Matthews circled the Hispano like an excited schoolboy and, when Jack held the keys out, he snatched them with a wide grin. Climbing into the driver's seat, he turned to his daughter in the back, "Anywhere in particular, Angel?"

"The waterfront?"

Jack caught the slight hesitation before he started the car, but when he spoke his voice was normal, "Great idea."

"Do you know much about the bridge, Mr Robertson?" she enquired politely as her father navigated onto the busy road.

Jack turned in his seat to speak to her, "I'd heard of it but you have to see it to appreciate what an impressive undertaking it is."

"There will be tram lines as well as cars, so a true alternative to the ferry. And, it has created jobs. In addition to the workers you'll see at the base of each of the pylons, there are 250 stonemasons and their families living 180 miles south of here. The concrete has come from Tasmania, steel from Newcastle and the rivets that hold the whole thing together are from your hometown. This time next year the two sides of the arch will meet, and two years after that it will be complete…" As the lecture continued it occurred to Jack that Miss Matthews was as good at small talk as he was.

Matthews slowed down as they approached the construction site and it became obvious that no work was proceeding today. Miss Matthews leaned towards her father, "What's happened? Where is everyone?"

"I'm sorry, Angel, I should have told you earlier…" he looked at Jack, clearly making the decision to take him into his confidence, "there's been an unfortunate death, the police suspect murder."

There was a gasp, "O'Kane?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

Jack turned in his seat, ready to offer assistance, but although her face was pale she seemed in no need of consolation. "He was an awful man," she said. Jack was almost as surprised by the cold tone in which she spoke as he was by the words themselves.

"Maybe so, Angel," her father replied, "but he was done in by one of the razor gangs so it was neither quick nor easy. I would not have wished it on my worst enemy."

It was hard to hear over the sudden roar of the engine as Matthews drove on but Jack could have sworn he heard her say "I would. I would wish a long, slow, painful death on him."

As they pulled back into the hotel, Matthews invited Jack to spend the day with them at the match.

When he got back to his room he was hardly surprised to find Phryne curled up in a chair reading one of his books. "Here," he tossed a key to her, "I told the Concierge I had mislaid mine." She caught it, grinning. Jack scribbled a name down on the pad supplied by the hotel, "Any chance you can get down to the local station and speak to this officer? Get him to check Matthews' business interests in the bridge construction?" She nodded, putting the note in her pocket. "Also, why would a young, intelligent woman be wishing a slow painful death on the coach of her father's rugby league team?" he asked as he sat on the settee across from her.

She raised an eyebrow, "Did O'Kane have a criminal record?"

Jack shrugged, "Not that Broadbent mentioned," his eyes flicked to her pocket, "you better add that to the list."

"Of course, there are certain crimes that you may not want to involve the police in?" she mused. This time it was his turn to raise an eyebrow. She continued, "Crimes of a more personal nature against a daughter, or a wife…"

"I have absolutely no doubt Matthews would kill for his daughter and there's nothing to suggest he wouldn't have done the same for his wife."

"Is he a good man, do you think, Jack?"

He considered her question deeply before answering, "Yes, I think he is a very good man."

"Well, lets hope it isn't him."

He tilted his head in agreement. "I've been invited to the game, including the pre-match," he said casually.

"Good, we need to meet more suspects. Will the players be at the pre-match?"

"Yes, and no doubt there will be drinks laid on after the game. I'll try to strike up a conversation though I don't actually know anything about league."

"Why don't I see if I can get an invite?"

He smirked, "Know a lot about league, do you, Miss Fisher?"

"You would be surprised what I know," she taunted, voice low and eyes full of promise.

Admittedly it took some effort, but he did manage to keep his mind on the case - just. "See if you can get an invite. I'll focus on the new coach, maybe O'Kane was blocking his professional advancement." Jack gazed into the distance for a moment, reviewing the facts in his mind. "This whole thing stinks." Her eyes narrowed. "Why am I here? Why couldn't one of the local police handle this?" his eyes searched hers for the answer.

