Dancing had been the order of the day, when Phryne issued the invitation: or, to be particular, a sedentary and well-fortified spectator event. Mac was of an organization that took to one-step and foxtrot like a fish to water, but she preferred to take her tango from the sidelines, preferably with brandy in hand.
Phryne excelled at dancing, just as she excelled at everything that involved being looked at; it was with unmixed pleasure that Mac watched her move across the drawing room floor with Carlos, the newest pedagogical assignation. He was a prize article of the masculine type, and moved even more beautifully than Phryne.
The music ended, and Phryne dipped an elaborate curtsy to her dance partner over Mac's applause and the scratching of the end of the record.
"Oh Carlos, that was magnificent," Phryne declared, voice bright with exertion as she dropped to the couch and smiled at her friend. Mac winked at her, then rose to fix her friend a refreshment and to tend to the record player.
"Very good, Miss Phryne," Carlos replied gallantly. "Do you wish we will practice together more?"
"I certainly do! Mm, thank you." Phryne accepted the proffered drink and set the half-empty glass down, a bit hard, on the table. "I've been wanting to revive my tango for ages, and you're just the man to help me do it. Don't you think, Mac?"
Mac nodded. "Definitely."
Phryne turned back to Carlos. "There you have it. You have passed your trials. Shall we continue?"
Carlos bowed. "It would be my pleasure."
"Excellent. Mister Butler will 'phone you to make arrangements."
Carlos smiled, then dropped to one knee by the couch to take Phryne's hand and kiss it. "Until then, Miss Fisher," he murmured warmly.
Phryne's eyelids dropped, and with them dropped the aura of warmth that she was casting, until it was wide enough for only two. "Of course, there's no need to rush away just yet," she said, in the low soft voice that Mac was always trying to forget. "Perhaps you have an hour now to help me with my…. form?"
"Only too happy, Miss," Carlos purred—and if ever Mac had thought such feline language was metaphorical, she was now firmly set to rights on the matter. It was in like feline fashion that Phryne was the next moment on her feet, following Carlos out of the room as he drew her by the hand he had kissed and not released.
Phryne's glossy hair, her fluid grace, her white arms. Her mouth as she shaped the words "back later" over the shoulder of her brocade jacket before leading Carlos up the stairs.
They were legion, and she strove valiantly to forget them. She was an old soldier, but forgetting was not always possible. Mac's glass was empty, but Phryne's was not, and well did she know from past afternoons that "later" might be much later. There was comfort in the heat of the brandy as it touched her lips, its predictable burn down her throat, and in the low burn of other predictable things. Carlos was exactly Phryne's sort, after all—unlike the stiff slab of respectability that had caught her eye of late. Mac knew the score here, at least.
She had just about finished the drink, and was weighing the merits of a further instalment against those of a quiet departure, when Jane came in from the dining room.
"Doctor Mac!" she chirped, her face alight.
"Hello, sweetheart." Mac stood and held out her arms, and Jane trotted over, hair bows bouncing.
"I haven't seen you in so long!" Jane declared, flinging her arms around Mac's waist. "I didn't even know you were here. Where's Miss Phryne?"
Mac hesitated. She was hardly a figure of responsibility, but ever since Jane had expressed an interest in taking up medicine some day, Mac had set herself to nurturing the child's scientific instincts. Part of that meant giving her the truth bloody and unsugared, a trust she was loath to break. But Jane was a bit young to know the full tale of her fosterer's antics, and what prior acquaintance Jane might have had with the ways of nature was wholly unknown to her.
"She's upstairs with the dance teacher," was the final formulation of choice.
"Oh, I didn't know he was still here." Jane had noticed her hesitation, and now looked up at Mac with very bright eyes. "Do you like him, Doctor Mac?"
"I've only just met him," replied Mac.
Jane dropped onto the couch, and Mac sat back down next to her. "But do you think he has good intentions?"
Mac frowned, feeling her way for the warp to explain this strange weft. Surely Jane was not hoping for marriage. "I think he wishes her very well," she said at last.
Jane tugged at the lace cuff of her dress. "You don't think he wants to hurt any of us, do you?"
