Dear Diary

by NancyMay

Phryne writes a diary, she has to talk to someone about her personal feelings and who better than someone or something that doesn't interrupt. Now decided to update, I am binge watching the series. The rating may change, though not above T, leastways I don't think so, but for now it is K. As you have noticed these are not published in episode order.

36. After Death do us part

Dear diary

Well so far the journey hasn't been too bad. The weather has been fair, good flying weather – the company less so. Father seems to accept that is it because of his lying, subterfuge and outright denial of the situation he found himself in that the only way he will get back to mother is by being flown back, but it does not stop him whining about the cold, the over-nighting in aerodrome bunks and the rations I am able to carry with us.

We stopped over in India, in the province of Alwar and were entertained and accommodated by the royal family for a week while the plane was overhauled and fuelled. The Maharajah was sweet but troubled and confided in me that he had a problem – that of needing to marry.

Now, I am not the marrying kind, as I have said on many occasions, let's face it I don't have any role models to base that institution on, but he is not one for the ladies, not that anyone around him would know – the Maharajah is ... he is like dear Charlie Freeman and Bobby Sullivan ... and his love is the Prince of Patna. If anyone found out he would be ... well it's too awful to think about. We have hatched a plan, father is over the moon, we are to marry, in order to save his life. Of course this is not to happen immediately, I have to get father home first then I shall return to go through this marriage.

Diary,

Oh dear, this is so hard, I have tried to write to Jack, to explain what and why but it's difficult to put on paper in words that he will understand. Also I am afraid that as the Maharajah is worried about spies, and they are around, I feel it, I feel the eyes upon us when we are walking in the gardens of the palace, it is not safe to send a letter, or a telegram. Keeping you hidden is hard enough a telegram or letter will be impossible.

I have written, to let him know how the flight is going, no reply but then I don't expect one – it would have to follow me as we go. Perhaps there will be one waiting when we get to London. I miss him, I miss our late night whiskies, games of draughts, cases, banter I miss the times he touches me, my arm, my hand, his hand in the small of my back as he ushers me forward and most of all the touch of his lips on mine at the airport, the taste of him – I never thought I would miss someone like I miss Jack; the only person I miss this much is my dear Janey, that is the depth of my feeling for this amazing, complicated man.