Chapter 10: Blueberries

Mr. Butler didn't say a word, when the Inspector arrived in the kitchen humming under his breath. He dipped the newspaper however, just far enough to greet the Inspector with stoic politeness, without revealing his barely concealed grin. Jack refused the offer to be served breakfast and instead poured himself a cup of coffee, then threw two pieces of toast in the wondrous machine that had little to do with how bread had been toasted in his house.

"You slept well, I trust, Sir?" Asked Mr. Butler's newspaper.

"Very well, thank you."

Without offering any more information than strictly needed, the Inspector sat down, buttering his toast with flourish. A less keen observer might have wondered how, with a killer on the loose and his ex-wife in his lover's house, he could be in such a good mood. But Mr. Butler had been in his profession for many years. That and he had discreetly closed the door to the rooftop on getting up, as to not let other people disturb his Mistress in her recreational activities. He could imagine that particularly Mrs. Fletcher would not have liked to be witness of it, but he also wasn't sure how familiar Dorothy was with the width of variety in marital duties just yet. And there was no point in overwhelming her.

Completely unaware of the butler's thoughts, Jack took a sip of his coffee. He was indeed in the best of moods and not only because of his morning delight with Phryne. In fact, watching the butter melt into the golden bread he struggled not to slip into daydreams. But their shared sunrise had one thing driven home: He was not alone anymore. Yes, there was an insane murderer running around out there and he might not be able to stop him before he killed again. But Phryne Fisher would be by his side along the way and they would figure it out together. Even if he might never be able to convince her to accept the ring he had shoved into his nightstand, she was actually sharing his life, walking the path with him. And that was really all he had wanted to achieve by presenting her with his heart in form of a black diamond that sparkled silently in its hiding place upstairs.

A kiss brushed to his neck as Phryne swept past him, leaving a hint of her perfume behind, almost distracted him from the fact that she also liked to share other things with him. Preferably his breakfast.

"Miss Fisher, I would actually enjoy occasionally getting to eat the toast I butter."

Jack wasn't even trying to hide the humour in his voice, as he watched her take a hearty bite of his breakfast, leaning against the kitchen counter. The warmth spreading in his chest rendered all and every attempt at anger futile.

"In that case you should consider buttering more, Jack." She said, her eyes sparkling, as she fished for his second piece. He had seen it coming however and snatched it up before her fingers could reach it, taking a demonstrative bite with a smirk. Her red lips twisted into a cheeky smile, as she plotted something that would for sure get him into trouble.

"Good morning." A voice that sounded pale and tired cut between their teasing. The woman it belonged to looked just that. Jack sensed his mood snap like an overstretched rubber band, feeling suddenly guilty for having almost forgotten their house guest and the terrible loss she had suffered. Turning his head was a mistake however, as a piece of bread was plucked from his fingers with little ceremony. He had enough humour left to shoot Phryne a look that promised payment for her cheek later. Then he returned his attention to his former wife, making sure his voice sounded appropriately serious.

"Good morning, Rosie. How are you feeling?"

"The way you feel when your husband has been shot, I suppose."

Rosie tried a weak smile, as three pairs of eyes fixed on her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't sleep well and have a bit of a headache."

Phryne swallowed another bite of Jack's toast.

"Mr. Butler, would you please fetch our guest a powder and a glass of water?"

"Certainly, Miss."

Rosie opened her mouth as if to protest, then looked at Miss Fisher and shut it again. Their eyes locked for a moment, sharing quiet understanding and forging a peace treaty in the progress. It was threatened immediately when Mr. Butler returned with the required medicine and Rosie chose, possibly purely out of old habit, to sit down beside her former husband to drink it.

"Would you like to eat something?" Jack asked, eager to get off his chair that seemed to burn under Miss Fisher's glare. But Rosie shook her head in silence, while swallowing the bitter liquid.

Jack sat back, bringing his own cup to his lips in an effort to drain it and find an excuse to leave for his office. He breathed a sigh of relief, when there was a knock at the door.

"Please." He waved off Mr. Butler, who had just sat back down for his own toast. "I was finished anyway."

That was a blatant lie, but nevertheless he was glad to escape. Phryne looked after him in worried confusion, when she realised that he had not had breakfast after all.

