Chapter 14

They had no further opportunity to discuss anything over breakfast, as they were joined by the whole household. It was probably a good thing, Phryne reasoned, forcing them both to be less introspective, listening to Dot and Mr Butler chat and joke happily. She watched the tension slip slowly from Jack's body as Mr Butler poured them tea and coffee, and ladled steaming bowls of porridge in front of them.

Jack attacked breakfast with vigour, and Phryne smiled. He certainly seemed to be getting his appetite back.

It was odd that a conversation that had been so difficult to have and had the potential to cause so much pain now seemed to have cleared the air between them. There was still much that had been left unsaid. But she felt better that they had finally tackled the subject of their relationship, and was relieved, also, that he hadn't run back to his own home.

They were in a place now that felt much healthier, more honest. And she accepted that he didn't feel able to take things further just now; indeed, she would never have broached it if he hadn't kissed her! She knew he didn't have the room in his already troubled mind to consider their relationship. But it didn't mean that privately, she couldn't. He had asked her not to wait. But that was exactly what she intended to do. He didn't have to know. She didn't care how long it took; they had been dancing around this for years already, what difference would another few months make? And she didn't intend to push him, flirt with him or do any of those things she had enjoyed so much in their early relationship. She trusted that he would come to her himself, that this horrible episode couldn't change his feelings permanently. One day, he'd feel better. One day, he'd realise he deserved to be happy. And she would be there, whether it took weeks, months or years.

Until then, she would wait. It felt an alien thing to do for her, she was so used to constant action, always on the move, offence rather than defence. But she knew that this time, she had to change her ways for Jack (and it was so palatable to do so precisely because he had never asked her to), bide her time, focus on getting him well and be careful to respect the boundaries he seemed to need. She had to back off, but be there for him at the same time.

She sighed, watching him converse with Mr Butler over the morning paper. It wouldn't be easy. But as she had just told Jack: nothing that mattered was easy.

()

After the turbulent emotional upheaval of those first few days, life at Wardlow settled down into a relaxed routine. The morning would begin with what Jack internally referred to as a family breakfast in the kitchen. It would be noisy and busy, with Dot arriving and seeing what needed to be done and Mr Butler fairly gliding around the kitchen to deliver on everyone's demands at once. Phryne would be planning her day, and often Bert and Cec would appear at the door, eager to sample whatever Mr Butler had whipped up and ready to see if Miss Fisher had any jobs for them. She usually did. Apparently satisfied that Jack really was on the mend, she had stopped neglecting the rest of her Melbourne life. She had the cabbies all over town running errands, delivering her to Madame Fleuri's to enquire about a new dress for Jane, running old household items and clothes to various jumble sales in aid of some charity or other or helping her Aunt organise a benefit for the hospital. Jack hadn't properly realised how busy she was before, and it gladdened his heart to think he must be less of a burden on her now, that she felt able to dip her toe back into society life.

So, whilst she was often flitting about the town of a morning, or for lunch, Jack normally busied himself with a book, or made him useful by helping Mr Butler with something or other. At some point in the day, she would come back, and he felt himself always trying to be busy at that moment she came through the door. He had determined to worry her as little as possible, and anyway, he looked forward to her return. She would tell him about her day, and ask him about what he had been reading. They might have tea, or sit in the garden, or sometimes she would whisk him out in the Hispano. They would drive down to foreshore and walk along the beach or have a spin in the country lanes at a speed that almost cost him several hats.

The one change Phryne had obviously made to her lifestyle was her evenings. She rarely went out for dinner, choosing to stay in with Jack (the idea of going out to a restaurant where everyone would be looking and pointing made him feel physically sick), and if she did, she always made sure she was back early, so that he never went to bed without knowing she was next door. There had been one or two occasions where she had come through and woken him – apparently he had been shouting again – but after making sure he was alright, speaking to him soothingly until his breathing returned to normal, she would give him a soft smile and leave, returning to her own room. He felt a pang of regret when she did that, but he knew she was only giving him exactly what he had asked for and he was thankful for it.

All in all, it was a thoroughly relaxed existence. He could feel his own mind, his own sense of self start to return to him. There will still bad days, of course. There were days he couldn't stop his mind from treading well-worn paths of self-destruction, his attention drawn back by something – an article, or some conversation – to the case and he felt the unbearable guilt swoop back over him, the feeling somehow much sharper for it being less constant now. On those days, he would find himself unable to rouse himself from the chaise, and Phryne, noticing, would remain at home, wandering into the parlour every so often to give him a cup of tea, or ask if he wanted to talk, or once, when she thought he was asleep, stroke his hair off his forehead and sit with him, giving him strength just by her closeness.

But not every day was bad, and there were more moments now when he would find himself engrossed in a conversation with Bert and Cec, (the former of whom seemed to have re-evaluated his opinion of him and now treated him with a most surprising kind of respect) or shouting at Phryne to slow down the car and he would realise he hadn't thought about the case in the last hour or so. It was unfamiliar, after all those unrelenting days, but encouraging. And Phryne obviously delighted in it. When she walked into the parlour one afternoon to find him amusing himself by picking a tune out on the piano, the grin almost split her face in two.

It would have to end, of course. He couldn't stay here forever. The more he started to feel like himself, the less reason there was to remain in her house. But she never broached the subject, and he avoided it as well, reluctant to leave the cocoon her home had become against the outside world, and more honestly, to leave her. He would have to go home soon, he knew. But not yet.

()

It was sometime in the third week of his stay that Phryne breezed in late one afternoon, bringing with her a breath of lilacs and lavender and wearing a smile that was deeply infectious. He had been reading in the parlour, and his mood, which he would have already described as being of "a good day" lifted still further as she breezed in.

