Chapter 4: Foxtrot

Dot Collins yawned, turning over. Then her eyes snapped open in shock, as the time displayed on her alarm clock sank in. Her hand made an involuntary, protective move to her belly just to realise that what she was protecting wasn't there any longer. Memories came flooding back. She sat up, hurried over to the crib but found the little bed decidedly empty. She spun on the spot, suddenly feeling lost, then grasped for her morning gown, tying it up as she stormed down the stairs while almost stumbling over her fluffy slippers. Her heart beating in her ears, she rushed into the parlour where a picture of utter harmony stopped her in her tracks. Hugh, already donning his black uniform, sat in an armchair in front of the fireplace with little Thomas lying on his stomach obviously asleep.

"Good morning, Dottie," the Constable smiled when he realised the dishevelled silhouette standing in the door frame, shuffling to get up, but she gestured for him to keep sitting while she snuck closer.

"He's such an angel," she whispered.

"He wasn't last night," Hugh yawned, shifting in the chair. "I'm so sorry Dottie. I shouldn't have taken him out of his crib for Jane to hold."

Dot tore her eyes from the little miracle on her husbands chest for long enough to brush a kiss to his cheek.

"I don't think it was your fault, Hugh. But I am so relieved that he is finally asleep."

Her eyes fell onto the clock situated on the mantle piece.

"Also, I do think you are running late for your shift," she pointed out a moment later.

"I am," Hugh admitted. "Would you mind...?"

Gently he handed their little son over to his wife and straightened out his clothes. Dot kissed him goodbye, before looking at the little boy who was breathing peacefully, sucking on his thumb.

"Do you think you willcsleep long enough for me to have some breakfast?" she asked Thomas, who didn't give her any answer, "because I am positively starving."

"I would rather hope so," a voice behind her said, causing her to spin in confusion.

"He was awake all night long after all. As was everybody else."

Tobias Butler smiled.

X

A woman with an insane amount of feathers on her hat, was busy whispering something that sounded an awful lot like an insult about one of the girls. Jack swallowed down his annoyance. This whole circus seemed ridiculous to him and the traces of unflattering comments about weight, dresses and dancing abilities were worse than he could have imagined. He rather hoped that none of the collected women dared to open her mouth to say a word about Jane, who seemed oblivious to the unkind eyes watching her. He had to admit that she was possibly not the most graceful of the collected girls, but her enthusiasm caused her to sparkle all the same. She also exuded a quiet happiness that rendered him quite incapable of taking his eyes of her. There was something enchanting about the way the girls and their partners turned to the music, currently a Viennese waltz, Jack had to admit grumpily. So he was almost sorry when the music trailed off and Madame Claudine stepped out.

While her height made her rumoured career as a ballet dancer quite unlikely, the owner of the dancing school was indeed an impressive appearance. Even with a gun pressed to his temple, the Inspector would not have dared to take a guess at her age. It was in fact hard to say if her hair, pulled up in a strict bun, was white or just an insanely light shade of blonde, but in combination with her pale complexion it gave her an almost ethereal appearance, as if her Creator hadn't decided if she was to be of this world. Jack felt in equal amounts intrigued and unsettled by the woman who currently, with a wave of her hand, gave orders to a pretty, if rather unremarkable looking girl at the piano. Jack tore his attention from her to realise that Jane, panting and beaming, had directed her eyes at him, obviously looking for a sign if she was doing well. His pride must have been obvious, as a moment later she returned to her partner's arms with satisfaction displayed on her features and the young couples started to move again, this time in a different pattern that the Inspector suspected to be a foxtrot. For the first time he had a closer look at the young man who was twirling his daughter over the dance floor. He was a rather handsome kid, maybe a year or two older than Jane, well dressed - possibly a little too well. And was his hand wrapped tighter around her back than necessary?

Jack turned to Phryne with the intention of sharing his observation and realised that her chair was decidedly empty. The part of his brain that always paid attention, even when he was busy staring enthralled at Jane dancing, informed him that she had been gone for some time. Jack threw a last look at the young man, making sure he didn't dance inappropriately close to his teenage girl, before he decided that it was safe enough to go and find Phryne. The Inspector was certain that even Miss Fisher couldn't take quite this long to powder her nose. Which left only the conclusion that she had found something to sidetrack her and in Phryne's case that something usually turned out to be either illegal or dangerous, while mostly being both.

