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So this was it, thought Phryne. After all this time.
She glanced up from under her eyelashes, looking at Jack stare determinedly at the hat in his hands. The hat she had given him after the case in Maiden Creek.
Phyrne sighed, and reached over to the side table in her sitting room, downing the rest of the amber whiskey in her glass. She didn’t even relish in the burn as it trickled down her throat.
Jack had still not moved from where he stood. What was he thinking? Phryne wondered. She could practically hear the cogs in Jack’s mind whirring, trying to internalize what she had just said.
She picked up her glass again, only to find it empty. It was usually around now that Mr. Butler would walk in like an omniscient saint, with a new tumbler in hand. But even Mr. B seemed to know that tonight was not like every other night.
When had it all changed? Phryne could not remember. The innocent nightcaps that at some point had become not so innocent. The nightly visits. The looks they shared under veiled eyes, over crime scenes, over heads during parties; fooling nobody but themselves. The hidden promises for “another time, in a more intimate setting...” The way he had gone from (unsuccessfully) blocking her from his crime scenes, to letting her command his constables as if she were the Detective Inspecter. “You heard Miss Fisher, Constable,” he had said. She couldn’t help but feel a warmth spread in her chest as she had twirled on her heels to interrogate suspects, feeling but not seeing, Jack’s polite smirk burning her back.
How things had changed.
“Jack?” Phryne’s voice was timid and wholly unlike her usual flippant self.
Jack looked up from his hat and looked at a spot near Phryne’s right shoulder, refusing to look her in the eye.
“Jack,” Phryne said more emphatically.
He took a deep, steadying breath and looked at her.
Phryne’s heart skipped a beat when she saw the usually soft, affectionate gaze she had come to known as uniquely Jack’s look at her emotionlessly. His barriers had come back up, as they had during the Gerty Hayne’s case. Her breath caught as she felt something akin to desperation as she saw the steady understanding she and Jack had come to over the course of two years shatter in a moment. She felt as if she had been plunged in the Mermaid Tank once more, this time without her lock picks, cold water filling her lungs.
“Jack,” Phryne said for a third time, this time slightly desperate. She hated the way it sounded. So weak. So timid. The way she had vowed to never sound after Rene DuBois. Lately, she had difficulty even feeling fear at the recollection of DuBois. That was how much Jack changed her.
“You’re leaving then,” Jack finally said, without anger or sadness; not a question, but a statement. His voice was low, but steady.
Phryne’s lip trembled again, before she took a deep breath and looked into Jack’s eyes. She willed herself to feel indignation, rather than hurt at his tone.
“Yes. He is my father, and he is in trouble. No matter how much I wish he would just – disappear—he is my father, and I cannot leave him like this.” Phryne stuck her chin up in defiance.
Jack did not reply. He was still looking at Phryne resolutely with brutal clarity, sensing her discomfort, yet feeling a sense of sadistic pleasure. How dare she leave him now.
Phryne pulled her scarf closer to her, in a vain attempt to warm herself from Jack’s unwavering gaze. She felt as if she had been struck, and looked away quickly. This was not the Jack who made her feel safe in times of need. The Jack who made her doubt her resolve to never settle, to never love again. The Jack who, somehow, had wormed himself into her heart and her unconventional family.
She remembered one afternoon when she had once again found herself perched on Jack’s desk, going over evidence. In a moment of mischief when Jack had vacated his office to speak to a junior constable, she had hopped off her side of the desk to inch toward a familiar biscuit tin drawer. On top of the tin, she had found several postcards in Jane’s signature scrawl. Somewhat alarmed and slightly curious to see how Jack had gotten his hands on Jane’s postcards, Phryne realized with a start that the two had been writing for some time during Jane’s Parisian studies. The postcards were tied together neatly, the words “Take care of mum for me” peaking out from under the twine ribbon. Phryne’s heart fluttered. Something black and white caught her eye, as she reached further into the drawer to find a photo of herself, making funny faces at the camera. The photo was frayed around the edges, as if someone had stroked the frame of the photo multiple times, but had been too scared to smudge the immaculate ink where her face stared back at her. It was in every way, the perfect embodiment of her relationship with Jack.
