Language note: R.S. & S.I.L.A. stands for Returned Sailors & Soldiers Imperial League of Australia, one of several previous names for what is now known as the R.S.L. (Returned & Services League). A.I.F. is the Australian Imperial Force, a volunteer army (Mr Butler referred to his service in the Series 1 episode 'Murder on the Ballarat Train'.
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Chapter 7
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Jack's past post-coital experience had been similar to that of every other man he knew (as far as they let on, anyway). He would roll out of Rosie's bed (or be nudged out if he wasn't leaving quickly enough for her liking) and grab his pyjamas on the way out of the room, smoke a quick cigarette from his pack on the hall table (Rosie didn't allow smoking in their bedroom, and he really couldn't blame her for that) as he dressed himself, and return to his own sheets to fall quickly into a deep sleep.
His experience with Phryne could not have been any different.
Firstly, he couldn't say that he no longer smoked, because he did. Rosie had never smoked; he knew that Phryne indulged, but he had rarely seen her take one of those gold-tipped gaspers from the silver, monogrammed case in her handbag, at least for her own pleasure, and her reasons for that seemed similar to his. He nearly always carried a pack in his pocket, but it was more to offer to others - friends, colleagues, always a few for Lizard Elsie when he saw her on the street (or in his lockup for that matter). He would occasionally take a drag when he and his father were deep in some discussion; over a few beers; or a sympathetic smoke with a suspect he was trying to draw out. But it just wasn't something he had done regularly since the war. Thankfully, his lungs hadn't been badly damaged by gas - like Phryne's acquaintance Freddie (killed by Mrs Bolkonsky before his own lungs had got the better of him) - but those long years breathing in God-only-knew-what on the battlefields left him coughing and short of breath for days whenever he took a puff.
Secondly, he was in her huge bed, in her house, and she didn't seem to want him to go anywhere...anywhere at all. When their breathing had slowed and he had made a move to slide away from her, she had held tightly to him and whispered huskily "Jack...stay...". If she didn't mind his weight upon her, he couldn't think of any reason to object, so he didn't. They lay there, loosely tangled, nose-to-nose, and soon they were kissing again; softly, very slowly, as they smiled gently at each other, her fingers coming up to trace his jawbone, touch his lips, and lightly rake his hair away from his eyes.
He was feeling... He really couldn't describe how he was feeling.
In all the times that he had imagined the possibility of the two of them 'together', he had somehow always thought, in his lovelorn way, that it would be he voicing aloud his love for her, unrequited. The fact that she had been the one to express it, while he had managed, well, sweet-*F*-all, left him feeling at the same time both gratified that this was truly not just about the sex for her, and slightly (only slightly) dismayed that he hadn't come up with the goods. Heh heh, he'd certainly come up with something that she'd enjoyed...
And she HAD enjoyed it. He wondered why he had ever been worried at all, then internally snorted at himself - of course he had been worried, with good reason. If sexual experience was an education, Phryne had enlightened herself to university and beyond, while he was left feeling like a small boy in short trousers on his first day of school. Or, after what had just happened, maybe his second... Yes, he was still nervous; perhaps he always would be around her. But she had so far proven herself to be understanding, patient, ready to step in without him realising he needed her to, but without pushing his boundaries too far. And she loved him. SHE. LOVED. HIM. It was astonishing.
It wasn't the only astonishing thing right now. Jack was no longer in his youth, but neither was he in his dotage, so he shouldn't have been surprised that now, with her warm body beneath him, he was stirring again...but he was surprised. No, actually they weren't just stirrings in his loins, but an urgent, aching need to be joined with her again.
Phryne wasn't surprised; she expected it, even. In his years with Rosie, even in their earliest days of marriage, they had NEVER come together more than once in one night. It simply wasn't done. Or was it? He wondered if his mates had been holding out on him all these years...sex wasn't something that was usually discussed, as such, but a nudge and a wink that told you the reason a fellow was in a good mood were not uncommon. Thommo was always happy to let everyone know if he'd thrown a leg over the night before; he definitely would have said something if he had managed it more than once.
