Chapter Ten

Mrs Timewell was instructed to pull out all the stops for dinner that evening; while relations between Ardverikie and Monteith stations were still at the wafer-thin glass stage of delicacy, there was certainly greater chance of reconciliation after that day's work than at any time in the last forty years.

"All thanks to Julie, I must admit," said Phryne.

"Oh, I don't know, Mrs Robinson," responded their honoured guest Sergeant Mason, smacking his lips as he supped his beer. "Julie was in hiding. I think if you and Mrs Collins hadn't got her talking, she'd have stayed in that hiding place; and the fire might not have been spotted until too late; and I really hate to think what she'd have done about," he harrumphed awkwardly, "the Other Thing."

He raised his eyebrows at the Inspector.

"Do you agree with me now, sir, about the cause of the other two deaths?"

Jack pursed his lips. "We know that Rory Monteith had nothing to do with Campbell's death, so yes, that sews that one up. I don't understand why you're so sure about Rory's suicide, though."

Mason sighed. "There are things you can't put in a police report, Inspector. In all honesty, I'd say Julie was worth ten of Rory Monteith. A nice lad, but not one I'd look to when life got tough. It was part of their problem – anyone else would have just dragged the girl away from the family that was stopping them both living the life they wanted. He could only see the barriers, and – sad to say – I think he just gave up. It was easier to believe that he'd taken his own life than that of Mark Campbell."

Jack inclined his head. This was the rural police work – Mason knew his people. On which point, he was put in mind of the newest prospective member of the populace.

"We know how Mrs Monteith feels about the child," remarked Jack, "but what about the rest of the family? And the Campbells, come to that?"

Mason grinned. "I'd put my money on Ada Monteith any day of the week, Inspector. She isn't one to talk, much, but when she does, they all listen. And Julie's the apple of her father's eye, especially with Mark gone. No," he signalled grandly to Josh for another beer, "I reckon I've got a better chance of riding the muster this year than I have since I came to Balmoral."

"So I suppose we can return to Melbourne," remarked Jack. "If nothing else, I have to order a new typewriter for Balmoral Police Station."

"About that, sir," ventured Hugh hesitantly. "There's a train at seven in the morning. We were wondering – Dottie and me – if it would be okay for us to go by train, and then we'd be back tomorrow night to see the twins again. That is … if you didn't mind waiting the extra day and flying back with Miss Fisher?"

There was a silence. Phryne suppressed a grin, and looked carefully at the rare and hitherto flightless creature that was Inspector Jack Robinson. She could almost see the inner struggle taking place, but didn't doubt for a moment that the young parents would get the answer they wanted.

"Very well, Collins."

Gosh, how formal. Are you really so scared of flying, my Jack?

In a rare, tactful moment, Phryne decided to leave the question unasked.

The party broke up shortly afterwards, given the Collins' early start in prospect; Phryne and Jack decided they didn't need to see off their respective partners the following day, and spent most of it lazing around the town. They did go back to check on the Moth one more time, and release it from some of its bonds ahead of the next day's departure; and Jack reacquainted himself with a young man nicknamed Tealeaf, who let the Inspector share his football for a bit.

After all, he reasoned, the Inspector had shared his warrant card, so it was only fair, really.

Jack didn't seem to sleep as well on Thursday night as he had the previous ones, and didn't have much of an appetite at breakfast either.

Phryne again exercised her new-found skill in diplomacy, and conversed artlessly on the weather, remarking what a fine, clear day it was, and how much she was looking forward to having another of Mr Butler's cocktails.

The fuel arrived on schedule, and by mid-morning, they had bid a fond farewell to the Timewells, and borrowed Sergeant Mason to assist with their departure.

Everyone had stopped pretending that Jack was happy about flying. His pallor was almost grey, and Phryne had to help him fasten his harness. She then took his face in her hands, gave him a firm kiss, and told him they would be landing in Melbourne before he knew it and she promised she'd make it up to him the instant they were home. The Sergeant found something fascinating to look at on the horizon until she shouted at him to pull the propeller sharply down when she said 'Contact' and to then keep his hands well out of the way.

The little plane bounced along the rough ground and then was gently and smoothly airborne. Phryne gave a cheery wave at Sergeant Mason, who returned the salutation.

Jack sat quite still.