Prologue

His back hit the wall of the pylon. Eyes wide, he held trembling hands out in silent supplication. The man, standing directly in front of him, snarled, "Nothing to say for yourself?" He shook his head. The man raised a hand, and he instinctively jerked away, knocking his head against the granite. Hard. With a derisive snort the man snatched the cap from his head before directing a comment at the two men lurking in the background, "Get him out of my sight." He watched the man walk away, but any relief was fleeting as he caught sight of the two that remained, pacing back and forth, their excitement palpable, ghoulish grins on their faces. Eyes widening even further, he looked from one to the other, but they had not a shred of mercy between them. As they pulled out their razor blades he cowered in a pointless attempt to protect himself. The last thing he saw was the graceful arch sweeping up into the sky.

Note 1: The pylons are the four tower like structures at each end of the bridge. They are concrete with a granite facing. They were originally built to hide the inner workings of the bridge due to public concerns about its structural integrity. It's a bit hard to see but if you click on the cover image for this fic you will see that it is a photo of the Sydney Harbour Bridge under construction circa 1929.

Note 2: In 1927 New South Wales introduced severe penalties for carrying concealed guns, so the razor became the weapon of choice for the gangs of Sydney.

Chapter One

Senior Detective Inspector Donald Broadbent of the New South Wales Police Force was in his early thirties, slightly above average height, lean, dark haired with a pleasingly olive complexion. His eyes were an unusual hazel green and his cheekbones simply to die for. Phryne's eyes rested on the man sitting in the chair across from the desk for exactly as long as it took to say a polite hello before returning to her Inspector. "Where are you going?"

"I'm not really at liberty to say, Miss Fisher," replied Jack, having apparently discovered something fascinating in the patina of his desk.

"That makes no sense. How will I know where you are if I need you?" she looked at the other policeman, "For a case."

Broadbent gave a wide pleasant smile that crinkled his eyes and made his dimples stand out, "Whilst Inspector Robinson is unavailable I'll be more than happy to assist you in every way possible, Miss Fisher."

Jack lifted his eyes, tilted his head towards his colleague and watched her closely, "There you go, you'll never even miss me."

Phryne didn't sniff (because a lady never would) but if you knew her (and Jack knew her very well) then you could tell that was exactly what she did. "No offence intended, Detective," her eyes came back to Jack, searching for and finding his, "but that is highly unlikely."

"None taken, Miss Fisher," Broadbent said pleasantly. He had heard about the alluring Miss Fisher and was more than happy to admit that he was looking forward to working with the Lady Detective.

"A slow week, Miss Fisher?" Jack held her gaze this time.

She plonked herself down on his desk, effectively putting her back to Broadbent, and threw a yearning glance at the pile of files on his desk, "Well, it looks like you could do with all the help you can get."

"That is very true, Miss Fisher and I'm sure Inspector Broadbent will be grateful for your help and if, between the two of you, this pile is cleared for me in my absence, I will be exceptionally grateful."

Sensing she would get nowhere Phryne stood to take her leave of them both. When Broadbent held her hand for longer than strictly necessary, she fought the urge to snatch it back. After all, it was not his fault he was the wrong policeman.

It had been a long day and, as he walked out the station door, Jack was looking forward to whiskey when he got home. Not too many though because he had a long trip ahead of him tomorrow. At least he was leaving his station in capable hands. Broadbent was an outstanding police officer and he would work well with her. He gave an inward groan, Broadbent was also incredibly handsome, single and, as he could attest after spending an entire day with him, very engaging. He brought his hand up to rub at his temples. He and Miss Fisher had come to an understanding after the Carbone murder but they hadn't yet worked out the exact nature of their relationship so, whilst he believed her affections to be deeper than a momentary distraction, being sent undercover in Sydney for an unspecified number of weeks was less than ideal.

"Headache, Jack?" the voice came from the shadows of the station wall.

He didn't bother to look at her, "No, Miss Fisher just contemplating my journey tomorrow."

She fell into step beside him, "About that…"

He held up his hand, interrupting her, "Take me back to Wardlow, give me whiskey and I'll tell you everything you want to know."

So she did, and he did, and it was agreed that they would drive to Sydney tomorrow, together.

"The record for a private car on the Hume Highway is fourteen hours," she declared gaily as they headed out of Melbourne City, "some racing cars have done it in around twelve hours, but they were averaging around sixty miles per hour."

"Good to know, Miss Fisher," Jack said from behind the steering wheel.

