Phryne and Jack decided to head to the hotel and freshen up, have tea, before going to the police station to deal with her father.
"Jack?" she sat at the dressing table, repairing her makeup, "what kind of legal punishment is available for father, as we have the paintings back and Hunter isn't minded to sue for compensation. He knows I'll be paying," she pouted.
"Hm?" he sat watching her, it always fascinated him watching her put something on her face that he barely noticed, so expertly applied was the rouge and face powder. "Well, he could be charged with failing to pay import duty, on the vases, but they were his, so, maybe not. On the paintings, I don't think there is anything, beyond theft and selling stolen goods. As we have the goods back, he'd probably get off with a fine ..."
"... which I'll have to pay," she finished off.
"Ah, yes, but," he suddenly thought, "if you don't, and he can't pay, a custodial sentence, but first court, to decide one way or the other, if you decide to take it that far."
"Right, poor mother," Phryne turned and stood up, "she'll be mortified."
"Mm..." he mused, "she comes off worst out of this, apart from your bank balance. I suppose no one is going to want to stay at a hotel where one of the owners has been charged with theft, are they?"
"Damn!" she hissed, "I suppose I'll have to pay."
"Last time, love," he pulled her onto his knee, "or it can be paid back, from the profits of the hotel, or, as I say, you can have the charges dropped."
She slumped against him, and finding his heartbeat steady and soothing, cuddled into his chest. He leant back and put his arms round her, kissing the top of her head. "S'ppose we'd best go and pick him up," she mumbled from somewhere inside his jacket.
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"Where is he staying?" Jack helped her into her fur coat and handed her, her hat.
"I've booked him a room here," she pouted, "at least I can keep an eye on him."
Jack laughed, "he's rather like a naughty boy," he bent and kissed her cheek.
"Too big to put over my knee and give a good spanking to," she grinned. "I think I'll have the charges dropped," she lifted her handbag, "get him home and take it from there."
"That sounds like a very good idea, Phryne," he offered her his arm and they left the suite, "you can still impress upon him that his behaviour is not to be endured, by you or your mother."
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Inspector Cranston was pleased to see them, and, Phryne thought, more than a little relieved, especially when she said she would be relieving him of his 'guest'.
"Thank you so much for hanging on to him," she gave him a beatific smile, "I have seen Lord Tockington, and we have come to an arrangement over the pictures, I shan't be taking it any further."
"Does that mean you have the paintings back, Miss Fisher?" he visibly perked up.
"I do," she nodded, "now, has he behaved himself?"
He couldn't help but smile at the idea that a member of the minor aristocracy should 'behave himself' in a police station cell.
"He had some comments about the food," he muttered, "but as I told him, this isn't the Ritz."
"Cheek," she huffed.
Sergeant Crosby was sent to bring Lord Fisher up from the cells. HIs suitcase was restored to him and Inspector Cranston told him how lucky he was to have such a caring daughter, so perhaps he should think of her, and his wife, next time he planned on gambling at cards, or any other way.
Henry hummed, and patted down his jacket. He stepped towards Phryne with his arms open to embrace her, a move she neatly sidestepped by turning to address Cranston.
"Inspector, I'm sure you have a benevolent society for the boys in blue?"
"We do, Miss Fisher," he nodded, wondering where she was going with such a question.
"Then please," she opened her bag and withdrew her cheque book, "add this to the funds." She wrote out a cheque and signed it with her customary flourish.
"Blimey! Er I mean, thank you, that's very generous of you."
"You're quite welcome, thank you, for all your help." She linked arms with Jack and pulled her father along and out of the station.
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Cranston showed the cheque to Crosby who whistled.
"One hundred quid," he ran his finger over the now dry ink, "nice to be appreciated."
His eyes opened even wider and the smile got even broader when the baker from down the street arrived with a tray of cakes.
"From Miss Fisher," he slid the tray onto the counter, "says have a cuppa on her."
It was a very happy selection of Paddington Green's finest that had tea that afternoon, between duties.
