Epilogue
"Higher, Jack!"
"There?"
"A bit higher … yes, there! Ah, perfect!"
Phryne released her skirt and smoothed it down. Turning to look in the mirror, she grinned.
"You'd never know, would you?"
Jack gave a satisfied smile. "Well, I won't tell your Aunt Prudence if you don't."
She lifted her skirt again, and swiftly snapped the pearl handled revolver out of the custom-made thigh holster her extremely resourceful husband had had made in soft, creamy-coloured leather. Sighting along the barrel, she mimed taking a shot, and then returned it snugly to the holster.
"You're so clever, Jack. This is wonderful, and I can wear it under anything. Well, almost anything," she corrected herself.
"As long as you wear it when there's the slightest possibility of someone pulling a weapon on you – and even occasionally when there isn't – I'll be happy," he said.
She turned back to him and brought his head to hers for a quick kiss in thanks. He winced.
"Sorry, Jack. I forgot about your bruise. Come and sit down, I promise I'll be gentle."
"Thank you, Miss Fisher. Er – perhaps remove the holster first, though? I promise not to pull a weapon on you."
"I'm very sorry to hear it, Inspector. I shall ask Mr Butler for your malted milk immediately."
"You know perfectly well what I meant, and you'll do no such thing, Miss Fisher."