"The Hispano can do around eighty five miles per hour, but if we factor in the stretch of poor road the other side of Gundagai and your inability to drive above fifty miles per hour, I estimate it will take us at least thirteen."

"I may be able to cope with fifty five miles per hour once we're on the open road."

She laughed, "Just do your best, Inspector. I'll make up the difference when it's my turn to drive." He grimaced. "I've been thinking, Jack… I suppose… when we get to the Sydney, we'll need to pretend we haven't met," she said.

"Not necessarily," he replied, wondering where she was going with this, "What have you got in mind?"

She leaned towards him, face alight with mischief, "I was thinking it could be fun if we were old friends." Jack almost laughed, how typical, only he would manage to go from strictly business to old friend without any of the fun in-between. Too excited to notice his reaction Phryne carried on speaking, "For obvious reasons you need to appear to be a single man, however I need to be able to watch your back, so if I were to show up as your recently spurned lover, a woman who is determined to get you back… well, it's the perfect explanation for me keeping a close eye on you," she finished proudly. Jack nodded absent-mindedly; trying to process her use of the phrase appear to be a single man. Heartened by his lack of argument she continued, "I think you should keep the Hispano too, it'll enable you to get around freely and also, add credence to your cover as a man about town."

He finally managed to catch up, "She is a lot more fun to drive than my normal car."

"You'd enjoy her a whole lot more, Jack, if you could force yourself to go slightly faster," she said, throwing him a look that made his heart flip.

"I could maybe go up to sixty," he replied putting his foot down a little harder. Phryne threw herself back in the seat dramatically, hands flying up in the air as though struggling against the wind created by his increase in speed, and they both laughed.

"No… sorry, Jack, honestly, every little bit helps but, as I said earlier, I really don't mind making up the difference. I am quite determined to get us there." She faced out to watch the countryside whizzing past and grinned. Jack spent the next fifteen minutes replaying everything she had said in the last five minutes, hoping he wasn't reading too much into it.

They swapped drivers at Kyeamba.

Years of snatching sleep whenever the opportunity arose had Jack slouched in the seat beside her within five minutes. She put her foot down on the accelerator even harder, she wasn't quite as patient as she'd led him to believe, and… what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. This whole relationship thing was turning out to be harder than she had hoped, it appeared you didn't just tell someone you were going to make do with them and instantly everything was resolved. The dance seemed, if anything, even slower now but she was determined not to rush - she needed to get this right. Taking her frustrations out on the accelerator they reached Gundagai, the halfway point, surprisingly quickly.

Jack was dreaming. Dreaming of a dark haired woman with flawless pale skin and bright blue eyes. He felt her hand on his shoulder and turned towards it, dipping his head to hold it captive, nuzzling into it. The pressure on his shoulder increased as she leaned in and he could feel her warmth close by his ear. "Jack, wake up."

"No," his breath whispered across the back of her hand like a caress.

"It's your turn to drive, Jack." Her words floated around his mind.

"What?"

"Jack, we're at Gundagai."

He lifted his head releasing her hand, pleased when she made no effort to remove it. Opening his eyes he was disorientated, blinking in the unexpected sunlight. This was not where he thought he was, he turned his head but she was who he had thought he was with. He smiled at her gently, "Hello." He heard her sharp intake of breath as he reached out a hand, intent on guiding a strand of her hair behind her ear. Just before the tips of his fingers touched her skin he registered the widening of her eyes and he stilled. "What's the matter?" There was silence.

Jack stared at her, confused. He looked around to find they were in the main street of a reasonably busy town and the enormity of his mistake struck him. Somehow in his sleep befuddled state he had imagined an intimacy between them that, much as he wanted it, did not exist. Fumbling at the door handle he practically fell out on the pavement in his haste to create some distance between them. Blushing, he couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes so, as he grabbed his hat off the back seat, he mumbled in her general direction, "My apologies, Miss Fisher, that was…" His voice faded away, not sure how to explain.

He risked a quick glance only to find she was sitting straight in her seat looking at the road ahead. "It's fine, Jack. Why don't you see if you can find some food for us?" She did not sound like herself.

"I'll just head up here, then," he said, weakly. She nodded. What, Jack asked himself as he chose a random direction and started to walk, was the one thing you shouldn't do when dealing with a woman who has spent years avoiding romantic entanglement? I know - how about not staring at her like a lovestruck fool - you bloody idiot!