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As she came out of the baker's having placed the order for cakes for the station she shrugged at Jack's broad grin.
"Well, without access to Dot and Mr B ..."
"Of course," he offered her his arm, and together with her father they headed back to the hotel, to freshen up before dinner.
Henry was subdued, he realised Phryne had got him out of quite a pickle, though if Margaret hadn't reported the paintings stolen he would have got away with it. He wondered how she had achieved it.
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"Right, father," she unlocked his room door, "have a bath, make yourself comfortable, you can ring down for tea, if you wish," she pushed the door open, "we shall call for you at six thirty, for dinner."
"Right," he stepped in, wondering how spartan his accommodation was to be this time and found himself pleasantly surprised. The room was spacious, dominated by a comfortable looking double bed. There was a small book case with various texts to suit the majority of tastes, a bedside cabinet with lamp and clock. There were two easy chairs and a small table between them. The windows looked out onto the street and there was a screen hiding a bathroom area. Phryne hadn't wanted him whining about substandard rooms, or being confined to a miserable little cubby hole, she would have to endure his company at dinner and on the train journey to the estate.
"Very pleasant," he muttered, "so, just tea?" his eyebrows rose in hope.
"Just tea," she nodded, daring him to suggest perhaps some bubbly, just to celebrate his release.
"Right, lovely," he stepped further in and heard the door close, but not lock.
A bath would be just the thing, he thought. The facilities in the cells were limited to say the least. Mindful of the fact that Phryne had said he could ring down for tea, and that she was picking up the bill he supposed he'd better not try to order anything else, so he did just that and went to run his bath. While the water flowed into the tub he went to open his suitcase and find his dinner suit. It was creased with having been in the case for rather a long time, and his dress shirt definitely needed starching and ironing. He left them on the bed and decided he would ask whoever delivered his tea to have his clothes seen to.
The young man who was tasked with seeing to the Baron had been handsomely rewarded by Miss Fisher, knowing her father would not have anything to tip him with. He brought him tea and scones, and took away the dinner suit and shirt to be brushed and pressed ready for dinner.
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Phryne flopped onto the couch and flung her arms wide. Jack laughed and sat next to her, taking her hand and lacing his fingers through hers, he pulled it round his neck. He kissed it and tugged her over close, so her head was resting on his shoulder.
"He's incorrigible," she huffed, "fancy expecting champagne, as if!" Her eyebrows shot up under her fringe.
"Bread and water for dinner?" he asked kissing the crown of her head.
"Don't tempt me," she laughed.
"Can I tempt you to a soak and a back rub?" he loosened his tie.
"Oh yes, that sounds divine," she shifted and looked at him, he really could read her like a book.
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She leant forward as Jack reached into the bath and wiped the sponge over her shoulders and down her spine, then up again and across the shoulders, drawing circles with just the right amount of pressure. She hummed her appreciation, "that's nice," she closed her eyes and dropped her head down. He leant down and placed a light kiss on the nape of her neck. She sighed. When he made such tender offerings, she felt she could melt into him and never move again. She had never expected, nor wanted, a man to make her feel safe, she was strong enough, she thought, had always thought she didn't need a male presence in her life to make her feel complete, and up to now she hadn't. Rene would never have washed her so gently in the bath, or even bathed with her, other lovers, well she led them to her bed where they performed, for the most part, slept for as long as she wanted them in the bed with her, and left. Some came back for more, lasted longer than the one night, but none had been with her for as long as Jack; except for Rene, and she didn't count him, not anymore. That was the past, this looked like it might be the future. She felt him step into the bath in front of her and looked up, almost sleepily.
"Hullo, Jack," she murmured.
"Hello, Miss Fisher," he leant forward and trickled water down over her breasts. She smiled and clasped his hand with her own, "my turn," she whispered and took the sponge from him.
She knelt up and soaped the sponge, and started to wash him, from his shoulders, across the broad expanse of his chest down his stomach then down each leg, before moving back up and dropping the sponge to take him in hand and stroke his hardness, feeling him shudder as he tried to keep control. She felt his hands slide up her sides and under her arms, she became almost weightless as he lifted her up over him.