Phryne pulled herself from her reveries.
“We leave tomorrow,” she said more softly. She touched the left side of her neck where Archie Wood had injured her, the bruise now invisible, but still tender to touch. She bit her lip, trying to suppress the memory of Jack sliding his fingers down her neck just a month before. They had been so close.
Jack looked out the window, but his eyes had softened. She had expected indignation, maybe even anger, at her sudden departure. Maybe even a hint of betrayal for being able to leave him so easily. So quickly. God knew he had the capacity to feel jealousy and betrayal. It was, admittedly, not his best trait, yet even this had endeared him to Phyrne.
However, what she hadn’t expected was this silent resignation, as if he had been waiting all this time for her to simply pack her bags and leave. As if he had not mattered at all. She felt her temper rise.
“You can’t possibly think this doesn’t affect me either, Jack!” Her voice rose higher than her usual pitch. “You know how hard I’ve tried all my life to be free. To never let anyone cage me in. I was born to fly, Jack. Surely, you must understand?”
Jack nodded imperceptibly, but still looked out the window.
Yes, Phryne was like a beautiful, colorful bird who had flown into his life out of the blue one day. One who flew over and around his head until he could do nothing but look out for his colorful bird wherever he went. He had meant it a year ago, when he said he would never ask her to change. He could not watch her caged. He would rather see her neck wrung like those song birds in Dr. Littleton’s office. A swallow glittering in the midst of Collingwood’s drab streets, to fly away free. And now she would fly across the continent back to England, where her title and estate belonged.
The silence stretched on as Phyrne looked beseechingly at him. Frustrated at Jack’s lack of response, Phryne let out a small noise of frustration and threw her hands up in the air. Feeling a wave of exhaustion, she cradled her head in both her hands and let the tears she had been holding back fall down her hidden face.
Where would Jack go when she left? Would he find solace in the arms of another?
Perhaps Concetta, Phryne thought bitterly, swallowing the hurt bubbling up inside her.
She didn’t hear the shuffle of feet as Jack walked over to her, still in his overcoat and hat in hand. She felt a soft touch on her head, and looked up. Jack was kneeling on the ground near her chair, his fingers barely touching her head, his eyes looking up at her searchingly.
“I-I tried, to tell him I had to stay,” Phryne whispered.
“I know,” Jack replied simply, his fingers trailing down her head to touch her cheek, before withdrawing them. Phryne felt the loss of his heat acutely.
“I never thought it would be like this,” Phryne continued. Her hand reaching out to touch his shoulder. Even now, neither of them could fully initiate the intimacy they both knew the other craved. It seemed appropriate this way. To end their jilted romance the way it had never started.
“All this time, I wondered how I might want you to want me back,” Jack admitted. “I always wondered how I could keep up to your pace; how to fly alongside you, without smothering you. But I never thought that we would run out of time…”
Phryne leaned forward, her head on Jack’s shoulder. She felt his right arm come up tentatively around her, his hat now on the ground, his hand on the small of her back. She let the tears fall silently. He understood her. Like so few before him.
It was like this Mr. Butler found them an hour later. The words died on his lips as he watched his mistress and her inspector embody the tableau of a beautiful, yet tragic love scene. He quietly closed the door behind him.
Phryne walked up brusquely to the plane waiting for her. She wore comfortable boots and a loose jacket, not bothering with her appearance the same way she usually would have. She had left the Wardlow at dawn, having said tearful goodbyes to Dot, Hugh, Mac, and Mr. B the night before. Jane was still in Paris, and would fly to London where she would meet Phryne in a month. That at least, was a relief. Cec and Bert had offered to drive her to where her flight would take off, but she had pressed kisses to their cheeks and had insisted on driving her Hispano for the last time. She had driven at a more reckless pace than ever, feeling a sense of invincibility as she tried to outrun her sadness.
She remembered turning off the lights and walking away from her home in St. Kilda, deliberately leaving hours before she had to, in a last ditch attempt to avoid the sorrowful goodbyes. After all, she had vowed to be back. Whether that would be months later or years, she had no clue. But for now, she would not say goodbye. She had lost too many in the War to bid farewell at anything less than death.
