Chapter Two
"I feel compelled to ask, Phryne – was there anything in particular that brought on the desire to swim today?"
The usual rule of No Talking At Breakfast having definitely been shelved by swimming, and that morning's Argus being more than usually bereft of actual news, Jack felt fairly confident in raising the question.
"Ask away, Jack, but ask your Constable, not me. He's the one who's caught the bug lately – in fact, I think he's been dragging some of his young boxers into the briny as well. I just woke up a bit early and thought it might be quite nice to see the sun come up over the sea. Which it was."
The idea of Mrs Robinson having any of her behaviour dictated by Senior Constable Collins was so unusual – and frankly, slightly alarming – that it was the first question on the Inspector's lips when he arrived at Melbourne's City South Police Station that morning.
"Yes, sir," he said, happily and confidently. Which was even more worrying.
"I was telling Miss Fisher just the other day how I've been training with some of the lads from the gymnasium to do the Yarra Swim."
Light began to dawn. It wasn't exactly a calming and relaxing light, but it did at least provide information, and the detective in Jack appreciated that enormously.
"The Three Mile Race?"
"Ha, well, we're going to be happy just to finish, but yes, sir. It's pretty popular this year – over five hundred people entered, I hear. The lads are really excited about it."
Jack did his best to nod approvingly and escaped to his office. The idea of leaping into the Yarra to swim three miles alongside four hundred and ninety-nine other souls didn't rank highly in his list of must-do activities but Hugh Collins' work at the gymnasium was, in Jack's view, little short of saintly. Finding ways for the youths of City South precinct to expend their energy that didn't involve someone ending in the cells had been Hugh's incentive in working at the gym, and in large part it had worked; in fact, it had been a significant contribution to Jack's argument in securing Hugh's recent promotion that had allowed the young Constable to marry Phryne's assistant Dot.
The odd part was that Collins didn't regard his work at the gym as anything special; and the fact that, though no more than a capable swimmer, he'd decided to engage his lads in the Yarra Three Mile Race, was almost certainly just evidence of his attempt to reduce the number of annual drownings.
After some involuntary head-scratching, the Inspector gave up and reverted to the day job.
Miss Fisher, meanwhile, was disturbed at her bath by a tap on the door.
"In the bath, Mr B, can it wait?" she called.
"Apologies, Miss, there is a Mrs Jackson at the door. She confirms that she has no appointment, and wonders whether she might be able to see you for a few minutes?"
Swallowing a curse – there was something particularly enjoyable about immersing oneself in an aromatic bath with the righteous knowledge of exertion endured – Phryne stood and reached for the towel.
"Twenty minutes, Mr B, and we'll need coffee. Well, I will, anyway."
"Very good, Miss."
In the event it was only a little over fifteen minutes before Miss Fisher descended to the parlour and greeted her guest.
Mrs Jackson was, it was immediately obvious, rich. She was also very, very upset. The coffee cup that she was nursing rattled against the saucer every time she took a sip, and eventually Phryne removed it firmly from the woman's hands and set it on the table before her.
"How can I help, Mrs Jackson?"
There was a sniff, and the decorous employment of a lace-edged handkerchief.
"It's my husband, Miss Fisher. Everyone says he's run away with another woman, and I need you to find him so that I can prove he didn't."