"Oh Jack," she sighed, bending her head to meet his lips in a glorious heady kiss, their tongues inventing their own dance to some music heard only in their heads. He enticed her, teased her, holding her just above his tip, until she wriggled dangerously against him and he lowered her, allowing her to guide him in and move in a sensuous rhythm until they released together, her arching back and gasping out his name flooding him with a warmth he had never known. He smiled and let her lie over him, softly pouring handfuls of water over her back.
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Jack fastened the necklace he had bought her in Colombo round her neck and kissed her just below her hair. She shivered, but controlled herself, they had to go to dinner - with her father. She turned and adjusted his bow tie, and pressed her forehead against his chest.
Cases they had had in Melbourne, murderers they had brought to book had not drained her as much as this. As the 'child' of the family she should have been the one turning to her parents for support, but it would seem in the Fisher family it was the other way round. Sadly, Jack knew what the Honourable Phryne Fisher, Lady Detective needed was a nice juicy murder.
"Come on, love," he kissed the top of her head, "let's go and dine. I'll see what I can do to entertain you later."
"Now," she smiled up at him, "that should be interesting."
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They knocked on Lord Fisher's door and waited for him to answer. He stood there, his tie slightly askew, not quite tied and smiled.
"Phryne, Jack!" he smiled grandly, "dinnertime already?"
"You know quite well it is, father." she huffed and reached up to right his tie, "I said six thirty and six thirty it is, time for dinner."
"Marvellous," he rubbed his hands together, "I'm starved."
She rolled her eyes and stepped to one side, next to Jack, to allow him to leave the room.
"Er," Henry patted his jacket, "my key."
Phryne held it up, closed and locked the door, and handed it to Jack, who slipped it into his trouser pocket.
"Ri i ight," Henry rumbled.
Jack had suggested they lock the Baron in his room, after dinner, he had plans, he said, and it necessitated the assurance that they wouldn't be called out to extricate him from some 'situation'.
Phryne was intrigued, but kept her excitement to herself.
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"So, Phryne, dear child," Henry took a bite of his smoked salmon, "what is happening with the paintings?"
"I came to an arrangement with Hunter Tockington," she sipped her wine, a light Sauvignon Blanc, "mutually agreeable."
Henry's eyebrows shot up and a smile spread across his face.
Phryne knew quite well what he thought that meant, in spite of the fact that her lover was sitting with them.
"He was most generous," Jack added, "delighted with Phryne's suggestion."
"Now," Phryne didn't want to widen the subject any further and turned the subject to the following day's travel arrangements. "We shall take the train to Somerton tomorrow, home to mother and see what is to be done with the house."
"The house?" Henry gasped, "what do you mean?"
Jack put his hand on her arm, "not now, Miss Fisher," he muttered, "perhaps when we get to the estate. Your mother should be included in the conversation."
"Of course, Jack," she turned and smiled, "she should."
"Phryne ..." Henry positively whined.
"All will become clear, father," she nodded as the waiter took away her plate. The duck had been delicious but her appetite wasn't quite up to it. She declined dessert in favour of coffee, Jack thought perhaps a light supper, later.
They escorted Henry back to his room, bade him goodnight and, when the door was closed, Phryne locked it.
"You need your coat, Miss Fisher," Jack smiled as he returned the key to his pocket.
"Do I?"
"You do."
"Oh ... right."
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"Cambridge Theatre, please," Jack instructed the taxi driver.
"The theatre, Jack," she turned to him a grinned, now much brighter.
"Exactly, Phryne, the theatre," he nodded and handed her into the vehicle.
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The Revue was quite wonderful, Miss Beatrice Lillie was absolutely hilarious and had Phryne in stitches, which made Jack laugh even more, and even when they were leaving the theatre Phryne was still giggling.
"Oh Jack," she tried to catch her breath, "that was wonderful, thank you so much."
"I thought you needed something to cheer you up, and" he hailed a taxi, "as I can't conjure up a nice juicy murder for you ..."