She watched him in the rear view mirror as he disappeared into a doorway, then she let her head fall down to rest on the steering wheel. My God, she thought, was that what it would be like to have him wake up next to her? The thoughtless familiarity of the moment had been unexpected, overwhelming and she was annoyed with herself for not having handled it better. She took five deep calming breaths. She could do this, alright she'd never managed, or wanted to have a serious relationship with a man before (for obvious reasons she chose to ignore Paris) but that was no reason to think she couldn't. There were many things she had never done before that she was sure to be absolutely excellent at.

Thirty minutes later they were back in the car and Jack was driving. The road had got noticeably rougher and he found himself having to avoid potholes and other obstacles. It was not easy going which was a fairly accurate reflection of how he was feeling. Distracted, he failed to avoid a hole in the road and the whole car bounced in an uncomfortable way. "Sorry."

"It's fine, Jack," she assured him, "there's more potholes than road at the moment." Jack nodded, that was a very fair statement.

After another forty minutes of slow going they hit a patch of decent road and were moving quickly again. Possibly, and as she thought it she was fully aware of the irony, going too quickly. Jack was driving at somewhere close to sixty five miles per hour. Clearly he was very upset about their encounter at Gundagai. She thought back to how she had responded. Considering everything she knew about him, if she didn't act quickly, it was possible he would withdraw to the known boundaries of their professional relationship. Reaching across she laid her hand on his arm, "It's fine, Jack. Honestly." With his eyes front and concentrating, at first she thought he had not heard her, then she felt the tension fade in his arm as his hands loosened their grip on the steering wheel and he eased off the accelerator. After a while he shot an enquiring glance at her. She smiled. He smiled shyly back.

They swapped drivers for the last time at Goulburn and Phryne took the wheel. She spent the first thirty minutes thinking about the case before informing Jack of the plan. "We can't be seen turning up at the Australia together." He nodded. "So, I'll stay at the Wentworth tonight." He nodded again. "You take the Hispano and try to get an introduction to Matthews and his daughter."

"I don't need the Hispano, you keep it."

"No," she corrected him, "the Hispano establishes you as a wealthy man about town, trust me – you need it. Matthews is a car enthusiast, he will be drooling over the chance to look at it so make sure you mention it as soon as you can. And Jack…" she gave him a long considered look, "there is nothing more likely to turn a young lady's head than the offer from a handsome man of a jaunt in his sports car, so it may present you with an opportunity."

"Whilst I appreciate the insight, Miss Fisher, I won't be taking any jaunts unless you're in the car too," he said firmly.

"I think Miss Matthews might have something to say about that." It would be untrue to pretend the thought of Jack with another woman was anything but a little bit too raw at the moment. And anyway, he was an excellent investigator; there was no need for him to rely on his good looks to get the information they needed. She nodded, "Feel free to take the father on a jaunt without me, I don't think he's any threat to your virtue."

"It's not like you to jump to conclusions like that, Miss Fisher," he chided her, "his wife died nearly five years ago and he's never remarried. He may not be as immune to my charms as you think."

She threw back her head laughing with delight, "Now that is something I admit I had not considered." She leaned toward him and said dramatically, "I'll be sure to keep a close eye on him and let you know if I see any signs that he is falling in love with you." Jack sat back in the seat, more than a little pleased with himself, it was good to be able to surprise her.

In the end, with stops, poor roads and Jack's driving, it took them closer to fourteen hours to complete their drive from Melbourne to Sydney.

Jack's luck was in from the moment he stepped into the Hotel reception. At the counter talking with the Concierge was a short, wiry man in his mid-fifties who had that air of confidence that surrounds a self made man. Jack knew it was Matthews straight away. Aiming for obvious, when the Manager greeted him, Jack dropped the car key onto the counter ensuring that the Hispano badge was visible. "I've just come in from Melbourne, can you get someone to clean my car before tomorrow? It's the red Hispano."

The Manager gave a small bow, "Of course, sir."

"An Hispano? Not many of those in these parts." Matthews said politely, eyes alight with interest.

"I've only seen one other," Jack, turned to face Matthews, "Mine's a 1923 46CV, top speed 85 miles an hour but she's gone faster." That, he knew, was not a lie.

"You drove her here from Melbourne? How'd she handle?"

"Like a dream. Hang on, I need to sort this bloke out." Jack, straightening up, faced back towards the Manager.

The Manager, giving Matthews an apologetic bow, pushed the Register to Jack, "If I could just have your details, sir."

Jack grabbed the pen off him, and looking over his shoulder, he spoke to Matthews, "You on your way out, mate?"

