Jack Robinson swirled the green concoction around in an ornate martini glass before venturing a sip. With a slight cough, he raised his eyebrows in appreciation. "My compliments to Mr. Butler for his latest dose of alchemy."
Phyrne smiled over her glass, her gray-green eyes sparkling in with a hint of mischievous delight. "He is a wonder, that Mr. B."
The fire burned low in Miss Fisher's parlor as Jack took another sip. Their latest case – when did he start thinking of the cases as "theirs"? – had hit a bit too close to home, with Jack's old military chum needing his aid. As Mr. Butler's potent cocktail warmed its path down his throat, Jack glanced back to Phryne, her porcelain features highlighted in the firelight. A quote from the Bard's sonnets trickled into his consciousness.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say, this poet lies,
Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.
Phryne lowered her glass and offered Jack a sly look. "Your friend, Drew, mentioned you used to be quite the bon vivant, Jack," she said, biting back a smile.
Jack answered with a slight roll of his eyes."I don't know if I'd go that far, Miss Fisher. But perhaps I was a bit more … jovial when I first joined the Diggers in the war." He looked down at his drink, and pushed away the fleeting thought that it should be more smoky to match her eyes. "There didn't seem much time for frivolity once we joined the trenches."
A shadow of sadness drifted past Phyrne's face before a small smile curled her lips. "Yet you smile enough these days." She ran a delicate finger around the rim of her glass. "Perhaps it is the company you keep?"
Jack met her glance, a hint of laughter returning to his own crystal-blue eyes. "Perhaps."
Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,
Which I, by lacking, have supposed dead;
And their resigns love and all love's loving parts,
And all those friends which I thought buried.
Jack blanched at the words that floated to his thoughts from the ether. "What is in this drink?" he asked lightly, giving his head a slight shake. Meeting her eyes once again, he released his mind to wander freely.
Mine eye hath play'd the painter, and hath stell'd
Thy beauty's form in the table of my heart
My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
And perspective is the best painter's art.
Phryne's eyes narrowed slightly, a question ghosting her lips under his unnerving stare. But she remained silent, choosing instead to straighten his tie. Her hand ran down his jacket, smoothing invisible creases.
Where true Love burns Desire is Love's pure flame;
It is the reflex of our earthly frame,
That takes its meaning from the nobler part,
And but translates the language of the heart.
Her hand snapped from his jacket as if it held the ability to burn. She looked down at the drink in her other hand. "I do believe this is a bit more of a heady blend than Mr. B's usual work." She moved a step back, tossing her bobbed, ebony hair in an effort to shake the verse from her mind. "I shall have to ask him what his puts in this magical potion."
Putting the drink down on the table, she fought not to meet Jack's gaze. When her head lifted, his caressing look made her catch her breath. She swallowed, fighting the glint of defiance taking hold.
Are you the new person drawn toward me?
To begin with, take warning, I am surely far different from what you suppose;
Do you suppose you will find in me your ideal?
Do you think it so easy to have me become your lover?
Clearing her throat, she grabbed the glass and walked swiftly to the decanter near the piano. "Do you think we should switch to whiskey, just to play it safe?" Phryne hoped he ignored the slight waiver in her teasing tone.
Jack nodded. "A good idea," he said, following her. As she poured a splash of whiskey into his glass, his voice lowered. "Though I've never known you to play it safe, Miss Fisher."
Phryne set down the decanter with care.
Sweet sounds, oh, beautiful music, do not cease!
Reject me not into the world again.
With you alone is excellence and peace,
Mankind made plausible, his purpose plain.
She squeezed her eyes shut, then blinked to clear her swimming thoughts. Her head still down, she lifted her eyes to Jack. "That depends on the game, Detective Inspector," she said quietly.
Jack paused for a moment, then offered her a small smile. "I'm afraid few could be in your league, Miss Fisher."
You would have to give up all else, I alone would expect to be your sole and exclusive standard,
Your novitiate would even then be long and exhausting,
The whole past theory of your life and all conformity to the lives around you would have to be abandon'd,
Therefore release me now before troubling yourself any further, let go your hand from my shoulders,
Put me down and depart on your way.
Jack looked down at the untasted drink in his hand. "Perhaps that is enough partaking for one night," he said, easing the drink onto the table. "I have an early morning at the station tomorrow." He offered her an apologetic smile, then turned toward the door.
"Good night then, Jack," she called, her voice raised in question. As he stopped at the door, sliding on his hat, Phryne watched his simple movements. She closed her eyes with a resigned sigh.
Love has crept into her sealed heart
As a field bee, black and amber,
Breaks from the winter-cell, to clamber
Up the warm grass where the sunbeams start.
Jack turned back to her and nodded, before walking out the door.
So, I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love's rite,
And in mine own loves's strength seem to decay,
O' ercharged with burden of mine own love's might.
Jack's thoughts all come from Shakespeare's sonnets, except for the next to last, which is Walt Whitman's Whoever You Are, Now Holding Me in Hand. Phyrne's come from Desire by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Are you the person drawn toward me? by Walt Whitman, On Hearing a Symphony of Beethoven by Edna St. Vincent and Song by D.H. Lawrence.