burdens she actually longed to bear – she found herself wondering if it was true for him. And if it was … would he ever let her be that woman? * * * * * * * * * * Jack was tethered to his chair. The longer he put off phoning Wardlow – it was now almost ten o’clock – the more he dreaded making the call. How was he supposed to explain to Phryne that he would be sleeping at the station? He’d only done it once since they returned to Melbourne, and it was because of a flash flood. Even then, Phryne had suggested they call the Royal Navy to send a submarine.Though he’d found a pillow and a thin blanket for the cot, he was also putting off the moment he actually had to lie down on the dusty thing. After months of sleeping between Phryne’s satin sheets and waking up with her soft body draped over his, he knew this night would be a shock to his very bones. By 10:30 he was out of whisky. The household would be turning in soon. With a deep sigh, he reached for the telephone.“Jack?”His breath caught in his chest when he saw Phryne’s silhouette outside his office door. He was so far gone that he hadn’t even heard the clicking of her heels in the lobby.When she entered his office, it was as though she’d brought the sun with her. She was wearing a white coat and cloche, and carrying a picnic basket lined with a cheerful red cloth.She immediately zeroed in on the empty whisky bottle, and her gaze traveled to the wristwatch and mugshot laid out in front of him, and then to the cot on the floor. He could practically see her wheels turning as she made her deductions.Finally, she tilted her head and smiled. “I brought you supper. It nearly came to blows, but I managed to snag you the last bit of cheesecake.” As she approached Jack’s desk, it occurred to him that the last time she found him in this state, he’d shown up at her house three days later to end their friendship. He closed his eyes. Disappointing.“I wish I could have known him,” Phryne murmured. “He’d be so proud to learn of your promotion.”He opened his eyes to find her perched on her usual spot on his desk, gazing at his watch. She picked it up gingerly, then reached for his hand. Taking great care, she fastened the strap securely around his wrist. “How did you know I was here?” he asked thickly. Where else would he be? She chuckled. “Where else would you be? Besides, I called earlier.”“Oh…”In his haze, he vaguely remembered that there had been two calls over the past few hours. They’d both gotten disconnected, and he hadn’t bothered to phone back the operator.He swallowed. He couldn’t think of anything to say.“Jack…” she paused and squeezed his hand - “...why didn’t you call me?” He could tell she was trying her best to keep the hurt out of her voice.Just then, an image flashed across his mind of another woman, in a previous life, asking him tearfully why he never called upon her for support.He shook his head wearily. “I … don’t know.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and bowed his chin to his chest. After a long moment, he sensed Phryne shedding her hat and coat, and moving to stand in front of his chair. When she reached out to stroke the back of his head, he could smell traces of her lotion.“Well, Chief Inspector…” her soothing voice wrapped around him like a blanket - “are we sleeping here tonight?”At that, he finally broke. With a shudder he buried his face in her bosom, wrapped his arms around her waist, and wept.He wept for the father he longed to talk to just one more time. He wept for his younger self – so utterly, utterly naïve, and so desirous of an approval that never came. He wept for the man who could never, even in a million years, be worthy of the blessings fate had dropped into his lap.And she never stopped stroking his hair.Eventually, his tears slowed and he drew heaving breaths against Phryne’s belly. He felt her whisper against the top of his head – “It’s alright, love” … “My darling Jack” – and a wave of nausea hit him as he recalled George’s hateful words. “Rich slut,” he’d called her.   For the first time in his life, Jack envisioned wrapping his fingers around an old man’s throat.His mind then flew to the moment Fletcher aimed his gun at Phryne on board the Pandarus – nearly robbing the world, and Jack, of her goodness and beauty – and he tightened his grip on her waist.If there was really any justice in this world, his defensive bullet would have struck Fletcher between his eyes. Then the man would be in hell where he belonged, instead of enjoying stale oxygen and his … pen-pals in prison.Phryne’s lips on his forehead summoned him back to reality. With the grace of a nurse and the solidity of a soldier, she began dabbing his cheeks with her handkerchief.He felt his spirit slowly calm as she set him to rights. His brain was finally able to detect her perfume and that sun-warmed scent that her hair usually took on by the end of the day, and he suddenly longed to press his naked body to hers.“So, what say you…” she smoothed his disheveled curls - “John James Robinson the Third…” she squeezed his shoulders - “to a little cot picnic?”He noticed that underneath her kind smile, she looked as exhausted as he felt. The front of her blouse – the flowy pink one he’d been so pleased to see this morning – was now damp with his tears. In joy and in sorrow, he thought.He sat up and took her hands in his. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for this woman, and right now she deserved to be tucked up in her warm bed, not lingering in a police station that stank of whisky and angst.“As lovely as that sounds … I think I’d rather not,” he rumbled.He kissed the backs of her hands, caressing them and inhaling the sweet essence of her skin. For the first time that night, he felt strong.“Let’s go home, Miss Fisher.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Later that night…
… nothing existed but the flutter of gauzy curtains in the midnight breeze, and the sound of rustling silk.The fragrance of lilacs wafting from the vase on the nightstand.Her heartbeat under his cheek.Her fingers moving through his hair.“Phryne?”A deep inhale, a slow exhale.“Yes, Jack?”He pressed his nose to her breast.
Vanilla and spice. Musk, and home.
“Thank you for coming after me.”She hummed softly. “It’s what we do best, darling.”Her voice – low, warm, and kind … lilting, playful, and so very gentle – traveled up his spine and wrapped around his heart.
Inhale, exhale.