... Anyway, the sounds that accompanied the squirming form beneath him told him that right now was a time for actions, not thoughts. This time when he entered her, it was without hesitation, and he paused only to catch his breath before they found a rhythm together.
That first time, he had held her tightly against him in desperation. Now he pushed himself away from her to rest above, leaning on his left elbow and bracing himself with his right hand, her hands reaching out to push lightly against his chest. He bent his head to look between them, and the sight of his gingery-brown curls tangled with her darker ones had him growling low in his throat, before returning to capture her in a piercing gaze. He watched her intensely for a while as her voice became more desperate, the fingers of her left hand now twisted in the quilt cover. He was tiring, his arms trembling, and he lowered himself onto both his elbows. But his right hand he laced through her left, pushing it into the bed as she arched back. This time he was the one to say it as he watched the tremors pass through her; and again, "I love you", as he followed her over the edge.
Upon coming back to their senses, and after a few sweet kisses, they crawled beneath the covers, and after turning off the lamps, she drew his arm around her, and they fell promptly into sleep, her head nestled beneath his chin.
When he woke, strangely, he had immediately known exactly where he was. There was none of the usual feeling of displacement that accompanies sleeping in unfamiliar surroundings. He heard her soft, even breathing beside him; she was still sleeping. It was dark in the room, but years of shift work had attuned him to the 'feeling' of time, and he knew that it was mid-morning; the latest he could remember having slept, on his day off, for a long time. It was Sunday, and he was thankful that he didn't have anywhere else to be. He needed to use the toilet that he knew was attached to her bathroom en-suite, but he didn't want to wake her. He lifted the covers as gently as he could. Barely breathing, first one, then the other, foot found the carpet, and he slid out and up with the grace of a big cat, and padded silently (but quickly; it was cold!) through to those utilitarian rooms.
Or so he thought, until his fumbling fingers found the lightswitch, having managed to silently close the bathroom door. Even when Phryne had described her fittings to him, he had never imagined that such a practical room could be...luxurious beyond belief. It was glassy, and shiny; but it was uplifting, not harsh as might have been expected. The glistening gold dolphin taps were actually...rather more tasteful than he had supposed from their description. And as for the bath... Phryne had spoken of it excitedly for weeks prior to her renovation, and had been very pleased with it once in situ. Little wonder. He could not deny that it was magnificent - a single piece of malachite carved into a large, deep tub. He wondered how many times over his annual salary would have to be multiplied for the purchase of that one item. He also wondered how on earth it had been manoeuvred up to the second storey, and into its place.
Mind still boggling, he slid quickly back between the warm sheets, and turned to face her as his eyes became accustomed to the dim light. She was stomach-down and slightly turned, the right side of her face hidden in the pillow. Her left arm was bent, the hand gripping the top corner of the pillow, skewiff beneath her. Her hair was what he could only describe as fluffed out around her head. Again, adorable. She stirred a little, and seemed to sense him watching her; barely above a whisper she mouthed "Jack...", then she reached out and pulled his arm towards her, cradling it to her chest as a child might a doll, before drifting off again.
His thoughts returned to those of last night as he watched her sleep.
He wondered now if women talked together about sex. He couldn't imagine Rosie broaching the topic, even (or especially?) with her sister...but perhaps she had. He could certainly imagine Phryne and Mac having a tête-à-tête over a few cocktails...actually he didn't want to think about that. But Phryne had promised him solemnly that she wouldn't speak about what passed between them. Probably only in specific terms though. Generally was probably fair game... Hypothetically, if he were plied with drink tonight it would probably be all he could do to stop himself from spilling his guts - he was going to have to avoid the lads, at least temporarily.