"Because of Sanderson? You have a reputation now of being unbribable?" she suggested.

"Sanderson never tried to bribe me," he pointed out.

"Because he knew it would be a waste of time," she said. "But he did take you off the case, order you not to interfere and threaten to fire you."

"So, I'm incorruptible?"

She let her eyes drift down from his eyes to his lips and back, "Oh, I sincerely hope that's not the case, Jack."

This time he found himself unable to pull his eyes away from hers and the threads of the case floated away unheeded. "What, other than breaking into my room again and," he glanced at the book in her hand, "rifling through my belongings, have you been doing in my absence?"

She gave him a long slow grin, "I have been pining for you, obviously." She unfolded herself from the chair and stood, straightening her clothes, "But now I've a policeman to talk to and a date to find."

He grimaced, "Try to go easy on the poor sod."

"The policeman or my date?"

He shrugged, all of us, he thought.

The meal had been excellent, Jack thought, as he pushed back from the table making it easier for the waiter to clear his plate. He glanced across to where Phryne sat at another table, her back to him, hand resting easily on the arm of her date. He, of course, was the most handsome man in the room and the captain of the North Sydney team. How she had even managed to meet him in the few hours she had had since they had talked last was beyond him.

"I saw her hanging around at the hotel when I was meeting with Reynolds and sent him over to chat with her. He'll keep her occupied, she won't bother you," Matthews said in a low voice for his ears only.

Ah, one mystery at least solved. "Thanks, but warn Reynolds not to let her get her claws in, extracting them can be a long painful process, believe me."

"How long were you seeing each other?"

"Not long at all," Jack thought back to that night he had declared his less than noble intentions, "two months."

"Crikey, you barely know each other but she's decided to follow you halfway across the country?"

Miss Matthews entered the conversation. "Melbourne hardly qualifies as being halfway across the country and it's very rude of you to be asking Mr Robertson these questions." The reprimand, though gentle, was very much there.

Jack held up his hand, "In your father's defence, Miss Matthews, it's hard to ignore the fact there is a woman chasing me around the country, his curiosity is only natural."

"She has such a wonderful confidence about her," Miss Matthews commented as she gazed at Phryne's back, "it's sad to hear she's convinced herself a man is a prerequisite to happiness."

It was, Jack felt, a very insightful comment and he wondered if she could see right through Phryne's cover because honestly, he had never met a woman who needed a man less than she did (well, excepting Dr MacMillan). By the time he thought to respond to her comment she was deeply engaged in conversation with the man on her opposite side.

Matthews caught his attention, "John, this is our new coach…"

There was at least one advantage, he thought, as he turned to Matthews - now that Reynolds was under instruction to court the alluring Philly Robinson, he had no need to meet any of the players. That was clearly an angle she could cover. He glanced across to where Reynolds was running his fingers up and down the bare skin of her back whilst she talked excitedly to one of the other players across the table. He would hope, if he ever got the chance to do that, she'd find it a bit harder to maintain concentration. With some effort he turned his eyes back to the coach and his mind to the murder.

"Are you enjoying the game, Mr Robertson?" Miss Matthews asked at half time. Her father had disappeared and his guest was standing on his own.

"This is the first time I've watched a league game," he admitted. "Has the new coach done a good job?" He had a feeling she was only speaking to him out of a sense of duty as hostess, still he was willing to take advantage.

"Yes, they seem more coordinated than they have all season. Not everything is working but it's a good start. It'll be interesting to see how things develop. For all his faults and his recent run of losses O'Kane was once a great coach."

"But you didn't like him?"

"Not many people did," she said. Catching Jack's enquiring look, she added, "He was violent when he was drunk, and he was often drunk."

Jack's eyes narrowed. That was definitely information to discuss later with Phryne. "Something your father said gave me the impression he was a drinker. He didn't mention he was free with his fists." He noticed the slight flinch his words had produced. Surely O'Kane hadn't been foolish enough to strike her? No, he could not imagine a context where that was likely, why would she be alone with him? More likely she had seen the results of his handiwork.