"Don't be naughty, Jack dear," she snuggled close to him in the car, "you have cheered me up immensely, you shall have your reward." She kissed his cheek, and then pulled his face round so she could kiss him properly, and he her.
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She woke and stretched, running her toes down the legs, attached to the body of the man in the bed with her. Jack had ravished her thoroughly once they had closed the door of the suite the previous night. She looked over to the floor to see a trail of clothing starting at the door and ending at the couch. She remembered him lifting her up, bodily, and throwing her over his shoulder, firey style, patting her bottom as he carried her to the bed, where he unceremoniously dumped her. She had alternated between giggling and groaning as he both tickled her and kissed various parts of her person, bringing her to release time and time again, with his fingers, his tongue and his manhood until they both lay breathless with just the sheet draped over them. She thought she would need a week to recover!
Jack thought he'd leave her to bathe alone, even if she had sashayed wearing only her birthday suit to the bathroom. Tempting though it was, they did have to have breakfast, and he was hungry - all thoughts of a late light supper had left his mind when they got back to their suite after the theatre.
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Phryne stepped out of the bath and wrapped herself in a large fluffy towel. As she had drawn the sponge over herself she had noticed more marks, all over her body, than she had even had before. Wherever Jack had laid his lips he seemed to have left a reminder. None of them hurt but all would have to be covered, thank heavens it was winter, she could wear high necks and definitely black stockings, or trousers ... yes trousers, perfect for travelling in.
"Bathroom's all yours," she smiled as she headed back into the bedroom in a cloud of jasmine scented steam.
He slipped out of bed and she grinned, he seemed to have just as many marks on him. He grabbed his robe and patted her bottom as he passed her.
"What was it Lady Caroline Lamb said about Byron?" he teased, "mad, bad and dangerous to know? Could be applied to you, Miss Fisher."
She dropped the towel, "you're just as bad, Inspector," she grabbed his arm and pulled him close for a quick kiss. As she turned her back he noticed two marks on her lovely buttocks.
"Don't remember these two," he traced his fingers over them, eliciting a shiver from her.
"There was no one else in the bed, Jack," she controlled her breathing, "now, off you go and ablute, or we'll never leave."
"No problem with that," he laughed, squeezed her bum and stepped into the bathroom, to, as she said, ablute.
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Jack did a final check of the suite, for any discarded stockings, items of ladies underwear, and, finding none offered his arm to Phryne and they headed to collect her father from his room. Their suitcases were in the foyer of the hotel, the bill had been paid and a taxi had been called for, to take them to Paddington station and Somerton.
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The found a non-smoking compartment, Henry's cigars were not to be endured on a four hour train journey, and settled in. Henry had his newspaper, which Phryne hoped would send him to sleep, she and Jack had books, but she was sure they would talk, quietly, and watch the countryside go by.
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Henry's newspaper slid to the floor as he dozed off and his head came to rest against the window by the door. Phryne picked it up to see what he had been studying so intently - the racing page! She rolled her eyes and showed it to Jack.
"Any of them Lord Tockington's?" he asked, remembering what she had told him about the stables.
"Not that I can see," she looked down the list, "nope. And I do not intend to tell him that he would be better betting on those. I would like him to stop, altogether, but I'm not sure he can."
"An addiction?" Jack queried.
"Aha," she nodded, "he's always bet on the horses, and cards, 'one day', he used to say, 'one day I'll have the big win'."
"Don't they all say that?" he asked, folding the paper and tucking it down between himself and the wall.
"I expect so," she shrugged, "but it will never happen."
"I wonder if that was why he wanted you to marry Hunter, inside information on the horses, as well as his wealth," Jack mused, reaching over and tugging her to sit next to him.
"Well, he's going to be sorry, isn't he?" she let him put his arm round her and nestled against him. "I wonder if he and Enid have set a date yet."
"Want to go?"
"It would be rude not to, if we are invited," she sighed.
"Mm," he agreed.