But it was only a matter of time. His absence from the R.S. & S.I.L.A. clubrooms would only go unnoticed for so long. And they would know that something was up. They would take one look at his face and they would know exactly what that thing was. Males weren't exactly known for their intuition, but this was their (supposed) area of expertise. And then he would be subjected to an interrogation of the worst sort... He hadn't mentioned Phryne there since he had thought she was just another spoiled dilettante looking for a way to waste some (of his) time...he wasn't looking forward to it... But when they met her, surely they would understand. IF they met her.
In spite of her declarations, he still wondered exactly how seriously she was going to take this relationship. He had resigned himself to taking each day with her as it came, in the hope that it would continue on indefinitely. It was the compromise he was willing to make to be with her. But did that mean that he was ready to have her mingle with his nearest and dearest? To become involved in every aspect of his life, potentially to crush him later? He didn't know. On the one hand he wanted to keep his involvement with her separate from everything else, until he knew better where they were headed. On the other hand, he wanted to dance around and wag his tail like a dog that has dug up a tasty bone 'Look at me! Look what I have! Aren't I clever!' ...although that would probably lead to 'Grrr... Stay away! It's mine...'
His thoughts were interrupted by a light rap at the bedroom door, followed by Mr Butler's voice "Miss Fisher...I wonder if perhaps you'd like the fire lit?" Phryne didn't open her eyes, but yelled out "YES...thank you, Mr B", before squeezing his hand, which he took as a signal not to panic at the man's imminent entrance. He closed his eyes and tried NOT to think of their clothing strewn across the room; then decided that Mr Butler had in all likelihood seen much worse over his eminent career (if not in this very room; another thought to escape from as soon as possible), and relaxed to find Phryne's smiling face only inches from his as the curtains were partially drawn.
He had long been aware that Mr Butler did not attend church on Sundays - he was a non-believer since the loss of his beloved wife, which was perfectly understandable in Jack's eyes. Regardless, he didn't HAVE to work. Miss Fisher was a fair employer who would never require a seven day week of him; but after a life of service he felt it his duty (and in her case a pleasure) to attend to her needs as they arose, on the understanding that he would simply let her know when he had needs of his own. He had his card nights with the other domestics of his acquaintance, he regularly met with his A.I.F. fellows, and his annual leave always saw him going to stay with his daughter and her family. He was (very) handsomely paid, even for a butler of his distinguished service, and he could do as he pleased, and still spoil his favourite girls.
Fire lit and burning brightly, Mr Butler turned his attention to the scattered garments, picking each item up and draping it over his arm. "Dorothy and Hugh are going to the pictures after church. She said they'll meet Jane at the tram stop this afternoon, and they'll all come back together. She also mentioned she'll be bringing one of her mother's fruit cakes." He smiled at Phryne's "Fabulous!"
Finishing, he turned and swept an enquiring glance at them both, "Breakfast in 20 minutes?"
Phryne turned a salacious smile on Jack, drew very close to him, and without looking back at Mr Butler said "Better make it half an hour..."
"Very good, Miss." He retrieved a pale silky robe from a hook on the back of the door and draped it across the corner of the bed. Then he left them to...whatever it was that his mistress was planning to do with (to?) the poor (lucky!) Inspector...taking all of their clothes with him.
ALL of their clothes. Jack opened and closed his mouth and Phryne looked at him teasingly. "Don't worry Jack, it's not like he's going to burn them...I'll find you something to wear...but first..." she looked at him wolfishly, before sealing her mouth to his as she slid her hand between his legs and found exactly what she had hoped for...
Mr Butler had returned, as promised, in thirty minutes, to deposit the first of two piled breakfast trays, and a large covered dish and teapot that went onto the mantle. By this time, Phryne had retrieved the robe from the floor, attended to her toilette, and ventured out to a spare bedroom in search of supplies; a rather nice wooden handled shaving kit, and a pair of new, striped pyjamas in a loose, generically sized style. Silk. "Of course! I want all my guests to feel at home!" Because Jack always wore silk pyjamas at home. Not. He didn't care to think about why she might just happen to have these things on hand. She read his mind "I have so many unexpected guests and you never know when these things might be needed. Lost luggage, rain storms, illness... and besides..." and she leaned down and kissed his nose, "I've been expecting you!" and she winked as his face reddened slightly.
