Many thanks to all the people who have taken the time to review this fic. To Sousaphone and others who commented positively on the believability of Phryne's reaction to Jack's (pretended) aggression: Dubois probably isn't the only issue. In the show it's hinted (and I believe in the books outright stated) that her father was abusive as well. Phryne would be all too accustomed to violence from men she was close to. She trusts Jack, and to have him suddenly turn threatening, even as an act, would no doubt be extremely unsettling for her.
Frankie Simpson is named for (and inspired by) Inspector Frank Butterman of the movie Hot Fuzz, and the sadistic Midshipman Simpson in the early episodes of Hornblower.
Finally: FoxFireside, there's a little something in this chapter just for you.
He heard her front door close softly behind him as he reached the gate, and took a steadying breath. Was he upset? Yes. Would he recover? Yes. He turned his feelings over in his mind. What upset him the most was the thought that Phryne was upset... and yet, she was only upset because he was upset. So, in order to soothe her feelings he would have to examine, and overcome, his own. Damn.
What had happened? Well, he had treated Phryne appallingly but, he reminded himself, it had all been an act. He could, of course, have left her behind, but she had heard Flora give the address as clearly as he had, and he knew perfectly well that if he had refused to take her with him she would simply have turned up anyway. And that, he knew from experience, would quite possibly have caused far more trouble than simply enlisting her help from the outset. At the same time, he was under no illusions that turning up with a floozy on his arm had bought him a degree of credibility that he could not have obtained in any other way. Not to mention that it was the warning she had received about just how dangerous 'Simpson' was that had given him the opportunity to leave just as the man arrived... which might have been just as well. If even the brief moment when they had passed in the passageway had been enough to rouse the man's suspicions to the point of sending a gunman after them, Jack doubted he could have played cards against him without giving himself away.
And, of course, he was always at his best when he had Phryne Fisher by his side. All in all, he conceded, it really had been better that she was there.
Which brought him to their 'embrace' in the doorway. She had been absolutely correct that their act had been necessary – had quite possibly saved both their lives. And, he thought, between the two of them they had made it thoroughly convincing. A small smile touched his lips as he remembered her fierce snarl at their pursuer. If only his body hadn't betrayed him.
And that, he knew, was the crux of the matter. He wanted her. He wanted her with a need that had been growing progressively more desperate ever since they had met. He was not fool enough to think he could ever have her, at least, not on the only terms he would accept – she was never likely to banish her other lovers from her bed, and, once claimed, he would not consent to sharing her with anyone else – but he was fool enough to wish, to want, in his heart of hearts, exactly that. But it wasn't only her body he wanted. He wanted all of her: her generous heart, her lightning-quick mind, the beautiful soul beside which her physical beauty faded from consideration. And none of those had factored into his mind when he had had her pinned against that door.
His body had responded with simple animal need, and of that he was fiercely ashamed.
But, of course, that was what the male body did, as every boy discovered at some point on his journey to manhood. It took on a life of its own, and expressed its wishes obviously and undeniably at just the most awkward and embarrassing of moments. Phryne Fisher was no blushing virgin. There was no doubt that she would have known exactly what she was feeling – but her words in the doorway had made it clear that there was also no doubt that she did not in any way blame him for it. He was forgiven, and thus could take leave to forgive himself. Taking a deep breath, he tried to do exactly that, and was mildly surprised when it actually seemed to work.
Now the only issue was simple embarrassment over his lack of self-control, and that, he reminded himself sternly, was a result of pride, which was a much greater sin and inevitably came before a fall. If he let his pride over something which was, under the circumstances, so trivial come between him and Miss Fisher then he really would be a fool. No, he could live with the embarrassment if the alternative was living without her.
With all of that finally settled in his mind, he ceased his aimless wandering and turned his step purposefully towards home, and bed, and a good night's sleep.
...
Phryne waited until after lunch before heading for City South Police Station. It wasn't that she was avoiding Jack, she told herself, but he had given her the support of his presence the night before when she knew that he wanted desperately to be almost anywhere else; it was only fair to give him time without her now so that he could come to terms with what had happened. And, yes, she was avoiding Jack.
He was on the phone when she stepped into his office, hoping none of the anxiety she was feeling showed on her face. Once before he had cut her out of his life, and it had hurt more than she had imagined separation from any man possibly could. But to her surprise, when he saw her he gave a brief, welcoming smile and gestured casually for her to take a seat. Knees weak with relief, she complied, waiting quietly for him to finish his phone-call.
"... yes, thank you. That will be fine." He rung off, and looked levelly across the table at her. To her further surprise, she saw almost no trace in his gaze of the previous night's turmoil. There was a slight tension around his eyes, but the shame and crushing guilt were gone.
"Miss Fisher, I was just about to telephone you. The raid is set for 10pm tonight, and I was hoping to take your statement before then. I'd also like a description of your drunk friend from the warehouse."
She tilted her head to one side, suddenly concerned. "Why?"
"He kept us out of what could have been a very tight spot. Of course, if he's scooped up in the raid he'll be charged, but I'd like to see to it that he receives the most favourable treatment possible, in return for his assistance."
She smiled, satisfied. "Thank you." A smile and a nod were his response, and she opened her purse and removed his money. "You left this with me last night." She had considered teasing him over it in some way, but had decided that, under the circumstances, it would be better not to.
To her surprise, he gave her what could only be described as a knowing smile. "Are you sure? You did, after all, keep me company for at least half the night. If I recall the terms of our arrangement correctly, that means it's yours."
To his relief, and hers, she laughed a long, carefree laugh. "Jack! Just when I think I have you figured out."
He chuckled as well, and took the money.
"I do have something else for you though," he told her, reaching into his desk drawer, and she frowned at him enquiringly.
"Oh?"
"Mmm." He slid the single white slip of paper across the table to her. "A ticket to attend 'Antony and Cleopatra' with me at the Fitzroy Amateur Dramatics Society this Friday night." He leaned closer and continued in a confidential tone, "I can't absolutely guarantee an absence of suspicious deaths, but, who knows, perhaps this time we'll be lucky."
