What's important

"He's still there."

"Who?"

"Nate. He's still sitting on the wall."

"What? Why?"

"Oh, Gid, you know why. We've told him 'till we're blue in the face and he still won't believe it till he sees it with his own eyes. Dad won't be going to the war."

"Well, of course he won't! Betsy, is Nate right in the head?"

"Say that again, Gideon Collins. And when you do, call me Miss Elizabeth Robinson."

"I'll call you what I like – Betsy."

There was a short interlude, from which the camera panned away tastefully to a shot of Miss Margaret Collins, head bent in eager interest over a copy of an already-battered book in once-hard covers. Her tastes ran to the magical and mysterious, so The Adventures of the Little Wooden Horse tugged at her heartstrings. Her nine years on earth had taught her a few things, though, so she shied nimbly away when her twin aimed badly with the cricket ball he'd hoped might subdue the (younger) lady of the house.

His aim proved perfect, though, for the jug of cordial on the table next to her. Shards of china flew, and sugared water flooded the table and the rug beneath it.

"That's torn it", she muttered, wiped her cheek and turned a page.

Her diagnosis was correct. A light step in the upper hallway of 221B, The Esplanade, St Kilda was the only warning of the entrance of the (elder) Lady of the House.

"Elizabeth Jane Robinson, what are you doing?"

The words were unremarkable. The tone, however, was loaded heavily with ice and froze all the room's occupants.

(To be fair, Meggie moved neither more nor less than she had before, but the cinematic effect was everything a Grande Dame of the medium could have wished).

"Nothing, Mumma. I'm sorry. We had an accident. I'll get a cloth and some water."

"I will too, Mrs R," was hastily added by Gid.

The Honourable Phryne Fisher scanned the room and its occupants and was satisfied. To wit: the damage was superficial; she'd never liked the jug anyway; the rug would need a better scrub than the children could offer, but that could wait; and perhaps most importantly, everyone had apologised and no-one was peaching on anybody.

"No rush," she responded mildly, and strolled to join her daughter at the window. "What started it? I'm curious."

Elizabeth looked at Gideon, who flushed, and mumbled.

"I thought Nate was being a bit silly, waiting out for the Chief Inspector to come home."

Phryne regarded him quizzically.

"You think he's silly to look forward to seeing his father?"

"No!" Gid was beetroot now. Even with the rhino-hide of a young man's developing confidence, he knew he'd dug a hole for himself. "No, it's just that he thinks… he thinks…"

As her godson spoke, Phryne had been looking out of the window, which overlooked the front gate of the house. Her son was perched on the wall, hands tucked under him, gaze fixed on the road along which the car would come, bringing Chief Inspector Robinson home to his loving family.

Her smile twisted and her eyes softened.

"He's not convinced, is he?"

Gid was startled into silence, but Elizabeth knew no such hesitation in dealing with her mother. Her tone was not so much angry as exasperated.

"We've explained that Pa's married, and a policeman, and doesn't want to go to the war, and he's got us, but he just won't listen, Mumma!".

Phryne smiled properly then, perched on the window seat and held out her arm, into whose embrace Elizabeth readily stepped. Gideon was more circumspect, but hovered behind the shoulders of two ladies he'd already learned to respect in a way that made his stomach turn over to query it.

"Don't worry," said Phryne easily, eyes fixed on the boy steadfastly keeping watch. "Nate listens. He hears everything, and you know that really, don't you?" She glanced down at the girl beside her and squeezed her shoulders, receiving a grudging nod in response.

"What you need to understand about Nate, though," she continued, "is that he will still need to see some things for himself to truly believe them."

Even as she spoke, the rumble of a motor presaged the shiny police car drawing up. A gentleman in a fedora stepped out of the passenger seat, slammed the door and waved off the driver, before turning to speak to the boy on the wall. Greetings exchanged, the boy was lifted and swung onto the man's hip, and it was only then that Jack Robinson lifted his eyes to the first floor window.

He grinned at the lady in the window, who grinned cheerfully back; then he opened the garden gate and made his way to the door, releasing his small burden so that he could fish for a latchkey.

"So you see, Elizabeth," finished Phryne with a hint of triumph in her tone, "Nate is showing every signs of being a very good policeman."

She rose gracefully to her feet, and ambled to the door. Pausing with her hand on the doorknob, she turned back to give her daughter a broad wink and a gentle reminder.

"And in this house, my dear, we do love a good policeman."