Miss Fisher was in a pickle. One of a particularly challenging variety. In her bedroom. It was perplexing her to no end. She huffed and puffed and got herself entrenched in the swathes of fabric that had up until now, been a luxury. For once she cursed her generosity in giving Mr Butler the day off. That wasn't a problem. This was.
Footsteps trod their careful way upstairs and stopped at her door.
'Miss Fisher?'
She knew that voice. She removed a certain device from its usual place under the pillow and put it between the mattress and bed. She knew Detective Inspector Jack Robinson didn't see the point of them. She hoped that one day she'd be able to enlighten him. Alas, today was not the day.
In frustration, she bade him enter. He opened the door to see her rolling around the bed, tangled up in the duvet. What was she doing? He could have sworn she was…
'Trying to make the bloody bed.' She snarled at him, makeup smudged. She hadn't had to make the bed for a long time, she had gotten spoilt.
A flash of a grin reached his eyes. Watching Miss Fisher on the bed was certainly appealing (he threatened his mind with a severe penance of a particularly dull stack of reports if it insisted on thinking the way it did lately) but her lack of domestic skills in that area made him want to laugh. This was the one thing he could guess Miss Phryne Fisher was terrible at in the bedroom, loathe she was to admit it.
'Would you like some help Miss Fisher?' He enquired, keeping his expression under control.
She looked at him piteously like a kitten tumbled around in the sheets.
'Would you Jack? That would be a help.'
He gallantly stepped forward to help her. His time in the army was well spent in otherwise wifely duties that Rosie had not gotten used to when he came back. He habitually started to make the beds before she reprimanded him, numerous times. He cared much less about these kinds of things after the war but she had insisted on keeping up appearances even in their own home. He set about methodically straightening, tucking and smoothing the bed sheet. Phryne found it slightly soothing, watching him. She banished certain potentially lewd thoughts about him doing the same but with less clothes on.
The duvet was a bit of a hassle. Jack had more experience of single beds. Phryne wriggled inside the cover and tried to match up the corners that way. He laughed at the sight of her looking like she'd been swallowed by a voluminous creature. Thinking about it, a single bed cover could also house a human, something he'd never thought of. He wondered if he should try doing that next time he got bored of paperwork. Just crawl inside a duvet cover and thrash around in the cotton fortress for a bit. Such a ridiculous notion but it tickled him.
Finally they got the situation under control, giggling madly as they dived around the bed; Jack's tie crooked, Phryne's hair mussed up as they finally subdued the giant creature that was one of her sanctuaries. Jack noted that it was a far more luxurious bed than he could imagine and wouldn't have minded a night wallowing in it himself. He didn't permit himself the thought of Miss Fisher, sleeping or otherwise to be in that fantasy with him (think of those reports, Jack).
She, for her part was proud of eventually doing the bed and even happier to have had this particular man help her with it. She bounced on the bed with satisfaction and beckoned him over. He complied hesitantly and sat down next to her. This was far too much of an intimate situation for his liking. She affectionally straightened his tie with a flourish; fingers sliding up and down the length of the fabric, dangerously close to touching his chest. When she finished, he breathed a sigh of relief that she wouldn't torture him further. He relaxed and continued the conversation, discreetly observing the sight of some sort of device hidden between the bed and the mattress. He could tell it was there by the small lump it made but made no mention of it. Whatever it was, it was her business.
Dot followed the sound of voices upstairs until it led her to Miss Fisher's bedroom. Looking rather rumpled, she and DI Robinson sat next to each other on the bed, chatting and laughing. The bed trimmings had been thrown onto the floor and a new one took its place. She could see the tea stain from here. She stole away discreetly and waited for the opportunity to clean up later. Mr Butler would know as soon as he walked through the door. He had a sixth sense about these things.