Chapter Text
It was a cold Melbourne morning, and Phryne had Jack Robinson propped up on her settee drinking her tea and discussing the resolution of a case. She had gleefully taken the excuse of her frozen feet to curl up beside him with her back against the armrest and her toes tucked under his warm thigh.
“I’m not sure that the court is flexible enough in their thinking to accept fabric types as evidence,” he was telling her, frowning down into his teacup.
“Well they should,” Phryne replied, folding her arms.
Jack inclined his head mildly in agreement, and shrugged.
“Explain it to me again, in case they do let me use it in my testimony.”
Phryne reached out for his wrist, tugged his hand into her lap, and pushed up his jacket to get at the cotton of his shirt. Her fingers caught on the soft skin near his pulse as she plucked at the material, and he gulped down a sharp breath. An answering blossom of warmth started down her spine, and she smiled at him.
Phryne watched his face as she peeled away his shirt sleeve and pushed her thumb under the buttons to grasp the cotton. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and his breathing slowed.
She found herself leaning in until she could smell the wool of his blazer, and the eucalyptus in his pomade.
“See, regardless of which direction you tug on this cotton, it stretches the same amount. Hardly at all,” she explained, pulling at the material.
Jack nodded.
His eyes were heavy, and fixed on her.
“But if you try it with mine,” she continued, pushing her own sleeve in between his fingertips, “it stretches much further in one direction than the other. See?”
“Right,” he murmured, tugging gently on the cloth and leaning over their joined hands to watch it move.
When they looked up, they found their heads bent together and their noses so close that they were sharing air. Jack swallowed, and Phryne thought she felt a shudder pass through him from where she still clutched his wrist.
Phryne dragged her thumb across the skin of his forearm, and let it rest on his pulse point. His heartbeat thundered beneath her touch.
“Phryne,” he said raggedly.
“Jack,” she replied, swaying further into his space, “am I finally going to get the chance to see what’s under all these buttons?”
She reached out to trail her fingers down his waistcoat, but he flinched away.
“Sorry,” he said sharply, pulling his hands back to hover above his thighs, and squaring his shoulders.
His chest moved visibly with his breathing, and he had put so much distance between them that he was almost falling off her settee. There was equal parts misery and apology in his eyes.
Phryne sighed and let her hands fall into her lap.
“Are you ever planning on letting go of that iron self-control of yours and following me up to my boudoir?” she asked him tartly.
Jack winced.
The line of his mouth turned jagged, and he wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“I, uh. Probably not,” he replied with a hesitant shrug.
“Whyever not?” Phryne demanded. “Believe it or not Jack, I am capable of adjusting my behaviour to suit a more monogamous partner.”
He tipped his head back to stare up at her ceiling.
“It’s not for lack of wanting,” he said. “And it’s nothing to do with you, I just can’t. I don’t expect -”
The shrill call of Phryne’s telephone cut him off.
She groaned in frustration, and pushed herself to her feet.
“Stay right there,” she told him firmly as she went to attend to the blasted device.
After the intimacy of her parlour, the bright light of her hall and the piercing wail of the phone was jarring. Phryne plastered an insincere smile on her face as she answered the call, and could still hear a little of her irritation in her own voice.
“Fisher residence, Phryne Fisher speaking.”
“Oh. Ah, hullo Miss Fisher. This is Hugh Collins speaking. That is, Constable Hugh Collins of the City South -”
“Hello Hugh,” Phryne replied, interrupting his fumbling. “Are you looking for Dot, or Jack?”
“Er. Jack. I mean, Detective Inspector Jack Robinson of the-”
“Jack,” Phyrne called out, tucking the mouthpiece into her chest to muffle the noise, “it seems your constable knows where you belong, even if you don’t.”
Jack appeared at her shoulder a moment later running his hands down his pant legs. He took the phone from her with a sigh.
“Robinson,” he said, glaring at Phryne as she settled against the doorway of the kitchen to eavesdrop.
“And they’re calling it a suspicious death?” he asked.
Phryne could hear the cadence of Hugh’s voice on the other side of the line, but to her frustration, she was unable to pick out a single word.
“I’ll be there right away,” Jack said finally, replacing the phone on its stand.
“Looks like I’m required at the waterfront,” Jack told Phryne, plucking his jacket and hat off the rack.
His gaze skittered away from her as he dithered with his things.
“Anything interesting?” she asked.
He stopped in the doorway and threw her a quelling look.
“Nothing that requires civilian interference, Miss Fisher.”
The instant Jack stepped out the door, her phone began to ring again.
“Fisher residence, Phryne Fisher speaking,” Phryne repeated.
“Phryne darling,” said a warm female voice that Phryne immediately recognised as Ellie Ponting from her Adventuress’ Club. “I’m glad I caught you. I have a dear old friend who needs your help.”
“Oh?” replied Phryne.
“Godfrey is in charge of the Hogan Bay Yacht Club, and it seems that someone died under their jetty last night. He thinks it might have been a murder. I was telling him about your escapades last time we had dinner, and he just called up and begged me to ask you to pop down and take a look at the situation. He’s awfully concerned about it.”
Phryne felt her lips curl into a triumphant smile. Jack might be able to gather his wits and walk out of her house, but he couldn’t keep her away from his crime scenes.
“I’ll head straight down to the beach,” she promised Ellie.