As he marched down a long corridor lined with a wild array of more or less beautiful pictures in a wild mixture of styles, and drew the fresh spring air into his lungs that swept through the opened windows, another melody mixed into the foxtrot in the Inspector's ears. This one was darker, stronger and more rhythmical. Curious, Jack approached the door the gramophone music seemed to dribble trough and opened it the slightest of gaps. He wasn't certain whether to be surprised by what presented itself to his eyes. A man, tall, dark and incredibly handsome was currently making a complicated sidestep that caused his dancing partner to twirl gently on her heels, before slowly, sensually slipping her leg through his. Jack swallowed dryly, resisting the urge to slam the door shut.

He felt like a voyeur, but then he could hardly be blamed for the scene holding his attention. There were other people in the room, he noticed when he slipped in uninvited. A woman that no artist could have created any more the opposite of Madame Germain if he'd tried and another young man who was watching the scene with intense interest out of gleaming eyes.

The dancers turned, Phryne again perfectly following the man's lead and as she twirled around him, her eyes found Jack's over her partner's shoulder. Maybe he imagined the smirk, but the glitter in her irises he certainly didn't. She was feeling mischievous and Jack knew that he was making a fool of himself. It was just a dance!

A sensual, complicated, wonderful dance, he realised a moment later, as he watched her tango with the stranger as if she had never done anything else in her life. She was a natural. In fact Jack had seen her sway quite often, but never with such passion and elegance that it took his breath away.

The Inspector felt like a stranger, an intruder as the rhythm of the tango washed over him. The man's hands trailed over the curve of Phryne's back, the skin of her arm and Jack couldn't shake the thought that they belonged there – it was intense and intimate and perfect. A work of art.

Finally, the music ended and with the last notes Phryne wrapped around the dancer as if he was her long lost lover, before retreating from him, destroying the magic she had just created with a single laugh.

"Thank you, that was most wonderful, Mr. Steeger. My tango has been subject to some neglect over the last years."

"That may be changed. And one never unlearns tango. It is in the blood," her partner smiled, pulling her hand to his lips. "It is certainly in yours."

Phryne allowed him his gesture with incredible grace, before she turned the attention of Mr. Steeger towards her husband, who was leaning against a wall, following the scene with an expression that she assumed was meant to be motionless.

"Meet my husband, Inspector Jack Robinson," she introduced him, still smiling broadly and the men exchanged the pleasantries, while the rest of the group joined them. Nicolas seemed terribly little embarrassed by having been wrapped around somebody else's wife a moment ago, Jack noticed, feeling silly. The man was in fact perfectly pleasant, making charming small talk, flattering Phryne and finally excusing himself to begin one of his classes, but not before introducing his own wife. The dark haired beauty, whose dress wasn't able to completely conceal her plump curves, answered to the name of Camila Steeger and showed the Inspector a row of perfect teeth surrounded by red lips before taking his hand. Jack couldn't help but smile at her undisguised charms.

"If you would excuse Mr. Riley and me, we do have work to do," she begged, after they had exchanged their greetings and the Inspector was almost relieved to escape.

When the door to the small dancing salon closed behind them, Phryne tilted her head and looked at her husband.

"I do hope you enjoyed it," she said, her grin cheekier than should be allowed. Jack decided that he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of displaying his unreasonable jealousy for a tango partner or how much it gnawed on him that she had never told him what an accomplished dancer she was. Instead he settled for a tiny grin of his own.

"It was certainly interesting music, Miss Fisher."

"This particular piece turns around a man who wants to die of jealousy," Phryne quipped, without missing a beat before extending a hand to smooth a deep furrow out of Jack's brow. Her palm lingered for a moment on his cheek, while his dark eyes searched hers for answers. She let him. He needed to know. Finally there was the hint of a nod that relieved Phryne beyond measure.

"I never quite understood the logic of dying for love," the Inspector said, kissing her palm. "It leaves the path wide open for one's opponent."

Phryne laughed, taking his arm.

"That is a tiny detail that the poets of the world seem to have missed, Inspector."

"What shall I say? Shakespeare may have been mistaken," Jack quipped, as he led his wife down the corridor, back to where Jane was still dancing.

