Epilogue

"Phryne?" There were certain circumstances under which the Inspector's voice could apparently drop an octave. This was definitely one of them. The celebration of the successful completion of the Lampeter case had rather taken it out of him.

"Mmmmmmm?" Not so much a reply, more of a purr.

"You know how we've been doing this for a while now?"

That got the dirtiest chuckle ever from the lady detective.

"Have we? Yes, I suppose we have. I believe the apposite aphorism is 'Practice Makes Perfect'", Inspector. Jolly Well Done. I would say on latest evidence that we've both been practicing like mad. Are you looking for a medal? I can have Jane make you a nice one out of champagne caps if you like, though I might not explain what you want it for, if you don't mind. I'd make it myself, but I'm a bit sleepy."

"Er, no. I was actually looking for something else. Well, not looking for it, exactly. More something whose presence I would normally have noticed and … it appeared to be missing."

"Oh, that."

"Yes. That."

The gravity of the situation enabled him to raise his head from the pillow and drag a finger up her cheekbone to try to get her to open her eyes.

He didn't succeed – she screwed up eyes and nose, and buried as much of her face as she could in the pillow to frustrate a second attempt. He tried the rational conversation approach again. Quite why, he wasn't sure – it wasn't as though it had ever worked before.

"Phryne, I thought … well, you usually put your diaphragm in … at night." God, he hated that word. It sounded like a scientific experiment, and anything less scientific than the activity they'd just engaged in would have been hard to imagine. Well, apart from the bit where she … he shelved the thought and tried to focus on the matter in hand.

"Mmm," was the dismissive response from the depths of the pillow.

"Did you forget? I'm sorry, it was stupid of me, I should have stopped …" he said lamely.

That did get a reaction.

She turned her head up a little and sleepily grinned. "Jack, you were no more going to stop than I would abort take-off in the Moth once I got the conditions right."

The grin faded but the smile didn't.

"The conditions were right. I think. Unless you've been an even better actor than I thought, all this time."

Properly confused now, he rolled over on top of her, pinning her hands over her head to force her to face him and speaking in plain language.

"Phryne, we just had sex without protection. I don't understand why you're so relaxed about it."

The smile remained undimmed. She met his gaze through slitted eyes and blinked slowly, like a particularly contented cat.

A knot formed in the pit of his stomach.

His neck could suddenly no longer support his head, and collapsed into the hollow of her shoulder.

"Really? You would?" It was a shuddering whisper of disbelief.

So often, he had been in the role of protector and comforter. This time it was she who gathered him in, and kissed his hair.

"No promises, Jack. You know how chancy this biological nonsense is. But I decided that if you could get into an aeroplane with a face like death and come out asking to learn to fly, the idea of carrying a new life around for nine months might be – forgive the pun – bearable. Or at least, not so terrifying that I couldn't contemplate it."

She lifted his head up to face hers, and when she saw the tears forming in his eyes, became unaccountably gruff in her speech.

"You said it yourself, you dear man, when we walked on the beach – facing challenges is one of the things we do best. And I'm interested to see what kind of child is produced by the chap who steadfastly refuses risk on every occasion and then begs to be taught to fly. Having already, let's face it, married me."

The knot had dissolved into butterflies. His voice wasn't quite steady when he tried to joke in reply.

"I know I'm good, Mrs Robinson, but I feel I should point out that this isn't something I can do alone. Said child will also have to be produced by a woman who, when fired upon by a masked stranger, reacts not by shouting for help but by stabbing her assailant in the shoulder."

Her own shoulders shuddered with her silent laughter, then settled again. This time when she spoke it was in more normal tones.

"Two things I insist upon, Jack."

"Hmmn?" He was already discovering aphrodisiac qualities in his wife's fascinating new line of conversation.

"First, if we manage to do this ridiculous thing, we're not doing it without help. A Lot Of Help. There will be at least one nanny. Cancel that. There will be serried ranks of nannies. A veritable regiment of nannies. I'm a big believer in consulting experts. After all, I'm one myself. Just not in this."

"Agreed. As long as I'm allowed to sack any of them that tries to stop me communing with my daughter as and when I please."

"Daughter? Jack, you're not often, er, premature, but …" the rest of the sentence disappeared in giggles. He recovered first.

"And the second?"

"The child learns to fly."

"Oh, I agree. As long as she doesn't mind being in the air."

"And to shoot, come to think of it. Even if it's only defenceless sheets of white paper with black dots in the middle."

"That's three things. So I think it's my turn – she also has to …"

Phryne gasped.

He shifted up and whispered in her ear.

"… learn to waltz."