Chapter One
"JANE!"
Jack winced at the scream – it could not have been described as anything less. Mind you, as Phryne's ward had been in Europe for the past six months and was now approaching along the dockside at a sprint that reflected how much longer than that it had been since they'd last seen each other, a lesser response might have been considered by the ladies present as inadequate.
The Honourable Phryne was never less than adequate. In fact, she would generally be most appropriately described as excessive. Possibly superb.
Hands in pockets, he leaned back against the Hispano-Suiza and watched his wife break into a run before catching Jane in her arms with such verve that her cloche fell off. They swung each other, and smiled, and laughed, and smiled some more, and with arms round each others' waists, marched briskly towards him. A hapless porter retrieved the cloche.
That six months had, he reflected, made a big difference to the child. Barely sixteen, she was nonetheless exuding a confidence that belied her years. And what was more, exuding it in French.
"Y avait-il quelqu'un sur le bateau?" Phryne demanded.
"Pas du tout!" Jane giggled. Then she looked over at Jack and switched to English for the sake of good manners. "Inspector Robinson, hello."
Jack and Phryne exchanged glances even as he greeted her.
You haven't told her?
When have I had the chance? Was I supposed to put it in a letter?
Please, tell her now?
Phryne twitched her nose.
"We're going to have to think of something else for you to call him, Jane."
There was no hiding the alarm in her ward's reaction.
"What do you mean, Miss Fisher?"
"Well, it's because – at home at least – I'm not Miss Fisher any more, Jane," she said gently. "I'm Mrs Robinson."
Jack and Phryne held their breath.
Jane, however, threw her hands in the air, gave an almighty cheer, and flung her arms around first one and then the other slightly bemused (but mostly relieved) spouse.
"I was right, I was right!" she crowed gleefully. "When we did Christmas in July, and I tried to get you to kiss, and you started talking about the Latin name for mistletoe. I did it, didn't I?"
Helpless, they agreed that she had definitely been a shining beacon of guidance, and (another glance) decided not to mention any requirement to avoid testimony on a murder charge against a spouse.
The question of What To Call Jack was shelved as being far too difficult for the moment, and with her bags retrieved and loaded into the Hispano, he-who-had-yet-to-be-named drove it to 221B The Esplanade, while the womenfolk whispered, giggled, shrieked and otherwise made themselves a nuisance in the back seat.
It was, he decided, a Good Day.