X

Mr. Butler was currently ironing a pile of freshly washed nappies that awaited their first use, whistling to himself, when someone knocked against the kitchen window. His smile broadened when he realised who his visitor was and a moment later she was in the room like a warm summer breeze.

"The bub is hardly born and I see you're workload has doubled already," Riya smiled with absolutely no sincerity, pressing a kiss to his cheek, before she took off her hat, causing a wave of black hair to cascade down her shoulders. Tobias interrupted his work for a moment to return her greeting, but made no attempt to take her hat from her, having long since learned that his lover held no regards for any of the etiquette his line of work bound him to. The deceiving smile on his lips told her the whole story, when he said: "Little Thomas has caused quite a rough night for both the Collins and Robinsons. I would dare say nobody but Jane closed an eye at all."

"You seem not very upset about your lack of sleep," Riya quipped, sinking onto a chair, watching his beloved fingers dancing, smoothing, straightening.

"How can one be upset when a child is born?" Tobias asked, completely enthralled in his work.

Riya watched him for some time in companionable silence, a smile on her lips. The tender fatherly love he felt for Dorothy Williams required no comment from her at all. It seemed only logical that his proud grin was the one of an excited grandfather rather than that of a fellow servant. The little boy whose arrival he had announced to her first thing this morning, while barely able to conceal his exhilaration, was as much part of his family as Jane or Phryne. Considering this, it was easily forgivable that the phone had rung a long time before the nocturnal Riya had originally intended to crawl out of bed. The artist stifled a yawn, glancing at the pile of clothes still awaiting to be smoothed by the hot iron. Then she took another look as something strange occurred to her.

"I do hope you saved the buttons of this lovely shirt," she finally stated levelly.

"Every single one," Tobias answered, equally nonchalant. He did not feel any need to share that it had cost him several minutes to sweep all of the missing buttons together, as two had rolled underneath the bed and a third had been hiding under the door.

"An act of barbarity," she said, letting her fingertips glide over the soft cotton.

"I rather hope it was," Tobias answered. The lovers shared a knowing grin, before Mr. Butler cleared his throat and slipped the shirt out of Mrs. Santi's grasp to spray it with starch. He would sew the buttons back on later while he watched little Thomas, so Dorothy could go about her own housework, since she stubbornly refused him to take it from her hands. The tie, however, that he had found on his Master's bedroom floor, was beyond repair and he wasn't certain whether to approach the Inspector about it's fate or just let it disappear in silence. Surely he must be aware that it couldn't be salvaged. Unless of course he had been... Tobias decided to end the thought at this point in time. While nothing human was unfamiliar to him, there were paths that his mind didn't need to travel. Instead he glanced at his lover who was still watching him in silence, completely unwilling to tear herself away.

"While I don't intend to appear rude, may I ask what brings you here? I distinctively recall you having a lunch date with Mrs. Blair and her daughter."

Riya seemed to wake from pleasant daydreams and sighed.

"Your memory is as usual, correct. I fear she will ask me again to paint Miss Amelie. And I will once more have to refuse."

"It might be in everybody's interest if you consider giving her what she desires," Tobias pointed out, flipping the shirt he was flattening. "If only to save yourself from more unpleasant luncheons."

"I'm afraid, I can't. Catching the essence of a human being is much harder than people apprehend. And I don't believe I am able to in this instance."

"I beg to differ," Tobias argued, thinking of a picture of Inspector Robinson, which a proud Miss Fisher had hung in her parlour some time ago. It still was on display despite the policeman's ongoing protest.

"It is all about inspiration, Tobias. A subject has to touch me, rouse my desire to hold on to that moment and keep it alive for eternity. Miss Amelie, however, rouses nothing in me at all - aside from annoyance possibly."

Tobias nodded, wondering for a brief moment if he should ask just what about Jack Robinson had captured her imagination that day, but decided against it. It was obvious.

Instead he smiled.

"So, you just dropped by on your way to the inevitable to watch me starch shirts?"

"Something along those lines," she sighed, pulling herself to her feet and fishing her hat from the table. "I was also hoping to meet Phryne and ask her and the Inspector to join me for dinner tonight."

"I'm afraid they aren't in," Tobias said, enthralled in a particularly annoying crease.

"I gathered as much. The Hispano was missing when I arrived. But maybe you could pass on the invitation?"