It was sheer surprise that pushed out a coarse-barked laugh. "Honestly, darling, I doubt there's a thing further from his mind."
"That's good." Jane's face softened into a smile. "I know it's foolish, but it still makes me nervous when there are people in the house and Bert and Cec aren't around."
Mac frowned, and Jane glanced up in alarm. "Oh no, not you, Doctor Mac. I don't mind friends. It's only strangers."
"No of course not, Janey, that's fine." Mac patted the girl's cheek absently as she cast about for the right words. It wouldn't do any good to alarm Jane, but perhaps there was something afoot that Phryne ought to know about. "Tell me, Jane, have there been any, ah, strangers hanging about trying to get in?"
"Only the one, but he did get in." Jane shivered. "It feels so awful now, after everything that's happened. But the worst of it was that he was so nice, that first night. I thought he was really nice."
"Who, darling?" Mac asked, through the dull thud of blood in her throat.
"Murdoch Foyle," said Jane.
Two seconds or ten, or twenty it may have been, until the roar of silence subsided and Mac could again hear Jane's voice.
"… the engagement party. Miss Phryne said it all would have happened anyway, and I'm not to blame. Inspector Robinson said so too, though he said I must be more careful."
"Inspector Robinson," Mac repeated blankly.
"And Dot too, of course. I sometimes think she scolds too much, but I wish she'd scolded more, instead of just crying." Jane clutched at her own elbows, as if for comfort. "I suppose that's the good thing about being scared. It's easy to be careful. Miss Phryne isn't scared of anything, though."
"No, she certainly isn't," said Mac. "When… when was this, Jane?"
The girl stared at her blankly. "It was almost three weeks ago. Don't you remember? You were there." Mac's confusion must have shown, for Jane continued: "at Miss Phryne's birthday party! We'd only just got back that afternoon."
It could not, must not, be let out in front of Jane, so she pressed it all down. "Yes, I remember now," Mac said calmly, very calmly.
Jane seemed relieved that Mac had recovered herself. "Anyhow, Dot says I'm not to talk about it too much, it's bad luck. So let's talk about happier things instead. Are you staying to dinner?" And, at Mac's hesitation: "I can tell Mister Butler, if Miss Phryne hasn't already. I know she would like it."
"I'm afraid not." She patted the girl's shoulder and pushed herself up from the chaise longue. "But another night soon." Firm and cool was her manner as she walked to the vestibule, and it was labour enough that she only remembered to turn back to Jane when she reached the door. "It was lovely to see you," she said.
"Goodbye!" Jane returned. "I hope I see you again soon."
There would be too much food on the table, for Phryne had already ordered dinner, with the expectation that Mac would stay. But Mac couldn't bear fools, least of all herself. And a fool she had been, that night, cutting up like a perfect idiot, in complete blind innocence of the fact that half the people present had nearly lost their lives only hours before. That party had been the first time she had really let herself go since Daisy, and it would have been easy enough to wait a bit longer, if only she had known. If only Phryne had told her anything.
This rage was kin to the old one, from more than thirteen years ago, the day that Phryne had abruptly announced that she had enlisted in the nurses' corps. Quite an incandescent fight that had been, at the end of which Phryne had still refused to see the difference between herself and a trained doctor. It was one thing for a person with badly needed skills to run the risk of going near the battlefield, particularly if that person already knew what death looked like up close, and knew how to take precautions. Mac had gone into service with open eyes. She wasn't just a frivolous idiot with a hero complex.
That rage had travelled with her all the way to the German front and back again, and had continued to simmer in the background, however she tried to quench it. This new complement, however, was fresh, and liberally sauced with her own foolishness.
To hell with dinner at Phryne's. To hell with Phryne. Mac hailed a cab and directed the driver to the Adventurers' Club. It had been nearly a week since her last game of billiards, and there was always a friendly crowd on Wednesdays. Perhaps Sybylla would be there, Mac thought. Sybylla was a lively girl who took up more than her proper share of space (rather like some others Mac could think of) but she was a great deal of fun, and she adored Mac without seeming to expect anything the next morning. That suited Mac just fine.