Things that Jack knows.
Inspector Jack Robinson knows many things.
He knows when a suspect is lying and how to push that little bit further to get the confession that Jack needs to make sure justice is served. He knows that his young constable with a bit of spit and polish and a much needed boost of confidence will end up being a very fine member of the police force. Jack knows that he is comfortable in his position and has no intention of following promotions that will take him away from the heart of police work; that is solving crimes. He knows that good and bad people can be found equally amongst the riff raff and the higher classes of the supposedly egalitarian Australian society. If he is really honest with himself, he has known for some time that his marriage to Rosie is over and was over the minute he shuffled down the gang plank after the war bought him home. He knows that his life is not a happy one. He would be hard pushed to say that he saw joy in anything but he does his best to make the lives of other people better by working doggedly at a case until the truth finally reveals itself.
These are all things Jack knew for certain before an investigation into a wealthy businessman's death leads him directly into the path of hurricane Phryne.
This is what Jack knows now.
Jack knows that it is sometimes the smallest things at a crime scene that can make the biggest difference to catching the perpetrator. Whether it is some sort of women's intuition or merely the hurricane in questions razor sharp intelligence and keen observation skills, regardless, they have at times been invaluable to his (or should he say their…) investigations.
He knows despite her protestations about children that she has the softest heart, particularly for any waif like characters that she runs across, hence the mousey Miss Williams and her ward Jane becoming instant parts of her selected family. She is also the bravest or most foolhardy of women, depending on how you look at it and that she really does drive too fast and too recklessly and she simply does not listen to him, or to anyone for that matter.
Despite all her bravado Jack knows that she has a vulnerable side, never more evident than when her sister's name is mentioned. He knows what it was like to carry the unconscious Phryne away from the death and despair of Foyle and that to have her slumped and silent against his chest was a bittersweet experience of holding her close but worrying desperately about her at the same time. He watched her straighten her shoulders to approach her sister's unmarked grave only to sink beside the dirt and he knows that when she reached out for him, his only response was to grasp her wrist, trying desperately to give her the comfort and support that she needed from him. He knows that when she reaches across the table and takes his hand and asks him to help her celebrate her summer solstice birthday, he could no more refuse her than he could suddenly decide to give up breathing, although seeing her dancing and shimmering across the room has a marked effect on his ability to take a deep breath in and so he watches her, sips his champagne, but drinks her in, full of life and love.
Jack knows he has never had a woman behave towards him as she does, with her flirtatious comments, sly grins and a penchant for touching him, brushing past him, straightening his clothes, especially his ties, slipping her hand into his arm, constantly invading his personal space in his office and pretty much everywhere else they go. He is aware that he blushes and swallows hard when she attempts to assist him into his Marc Antony costume and at times he mentally kicks himself for not allowing nature to take its course, whatever that might have been. He knows every touch because he has catalogued them in his head and plays them back to himself at night, rather like the moving pictures that she is so fond of. But the scenes that he plays mostly in his head are the ones where he kisses her, where he recalls the portrait of her lying naked on the chaise lounge. He only saw it for a moment and yet he has it memorized so acutely that had he even the tiniest drop of artistic talent, he could have reproduced it without hesitation.
This mental picture is enhanced by his recollection of her feather and fan dance. The curve of her back across to her hips, the way the feathers brushed against her creamy white skin and he is tantalised by the idea of his hands and fingers replacing those fans and trailing along every inch of her skin. He remembers her legs swinging across his desk, her knees uncovered under the white linen skirt. Despite the stern inner word that he gave himself to not look, his gaze is drawn back, time and again and while Phryne rabbits on about the case, his mind is definitely otherwise occupied with thoughts of how he would like to slide his hand and his tongue up the path of her legs. Not even a punishing cold bath every morning and most nights can dampen his ardent thoughts and it takes sheer physical effort every time they meet not to start something that he would never want to finish. He has lapses, yes, but he is only human after all and he thinks in all seriousness that Phryne will be the death of him, one way or another. Certainly he secretly blames her for the increase in his laundry bill, for the sheets, trousers and handkerchiefs that had to suffice when his need has become too great and the line between fantasy and reality has blurred beyond recognition.