"Jack," she shifted and looked up at him, "it occurs to me that you are taking a long time getting father's case sorted. I mean, how much time are you allowed?"
"As long as it takes, and it isn't sorted until you and your mother are taken care of," he gave her a little hug, "the estate sorted and neither of you are left in financial difficulties, least, that 's the way I see it."
"Oh ... oh," she brightened, "you mean, if mother still wants to press charges, even though I haven't and they are my pictures, you would have to stay and see it through."
"Something like that," he smiled gently and winked.
"You are such a thorough man, Inspector," she grinned.
"I aim to give satisfaction, Miss Fisher."
She giggled behind her hand, hoping her father wouldn't wake and want to know what was so funny. Satisfaction, indeed!
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Henry stirred, Phryne pulled away from Jack and wiped her lipstick off his mouth. He ducked his head and took out his handkerchief to finish the job. Phryne took her lipstick and compact from her handbag and quickly repaired the damage.
"Mouth's as dry as a dead ..."
"Father!"
"Er, sorry, could do with a cuppa," he had the good grace to blush a little.
"Perhaps we should stretch our legs," Jack drew in a breath, "as far as the buffet car."
"Splendid idea, Jack," Phryne agreed, "I wouldn't mind a cup of tea, perhaps something to eat."
"Hm," he mused, "I know what you get back home, on the train ..."
"It'll fill a hole," she stood up, "father?"
"Right, yes, lovely idea," he stood and straightened his jacket.
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The tea was strong, almost stewed, but hot; the sandwiches, ham or egg, were solid and sustaining, and a little dry - as Phryne had observed - it would fill a hole. She hoped her mother hadn't got rid of Cookie, she would need a good dinner after travelling most of the day.
Jack had to admit, to himself, that he had become used to a certain standard of sustenance during the day, in the station, courtesy of Mr Butler and Dorothy, but perhaps he should be reminded, that they were not at his beck and call, that he may have to make use of the pie cart, occasionally.
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They returned to their compartment, via the facilities, and settled down to their reading material. Jack swapped his book for Henry's paper and Phryne settled back to her DH Lawrence.
"Looking forward to getting home, Lord Fisher?" Jack mused over the top of the newspaper, where he was reading the review from last night's revue at the Cambridge. The reviewer didn't seem to have seen the same show he and Phryne had seen.
"Hm?" Henry looked up from his book, "oh, yes. It'll be lovely to see Margaret, missed her."
Phryne raised an eyebrow, her mother was supposed to be the love of his life. She decided against making a comment - it would only descend into an argument.
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"Phryne," Jack murmured and tapped her knee, "we're here. Time to wakey wakey."
"Hm? Wha ...?" she blinked and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, why did she drool when she was asleep, it was so ... so inelegant.
"Somerton," he smiled, "time to go home, love."
Henry turned sharply as he heard the term of endearment. He knew they were close, but what about the understanding with Tockington?... he would never understand her. He shook his head and stood up, reaching for his suitcase.
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The rest of the luggage was unloaded from the guard's van.
"Hope she's sent the car," Henry grumbled. But he was disappointed. Phryne, however, was overjoyed and ran to the horse and cart.
"Joe!" she flung her arms round the horse's neck, who took the embrace in his stride. "God, are you still going?"
"Miss," the driver nodded, "old and slow, but still here."
"Hello, Toms," she grinned up at him, "you well?"
"All the better for seeing you, Miss Phryne," he tipped his hat.
"Charmer," she teased, "right, luggage, and then we shall squeeze in." She turned to her travelling companions, "Father! Jack!" she waved them over. The porter followed, dutifully, with the suitcases, and Phryne's trunk.
Henry sighed, and clambered aboard the cart, huffing about it.
"Toms," she indicated Jack, standing next to her, "this is Inspector Jack Robinson, a special friend of mine."
"Sir," Toms nodded, "glad to have you with us."
"Nice to meet you, Toms?"
"And you, sir," he grinned. "Right, Miss, up you get."
Phryne put her foot on the step and set herself in the cart, followed by Jack. Henry grimaced.