As he dressed she swapped her robe for a slinky nightdress that wouldn't drag in her food; "I learned long ago that naked breasts and hot breakfasts do not go well together!"
That breakfast was a veritable feast, which was just as well, because all of the...activity... had left Jack staaaarving. As he helped himself to a second serve of eggs from the warm dish on the mantel, he asked her if she ate like this every day; he had breakfasted with her before over casework, but always in the dining room, and eating a full cooked breakfast in bed was entirely new to him.
"Well, perhaps not every day..." a slightly snobbish tone crept into her voice "but I could if I wanted to..." She was waving a piece of toast as she spoke, "Sometimes I have 'the lot', sometimes croissants and coffee, sometimes just a hot bun with jam and some fresh fruit. It all depends on how I'm feeling on the day... Well, on how Mr Butler psychically divines my feelings on the day!" she grinned. "I think that Mr B made the kedgeree just to spoil you...but if YOU want that every day, then you can have it every day."
Every day. She was expecting him to be here every day. That was interesting.
Once again, she seemed to be the one with psychic inclination. "I mean...not that you have to be here every day..." she was twisting her serviette nervously, "if it's not what you want...it's just...I thought... Aaargh! This is ridiculous! See what you've done to me!" Now she was babbling distractedly, waving her hands and speaking through him almost as if he wasn't there, but some figment of her imagination. "One night and I've gone soft! Lost the plot COMPLETELY! Been happy all alone for all this time, and suddenly I can't LIVE without a man! I'm practically BEGGING him to MOVE IN!" Finally she spat "What next? Should I start picking out china?", before he reached out and stilled her hands, and turned a little awkwardly beneath his tray to face her fully.
He rubbed his thumb across the hand he held (it was trembling!) and searched her wild eyes. "Phryne...relax..." She calmed and looked at him sheepishly. He swallowed, but then she looked a little scared, so he gave her a reassuring smile. "I..." No, that wasn't it; as usual she had suddenly accelerated to breakneck speed and, being Phryne, he was unsure whether she had actually considered the consequences at all. This kind of commitment from her was all he'd ever dreamed of, but the last thing he wanted was to crash and burn at the first turn. He started again. "You're such a free spirit that I honestly never thought that you would want that...and certainly not so soon. But if it IS what you want, then I'm happy to give it a try...but perhaps you ought to give it a little thought when I'm not here. Maybe we can give it a week, and then you can ask me if you think you really want that."
She brightened, only to sigh. "In truth, it's always made me a little cross when...someone...overstays their welcome. I've always enjoyed my freedom, and being able to do what I want, when I want. But you can't overstay when what I want is YOU, HERE, can you?" She looked at him earnestly. "I realise it's a lot to ask... I've never exactly...co-habitated before. Even with Rene; I had my rooms, and he had his in a neighbouring quarter. He was only with me when he...wanted something. I know that I'm not an easy person to live with... You might spend a week in my home only to realise that you can't possibly live with me! I'll make you crazy!... I'll DEFINITELY make you angry... But I want to try... Will you let me try?" She rushed on before he could answer, "If you want your own room, you can have that first spare room opposite... We can change the furniture... If you don't like the wallpaper I'll...mmphhh!"
He had put a stop to the onslaught of words the only surefire way he knew how. Their tongues tangled violently, and he heard crockery and cutlery sliding from their trays, but neither of them cared. The kiss continued fiercely for a moment, before he released her gently, and bent his head to press his forehead to hers. She smiled up at him beatifically, and took him by the lapels of his pyjamas. "You're right, I'm getting ahead of myself. I just want you to be happy. And making you happy makes me happy." She closed her eyes and breathed a few calming breaths. "A week you said." He nodded, so she went on "Yes. One week to think about it. But I'm sure I won't change my mind."
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