Chapter Text
It had all been going so well mused Jack. He had been slowly, carefully, spending more time with Phryne. There was generally a case-related excuse, but they talked more about themselves than the evidence. Or at least, just as much. He liked her, he really liked her. And he hadn’t felt like that in such a long time.
He hadn’t even so much as dipped a toe in the pool of dating. His mum said it was time; that he should put himself out there. His mum had someone to suggest every time he went to see her. His mum looked at him like he could just snap his fingers and fall in love again. He was fairly sure now that it didn’t work like that. And anyway, he didn’t want to ‘put himself out there’; his heart was still bruised. Oh, he was over it, he thought, mostly. But he was resolved that he wasn’t going to allow himself to be hurt like that again. So he had been carefully guarding his heart, and somehow, when he wasn’t quite paying attention, Phryne had somehow wormed her way in. And he had begun to consider whether it was worth the risk; telling Phryne that he liked her, perhaps asking her out on a date. But he didn’t want to cock up their working relationship. He had come to really enjoy being able to talk over cases with her. Which was probably a breach of the Data Security policy, he considered.
He should have known it couldn’t last, this blissful feeling of being in her orbit, just spending time with her; no-one judging him, no-one telling him what he should do, no-one trying to tell him what he should be feeling, how he should be behaving, what stage of ‘moving on’ he should be at. So he had been considering how to broach the subject of ‘liking her’ without sounding like a creep. He had been trying to figure out how she would be able to reject him without it being too awful. He had been considering how any future interaction might be possible without embarrassing her. He imagined she might dial down the flirting somewhat so that he would know she was just being friendly. She flirted with everyone; it was just her way. But when she flirted with him he felt like he was the only person in the room. He did wonder whether all her targets felt like that. He wondered whether he was over-thinking it all.
He was aware that she had casual flings; a lot of casual flings. Which, obviously, was absolutely fine. It was her life, and her choices. He wasn’t entirely sure what he did want, but he was very, very sure that he didn’t want just one night with her.
She could not be tied down, which was one of the reasons he was so captivated by her. He loved the energy she had, the endless inquisitiveness, which, yes, sometimes led her into trouble, but largely led to her discovering some new skill or interest. Jack wished he could be a bit more like her; a bit more adventurous and carefree. But he had never really been a ‘one night stand’ sort of bloke. He’d always had to feel strongly connected to someone before he risked his heart, or for that matter any other part of his anatomy.
He had been close to saying something to Phryne about, well, ‘liking her’ on a few previous occasions, but every time, something had happened and he had retreated into himself, unsure and uncertain once more. And he had just been about to step over the precipice of asking her out when he had been foiled again. But this time he was thwarted not by the arrival of her Aunt; the scary battle-axe, or by the ringing of her bloody iPhone; one of her apps alerting her to something, or even by some random bloke winking at her on the seafront. No, this time he had been thwarted by a piece of pristine white cardboard.
The invitation had hit her doormat, and of course ‘Dottie’ had been beside herself. And of course she hadn’t been able to resist mentioning it to Hugh. Who, of course, had been unable to stop his mouth running away with him. Collins had burst into his cramped office, shoved away on the dark side of the third floor of the St Kilda Road complex and started speaking before Jack could think to admonish him.
“Isn’t it fantastic news about Miss Fisher, Sir?”
“Collins?”
“The invite, Sir. To the Royal Wedding? My Gran’ll be so impressed Sir, she loves the Royal Family” the smile on Collins’ face threatened to burst free and romp around the confined space.
“Miss Fisher has been invited to the Royal Wedding?” Jack spluttered.
“Yes Sir. Dottie says that Miss Fisher has known Prince William and Prince Harry for most of their lives. Dottie says Miss Fisher has spent most of the morning on the phone to her dressmaker. Dottie says Miss Fisher is going to have something specially made, Sir. Dottie says…”
Jack interrupted briskly, “I’m not sure this is any of our business, Collins.”
Collins looked down-hearted and Jack suddenly felt like he had kicked a puppy. “But I’m sure Miss Fisher must feel very honoured.”
And just like that, Jack’s sunny, active, fun summer; already waning to the cold stagnant dampness of autumn had juddered to a sudden halt. Jack had slumped down in his chair and Collins had taken the hint and left.
This was it then. She would get on the plane, and fly back to England, and realise that this little city where the weather was always too hot, or too cold, or too wet or too dry, was the last place she wanted to be. And she’d just never come back.
Thirty minutes after Collins had backed out of Jack’s office he had idly Googled the cost of flights to London and laughed in desperation as he realised that he might be able to afford a trip every five years. If he booked six months in advance. And travelled out on a Tuesday. Via Perth, Singapore, Doha and Frankfurt. But why would she even want him to visit anyway: foolish Jack; the brusque Aussie copper? He would probably never see her again.