"Certainly, Ma'am," Mr. Butler grinned. His position and Riya's friendship with his Mistress made their connection somewhat awkward, yet he wouldn't have given it up for the world.

"I would invite you, Tobias. But since I know you will refuse to be my dinner guest at a table with your employers, I will save my breath," she smiled, pulling him into a kiss that got her dangerously close to being burned with a hot iron. "But now I do have to run or the Blairs will find me rude on top of conceited."

"We certainly wouldn't want that," the Butler grinned, unwilling to let go of her. She smiled, understanding his implication and slipped out of his grasp, before disappearing through the open door into the spring morning with a brief goodbye. Mr. Butler began to whistle again as the smell of starch filled the kitchen. The peace lasted the whole of two minutes, before little Thomas woke from his slumber.

X

Tired, but happy, Camila pulled the dress from her shoulders. The black drapes slipped almost soundlessly to the floor, while their owner filled her washing bowl with warm water. Everything was going perfectly to plan, if not better. Julian really was the most wonderful dancer.

Another pair of grey eyes appeared briefly in her mind. The curiosity in them had been striking. What a passionate dancer could he be if he allowed himself, she wondered? Absent-mindedly Camila glanced at the jar sitting on her dressing table. Half lost in daydreams the dancer washed herself, as she heard the door click shut behind her. The man entering didn't say a word as he leaned against the door, but she knew his breathing well enough.

"That was a rather silly display," she said, without turning around.

"I actually thought her dance was enchanting," he stated with fake calmness.

"No doubt," his wife answered. "I was talking about yours."

She finally turned, and despite her wearing no more than her undergarments looking so threatening that he gulped.

"I was merely being a gentleman," he finally said, salvaging his nonchalance. Camila looked at Nicolas for a long moment, then nodded.

"She certainly appreciated it. But if you think you can rouse my jealousy, you are wrong."

Mr. Steeger watched as his wife returned her attention to the now lukewarm water. Then he stepped behind her, gently grabbing her shoulders and kissing her neck. A half-moan was the only answer he received, while she tilted her head to grant him better access.

"You are the worst of husbands," she finally ground out, while his arms slipped around her pressing her closer.

"You didn't marry me for my domestic qualities," he whispered into her ear, his hand slipping underneath the last layer of fabric covering her. She spun, now skin to skin with his chest and ran her sharp nails over his back.

"Certainly not," she whispered, listening to him groan under her touch. Her dark eyes glittered dangerously as she leaned up to meet his lips, their hot bodies pressed together. "But if you do that again, I will have to kill you." Her words were accompanied by a bite into his lip that caused his eyes to roll back in his head. A string of moans filled the small changing room and a pale hand pulled the door handle shut a moment later. The intruder had seen and heard enough.

X

"The gardens are beautiful in springtime, aren't they?" the Lady walking beside him asked with kind patience. Jack agreed politely, battling down his endless boredom. She wasn't wrong, the Royal Botanical Garden was breathtaking at this time of year, as he knew since his childhood when his parents had taken him and his siblings here for picnics every other Sunday. He remembered chasing Will through the Fern Gully, slipping on a wet rock and ending up in the mud, much to the displeasure of both his parents. The scolding he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt he would receive from his father that day had drowned out however in the total freedom as he had flown through the shrubbery, his brother's laughter in his ears. It suddenly occurred to Jack how many years he had missed this feeling of wind in his hair and dirt drying to his pants. Somewhere between three piece suits, paperwork and being married to Rosie, he had lost it. It wasn't her fault though. He had forgotten that he needed this, had even been convinced after the War that mud was certainly something he would never need to feel again in his life.

He glanced at Phryne, who was chatting animatedly with Mrs. MacAster. "Mel's" mother was a rather round, flushed woman, who was as nice as she was silly. His own conversation partner carried on talking about the wonderous history of the park, while Jack made an occasional polite comment that convinced her that he was completely enthralled by her insight.

But truthfully the Inspector was wondering when he had changed. Had it been the first time he'd met Phryne? Or later, when her infectious hunger for adventure had broken down his common sense along with the walls he had built around his heart? Had it started when she had saved him from certain death? When she had drawn the worst of memories from him and wiped them away as if they were nothing but a dark nightmare? Jack couldn't tell, but he remembered the moments vividly: The chase through Melbourne on a stolen Motorbike, the reciting Shakespeare in an empty theatre to the audience of one, the picking tomatoes in the middle of a thunderstorm, moulding sandwiches into his skin in the throes of passion, watching a dancer at a gentleman's club and not looking away in the slightest... It didn't matter when it had happened, the root of his change was obvious. Phryne had brought him back from a life of sleepwalking.

