She narrowed her eyes through the swirl of cigarette smoke and keenly observed that two people who were very dear to her, only had eyes for each other. Phyrne was the obvious one. She had always been overt, for as long as Mac had known her which incidentally had been a long time. She remembered one gaudy night when for a moment, it seemed as if something would happen between them. Could have happened between them. It was oh so brief but it was easy to recall. A head turn, a slight brush of lips, breath mingling in the chilly air. Just like that, it was over but not forgotten.
As she got older, Mac had learned about various kinds of love. The love she had for her good friend was a muddle. Mac thrived on and was energised by Phryne's light, her flamboyance and generosity. Miss Fisher was very firmly on her man perch, thank you very much. But she had insinuated a long time ago that if she would ever harbour a Sapphic tendency, Mac would be the recipient. Mac didn't live in hope. The knowledge of that was enough to feel secure about their relationship; she embraced it, felt refreshed and carried on seducing as many fine women as she wanted to.
As for Detective Inspector Jack Robinson…she had only just realised how fond of him she was. The way he looked at Phyrne confirmed that if he felt he way she thought he did about her friend, he was a man of good taste. First impressions seemed to be uncompromising but over time she was starting to see what her friend saw in him. The endearing puppy dog tilt of the head. The teasing eyebrow raise. The exasperated expression. The downturned mouth that arose to genuine mirth when you could prise it out of him. All of that, Phyrne was conducting, like the two of them were their own personal private orchestra. Whenever she was around them Mac was invited to the group, to be the percussion to Phryne's strings and Jack's bass. She loved the thrill of it.
Ever the gentleman, Jack didn't begrudge sharing Phyrne's attention in the least. United in their differing love for the lady with the raven hair, their eyes met for longer than was necessary sometimes. Brushing past him had a moment of traitorous tingling on her part. They could talk all night on anything and everything. Just the same as when they were with Phryne. All three of them were well matched in company.
Jack Robinson had proven the impossible, to be the one man that Mac could be swayed by, even just a little bit. If she was ever going to do as her colleagues suggested, to go out and procreate with the nearest brilliant white male, he would be the one.
She drained her glass and reached for another. Not today, Satan…not today.