And so there were two, the last left in the parlour.
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The party guests had left slowly. Jane first, up to bed hardly able to keep her eyes open. Cec and Bert took Aunt Prudence home and Dot and Mr Butler helped Dr Macmillan to the guest room, before bidding Miss Fisher and the Inspector good night, or rather, good morning.
The ever observant and caring Inspector had watched her dance, danced with her and laughed with her, even if behind the laughter and champagne induced sparkle in her eyes there was still the profound sadness and pain at what she had learned about Janey's death. He knew she would always blame herself, and he would always absolve her of any responsibility.
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"So, Inspector," she purred, "are you always the last to leave the party?"
He smiled softly, she had a way of disarming him with the simplest of questions.
She passed him a glass of champagne and he noticed the mask of happiness slip.
"Happy birthday, Miss Fisher," he touched his glass to hers, "for yesterday."
"Thank you, Jack," she looked at him from under her lashes and over the rim of her glass, "for everything."
She had drunk maybe three glasses, having spent the evening being the perfect hostess, seeing her guests had all they needed, he had had two, so neither were drunk, or even tipsy.
"My pleasure, Phryne," he put the glass down, "but now, I should go."
Not, "I must go," but "I should go," indicating to her that he was likely to do something he may regret, but she wouldn't, because she rarely regretted such things.
She wouldn't ask him to stay, now was not the time. She went to the door with him, and, as he opened it she touched his arm.
"Jack," she hesitated, "would you spend Christmas day with me?"
"I'm not sure I would be particularly good company, Miss Fisher, in light of ..." he wanted to say a recently divorced man should not be spending the festive season with a single, and rather scandalous, female.
"It will be quiet, this year," she murmured, "just the household. " I don't think I'm ready for a huge celebration, just yet." She waited for his answer, watching him battle with some inner demon.
"Perhaps," he smiled, "thank you, for the invitation."
He placed his hands gently on her upper arms and leant forward, kissing her lightly on the forehead.
"Good night, Phryne," he whispered, "sleep well."
Part of her wanted to fall against his strong, broad chest and let him hold her for as long as she needed, but, for once, she controlled herself. She reached up and kissed his cheek, wiping away the trace of her lipstick.
"Good night, Jack."