His heart beat suddenly painfully in his chest when he realised that he wasn't quite certain what he had done for her in return. What was more, it was the very reason why he couldn't stop thinking about her dancing tango with the stranger whose name he was unable to forget, even though God knew, he was trying.

He had no time to travel further down this path of thought, as someone took his arm. He looked up, realising that Jane had tired of her friends and decided to pay her foster father a visit.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" she whispered.

"Terribly," he whispered back. Jane grinned.

"Would you mind, Mrs. Rockman, if I'd take Jack up to the Camellia Bed? I'd love to show him my favourite blooms."

"Oh, you are interested in flowers, Inspector?"

"Very much, Mrs. Rockman. If you'll excuse me, I do need to see this beautiful specimen my daughter has found."

They hurried away, before the lady had found her breath to offer joining them, both trying to suppress their laughter until they had arrived at the dark green shrubs. Most of them however weren't flowering.

"I fear it's not the season for blooms," Jack said, running his fingers of the glossy leaves of a camellia tree.

"Of course not," Jane grinned. "But you looked so miserable that I felt the need to rescue you."

Jack laughed, wrapping his arm around the shoulder of his daughter and leading her through under the roof of dark leaves.

"Thank you. I think she was just about to list every single plant kept in the herbarium."

"My pleasure."

He felt her lean her head against his shoulder for a brief moment and a wave of happiness flooded his veins. It had been no more than half a year since he had tied the knot with Phryne and gained Jane as his legal ward. Yet, he couldn't remember how it had felt to not be her father. He didn't particularly care to remember either. They stepped out of the shrubbery to find a small herb garden, made up of triangular beds. The scent of rosemary and lavender hung in the air, even though the latter just started to shyly open it's blooms.

"Should we go looking for peppermint?" Jane quipped, struggling free from his embrace.

"I think I'll pass, thank you," he grinned, shaking off both images flooding his brain, before either could affect him. He didn't particularly feel the need to be reminded of his close brush with death while searching a forest for the herb with Jane back in last autumn, nor did he currently feel any longing to remember too vividly the erotic adventures with his wife in a lavender field. Instead he inspected his watch.

"I believe we should return to the group, before Phryne declares us missing," he said, not without a hint of regret.

"I believe she enjoys the company of Mel's mother," Jane grinned, tearing herself away from a plant of lemon thyme which's lovely leaves had captured her attention for a moment.

"As much as most people enjoy their teeth being pulled," the Inspector stated dryly, turning towards the path that would lead them back to boring conversation and hopefully a picnic. "She is an interesting specimen your friend. Don't you find her a little silly?"

Jane shrugged.

"She is a lot of fun, with always something to tell me."

"Most of which is nonsense," the Inspector pointed out with some distaste. He held a certain dislike for fools and wasn't sure why Jane, who was doubtlessly blessed with a quick wit, would decide to have a silly girl for her most cherished friend.

"I know that," Jane said levelly. "But she is entertaining."

Jack nodded at this. He guessed entertainment was important.

"And also, she is very nice and kind," his daughter added, as if she had to defend her like of the girl. The Inspector opened his mouth to say something, but stopped in his tracks instead.

"You shouldn't be here," he said, crouching down in the shadow of a tree. Jane had dropped down beside him, extending her hand towards the dark shrub that suddenly commanded all of his attention.

"Don't touch it!" Jack said a bit sharper than he had meant to. Her hand flew back as if she had burned herself.

"Belladonna," she whispered as if the rather ugly purple flowers were a holy artefact.

"Deadly nightshade," Jack said, regretting having raised his voice at her. "Please take care with those, I wouldn't want you to poison yourself."

"Don't worry, I'm not stupid," Jane protested. "But I wouldn't speak for other people."

Jack leaned down to look where she was pointing. He licked his suddenly dry lips when he realised what she meant. The green leaves ended abruptly. Someone had removed a branch. Someone who either had no idea that he was holding one of the most toxic plants in the world in his hands or... He looked at Jane, realising that she was thinking along the same lines: Or possibly someone who knew exactly.