"He was not a pleasant man, and some of his acquaintances even less so."

"Presumably not part of the club?" Jack had already seen that Matthews promoted a family orientated atmosphere, with wives and children clearly encouraged to participate in the social aspects of the club.

"Father wouldn't allow them within 100 yards of the club," she said fiercely.

"So you think his death may have been his own fault?"

She gave him a sharp look and Jack knew he had pushed too far. He could almost hear the shutters going up. "I wouldn't dream of suggesting such a thing, that's for the police to investigate and determine. Uninformed speculation helps no one and is potentially dangerous of itself."

Jack felt well and truly reprimanded, "Of course, you're absolutely right." The return of the teams to the field was a welcome relief. At full time he did his best to avoid the very insightful Miss Matthews, seeking refuge at the bar where he could watch Phryne with her date and ponder his case - but mainly to watch Phryne.

"It won't help, you know, staring at her like that..." Jack turned to find Matthews beside him. "...though she is by far the most interesting thing in the room, I'll give her that." For a while both men watched as she captivated half the players of both teams. "You sure you made the right choice, about her?"

Jack thought deeply, "It was not so much a choice as a necessity."

They watched Phryne drape herself over a man that was definitely not Reynolds. "You're better off without her." Jack took another drink of his beer.

"So, tell me, what is it you actually do for a crust, John?"

Jack looked uncomfortable, "Nothing really."

"Living off family money? Lucky you," Matthews took a sip of his beer.

"Not proud of it," Jack said defensively as he raised his glass, "was a time I would have sneered at a man who didn't make his own way." He stared down into his glass, "Before the war."

Matthews stilled and Jack continued to stare at the beer as though all the answers were in the foam floating on the top. After a while Matthews slapped him on the back, "What you need is a good woman, that's what saved me."

Jack snorted and took a long pull of his beer, "Choosing women is not my specialty," he said tilting his head towards where Phryne was dancing scandalously close with Reynolds.

"Do you even have a room of your own?" Jack asked as he took off his jacket, throwing it carelessly over the back of the settee as he sat down, reaching for the proffered glass of whiskey.

"Of course I do, but yours is much more convenient and has a far better view," her eyes flicked to the lights of the city clearly visible through the balcony windows before coming back to rest on him.

He took a long sip from his glass, gazing at her from under his eyelashes, "Flattery will get you everywhere," he assured her.

"Good to know," she responded, clearly entering that into her notes on Inspector Robinson file. He wondered how big the file was and how accurate. He hoped it was large and full of detailed information, complete with intimate comments but still a few gaps to provide just enough mystery to remain interesting. And also space, lots of space for whole new chapters to be written, of them, together. He realised he was staring, and with maybe more than a touch of love struck idiot. He dragged his eyes away.

Phryne felt her pulse quicken, there it was again, that look, the one he had given her in the car. She was ready for it this time. But before she could act, he broke eye contact and the moment was gone. Damn it! Back to the case then… "O'Kane was not popular amongst the players, he was inconsistent and there was a feeling that this season his game plan calls were poor, too easily read by the opposition – and that's why they've been losing games."

"Interesting, especially when you consider that the razor gangs have become increasingly involved in match fixing," Jack noted.

Phryne nodded, "It would be a convenient solution, dirty coach killed by gangsters for failure to follow instructions…"

He nodded, it would be. He held out the whiskey bottle, "Another?"

Her glass was held out. "So tell me, what did you think of my date?"

"He made some good tackles but his timing was off on attack."

She gave an exasperated sigh, throwing herself back in the chair, "I think I have heard more than enough after-match analysis to last me a life time." She threw back her whiskey and held it out again.

"He was a good choice of dance partner," Jack admitted, "Is it a relationship that could run more than one night? Would save me trying to strike up a conversation with the players if you could cover that angle." He refilled their glasses.

