Epilogue
Jack wasn't precisely late, but there was a real risk that the martinis were going to get warm before Phryne heard his key in the door. She remained where she was, curled up in her armchair by the fire, book in hand, and looked up to see two of her very favourite gentlemen standing in the doorway: a slightly weary and crumpled but very dear policeman, and an imperturbable butler with a drinks tray in one hand. Both were smiling at her, and she smiled back.
The policeman came to give her a kiss and sit near her, and the butler provided them both with cocktails.
"Dry, Mr B.?"
"The merest bow to France, ma'am" he confirmed. Mr Butler had strong views on vermouth, especially those times when it was Best Left To The Imagination. "Twenty minutes?"
"Perfect, thank you." She smiled, and he drifted out, closing the double doors behind him.
She and Jack raised their glasses to one another, and took the first experimental sip; then simultaneously and involuntarily closed their eyes in a moment of pure bliss.
"I don't know what you pay Mr Butler, Phryne, but I'm sure it isn't enough."
"I quite agree – he's a treasure."
The second sip was savoured.
"So, Phryne, are you going to keep up the rifle shooting?"
She considered. "I think I'll try to keep my hand in – at the very least, Letty and Susan will probably appreciate the support." Then grinned at him mischievously. "It might be a handy skill if you need me to get you out of trouble, some time, Jack – you know what you're like."
He snorted, but let it pass.
"I don't think I want to go to Bisley, though," she continued. "An awful lot too close to my family for comfort, and I've had quite enough of gallivanting around the world for the moment."
He possessed himself of the hand that didn't have a martini glass in it, and raised it to his lips.
"I can't deny I'm relieved. I couldn't go with you, and … I've rather got used to having you around."
That was apparently her cue to sit on him; she uncurled from her chair and reassembled on his lap. His objection was conspicuous by its absence; he just transferred his drink to the other hand and gathered her in with his free arm.
Heaven, he decided, was a cold drink and a warm Phryne.
"Did you read Kate's journal, Jack?"
"Glanced through it."
"Did it say anything about Malcolm?"
"Not a thing." He craned his neck to look down at her. "Do you mean to say that you hadn't looked at it yourself?"
She smiled up at him. "No – there wasn't time. But the fact that Malcolm had hunted so hard for it suggested that he believed it would incriminate him. So … I just let him carry on believing it."
He blinked, and raised his glass to her in salute, before draining it and setting it down.
"Devious, Miss Fisher."
"Why, thank you, Inspector, I shall take that as a compliment." She tossed off the rest of her drink and placed her glass beside his.
"You should. I regard your deviousness as one of your most fascinating qualities," he confirmed, adjusting her position to face him.
"Just one of them, Jack? What are the others?"
They were both, in the end, late for dinner.