"Cheer up, father," she cried, gleefully, "you could walk behind?" She laughed, a joyful expression of her love of life. Her father set himself as comfortable as he could. He knew Margaret had sent the cart because Phryne would like it, not because she was welcoming her husband home. She had always indulged Phryne, especially after Janey ...
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Phryne pointed out places of interest to Jack, and trees she had climbed as they made their way through the village.
"That's the baker's," she pointed to a pretty little cottage like place, with gingham curtains at the window, "they used to do the most marvellous teacakes."
"Perhaps we'll get the chance to see if they still do," Jack suggested quietly.
She smiled and held on to his bicep, "do you ride, Jack?"
"Only bicycles, I'm afraid," he pursed his lips, he had a feeling that by the time he left England he would at least be able to stay on a horse.
"I'll find something old and slow for you," she wriggled closer, "perhaps we should saddle up Joe, I used to ride him."
He decided against arguing, it would do no good, he would bear it all with his customary fortitude.
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Toms took the cart up to the front of the house and Jack could at last see what Phryne meant about it being perfect as a hotel. It was a three storey Regency style building with a square portico set in the centre, leading to a strong oak door. As they stopped the door opened to reveal a woman, slim and elegant, immaculately dressed in a navy blue wool dress, mid calf length, nipped in at the waist with a narrow belt. The collar was long, the points reaching almost to the belt from the high round neck line. Her black hair, streaked with white, was drawn into an elegant chignon - undeniably Phryne's mother, Lady Margaret Fisher.
Jack helped her down from the cart and stood back as she went to greet her mother.
"Hello mother," she murmured before being enveloped in a warm hug, "I'm home."
"My dear daughter," Lady Margaret pulled back to look at her, "I have missed you. You look well, if a little tired and dusty."
"That can be fixed with a bath and a cocktail," she grinned back, "but ..." she released her hold on her mother and turned, "first ..." she beckoned Jack forward, "let me introduce Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, one of Victoria's finest."
Lady Margaret held out her hand and Jack bowed slightly over it, lifting it to kiss the back, "Lady Margaret," he murmured.
"Inspector Robinson, so nice to meet you at last," she smiled, "Phryne has told me so much about you," her voice was low and musical. She turned to her daughter and whispered, "you didn't tell me how gorgeous he is, darling."
"Hands off mother, he's mine" she muttered back.
"Margaret, my dear," Henry stepped forward, his arms outstretched to his wife, who gave him an icy glare and offered her cheek.
"Henry," she hummed. "Toms," she turned to the groom, "take Lord Henry's suitcase, and his lordship, to the Dower house," she turned back to her husband, "you'll find everything you need there, Henry. I shall see you in the drawing room for pre dinner cocktails."
"Margaret?" he gave her a quizzical look, she just glared back at him.
"Phryne," she put her hand between her shoulder blades, "Inspector, come on, I'll have Dawson take your things to your rooms, Phryne dear, the paintings have been put back, but I'll leave you to decide which ones to hang in your sitting room."
"Thank you, mother," she slipped her hand through her mother's arm on one side and Jack's on the other.
Henry stared after them, scratching his head with one hand and thumbing the brim of his hat with the other. He hadn't really believed it when Phryne had told him that the Dower House would be where he was to stay. Margaret had often threatened but never actually gone through with it.
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"Well," Jack mused as he surveyed the suite and the fact that the maid had put away all their clothes save for his dinner suit, "I think your father has had the rug pulled out from under his feet."
"Mm," she shrugged her jacket off and kicked off her shoes, sitting on the bed and patting the space beside her. "Sit, please," she tipped her head, "tell me what you saw."
"Your mother, is ... er ... sad, disappointed perhaps. I think she is relieved you are here, but not reliant on you."
"Really," she looked at him, "how do you work that out?"
"The way she greeted you," he closed his eyes and recalled the scene, "she is happy to see you but knows you won't be staying." He opened his eyes and looked at her, "will you?"
"No," she assured him, "I love her, of course I do, but home is Melbourne, Wardlow, and my odd little family there."
