When Jack woke the next morning he carefully slipped from beneath Phryne in a bid to keep from waking her, her previous day's reprimands still fresh in his mind. It took approximately five seconds for her to sprawl even further across his side of the bed and he chuckled at her self-contented smirk. He dressed quietly, thinking fondly of the previous night's dinner. Ivy's second year examinations were coming up and she'd been studying diligently, but had carved a few hours out of her schedule to come; Jane had taken the opportunity to interrogate her thoroughly about university life, as she was due to start in the new year. Jack's brother Dan had died in Europe, and they had lost contact with his widow and their daughter a few years later; Ivy had sought Jack out upon her return to Melbourne for school. The two girls—young women really—got along remarkably well, a development that had made it simpler for Ivy to ease into the chaos of the household.

Half-dressed, he slipped from the room to shave. Watching himself in the mirror as he began, Jack debated how to approach the day. It was technically his day off—one of the advantages of working one weekend a month—and he had initially planned to head into the station for the morning, to work on the ever growing pile of paperwork and see if he could use the time to track down Helen Fox's next of kin. It was his usual routine to go in for the morning and meet Phryne for lunch when she eventually stirred from bed, and then they would spend the afternoon together or apart. Anthony's presence was a hindrance to this routine. By the time he was rinsing his razor, Jack had resigned himself to an unproductive day. Still, he should be able to get some of the spring gardening done.

Back in the bedroom he exchanged his suit trousers for moleskin ones, and pulled on an older shirt suitable for rough work. Phryne woke up and watched him with sleepy eyes.

"Sorry," he whispered, and she shook her head.

"I was already awake," she replied. "Just enjoying the view. You're not going to the station?"

Jack shook his head. "Small child in the house, remember?"

She groaned, and moved to get out of bed. "I'm the one who agreed. I did not consider mornings."

"Yes, well, as I recall, toddlers don't extend the same courtesy. Stay in bed; I really do need to make headway in the garden today," he said with a wry smile. "This just absolves me of the guilt that I should be working."

She was already back under the covers.

"Glad to be of service," she muttered, and promptly fell back asleep.

Jack watched her for another moment, memorising the relaxed line of her limbs. Her ability to sleep anywhere at any time was more hard-earned than people who knew only the charming socialite would have assumed; it was a holdover from the war, and he loved to watch her do it. There was a certain intimacy to watching her sleep and wake—quite suddenly if there was something wrong, and luxuriously slowly when there wasn't—and it was one of the great delights of their disparate sleep schedules

Chuckling as she began to snore, tiny little huffs that she adamantly denied, Jack headed downstairs.

Anthony was still asleep when Jack put his head into the nursery, so he headed to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Mr. Butler and Jane were already there; Mr. Butler had just put the kettle on, and Jane was rereading her school book while eating breakfast.

"Morning sir."

"Good morning, Mr. Butler. Coffee this morning, please. I have a feeling I'll need it by the end of the day," Jack said, taking a seat at the table and smiling at Jane. "Good morning, Miss Ross."

Jane looked up in surprise, too engrossed in her text to have noticed his entrance. She flashed him a cheeky grin.

"Morning, Jack."

"You haven't left your schoolwork until this morning, have you?"

"Oh no, I finished that before I went off with Ruth and her grandmother this weekend. Now I'm reading ahead."

"Excellent. Anything interesting?"

Jane held up the book so Jack could see the title; it was a book on Greek history. The girl had not gone off her interest in Antiquity after the Foyle incident, though she was less fond of Egyptian tales than she had once been.

"It had a whole chapter on the Elgin Marbles," she said. "I saw them when I was in London with Miss Phryne."

"The British Museum has an impressive collection," Jack agreed. "But finish your breakfast; you only have five minutes before you have to leave, and you've left half your plate."

Jane took a bite of her toast before burying her nose back into her reading, and Jack laughed. His own mother had spent a ridiculous amount of time lecturing him for the same thing, and there was something oddly satisfying in finding the same traits in Jane. He had come into her life too late to be a true father, but it was as close as he'd be. He put his hand across her book.

"Breakfast, Jane. You can read on the tram."

"Last time I read on the tram I missed my stop," she laughed, marking her page—with a bookmark, not dog-earing the pages, and thank heavens he'd broken one of them of that habit—and placing her book in her bag.

Mr. Butler placed a cup of coffee in front Jack; it was halfway to his mouth when the morning routine was broken by the sound of shuffling feet. Jack looked up to find Anthony standing in the doorway of the kitchen, dragging that stuffed dog behind him. After leaving the Welfare offices the previous afternoon, Phryne had stopped by a department store to pick up a change of clothes for the boy—clothes to fit him were the one thing that they did not already have for the Collins children—and had purchased the dog at the same time.

"It wasn't exactly like his," she had said when he had brought it to the dinner table the evening before. "But he can take it with him when he goes."

It was the sort of thoughtful action he had come to expect from Phryne, and obviously one the boy appreciated. Jack put his coffee down, and went to pick him up. He sat Anthony on the chair between him and Jane, and Anthony immediately reached for Jane's bookbag. She pulled it away with a huff, grabbed the rest of her toast, and stood up.