Matthews nodded towards the hotel bar, "Just thinking of having a quiet one, come over if you like - when you're done here."

Jack scrawled his details into the Register, grabbed his keys and headed in the direction Matthews had gone. He found him on a seat at the bar; he approached, holding out his hand. "John Robertson, Melbourne."

The hand that took his was small, but the grip was firm. "Ian Matthews, Sydney. My shout," he waved the barman over.

Jack glanced down at the schooner in front of Matthews, "I'm guessing that's not Victoria Bitter?"

Matthews snorted good naturedly before speaking to the barman, "Grab us another Reschers, mate?"

As they waited for the beer to arrive he asked, "You follow the league, John?"

Jack shook his head, "Did I mention I was from Melbourne?"

"Fair point."

"Big game on this weekend then?"

Matthews nodded, "North Sydney playing, I own the team."

"Nice," Jack said appreciatively, "Hang on, aren't you the ones whose coach has gone walkabout? Heard about that, even in Victoria."

Matthews scowled. "Man is trouble, a brilliant tactician but…" Jack didn't attempt to hide his interest but Matthews had clearly rethought how much he was going to share. "…bloody Irish, probably just out on the turps somewhere."

"In any event, can't be easy to lose your coach at this point in the season."

Matthews downed the remainder of his beer and waved his empty glass in the air. As the barman hurried across with a refill, he said, "You got that right, John, it has been a damn inconvenient year. Now, tell me more about that beaut car you got…"

The real luxury, Jack reflected, was not the softness of the linen against his bare skin or the warmth of the feather filled continental; it was that he did not have to get up. Mumbling with pleasure into the well-filled pillows, he turned on to his back letting the covers slip from his shoulders down his chest. A swish of cloth. He froze. Surely not? He sniffed. Unbelievable. "Miss Fisher? Really?" he rumbled, eyes still shut.

Her voice was strangely muffled, "Sorry, Jack." It occurred to him that she must be facing the wall. His lip curled in amusement and he opened his eyes. "It is seven o'clock," she said defensively to the wall.

Making no attempt to get out of bed, Jack said conversationally, "Most people would have knocked on the door."

"I'm a woman spurned, Jack – the actions of most people are not going to apply to me." It was obvious she was feeling slightly uncomfortable. "Do you think you could get up and join me in the other room?"

He sighed - instead of dragging him into bed she was in fact dragging him out. "Of course, Miss Fisher. Far be it from me to take this rare opportunity to sleep in. Would you mind if I put some clothes on first?" She made a strange noise and scuttled from the bedroom. It was, he thought, highly amusing to see her embarrassed.

A couple of minutes later a disheveled Jack walked into the room. He had thrown on a pair of running shorts and a singlet, made some attempt to arrange his hair but his feet were bare and he was unshaven. He had a pair of sneakers in his hand. Sinking into the nearest chair, his voice still raspy from sleep, he said, "Tell me, what was so urgent you needed to break into my room?" Her mind went entirely blank and she gaped at him, swallowing hard, trying to exert control over the way her body was reacting to him. "Miss Fisher?" he drew his eyebrows together, concerned at her lack of response, "Has something happened?"

"What?" she forced herself to react to his enquiry, "No, nothing has happened, I just thought we should de…" her voice faded away as she realised the double entente she had almost said, "…we should talk about yesterday and discuss our plan for today."

He nodded, "Shall I ring through for a pot of tea? For propriety's sake we'll have to share a cup, but I expect we'll manage."

"A cup of tea is exactly what I need," she agreed.

Jack stood to call room service, requesting toast with the large pot of tea. As he put the phone down he began to tell her of his fortuitous meeting with Matthews. "He seems a good enough bloke," Jack remarked, "angry at the loss of his coach but clever enough not to let on how serious it is."

Phryne nodded, "I assume he was told by the Sydney police to keep that quiet at this stage?"

"It's an open investigation, always best to hold back as many details as possible. The razors indicate gang involvement but are they the brains or merely enforcers?"

"You don't think Matthews is involved?"

Jack pondered on his impressions of the man, "I'd like to think he wasn't." There was a knock at the door, Jack motioned for her to go into the bedroom.