Jack's relief wore out the very second, he ripped the door open and looked into a pair of sharp blue eyes under a set of red hair.

"So they make you open the door now, do they?" Doctor MacMillan asked, before he could get a word in and pushed past him.

"Good morning to you too, Mac." Inspector Robinson sighed, letting the door fall shut behind her.

"I actually came here to talk to Phryne, but since we are so cosy right now, I'll have a quick chat with you, Jack."

Without protest, the Inspector was pulled into the parlour, where he was disposed of in one of the armchairs, while the doctor wandered the room like a locked up wildcat.

"Amber tells me, you have given up on proposing. Are you mad?"

A sarcastic smirk appeared on DI Robinson's features.

"Not that I am aware of, doctor."

His calmness didn't seem to meet Mac's approval.

"Be serious, Jack! It's a proposal! You cannot just retreat from it like a coward."

He rose, hanging on to his composure by the skin of his teeth.

"I cannot retreat from something that has not happened yet. And if you don't mind, I have no intention whatsoever of causing Phryne pain by pushing her into something she fears."

While talking he had stepped closer to the doctor, pulling himself to his full height. To his utter exasperation, she did not seem threatened in the slightest, but sparkled back at him angrily.

"I wouldn't have taken you for such a fool, Jack."

He opened his mouth, unable to comprehend her meaning, but an explanation to this failed to be formed into words, as the subject of their conversation chose just this moment to sweep through the door.

"Mac! What brings you here?"

Miss Fisher glanced for a moment in confusion at the silent standoff she had interrupted, before Jack took a step backwards and said stiffly: "I believe, the doctor wanted to talk to you. I will get ready for work."

Mac rolled her eyes at him, as he stalked off in direction of the stairs, but froze, when Rosie emerged seconds later from the dining room, retiring to her sleeping quarters.

"Phryne." She said dangerously slowly, stretching the name of her best friend like chewing gum. "Please tell me I'm suffering from hallucinations rather than having just seen Jack's former wife wandering your corridor."

"I'm sure the hallucinations can be arranged." Phryne stated calmly, sitting down and locking her arms over her chest. "You are a doctor, after all."

Mac ignored the challenge in her eyes.

"Why in all saints name would Rosie Sanderson be in your house, Phryne?"

"She actually answers to the name of Rosie Fletcher now and her husband got killed last night."

That somewhat took the wind out of Mac's sails. She sank onto a chair.

"So you thought it was a great idea to take in the wife of you lover?" She finally asked sarcastically.

"Former wife!" Phryne replied, pulling her red lips into something very much resembling a pout.

"And trust me, if she had anywhere else to go, she would not be staying with us."

Mac tiredly rubbed both hands over her face, repressing all of the many curses lying on her tongue.

"Your Samaritan heart aside," she changed the subject, "how is your process with finding Emily's existence? I fear we are getting into hot water. Dr. Mahler, one of the puppy dogs of the hospital board has been sneaking around the ward yesterday afternoon, so I think they grey and important will expel her soon and she has nowhere to go."

Miss Fisher chewed on her lip, feeling guilty. She hadn't given much thought to Emily's fate since she had found that there was a serial killer roaming freely and causing ex-spouses to suddenly resurface in their lives with annoying force.

"I'm sorry, Mac, but I fear, Jack's case has priority right now."

She explained what had happened as best she could, watching thunderous clouds appear on the doctor's face.

"So what you are telling me is that you are abandoning your client because you can't resist chasing after a cold-blooded serial killer? Has it ever occurred to you, that some cases would be better handled by the police?"

"I need to help Jack find him before he kills more people." Phryne argued sulkily. "And I'm not abandoning Emily, I'm just trying to prevent some murders first, if it's all the same to you."

"Oh for God's sake, Phryne, Jack can deal without you!"

The words were in the room, hanging loud and ugly in the air, before Mac had a chance to stop her simmering anger from overspilling. Miss Fisher stared at the doctor in silent astonishment. She felt as if her best friend had just slapped her. Elisabeth had the decency to let her regret show.

"I'm sorry, Phryne, I hadn't meant..."

She trailed off, when her friend pulled herself up.

