Chapter One
The door slammed.
"Is that you, Jack?"
Detective Inspector Jack Robinson stuck his hat and coat on the stand and his head round the parlour door to see Mrs Robinson sitting on the couch.
No.
Cancel that.
Mrs Robinson was resplendent on the couch.
He couldn't help thinking that, for one who hadn't ever been much of a baby person, she was proving hugely successful at pregnancy.
At eight months and three weeks, the Honourable Phryne Fisher was perhaps less likely these days to sprint after any incautious felons (for which he was profoundly grateful – and the felons would, if they were to convene a general meeting in the Town Hall and put the matter to a collective vote, almost certainly be even more so). However, her naturally sensuous nature had become wildly exaggerated. He was struggling to find the right word for it. Bounteous. Fecund. Whatever it was, he couldn't keep his hands off her. She didn't seem to mind a bit, and Dr Mac, with twitching lips, confirmed that yes, it was fine and they wouldn't harm the child at all.
The Bounteous, Fecund representative of Mother Nature smiled and twiddled her toes at him expectantly; he promptly sat on the other end of the couch and picked up a foot to start massaging the instep. Reflexively, her head dropped back in bliss, which made him regret that her neck was so far away.
Later.
"How was your day, dear?" she asked in gravelly tones.
"Mercifully uneventful," he replied, switching to her other foot. Odd how she could be so ticklish and yet at the same time be a huge fan of a foot rub. She was actually squirming now. He pressed the ball of her big toe and it made her groan. Experimentally, he pressed both thumbs against the balls of her toes. She groaned even louder. Extraordinary.
"Oh, one piece of news, though."
"Mmmm?" It was only mild interest, and the way she switched feet again suggested that she wasn't one hundred percent focussed on the conversation.
"Do you remember Mrs Bolkonsky?"
"The medium? The one who claimed that Warwick Hamilton's dead twin brother had told her to kill poor Freddy Ashmead?"
"That's her. You remember, she didn't hang? She was imprisoned for life, and I got word today that she died in jail."
Silence ensued, and Jack wondered whether he'd overdone the comfort. It was a bit early for her to be going to sleep.
"That poor old woman."
Not asleep yet, then.
"Phryne, she was a fraud and a murderer, abetted by that charlatan Hamilton." The words were stern, but the delivery mild. After all, having (with more than a little help from the lady currently allowing him free rein on her feet) solved the case and dispatched abroad the person who might have risked competing for Miss Fisher's affections, Jack had comprehensively Won.
"It was a selfless act, though, Jack," argued Phryne, pulling herself slightly more upright. "She believed she was avenging a wrong."
He decided not to argue, and instead stood to assist Mrs Robinson to her rejuvenated feet, as Mr Butler came to announce that Dinner Was Served.