He marked the page in his book and put it to one side, waiting for her to tell him about her day. She was gabbling instructions to Dot as she entered and on seeing him, grinned widely.

"Jack!"

She always looked delighted to see him now, that expression of concern and pity only making a rare appearance when he was on a "bad day." He was reminded of the earlier days of their friendship, when she always seemed overjoyed and surprised to see him whenever he arrived at her home. Now that he was a semi-permanent presence, he was happy that that expression of near exultation still appeared on her face. It was one of many reasons that Phryne coming home was the best part of his day.

She sat across from him on the chaise, pulling her gloves off and tossing them down. "How was your afternoon?"

"Peaceful," he replied, returning her smile.

She pretended to look offended. "If you'd like me to go back out, you've only to say."

He chuckled. "What have you been up to? You smell rather floral."

She rolled her eyes. "Helping Aunt P with the flowers for some deathly dull event."

"I never picked you as the flower arranging type."

"Nor did she! I think she had an ulterior motive."

"Oh?"

She ignored him, getting up and popping her head back out the door to call something to Mr Butler.

She was smirking as she came back. Jack felt the first stirrings of suspicion.

"Well?"

She sat down again, shooting him an innocent look. "Well what, Jack?"

"You didn't answer my question, Miss Fisher."

"I don't believe you asked one."

"I said "oh?""

She cocked her head at him, her eyes sparkling. "Oh?"

He narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to speak again when Mr Butler glided in bearing a tray of cocktails. He offered one to Jack, who looked at Phryne curiously.

"Help yourself, Sir," said Mr Butler.

Jack took one, and looked suspiciously at Phryne as Mr Butler shimmered silently away, first depositing the second cocktail with his smiling mistress.

"Virgin?" Jack enquired.

Phryne smiled wider and seemed on the point of a cheeky comeback, though miraculously, she held her tongue.

"The cocktail," he clarified, unable to hold back his own grin.

"Not in this house, Jack! Go on," she said. "You're allowed one. I checked with Mac."

Jack raised his eyebrows and took a sip of his margarita. It was delicious. He suspected Mr Butler had put rather less tequila in it than was usual, but he appreciated the gesture all the same.

"So what's this in aid of?"

"Mr Butler's cooking up a storm. A meal like that deserves pre-dinner cocktails."

Jack felt his stomach respond with interest. "What's on the menu?"

"Roast chicken."

He raised his eyebrows. "My favourite." He lifted his glass in a toast to Mr Butler and all his chickens.

"And," Phryne continued. "He's doing a gratin."

That did it. Jack placed his glass on the table smartly.

"Alright, Phryne what's going on?"

"Whatever do you mean?" she asked, her eyebrows raised innocently.

"Cocktails, a roast, and now gratin?" Jack scoffed. "What are you after?"

She blew her breath out. "Always the detective…"

"Phryne…" Jack said warningly. He could stand a good deal more teasing these days, but as far as he was concerned the subject of his job was still off limits.

"Oh, all right." She put her margarita down on the side. "Aunt Prudence wanted to see me today to invite us round for tea tomorrow."

"Ah." Jack fell silent. His company over the past three weeks had been comprised purely of Phryne's extended family; Dot, Hugh, Mac, Mr Butler and, rather surprisingly, Cec and Bert. On the occasions they ventured out, he let Phryne do any of the talking that was required, whether it was buying treats from the ice cream vendors on the foreshore or saying hello to the people they passed on their walks. His experience of the citizenry of Melbourne had changed dramatically since the case. Everyone knew who he was, and for all the wrong reasons. It had taken him days to wander outside comfortably without feeling that people were staring at him, and every time the papers re-hashed the case (which was every other day, seemingly) he imagined it simply re-awakened the public's anger at him. A visit to Phryne's aunt meant 'people' – not just Mrs Stanley, who was in of herself a terrifying enough prospect, but the myriad servants and retainers at her large house. The thought of it made him feel hot and cold all over.

"Oh, come on, Jack," Phryne was obviously following his train of thought. "Aunt P has never believed one word in those horrible articles. She was always on your side."

"It's not about taking sides," he replied. He wouldn't blame anyone for holding a bad opinion of him, especially Prudence Stanley, who in addition to being a staunchly upright society dragon, was, in his opinion, a woman of outstanding moral character and deep kindness. (In fact, in private, he thought that Phryne probably had more in common with her aunt than she would care to admit.)

"She's been wanting to see you for weeks," Phryne continued. "I've been keeping you to myself, partly out of pure selfishness," Jack smiled at this, "but also, well, I didn't want to send you out of your wits."

"Again," added Jack drily.

Phryne gave him a look. "I mean it Jack. She's always thought well of you. This is her way of telling you that you have her support. And it'll be good for you. Tomorrow will be a lovely day, by all accounts! We'll sit by the pool, have tea and scones, feel the sun on our faces…"

Her enthusiasm was catching. But he still wasn't convinced. "You're sure the invitation wasn't just for you?"

"Not at all!" she exclaimed. "If anything, I think I'm an optional extra!"

Jack tilted his head, a half smile on his lips. "I think that has probably never been true."

She pursed her lips comically at the compliment. "I'm your plus one," she insisted. "You're free to take someone else if you like, but I would have thought it only polite…"

"Alright!" he stopped her faux rant with a raised hand. He nodded, noting without surprise that it wasn't at all a strain to give in, that really, he wanted more than anything to make her smile. "Tell Mrs Stanley I'd be honoured to accept her invitation."

Her face lit up in a bright smile. "Good!" she raised her glass again to salute him. "She'll be delighted."

He raised his glass in response and they both sipped their cocktails in contented silence.

After a few moments, he caught her eye.

"Do I still get gratin?"

"You, Jack, can have all the gratin there is!"