"I think I better get ready, we have a killer to catch. And please tell Emily she is welcome at my house at any time till I can find her family. It seems one more guest won't make a difference. I'm sure you can show yourself out, Mac."

With that she was gone. Doctor MacMillan sank back into her chair with the feeling she had just turned over a shelf full of crystal and fought the urge to pour herself a stiff drink at 8.30 in the morning.

X

Ten minutes later, Jack Robinson stood in front of his lovers bedroom door and wondered if he should knock. He resolved to just push the door open a few centimeters and stick his head through the gap.

"Are you good to go, Miss Fisher?"

It occurred to him that moment that he had never actually asked her if she even wanted to come. She did have a case of her own after all. But the Inspector was distracted from that thought, when he spotted her at her dressing table, playing with a familiar piece of jewellery. Tentatively he stepped into the room.

"Are you going to wear it?" He asked, keeping his voice neutral. To his slight disappointment, she gently laid the sapphires back onto the table. Jack hadn't seen the necklace on her for weeks, which made him wonder if she really did like it as much as she appeared to when first presented with it. Then again, she had a lot of jewellery and expecting her to wear the same gems every day was probably just too much to ask. She did not enjoy being restricted.

"To a murder investigation? That would be rather silly, don't you think?" Phryne Fisher got up, trying to not dwell on the fact that, while indeed silly, she had been toying with the thought. Somehow, wrapping Jack's birthday present around her neck seemed incredibly tempting right now. Mac's words still echoed in her head as she stepped down the stairs and while she knew exactly, that her old friend had been steaming about her delaying to help Emily, they had hit home. She glanced at Jack's profile as they walked down the garden path to the street, where the Hispano was waiting. Of course he could deal without her. He had made Detective-Inspector before she had even entered his life. And that was not down to connections or money, but owning to the fact, that he was a damn good policeman. So good, that his career had survived divorcing the Deputy Commissioner's daughter and instead living in sin with some high-society lady that he involved more into his cases than he should have. But then, the last time he had tried to live without Phryne he had ended up half dead in a basement, after crossing the wrong gangsterbosses path. The memory of combing through city and evidence in vain, looking for any signs that Jack might be alive somewhere, still returned sometimes in unsuspecting moments. Miss Fisher hadn't lied to him back then. She would never forget the moment she had finally stepped through a broken down door, to find the man she loved - even though she had only just grumpily admitted that fact to herself back then - tied to a chair in a blood soaked shirt, blurry eyed and with sweat pouring down his glowing face, closer to death than life. It was not the kind of picture you could dispose of into the dustbin of your brain. She remembered the pain she had felt, the terror and also the immense relief that had almost had her fainting on the spot. And while she had stayed on her two feet, he had passed out seconds later, as if he could finally allow himself to be weak now that he had known himself to be in her hands. She had never told him about the days after, not the mad dash to the hospital, not about the hours she had spent pacing the hallways there, till Mac had allowed her to see him. Not about the angry shouting match with Sanderson in which she had not asked, but demanded, that he bring down the people responsible and damn the consequences. Phryne had never said a word about the two days she had sat by his bedside, the only time sleeping being when she had passed out with her head on his feet due to pure exhaustion. She remembered a conversation with Dot then, somewhere in the blur, when her companion had tried to gently coax her away to have some food and find herself a bed, because the Inspector would be alright without her for a few hours. Miss Fisher had refused, because somewhere deep inside she had known that Jack's stubborn will to cling onto his life had something to do with her holding his hand. Their fingers had stayed firmly entwined in the hours he had tossed in feverish dreams, yelling in his sleep, while she had washed his hot face with cold clothes and made sure he didn't tear off his dressing and bleed out after all. Then his fever had broken, if due to Mac's efforts or the Inspector's perseverance they would never know. But when Phryne had gotten up from his bedside with stiff knees and the urge to sleep for a month, she had come to the conclusion that she would never leave him out of her sight again – right after she had hunted down and brought to justice the people who had almost killed him. She had stayed true to both promises.

She awoke from her memories to watch him turn into a street that was nowhere near his station.

"Where are we heading?"

"A little detour, I need to inform Mr. Morton of his wife's demise. They may be separated, but they are still married, which makes him her next-of-kin."