“And thank you for saving me," he murmured.Her fingers stilled in his hair. “Oh Jack, I hardly did any—”“Not just tonight.”He shifted up to look at her, meeting her curious expression with a gaze both tender and certain.Soon they would be in a courtroom, laying witness to evil and sorrow and the brutality of innocent suffering.Soon, he would answer the questions he knew she still had. Why she’d found him in his office steeped in whisky and self-pity … and what had happened at the jail to trouble him so.Soon, he would go downstairs and ask Rosie if they could speak privately. He’d tell her, as gently as he knew how, that he was finally seizing the opportunity she’d spent a decade begging him to envision. Chief Inspector. More than a copper.Soon they’d have to face the world, but at this moment, nothing existed but the fragrance of vanilla and spice, and lilacs.He cradled the back of Phryne’s head and pressed his forehead to hers, breathing against her lips.
Inhale, exhale.
“My life began the day I met you, Miss Fisher.”The curtains billowed as a gentle wind swept through the room.
Inhale, exhale.
“Jack…”He relished the silk of her hair, the silk of her skin. The warmth of her breath.Rustling silk upon silk.
Inhale, exhale.
“My Jack…”**********Rosie threw off her blanket with a frustrated huff.She’d turned in right after supper, all too confident that mere exhaustion and Postwar Monetary Reform would suffice to put her to sleep. She’d even turned down Mr. Butler’s offer of a powder.She was staring at the ceiling, swatting at a fly that kept buzzing in her ear, when she heard the back door open and close. That must be Jack, she thought idly. Had Phryne picked him up from the station?An hour later, she got up to move a small vase of lilacs from the nightstand to the dresser on the other side of the room, in hopes of luring the fly away.Alas, he continued buzzing vigil inches from her ear.Eventually she sat up and switched on a lamp. Her head was stuffed with cotton and her eyes were heavy, but there was no hope of sleep tonight.She didn’t feel like reading anymore, and as she mentally ran through the potential diversions in her trunk – a box of photographs, a few pieces of her mother’s jewelry, her grandmother’s quilt, a handful of valuables she’d inherited from her divorce, a barely-used diary – she decided she didn’t feel like being sentimental, either.Instead, she perched at the end of the bed and considered herself in the mirror that hung above the dresser. With strands of hair escaping from her braid and the broad straps of her simple cotton nightgown slightly askew, she looked young, almost childish. She untied her braid and carded her fingers through her messy locks.No self-respecting woman would ever leave the house with her hair down like this, long and unruly. An elegant woman – the category Rosie generally strived for – would perpetually tame it into her usual low bun. A glamorous woman might fashion it into voluminous waves, or slick ridges. Or a short bob. With bold lipstick, and impossibly thick lashes framing robin's-egg eyes.Rosie tilted her chin up and shook her head vigorously, ruffling her tresses with her hands and allowing them to cascade over her shoulders. When she saw herself in the mirror again, she caught a fleeting image of her mother after a cycling race, wind-swept and ruddy-faced, eyes shining victorious and free.She swallowed against the lump in her throat.
How I miss you, mum. Your endless confidence and untamed beauty.
Rosie continued looking into her own brown eyes – they were slightly wet, but surprisingly alert – until the corners of her lips began to curve upward.Eventually, she pulled on her dressing gown and started quietly down the hall, towards the kitchen.She was wrist-deep in the biscuit tin before she realized she’d forgotten to put on slippers. Rolling her eyes at herself, she quickly gathered her loot and closed the tin.She then turned on her heel, gingerly cracking open the back door.“The garden’s just back there,” Jack had explained when she first arrived at Wardlow. “It still needs a lot of work, but it’s coming along.”The grass felt delicious under Rosie’s bare feet, and there was just enough daylight to tell that Jack had already put his mark on this space. It was a perfect mix of nature and nurture, wild and tidy. Honeysuckle vines were beginning to twist around neat trellises; clusters of lilacs and tulips mingled with mint and lemongrass. A peach tree leaned over a pot overflowing with tomatoes. The odd wayward limb and uneven foliage only added to the overall charm.As she chewed a chocolate biscuit, she couldn’t help but notice a young rose bush – not in the center, like in the garden Jack once tended in their shared home, but in the far corner – and she allowed herself to recall the way he'd always carefully clip the thorns before handing her a stem.“This may just be...” he’d start, leaning in to kiss her cheek - “the second-prettiest rose I've ever seen.”Rosie bypassed the narrow bench on the near side of the garden, and with a deep, cleansing exhale, stretched herself out on the grass.As familiar as this garden was – how very Jack it looked and felt – the most foreign part was the smell. While their old garden was always suffused with the heavy sweetness of roses and peonies, this little oasis had a spicier, more citrusy smell.She wiggled her toes and took another bite of a biscuit. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the taste of chocolate, and the aroma of peaches and mint, and lilacs.In a few hours she would be in a courtroom, deepening her acquaintance with injustice and betrayal.In even fewer hours, she would pin her hair into a bun and greet her host and hostess, and chat affably about the cheeky buzzing fly and Jack's late night at the station.Over breakfast, she would try to figure out how Phryne never left traces of lipstick on her teacups; and how anyone could be so glamorous, kind, and clever all at the same time.With each day that passed, she would inch closer to accepting the fact that she was a perpetual guest in other people's homes – had been, for nearly three years now – and that if she ever wanted to have roses again, she'd have to tend them herself.Eyes still closed, she swallowed the last of her biscuit.
Deep inhale, slow exhale.
Soon, Mr. Butler would rouse her with a fatherly smile and a pair of slippers … but for now she finally slept, surrounded by lilacs.