Phryne, having made sure she wasn't in line of sight, surveyed the room; Jack's suit from last night was thrown haphazardly across the back of the chair, shoes discarded where they had been taken off, socks chucked vaguely in their direction. Strewn across the dresser were the contents of his toilet bag, possibly from his attempt at his hair this morning, it was hard to tell. The bed linen was still open from where he had so recently risen. It was a surprise to find that her Inspector was not the meticulously tidy man she had always thought him – the never-ending mystery deepens, how delicious she thought. Her eyes lingered on the open bedclothes. The sound of the door shutting roused her and, taking a deep breath, she sauntered back into the other room.

"Help yourself," Jack pointed at breakfast.

She poured a cup of tea and buttered a slice of toast, finishing with a generous layer of marmalade. "Have you plans to meet with Matthews again?" she asked.

"In about ten minutes I'm going to head downstairs…" he began to put on his socks, "… and ask the Concierge for directions to the nearest running track…" he put on his shoes "…Matthews is going to overhear me and suggest I accompany him on his run around the gardens." He tied off his laces, reaching across to pluck the half eaten toast from her hand. "What do you think of that?" he asked as he bit down.

She grinned as she buttered another slice of toast, "I think you should thank me for waking you up."

Phryne was sitting in the hotel foyer, reading the Sydney Morning Herald when Jack and Matthews returned from their run. By the state of them a fair amount of harmless competitiveness must have occurred because they both looked spent. It crossed her mind that, if there was ever a time that Matthews would find Jack's charms hard to resist, now would be that time. Panting, his complexion highlighted with the pink tinge of exertion and hair falling unhindered across his forehead. She let her eyes devour him before turning to Matthews, only to find he was staring at her, clearly shocked by her blatant appreciation of the man beside him.

"I tell you what, John," he made no attempt at subtlety because there had been nothing subtle about Phryne's look, "there is a good looking sheila over there that is yours for the taking, if you want her." Jack stared at him, uncomprehending, before following his gaze to see her smiling over the now lowered paper. He groaned. Matthews looked at him in surprise, "Don't tell me she's not your type because…" he looked back at her, his admiration obvious, "…unless…" he gave Jack a long considering stare.

Jack narrowed his eyes at the unspoken question, "Don't be bloody stupid, do I look like I am?"

Matthews shrugged, "It's not always obvious. Still…" he nodded to where Phryne continued to watch them.

"She's an old friend and take it from me, far more trouble than she's worth," Jack explained, turning his back on her very definitively. Phryne retaliated by lifting her paper back up and beginning to read again.

Matthews let his breath whistle through his teeth, "Then she must be one hell of a lot of trouble."

Jack made his way to the Concierge at the reception desk, "Excuse me, is that woman over there, the one pretending to read the paper, is she a guest here?"

The man, after a servile nod at Matthews replied, "She is indeed, sir, why she's only just this minute arrived. A Miss…" he opened the Register, "…Philomena Robinson."

Jack rolled his eyes. Striding across the room, leaning close to her ear, "You are supposed to pick a name that is similar to yours," he growled.

"Philly is close to Phryne," she turned her face towards his, grinning. The view of his clenched jaw from this close was spectacular she acknowledged.

"That's not what I meant and you know it." That familiar mischievous sparkle in her eyes was making it difficult for him to remember he was supposed to be scolding her.

She shrugged, delighted to have got such a strong reaction out of him. "I'll try to remember for next time." He wasn't angry, she could see the smile at the edge of his lips and in the corners of his eyes.

He stepped back, "There won't be a next time, Philly," he said loud enough for Matthews to hear him. She pouted and watched him as he walked away.

Matthews intercepted him, "Will you join us for breakfast…" he looked at his watch, "…in say, forty minutes?"

"I'd be delighted."

"Good," he gave a meaningful glance across at Phryne who was still watching Jack, "and you have got to tell me that story."

As Jack took his shower he half hoped she would break into his room again, but of course he wouldn't be that lucky and if she did it would no doubt be to talk about the case. She wouldn't, for example find herself so overcome by the sight of his wet, naked body that she would jump into the shower with him. No, she'd want to discuss what type of blade had been used (a razor, obviously), how many assailants there had been (two at least) and whether the location where the body had been found (at the base of the currently under construction bridge across the harbour) was a clue to the case (probably). He dried himself off (the thickness of the towel was a revelation), any designs he had on exploring the physical side of this new relationship with Miss Fisher seemed to be constantly blocked by the murder.