Phryne nodded darkly, swallowing down any cutting remarks about the pointlessness of the legal system called marriage. Wasn't it more important how two people felt about each other than if they signed a piece of paper and declared their love or at least their willingness to bear each others company in front of society?

She might have been amused by the fact, that the Inspector was currently pondering the exact same thing. Mac's words hadn't lost their effect on him either and Jack Robinson wondered, just why she was so insistent on him proposing to Phryne. Surely, she of all people should know that Miss Fisher was not interested in marriage. And while the truth was that he hadn't given up the hope that he could convince her eventually, at this point in time it just didn't seem wise to ask. He had not forgotten her reaction to finding the ring, though the subconscious one worried him more than her words. When he had decided to make the leap in his enthusiasm about finally letting go of some ghosts that had haunted him for a decade, he had known that she was likely to refuse him. But while he knew there could be pain attached, Jack Robinson had always expected it to be him taking the risk of having his heart broken. It had never occurred to him, that he might hurt her.

While he pondered this, too busy to worry about Phryne's silence, they had crossed the Yarra. Miss Fisher still hadn't said a word, when he parked the car in a small street near the parliament house and around that time, Jack sensed that something was off.

"You alright?" He nudged gently, when helping her out of the Hispano onto the footpath.

"Fine." She replied. He didn't let go of her hand till they turned the corner into Spring Street, where he turned into a police officer. Policemen generally didn't hold onto their lover's while investigating, it was considered unprofessional. Nevertheless, he felt the loss, when her fingers slipped away.

"So, where are we heading?" She asked, back to her upbeat self.

"There."

He pointed along the street to the Victorian era building with its rows of windows glistening in the morning light.

"So our Widower is staying at the Windsor Hotel? That is interesting."

Jack was not quite sure why she deemed the accommodation important, but marched up to the front door nevertheless. If the doorman noticed that his garments were not quite up to scratch for this environment, he did not show it, as he opened the door for them politely. While he approached a porter, introducing himself and getting direction to the suite Mr. William Morton inhabited, the Inspector was not sure if to be proud or embarrassed by dragging Miss Fisher through the entrance hall. She belonged here, into this world, while he didn't and it was as obvious as could be. But then again, she was his partner in love and crime, as she had put it once.

With a smile he approached the lift, when he realised she had struck up a conversation with a rather handsome, well-dressed man in his 40s. Jack instantly hated him and not only because he was currently doing his best to charm Miss Fisher. The policeman stepped beside her, set on getting rid of the man as soon as possible.

"Jack, meet John Morell. Mr. Morell, Detective-Inspector Jack Robinson."

"How d'you do?"

The hand that he was shaking held the perfect amount of pressure and made Jack want to gag. They exchanged some more friendly but meaningless words, before he finally managed to coax Phryne into the lift to get back to their sad mission.

"So how exactly do you know Morell?" He asked, aiming for a casual tone of voice when the lift doors swung open on the third floor and spat them onto a long corridor. He missed the grin of the liftboy in his back, who had worked long enough in this establishment to sense jealous lovers a mile away.

"I met him last night." The lady-detective said casually, following the red and golden carpet to their destination. "At the 'Poseidon Club'."

Jack knocked at the door with vigor, plastering on a broad smile.

"And what where you doing in a gentlemen's club last night, Miss Fisher?"

"Turning heads, I believe."

"Undoubtedly."

She smiled enigmatically as Jack tried to unclench his fists. God, she was frustrating sometimes. And he was losing the game rapidly. It was time the door was opened, so he could finally change the subject. But the door stayed stubbornly shut. He traded a worried look with Phryne. The porter had assured him Mr. Morton had not yet left this morning. The Inspector knocked again, this time trying to yell out. There was no answer. He watched on as Phryne gently pushed him aside to manipulate on the lock. But forgetting about being a gentleman, he grabbed her arm and pulled her backwards, giving her a stern look, when she tried to swing open the door, then fished for his pistol before approaching. He would not let Miss Fisher walk into this room first, her curiosity be damned. Her eyes widened in surprise, he did not usually take his weapon home. But then, a serial killer on the run might change things.

"Mr. Morton?" Jack yelled into the half conceal room, while pushing the door in. Then he found the man he was looking for. He wouldn't answer him anymore.