Chapter One
"Chief Inspector! How very thoughtful of you to come and see us off!" The Honourable Phryne Fisher's smile was broad as she turned from supervising two long-suffering porters on the dockside of the Port of London to greet Alastair Warren.
"Phryne, my dear, it's purely out of self preservation – I need to make sure you've safely left the country. Please don't get me wrong – I've sent a whole wallet of documents to Jack's Chief Commissioner, which will hopefully ensure that he gets a warm welcome when he returns; but the pair of you do rather seem to be magnets for murder, and if you could do your best to wait until you return home to become involved in any more, both I and the Peninsular and Oriental will be immensely grateful."
He turned to Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, who was trying to help an illiterate but willing porter spot the patterns in the label "Wanted On Voyage". He hid a grin. "Talking of crime, I understand you meant to steal one of these, Jack, but I think we should start as we mean to go on, so consider it a gift?"
Jack accept the package quizzically, but quickly guessed its contents when he saw the smart Savoy wrapping. Snapping the ties, he peered into the bag. A fresh bread roll.
Warren and Phryne were witness to that very rare treat – Jack Robinson laughing out loud.
"Thank you, Chief Inspector, for helping me on my road back to a law abiding life," he remarked solemnly, and shook Warren's hand warmly. "Now, if only I can ditch Phryne, I might even be allowed back in to Australia with no more than a stern caution and a few years' hard labour."
"Oh, come on, Jack! You'll need me to vouch for you with the Chief Commissioner of Victoria!" she chided him. "After all," she reminded him archly, "his wife is a personal friend who has invited me round for tea." Smugly, she patted Jack on the arm, and held out her hand to Warren.
"Alastair, I'm sorry we've been so troublesome, but I hope we've also been some help; and I very much hope this isn't the last we see of each other." She leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, which gratified him enormously – especially as the constable driving him that day saw it happen, meaning that it would be around Scotland Yard as soon as they returned that The Old Man Still Had It.
Then she took Jack's arm and they walked up the gangplank. The Purser greeted them at the top. "Good morning sir, ma'am. Could I perhaps have your tickets and passports? Thank you so much – ah – Mr and Mrs Robinson?" His question was delicately posed. They were sharing a cabin, and Mrs Robinson's passport appeared to be in the name of Fisher.
"Quite right, officer" Phryne smiled cheerfully. "My passport has to remain in my stage name, it makes life so much easier." The smile unleashed in this regard was the 100 watt version, and Jack was entertained by its effect on the hapless officer's knees.
"Lovely," said the Purser. Only Jack was certain about the reason for the precise choice of word. He sympathised. The Purser so far forgot himself as to leave his post and escort Phryne to the stairs, expressing concern that she would be comfortable, that she would be sure to let him know if there was anything she needed, and that he would look forward to seeing her at dinner that evening. Oh, and Mr Robinson too, of course. Phryne glowed. Jack enjoyed himself enormously watching another man be laid low by her charm, holding off until the Purser bethought himself of his duty to the other passengers; at which point Jack swept in with an unassuming arm for the shameless trollop (as he described her, sotto voce) to help her up the stairs.
Entirely unabashed, she grinned. "Sorry, couldn't resist." They made their way along the corridors to the cabin they'd been assigned, and found it to be apparently the precise mirror image of the one they'd occupied a few weeks previously. Jack stopped at the doorway, while Phryne wandered across to the window, opening it to step out on to the balcony. For a few minutes, they silently explored this strangely familiar space; Jack, by eye with his back to the closed door, Phryne by touch and memory.
"Jack?" she called over her shoulder. She was standing with her hands on the balcony rail, and he walked out to stand behind her, one hand each side of hers, his body flanking her.
Look after her, Jack.
Together, they scanned the view of London from the upper deck of the ship, and found it beautiful; or perhaps it was the company that did the trick.
"Can you see St Paul's?" Phryne asked. "It's a shame we didn't visit it. It's so beautiful, and the dome has a Whispering Gallery – you can be heard perfectly from the opposite side. We could have played whispering games."
Jack's gaze scanned the London skyline, and identified the distinctive dome. Then he dipped his head. "Like this, you mean?" he breathed in her ear.
Phryne agreed that was exactly the kind of thing she'd had in mind, and asked if he could please repeat the experiment as soon as the porters had finished delivering their trunks. He politely agreed that he would try to spare the time.