Jack knows all too well about the parade of men. In the early months with his divorce not yet finalised, he attempted a bemused and nonchalant attitude to this as it was really none of his business whom Miss Fisher chose to fraternize with, although he really did question some of her choices. He knows how he hates to stand with her while she smiles that delicious smile and manages to make the object of her desires feel like they are the only man on the planet and the most handsome and cleverest to boot. And while he knows that none of them seem to last beyond a fleeting encounter, he has in his imagination incarcerated each and every one, while punching them in the jaw or even in the groin for good measure. He knows he should not even entertain such thoughts and yet they keep reoccurring, especially after he observes his Miss Fisher swanning off for supper or running through an air field in bare feet. He doesn't blame her for living life to the fullest but he is conscious that the thought of her with other men sticks in his throat and keeps him awake, slowly sipping whiskey alone.
He knows that if it wasn't for a certain Aunt Prudence and a wailing infant that in fact they could be in a very different stage of their relationship. He had every intention that night of declaring himself in some way so that she would see that while he was noble and that he did do the right thing that kissing her would have very much been part of the right thing. It is, after all, the right thing to kiss the woman that you love. But he acquiesces gracefully, thinking they have all the time in the world and he smiles to himself in the knowledge that when she hears Rosie's name mentioned, a slight expression crosses her face, as if though she has tasted sour milk. He would not be so bold as to call it jealousy but he sees it again on a number of occasions when Conchetta appears on the scene and her desire to establish the nature of his relationship with the lovely Italian widow, gives him hope that maybe, just maybe, his persistence and patience have paid off.
Jack is achingly familiar with her parlour and in his own mind considers it to be their private space, although on many a night not private enough. They play checkers, cards, read, talk and listen to music. It is no accident that Jack finds himself at the piano for he knows her love of music and songs and the blending of their voices in a thing of beauty. They don't misbehave that night although Lord knows he wants to but he worries that she does not take him seriously enough and he is, after all, a serious man. He knows what it is like to dance with her, to hold her close, to feel her small but surprisingly strong hand, slip into his. He does not for one minute imagine himself to be a great dancer but with Phryne in his arms, he trips the light fantastic and displays a confidence that he has never known on a ballroom floor before. The purpose of the waltz is to make her lose her mind which is only fair as Jack knows he has lost his months before but as always the restraint and gentlemanly behaviour that Jack uses as a shield to protect him from the overwhelming forces of Phryne, keep any further advances at bay. She continues to bait and he continues to block, like a batsman defending the crease in cricket. Until one day he simply lays the bat aside.
A game of tennis helps to break down some barriers reminding him that she is perfectly matched to be his partner, both on and off the court. The need to protect her and her household from the ongoing saga that her father seems to have created around himself sees him taking the initiative, coaxing responses from her, attempting romantic overtures, drawing her close deliberately with pesky investigations getting in the way of the one thing he really wants to know. She looks at the night sky gasping at its beauty and he knows that his face is a mirror of hers but it is looking at her face and not at the stars.
He knows he cannot let her fly away without making his intentions crystal clear and he mentally kicks himself for the time wasted and the opportunities that slipped away. As he races down the paddock to the humming plane he worries that he is too late but then he sees her face light up at the sight of him and he starts to run, to sprint across the mown stubble towards her only to be rewarded by her doing the same. Jack knows what she said but asks her to repeat it anyway just for the pleasure of hearing her romantic overture again. He kisses her finally, pulling her to him so there is no distance between them, knowing that his lips will be stained by her lipstick and he will be loath to ever wipe it off. He watches the plane soaring into the sky and watches her fly away.
This is what Jack doesn't know. How is he supposed to live without her and how on earth can he find the means to come after her?