"Right," he went back to his musings, "she didn't find it difficult sending your father to the Dower house, she really is angry with him, a cold anger - is that usual?"
"Not what I remember," she took his hand and laced her fingers through his, "more, screaming matches, how he had taken some of the housekeeping to fund a card game, when we were in Collingwood. How she fed us sometimes I don't think I want to know."
"So, how do you want to handle things?"
"Shall we just see what happens at dinner, tomorrow we can talk about the estate."
"I shall follow your lead, Phryne, it's really nothing to do with me," he lifted her hand and kissed it. "Now, that train was not exactly clean, so ..."
"Through there," she pointed to a door set in an alcove, "my private bathroom."
"I'll start it running then, shall I?" he grinned wickedly.
"Alright," she nudged him with her shoulder, "wicked man."
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After a long, if not particularly restful bath, Phryne suggested he sit in her sitting room while she dressed.
"Not that I'm bothered, Jack," she smiled and walked her fingers up the buttons of his shirt, "but I don't want to scandalise the maid."
He kissed her forehead and said he would see if she had any books that wouldn't shock him.
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He was absorbed in a Hemmingway when Phryne glided through, a vision in black. Her dress appeared to be a strapless under-dress that hugged her slim shape over which was a heavily beaded sleeveless knee length dress that caused the under-dress to flare out to the ground, forming a short train at the back. He stood up quickly, almost dropping the book and took her outstretched hand.
"Exquisite," he breathed, "you look beautiful."
"Thank you, Jack," she smiled, "shall we?"
He offered her his arm and they headed down to cocktails in the drawing room.
"Jack," she pulled him back from the door, "about the idea, to turn the place into a hotel ..."
"I shall leave you to take the lead on that, love," he squeezed her hand, "it's none of my business, but if you need me, just nod."
"Thank you, I appreciate it, your support," she sighed, "he's not going to like it."
"He doesn't have to, it just has to work, or, from what you say, the other option is to sell and find a small house perhaps in the city."
"There is a house, that they use for 'the season' though not much, now," she shrugged, "I think the last time was when I was presented at court, parties, the whole works, god it was tiring."
"The season?" he questioned as she pushed open the drawing room door.
"When everything happens, Ascot, Henley ... I'll tell you about it, later," she preceded him into the drawing room, where a tray of cocktails, whisky and sherry were sitting on a small table next to a chaise longue.
"Evening, mother," Phryne smiled, "father not arrived yet?"
"I've just sent Toms for him, dear," Lady Fisher kissed her cheek, "Inspector," she nodded.
"Good evening, Lady Fisher," he nodded, politely, accepting the whisky Phryne passed to him.
"Now, Phryne," Lady Margaret sat down on the chaise and patted the seat for Phryne to sit next to her, Jack sat opposite, "tell me, before your father gets here, how did you get the paintings back?"
"I gave Hunter some advice on his love life and he chose one of the pictures, the unfinished sketch - the portrait, and he agreed to let me have the others back. He said he only bought them so they wouldn't be 'salivated over by old men who should know better'," Phryne sipped her cocktail and waited for the same reaction she got from her father, but:
"What advice, Phryne?" Margaret gave her a dark look.
"He was unsure about asking Enid to marry him, I told him he should ask because I knew she would accept ... and she did." Phryne sat back with a rather pleased look on her face, "I think father thinks I've agreed to marry him."
"Really, " Lady Fisher rolled her eyes in much the same way as her daughter did, Jack hid his smile in his glass, "he should have accepted by now that you are not the marrying kind."
"You know father," she smirked.
"What does she know, about me?" Henry entered the room in not too good a mood, it seemed to Jack, as he headed straight to the drinks and took a whisky.
"Nothing new, Henry," his wife mused, "we were just discussing Hunter's forthcoming marriage to Enid, Phryne's friend. I think it's wonderful. If I remember the girl correctly, she is just right for him, smart, knows her horses, made a killing last year at Ascot."
"You were there?" Phryne raised her eyebrows.