"Are you pimping me out, Inspector Robinson?" she teased. He went a delightful shade of red, downing his whiskey in one to hide his embarrassment. And refilled his glass. She laughed, "Don't worry, as long as I don't have to dance with more than one of them I think I can handle this assignment." Jack sputtered into his glass. "I'm joking, Jack. This is dance time and I'm here drinking whiskey with you, not making eyes at some Neanderthal whose idea of foreplay is to flex his biceps at me." She rolled her eyes.

"I could flex my biceps if you like?" Jack offered, realising as he said it that he may have had more to drink at the post-match celebration than was good for him, especially when you added two quick whiskeys on top. This time it was her turn to sputter into her glass and she rocked forward laughing. More than a little put out by her reaction he downed his glass and refilled it. "There's actually nothing wrong with my biceps," he pointed out.

Still laughing, she shook her head, "I can assure you there isn't, it's just the thought of you having to rely on…" she fell into another fit of uncontrollable laughter when Jack, giving her a wink, held up his arm and flexed his bicep.

"Don't, Jack," she managed between uncontrollable giggles, holding her stomach as he continued his ridiculous posturing, "don't make me laugh any more… it hurts." He ignored her completely, continuing until he succumbed to her infectious laughter.

When he finally recovered he poured them both more whiskey.

The first thing Jack noticed was the kink in his neck, swiftly followed by the fact he was fully clothed and lying on the settee. When he attempted to rub his eyes, the fact that his arm was hanging on the floor was brought to his attention as the blood rushed back into his hand. What the… and then it all came flooding back and he looked across to where she was curled up in the arm chair, under the blanket he had a vague memory of putting over her. He let himself enjoy the image for a moment as he recalled their evening. He could not remember laughing so much since… well, for a long time. It dawned on him that he could not afford to lose her. Not from his investigations or his personal life, and so somehow he would need to find a balance between the two. On that thought, he rose from the settee to change into his running gear. By the time he came back into the room, sitting to lace up his sneakers, she was stirring in the chair. He stood and placed his hand gently on her shoulder, "Go climb into my bed, get some proper sleep. I'll be back in a couple of hours."

She looked up at him, her normally sharp gaze replaced by a softness that gripped at his heart. "Mornin', Jack." She drew the blanket tighter across her shoulders, unwinding herself to place her feet on the ground. She looked him up and down, noting his attire. "Have fun," she mumbled as she stood and wandered into his room. He forced himself to continue to walk out the door. He had a murder to solve and she would be here when he got back. Phryne, hearing the door close, found something more comfortable to wear, pulled back the bed linen and slipped into the scent of safe, soothing, cherished. Unsurprisingly she fell immediately into a deep sleep.

Two hours later Jack walked back into his room to find Phryne fast asleep in his bed. Her dress was in a pile on the floor and, having clearly rifled through his things again, she was wearing one of his undershirts. He stifled a groan, determinedly gathering some clothes and heading to the shower. On his return he found her watching as he stood in front of the mirror doing his hair. "Hmmm… it takes quite a lot to get it under control," she remarked, as he started to fight the waves into his normal style.

"I need a haircut."

"You have beautiful hair."

Jack looked at her quizzically in the mirror, "I don't think anyone has ever used that word to describe anything about me before."

"It is not my fault you have been spending time with the wrong people."

There was a tap on the door. "Breakfast is served," he said grandly as he headed to the door. "Join me in the other room?" When she shuffled out draped in a blanket he raised an eyebrow at her decision not to dress, before pouring tea into the one cup while she buttered the toast. "Last night I had a bit of a run in with Miss Matthews, in fact she took me quite to task," he said conversationally. Phryne, her mouth full of toast, looked at him enquiringly. "I am not to speculate on the reasons behind O'Kane's murder even though she described him as a violent drunk." He rolled his eyes, "It is not helpful to anyone to do so apparently."

"He has a record, for drunken behaviour, been locked up overnight to sober up. No mention of violence though. I'm having lunch with Reynolds so I'll dig around, see what I can uncover."

"I might sound Matthews out on his daughter's animosity towards O'Kane." He handed her the tea cup, "Where are you going for lunch?"

