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The night had never been more freezing.
The steps that had separated my house from Miss Fisher's had been interminable, and after a while I had completely lost count.
My mind was confused and foggy. There was just the thought of that woman, who was looking at me, with shining eyes, and she was asking me not to give up. I don't even know what.
We were nothing, and we would continue to be nothing, although deep down in my heart I longed for more.
A future, a bond with that unconventional woman, which went beyond our police investigations, or the games of checkers in the evening, in her living room, enjoying spirits and telling us anecdotes from our lives.
I wanted all that, and more.
I had been presumptuous and asked for too much, and now, as in any Greek tragedy, some divinity antagonistic to me was punishing me for wanting more.
And the most paradoxical thing about all this was that it was I who had distanced myself from her.
I didn't know how to feel about it.
I never wanted to see her cry because of me, and apparently, being the mean man that I am, I just did.
It was hard to see her so vulnerable, because she was a strong woman, and wouldn't let anyone break her.
In my defence, I can say that the only reason I decided to end our friendship was because she was completely straying from what was ethical and right.
Phryne used her tricks to gain advantage over me in any way, especially during investigations.
This was in acceptable.
But that was all a lie. I was lying to myself, and sooner or later the truth would begin to buzz around me like a horsefly in the middle of summer.
I was entering unknown waters, and I didn't even know which direction to take. Losing control meant having to come to terms with myself, with what I had become over time, admitting my successes and failures. But most of all, I would have to face my biggest fears.
To be in love with the Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher.
Loving her was the most beautiful and terrifying thing I had ever experienced. I wasn't sure when I had seriously started to have feelings for her. Probably a lot longer than I imagined.
The realisation came as a cold shower, though. It had been an intrusive thought that had taken root deeper and deeper inside me, day after day. Loving Phryne Fisher; loving the woman and everything that came with her.
At first, it was intoxicating, almost refreshing. The thought of loving her and starting to believe in something again, after the war and my completely failed marriage to Rosie.
Loving Phryne could be very simple and intense, just like the French perfume she always used to seduce.
I almost allowed myself to think what the scent of her skin would be like, when the French essence would mix with the smell of sex. The slow one, close, in the early hours of the morning, when the city is still silent and the light is still too dim to illuminate the streets.
It was a truly unseemly thought for a decent person like me.
But I thought about it. And after that thought, there had been many others, and they all revolved around her.
The problem is that all beautiful things are destined to fade, mutate and disappear over time.
I hadn't even had time to confess my almost adolescent love for her when I received the news from Collins about the car accident.
It was obviously a miscommunication. Phryne Fisher had not died instantly, but rather she had arrived at the crime scene to investigate as usual.
But the mere thought of losing her made my blood run cold.
I wasn't ready to let her go. I wasn't ready to say goodbye to her, because her reckless driving would definitely get her into some trouble sooner or later.
And so I decided to end our relationship. So prematurely, I must admit.
In reality that evening, in front of her, I had just used yet another excuse to not face the reality of the facts: I loved her too much to bear the loss of her, whether voluntary or not.
I had been petty, cowardly and had destroyed everything beautiful in our bond.
Returning to my little bungalow, the only thing I hadn't stopped thinking about for even a second were Phryne's sad, tear-filled eyes, following me and asking me for mercy.
She had been too proud to stop me from leaving the living room, and I had been too much of a coward to tell her what I really thought.
Maybe things would never go back to the way they were before.
I thought I would feel better by saying goodbye, but none of that was true.
But now I couldn't go back.