If he could just see her a few more times; perhaps enjoy a marvellous dinner with her, maybe permit himself one of the tantalising cocktails she always offered and which he always refused, maybe then, after that, he could go willingly to his fate like Antonio about to sacrifice his pound of flesh. He spread his hands wide across the desk in front of him, and repeatedly banged his head into them. This was no time for bloody Shakespeare.
Jack sat up and tipped his chair backwards, glancing across the Homicide department desks arranged outside his office. The Detectives who were present were all sat tapping away at their keyboards. Knowing he was about to be massively in breach of several parts of the IT and Social Media Policy, he fumbled in his suit pocket for his smartphone. Not an iPhone like hers, he thought; no chance, but serviceable none the less. He swept the pad of his thumb across the screen to unlock it and jabbed at the Facebook app. He scrolled down his Wall. His pathetically small number of ‘friends’, combined with Phryne’s prolific posting schedule meant that he soon found a post by her. He pressed on her name, waited for the page to load and then scrolled down.
He found the relevant post, from some three days ago:
Darlings! Terribly exciting mail! What is a girl to wear? Can’t possibly upstage the bride! (Friday 21st February – 10.00am.)
There was a picture of the invitation: white card, he presumed; black ink; embossed with gold. What the hell was a “Lord Chamberlain?” Her name was written on the card in precise calligraphy; ‘The Honourable Phryne Fisher’. There were some comments underneath from the usual suspects:
Liz Mac – (Friday 21st – 11.00am) You? Not upstage someone? Who are you and what have you done with Phryne Fisher?
Phryne Fisher – (Friday 21st – 3.00pm) I have to let the girl have one day, Mac ☺
Ray Hirsch – (Friday 21st – 3.17pm) Careful now P, that’s the start of a slippery slope :D
Phryne Fisher – (Friday 21st – 5.47pm) Shall I ask B&C to run a book on how many newspaper stories I can feature in?
Bertie J – (Friday 21st – 5.48pm) I’ll give you Evens on ‘more than 50’
Liz Mac – (Friday 21st – 7.45pm) My money’s on 37. And some pappy BS about her and some bloke
Bertie J – (Friday 21st – 8.17pm) How much you in for Liz Mac?
Liz Mac – (Friday 21st – 8.19pm) $50
Phryne Fisher – (Friday 21st – 10.00pm) Darlings please! This is unseemly!
Phryne Fisher – (Saturday 22nd – 2.13am) 42. $100
Jack sighed. He had thought the difference between them was not too marked. Yes: she had a house on The Esplanade at St Kilda, yes; she had a totally ridiculous car, yes; she regularly went to society fundraisers where the tickets cost more than his month’s salary, but he had started to think that none of that mattered. He had started to hope that she might like him as much as he liked her. There had been smiles and glances. And now she had gone and received an invitation to the Royal Wedding.
His mum had been on and on about the topic ever since the engagement had been announced. She was already planning her TV viewing schedule; had already co-erced Jack into moving her second TV downstairs, next to her main one so she could watch on two channels at once. She was making bunting. It was going to be a grand affair.
Jack had been considering asking Phryne to the Firemans’ & Policemans’ Ball – a ridiculous hangover from the old days, but surviving still somehow. How ludicrous, he thought to himself, to imagine that she would ever consent to accompany him to such a lowly event. Plainly, he had been fooling himself. She was so far out of his league, and he had been deluding himself to think otherwise.
His phone buzzed. Phryne had tweeted. He wasn’t sure why he still had his phone set up to send him notifications of her tweets. He told himself that it was so that he didn’t miss any updates about his own bloody cases. She had an unerring knack of managing to find out information before he did and it was becoming embarrassing. The resources of her detective agency were somewhat basic, and it irritated him immensely when she managed to unearth clues before he did. At least he had managed to get her to stop tweeting cryptic hints. He stabbed at the twitter icon and read the tweet;
Darlings! First dress ideas for #royalwedding with @HouseOfFleuri Terribly exciting!
She had attached a picture of a piece of paper with some material samples stuck to it and some pencil lines. It was too closely focused for him to be able to determine anything.
Impulsively, he decided to tweet a response. If anyone from HR happened to be scouring his twitter profile he’d just say it was his lunchtime. He checked his watch; oh, it was his lunchtime. He typed carefully:
@only1Phryne just as long as the dress isn’t concealing anything lethal!
He hit ‘post’ and sat back. That was probably a mistake, he thought. Possibly that was a tad too flirtatious. After 30 seconds his phone beeped.
@callmejack a well cut dress conceals or reveals exactly as much as it’s supposed to! xx #caretofriskmeInspector?
Jack smiled. Well he wasn’t totally averse to having a little banter with her. He quickly punched in another reply:
@only1Phryne some of us have work to do ☺ #protectingMelbourne
With that he returned his phone to his jacket pocket and opened the next case report on his desk. Yes, he thought, it had all been going so well.