"Here, they have an excellent menu and I want to stay in control of the situation." Jack, toast halfway to his mouth, raised an eyebrow at her unusual caution. "I'm not always reckless, Jack, in fact sometimes I can be downright sensible."

"I stand corrected, Miss Fisher. Would you like more tea?" He let himself wonder whether the fact she felt comfortable enough with him to sit nearly naked in his room counted for or against him on the romance scale.

She plucked the toast from his hand, "I think I may need to have a chat with this Miss Matthews."

He nodded, "Good idea. I don't seem to have made a very favourable impression."

Phryne raised an eyebrow, "Interesting?"

He shrugged, "I'm not everyone's cup of tea."

"True, but that is not obvious until they get to know you. On first acquaintance your looks alone should be sufficient to create a positive impression."

Jack tilted his head, eyes amused, "I'm not sure if that was a compliment or a character assassination."

"Merely an observation, Jack," she chuckled. "Your dedication to justice can be a bit off-putting. Not to me of course - I find it to be one of your most endearing qualities. Are you going to butter the rest of that toast?"

Phryne decided the direct approach would be best employed with Miss Matthews. Seeing her alone in the dining room she walked straight over, sat down and offered her hand. "Philly Robinson. I expect you know who I am."

Her hand was immediately accepted, "Cassandra Matthews. I have heard what my father thinks of you but I'm open to being convinced otherwise."

"Mr Robertson hasn't mentioned me?"

"Not really, though if you want my opinion he is very much in love with you," she seemed to weigh up Phryne, "even if it is against his better judgement." Oh, thought Phryne, Jack was right, she needed to tread very carefully around this woman. "Though why you feel the need to chase a man, even one as pleasant as Mr Robertson, around the country is a mystery to me. One I'd be keen to hear your side of," she continued.

"If you knew him better you'd understand. I've known a lot of men but none like him." As always she kept as close to the truth as possible.

"You've come this far on your own and surely you're too old to want children?"

Phryne chuckled, the woman was even more direct than she had expected. "I've managed alright to date but, as you'll find yourself one day, there comes a time when your looks begin to fade and no one wants an old spinster at their dinner table. Then, you need to be part of a couple, if you want anything resembling a social life. I need to secure that future before I find myself a less than attractive party prospect."

"Is that the sum of you then, a pretty bauble on the social scene? I thought there would be more than that to you."

"I am older than you, Miss Matthews, not all your opportunities were available to me." Miss Matthews lowered her eyes, the truth in that statement was undeniable. "My purpose in approaching you is to ask whether I should view you as competition in respect of Mr Robertson." Phryne stated baldly.

The younger woman raised her eyes again, "Not unless it is in competition with him for your affections."

Phryne held her gaze for some time, assessing, "I admire your honesty, and I am flattered, but such a relationship would definitely not secure my position in Society."

Miss Matthews tilted her head, "My father has just walked in, please excuse me,' she stood and held out her hand, "I wish you luck in your chosen endeavour."

Phryne shook her hand and watched her walk away. She wondered if O'Kane had known of Miss Matthews sexual preference.

"Was she bothering you, Angel?" Matthews let his eyes rest on Phryne, who smiled and waved.

"Not at all, father. She is very pleasant, in fact I wonder if Mr Robertson has been hasty in ending their relationship. They actually are well suited in my opinion."

Matthews frowned at Phryne before turning to his daughter, "No, she's got trouble written all over her and from what I saw last night she is fairly free and easy with her charms."

"Strange, she struck me as quite devoted to him."

Note 7: The building of a bridge linking Sydney and the North Shore began in 1923 and finished in 1932. During the depression the construction of the bridge kept 1,400 men in employment. Miss Matthews has told a slight, but forgivable lie, whilst some of the steel did in fact come from Newcastle most was imported from the UK.

Note 8: The North Sydney Bears are one of the original Australian league clubs and they were founded in 1908. Mark Graham, who played there 1981 – 1988, remains the greatest rugby league player NZ has ever produced - Shaun Johnson (NZ Warriors) is the best looking ; )