"I'm Going, And You Can't Stop Me!"
Mr and Mrs Robinson winced as the parlour door slammed behind their elder daughter, who was storming upstairs at a volume showing scant regard for her younger sister (who was probably sleeping through the whole episode in any case).
Jack's shoulders slumped.
"Well, that could have gone worse," he remarked, "though I'm not sure quite how."
Phryne strolled back to the drinks table and placed her glass down with more care than usual. "Don't be silly. You didn't threaten to lock her in the cellar and throw away the key – I'm sure I would have noticed if you had."
He raised his eyes to her.
"It's tempting, though. She's having a private dinner with this 'Giles' bloke and then on to the University Graduation Ball. He flung his arms out in frustration. "What are we supposed to do if something happens?"
"What we always do, Jack," she replied dryly. "Telephone City South and ask Sergeant Collins to bring a friend."
His lips twitched – reluctantly. She decided to press her advantage.
"One day it's going to be her own Graduation Ball, Jack. And if we start putting the shackles on her now, how are we supposed to make them mean more later?"
Phryne sank to her knees and took both his hands in hers.
"We both know Jane's not had the childhood she deserved. But she knows a louse when she sees one, and she's earned our trust. Don't take it away now."
He said nothing, but in his grimace and squeeze of the hands that held his, assented; so she rose to her feet, gifted him a kiss, and set off to settle the argument with the other party.
"It's not fair. He can't stop me going."
Miss Fisher refrained from pointing out that, of all the people in the city of Melbourne who had the ability to stop someone doing something, Jack was quite close to the top of the list.
"Oh, Jane, you have to have a little sympathy for him – at least he wants to try."
"Sympathy?" she exclaimed. "He doesn't even begin to understand the heartache he's causing!"
Phryne bit her lip, and decided on a rather different tack.
"Darling, Jack's heart aches most of the time. Didn't you realise? No, of course not. Why should you? All right, I'll explain …"
"It starts by aching for this wonderful country of ours, because his life is mostly about seeing the worst part of it, and what he loves is the best that it can be. He doesn't get to see that bit. Much. He mostly gets to see the worst. Daily. And try to remember the version that his idiotic optimism once thought normal."
"Then it aches for me. Oh, don't blush, Jane. You're not a child any more. You think that having a man's heart ache for you is a lovely, romantic thing."
"Well, all right, it is. But it's also a living, breathing compromise. For every time I've given him his heart's desire I've probably come close to slapping him in the face – metaphorically at least. I'm not proud of it, and every time I do, I make a vow it will be the last. I make that vow because no matter how horrible I've been, he's still there, and he's still worth more than the next breath I take. I know I don't deserve him. We're a partnership mostly because he hasn't – ever – even hinted that he knows it too."
"Lastly, Jane, his heart aches for you. The best part of that is the way in which the ache recedes with every successive day that you sleep well, eat well and grasp a new opportunity."
Jane's eyes had fallen during this discourse, and she seemed oddly fixated on her fingernails. "So, it doesn't ache for Lisbeth?" The question was gruff, and struggling not to be sullen.
"No." Phryne reached out and squeezed Jane's hand. "No, at the moment, Elizabeth is part of his armoury."
She extended her arms then, and Jane was sufficiently comforted to move into the gentle embrace. The pair sat for a few minutes in silence, then Phryne spoke again.
"Think of it as a relay race, darling. Eventually, Jack will be losing sleep over Elizabeth, and you'll have to take up the baton for her. For now, he's losing sleep over you."
She shook the girl in her arms. "He's not being Neanderthal really – just doing his best not to carry the burdens of the world on his shoulders, and failing miserably in your own case." She bent her head to press a kiss on Jane's head. "You could make it easier for him if you wanted to."
"How? Don't tell me I can't go to the Graduation Ball."
"Don't be silly. You're going to the ball, Cinderella!" Phryne teased. "And if Jack doesn't like Giles, Jack and I will be coming to the ball too."
The protest was silenced with a finger to the lips. "Hear me out. Bring Giles here, to meet us. There will be cocktails. Jack will be on his best behaviour – that I guarantee," she smiled inwardly. Miss Fisher had methods Jane didn't need to know about.
"We will be in evening dress, because we are attending a formal dinner. We don't need to explain where it will be – I'll come up with something. If Jack isn't happy, we will show face at the ball later – it has to be said, the University owes us a favour or two."
She squeezed Jane once more, and sat her up.
"If Jack is happy, you won't see us; and either way, you'll have the time of your life. Because my dear child, you have earned it many times over, and I'm determined that you will receive your just reward."
Jane looked down, then looked up again with a pensive expression.
"Is that how it works?"
Phryne shook her head quizzically. "How what works?"
"Being an adult. You get what you want … but differently?"
Phryne looked back at her; and saw a small aeroplane and a kiss. An aeon (it seemed) of waiting. A boat. A couple of very important prison cells. That aeroplane again. Laughter, for no apparent reason. Adventure. And a pair of dark eyes that could see to her soul even when only asking her to pass the salt.
She smiled.
"Differently. Yes."