Jack stopped – shocked. Had he really just thought that? He checked, it was true. For the first time he could ever recall he didn't care about solving the murder. Grabbing the dressing gown he had found in the bathroom (where did you buy things like this?) he wandered into the bedroom and sat on the bed. Damn it, he simply could not get her out of his head. And now it would seem he would prefer to have her in his bed than bother to solve a murder. He heard a light furtive tap on the door and groaned, clearly he wasn't going to be given time to work through this, but at least she had knocked this time. He heard the door open and close, though apparently the concept of waiting to be invited in was still unknown.

"Jack?" he could tell she was lingering in the other room not wanting to invade his privacy again. He looked down at himself, the fluffy robe really did look good against his tanned and toned flesh, which was no doubt the reason for her recently discovered scruples. It was as though the Fates had decreed he could either solve the murder, or sleep with the woman, but he couldn't do both.

"I've just got out of the shower, give me a moment," he called out. He grabbed some clothes out of the wardrobe, chucking them heedlessly on the bed where some promptly slipped to the floor. Casual dressing was not his forte and these were new clothes courtesy of the Sydney Police Force so he really had no idea what went with what. He grabbed the first pair of trousers he found, hazarding a guess at the shirt, and still fiddling with the cufflinks (why would anyone have these damn things instead of buttons?) he walked into the room.

Phryne took one look at him. "Jack, no!" practically frog marching him back into the bedroom so she could restyle his entire wardrobe.

Twenty-five minutes later (Phryne had assured him the very fashionable never turned up on time) a very dapper Jack took a seat beside Matthews and his daughter. As he did, it occurred to Jack that if the mother had looked anything like the daughter, he had just worked out why Matthews had never bothered to remarry. The young woman was chatting away about some upcoming examinations. Endeavouring to make small talk, a skill that he ranked right up there with his abilities in respect of casual clothes, Jack enquired, "What is it that you study, Miss Matthews?"

She turned keen blue eyes on him, "Law, Mr Robertson."

He put down his knife and fork, an action that anyone who knew him would recognise as intense interest, and began to question her in earnest. "Here at Sydney Uni?" She nodded. "How far through your degree are you? What are you specialising in?" It rapidly turned into an interrogation which made Jack far more comfortable and put Miss Matthews off not one bit.

Matthews sat back with a happy smirk on his face as the two of them careened off into a world of their own. He had known the moment he had set eyes on Robertson that there was more to the man than his careless man about town persona suggested. Scanning the room for the ex-lover he was not surprised to find her watching, with evident concern, the rapport between John and his daughter. Matthews easily inserted himself back into the conversation. "I tell you what John, we've got a bit of time before we need to head to the grounds for the pre-match gig… how about a spin in that car of yours?"

Jack gave a slow easy smile, "Shall we meet in the foyer in say fifteen minutes?"

As soon as Matthews and his daughter left, Phryne joined him at the table. "It's at times like this my cover as scorned lover is ideal."

He pretended to scowl at her, but she could see the smile underneath. "We're going for a drive."

"Oh, so you have found an opportunity after all," she tried not to sound too upset.

"What?" he looked confused, then the penny dropped, "No, nothing like that," he assured her, "we're all going, the three of us. Don't worry, I'm sure her father's presence will act as a deterrent in respect of any nefarious plans she may have on my person." Phryne smiled. "We need to tread carefully around her," Jack continued, "She strikes me as very perceptive."

"If she's as clever as you think, she'll know exactly why I'm not willing to let you slip through my fingers," she leaned in until her lips were ghosting across his ear, "Inspector."

Jack, his body reacting to both her tone and closeness, shivered.

Note 3: The Hume Highway runs between Melbourne and Sydney. In 1929 it was 565 miles of unsealed road. It was used from 1905 to the 1930's for unauthorised speed trials and in his Motoring Guide published in 1929 George Broadbent (an important figure in the history of the car and roads in Australia) states that the road could be driven in less than 12 hours though he recommends five days. In April 1929, Mr Harry Greville drove an enclosed car, with two lady passengers, in 14 hours and 20 minutes. Out of interest, George Broadbent (1863 – 1947) was an early car enthusiast and both a Victorian and Australian road cycling champion.

Note 4: Unfortunately neither the Australia or Wentworth hotels are still in existence. The Australia Hotel was opened in 1891 and was the premier hotel in Sydney. It was demolished in 1971. The Wentworth was knocked down and a more modern hotel built on its site.

Note 5: The first woman law graduate from Sydney University was Ada Evans in 1899 but there were no further graduates until 1924 and, unfortunately, the lack of support from their peers or lecturers made it hard yakka.

Note 6: Hard yakka is a term used in Australia and New Zealand meaning something is hard work.