The wind blew through her scarf as she trudged toward the plane, remembering the night before. After everyone had said their goodbyes, she had opened her door to Inspector Robinson, standing at her door the same way he had after the Pandarus case. They had sat for hours, head on each other’s shoulders, without saying a word.
As dawn approached, Jack had shuffled upwards, his fingers tracing her cheek and cupping her face. It was a fleeting touch, one that Phryne would’ve thought she had dreamt had she not seen the first hint of sadness all night in his eyes as he pulled away.
The words died on her lips as her arms reached out to him, then fell by her side. She had wanted to call out to him, to tell him how she felt. How much she cared. Asking him to come with her to England, and to leave this all behind. But she couldn’t. And had watched the Inspector walk out the door without a look behind.
Her wracking sobs had reached his ears as he closed the door behind him, hands shaking and heart breaking. This was right, he told himself.
To let her go, because he loved her too much to cage her.
He breathed in the crisp morning air and willed himself to move on. His Phryne would go on, maybe in a few weeks or a few months time, and return to her jovial flirtatious self. He clamped his mind down against thoughts of her dancing with other men, drinking his existence away in the glittering halls of England.
Yes, he would let her fly, he had thought.
Phryne heard the roar of the plane’s engine, and spotted her father looking jovially at his surroundings. She felt the bile run up her throat at how oblivious her father had been. How once again, he seemed to ruin her life no matter how far she ran.
Suddenly, she heard another roar in the background, an unfamiliar growl of an engine, tires on the dirt road. Her heart leapt, hoping against hope, as she turned around.
It was merely a flight controller, riding up in a vehicle to cue the pilot to start traveling in 5 minutes. Phryne felt the sting of tears as disappointment coursed through her. Seeing her father look her way, she steadied herself before forcing a smile on her face. Her father may have the pleasure of ruining her life, but there was no way she would allow him to see her pain as well.
Her scarf caught on something as she walked brusquely up to the plane steps. Jerking at the scarf without looking, she stopped when it would not dislodge.
There, a few meters away from her, stood Jack. Like a hallucination, he looked down at her from the brim of his hat, a wry smile gracing his lips. His right hand clutched onto the end of her scarf. He looked even more handsome than Phryne remembered.
“Jack?” Phryne asked in disbelief, unwilling to believe her eyes.
“Miss Fisher,” Jack responded with a familiar head tilt. His eyes twinkled with the farce of formality.
“What are you doing here?” Phryne asked, a smile breaking onto her face, against her will.
“I had to see you,” he said simply.
“You did?” Phryne felt incredibly stupid at stating the obvious, but stood rooted to her spot. “How did you know where I was?”
“’For once you have tasted flight, you will walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been and there you will long to return,’’ quoted Jack.
Phryne looked slightly bewildered, turning her head to glance at the plane behind her, then back at Jack.
“Not the plane Phryne,” Jack chuckled. “You.”
Phryne’s eyes dawned with realization.
“After you entered my life, all I could do was turn my eyes toward you, following in vain, wondering where you would fly next. Even on the dreariest cases, I would look out for a flash of color to see if you were there. I walked the earth with my eyes turned skyward." Jack gave a small ironic smile, remembering the last time he had uttered those words out loud.
"Oh, Jack!" Phryne responded, her usual flirtatious self creeping into her tone.
A loud noise disrupted the quiet, as both Jack and Phryne turned to find the flight controller gesture towards the plane. Phryne looked in panic from the plane to Jack.
"Jack, I -" Phryne gazed searchingly into Jack's face, trying to articulate her own feelings. Did he want to come with her? Should she stay? She looked back at the plane, where her father was gesturing wildly toward her to board.
As if reading her thoughts, Jack said quietly, "'For whither thou goest, I will go, and where thou lodgest, I will lodge.' It's your choice Phryne, to stay or leave. But I will be by your side, if you will have me.”
A wide smile spread on Phryne's face.
“Quoting the Bible, Jack?” Phryne quipped. “I never thought you to be particularly devout.”
Jack tilted his head, but said nothing as he smiled.
For there you have been, and there you will long to return.
Yes, thought Jack with a grin. For this is where I will long to return.