"Of course, dear, I was invited by Hunter," she frowned, "as I recall, you were away."
Henry looked like a landed codfish, as Dot would say, as he realised he had missed the races, being in Melbourne, annoying Phryne, and got completely the wrong end of the stick when she said she had come to an arrangement with Hunter.
"Ah, yes, of course," he drained his glass and looked for another one, but his search was interrupted by Dawson, the butler, announcing dinner was served.
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Jack escorted Lady Fisher into dinner, Henry offered his arm to Phryne, which she took with a smile, that made him think she had forgiven him, though he still couldn't work out why Jack was still with them, surely he had to get back to Melbourne?
Dinner was superb, much to Phryne's delight, after the railway lunch. They started with a shrimp cocktail that was light and sharp and that was followed by a warming game casserole, with mounds of creamed potatoes and green vegetables. Phryne was obviously delighted, Jack had an idea that her mother had requested certain dishes especially for her, he knew she was particularly fond of mashed potatoes. The game casserole was not something he had had before but he found its flavour deep and rich, the different meats added texture - he detected rabbit, pigeon and one he thought was beef but Phryne told him it was venison. It was served with a robust burgundy - a most satisfying course.
As they ate Margaret brought up the subject of the estate and how she could manage it for the future.
Jack looked at Phryne and waited for her to make a suggestion - that of turning it into a hotel. It was a radical idea, they had both agreed, changes would have to be made, the current staff would have to be retrained, if they wished to remain ...
"Well, mother, father," she savoured a mouthful of the casserole, "I have given it some thought, and, it is too big for two people, but ... it is in a lovely area, has beautiful grounds ... I think it would make a lovely hotel."
Henry blustered, "A hotel!" he took a large mouthful of his wine, "Phryne, really, this is our home!"
Margaret sighed, "Henry, we have nine bedrooms, a coach house and the Dower house, though that is occupied at the moment, carry on, darling," she turned to Phryne who swallowed another mouthful of her dinner.
"As you say, mother," she glared at her father who had opened his mouth to make another objection, "there are nine bedrooms, a nice intimate hotel, you and I could move to the coach house, there is plenty of room, though some work will need to be done ..."
"Quite, dear," Lady Fisher nodded, "the bathroom needs updating ..."
"Perhaps two suites, mother, one for you and one for me," she smiled.
"Costly ..." her mother mused.
"Yes, " Phryne nodded, "but not immediately necessary, is it? Anyway," she waved her fork, "it's a thought, and needs more consideration."
"There will be no consideration of any kind," Henry managed to get an angry word in, "we are not having any Tom, Dick or Harry staying in our home!"
"Father!"
"No!" he stood up and leant across the table, "never!"
Jack jumped.
"Henry, sit down," Margaret uttered a stern, but quiet command, "the estate needs to pay for itself, or we sell."
Henry sat down with a thud, a thundery expression on his face.
Jack had thought that Henry was actually going to strike his daughter and was ready to jump in, remembering her stories of how he treated her as a child. He was impressed she didn't react the way she could do, but she sat there with a look of childlike innocence on her lovely face.
"Now," Margaret hummed, "we shall discuss this properly in the morning, and, Inspector," she smiled at Jack, "I should like your thoughts, as an impartial observer."
"Well, Lady Fisher," Jack shifted in his seat, "I don't know, I mean, I know nothing about running a hotel ..."
"... but I expect you know what you like when you visit one," she tipped her head, "so, I would like you to be there, if you don't mind, that is?"
"No, of course not," he replied, hastily, "it's kind of you to invite me."
"Good," inwardly she as relieved. Phryne and Henry's arguments could get rather heated, and she thought that Jack would be just the right person to prevent any bloodshed.
Dawson chose that moment to remove the plates in readiness for dessert. Henry poured himself the last of the burgundy before the carafe could be taken away, Margaret huffed to herself, Jack felt Phryne's hand slip up his leg. He quickly covered it with his and smirked at her.
"Later," he whispered.
Lady Fisher caught the look and smiled to herself.