"I'll see you tonight," she said, giving Jack a peck on his cheek. "I'm going to Beth's for dinner, but I'll be home by seven."

"Have a good time at school," he replied, taking a sip of coffee. "And be home by half six, please."

After breakfast, Jack changed Anthony from his pyjamas into the spare clothes Phryne had purchased and took the boy, still firmly clutching the dog, into the garden. From the small potting shed near the kitchen door he pulled out his tools, planning to clean up the winter damage before planting any of the annuals, and on a sudden impulse a second pair of gardening gloves.

"Anthony, would you like to be helpful?" he asked, vaguely remembering that the best way to keep a child of his age out of trouble was to give them a task.

When Anthony nodded, Jack placed the gloves—comically oversized—on his hands, and then found a small section of flowerbed that could do with being turned over and selected the bluntest hand spade.

"I would like you to dig," Jack directed, demonstrating before passing the spade over.

Anthony mimicked the action, rather less effectively than Jack had done—it was more a tossing of the surface layer, but he seemed pleased enough with himself and content to continue. Jack stood and began to prune the nearest bush, watching as Anthony entertained himself by digging and tossing and digging again. His progress was slower than it would have been if he'd been left alone, but by the time Mr. Butler came out mid-morning with a pitcher of lemonade and some sandwiches Jack had made quite a bit of headway.

Anthony had spent the time digging, then quietly playing some sort of game that involved three large rocks and his dog. He was very good at entertaining himself, much to Jack's surprise. When Mr. Butler brought the refreshments out, Jack called him over.

"Anthony, are you hungry?"

Filthy handed and filthy faced, gloves long abandoned, the boy bolted towards the wrought iron table and scrambled into one of the seats.

"Peese! Peese!"

"I'll just get a damp rag, shall I sir?" said Mr. Butler without missing a beat, and Jack wondered what it would take to fluster the man.

A moment later, significantly cleaner, Anthony tucked into the sandwiches with a vigour previously unforeseen—he'd picked at breakfast and dinner the night before, but the fresh air had renewed his appetite. He stood on the chair, reaching for the lemonade pitcher. He wobbled slightly on the chair, but managed to get both hands around the glass and tried to lift it.

"Oh no, young man," Jack said, taking the pitcher.

Anthony flopped. There really was no other word for it. He flopped onto the table as if he was utterly boneless, and whimpered his protests. Jack poured out two glasses and placed one just out of reach of flailing limbs. He drank from the other, utterly unmoved by Anthony's complaints. When his lemonade was done, Jack placed both glasses back on the tray. Anthony bolted upright, staring at the glass.

"Noo! Noo! Me!" Anthony wailed, adamantly point to himself and then the drink. "Me! Peese me!"

It was, quite possibly, the longest speech Jack had heard from the boy. He relented, passing the glass back. Anthony picked it up carefully, took a sip, then gave a loud sigh of satisfaction.

"Dayoo."

"You're welcome," Jack replied. At least the boy had manners.

When the refreshments were done, Jack and Anthony returned to the gardening. Mr. Butler brought out an old hat to keep the sun from Anthony's eyes. It was too large, but the boy clutched it tightly then placed it on his head.

"Hat! Hat, hat!" Anthony practically sang.

"Uh, yes," Jack said. "It's a hat."

"Hat!"

"Yes, a hat."

The boy sighed happily, picked up his dog, and began to dig again.

Emerging slowly from sleep, Phryne stretched luxuriously; as lovely as it was to wake up with Jack in their bed, there was something to be said for waking alone. The warm sunlight through the window and the rumble of her stomach told her that it was likely lunchtime or thereabouts. Remembering the sight Jack had made in his work clothes, she smiled slightly. She would bathe and dress quickly, and with any luck catch him still at it.

Once downstairs she waved to Mr. Butler as she headed out the kitchen door. Jack was in the garden, an old flat cap on his head to keep the sun from his eyes and his sleeves rolled up, sweat glistening. She watched his sure movements as he pruned and dug and decided that he was quite possibly the most beautiful man to ever share her bed.

Certain he hadn't taken notice of her arrival, she padded towards him quietly to wrap her arms around his waist and press a kiss to the crook of his neck.

"Good morning, Jack."

He allowed his head to loll back and rest at her shoulder, giving her a small secretive smile in the process.

"Sleep well?"

"Mmm," she said. "You really ought to try it."

"We both know that if I stay in bed—sleeping, before you contradict me—past eight I can't sleep that night."

Phryne sighed. "I know. It's terribly inconvenient. Means I have to wake at absurd hours if I want to ravish you."

"How dreadful," he said facetiously, and she laughed as she pulled away.

"How goes the gardening?"

"I'm almost done what I wanted to do today, even with my assistant," Jack replied, tilting his head to the small boy and the… well dug patch of dirt. "I'll just finish with this rosebush and then we can do lunch?"

"And what about your assistant?"

Phryne glanced towards Anthony; the boy had ceased moving and was watching them with wary eyes from beneath an oversized cap.

"I suppose he'll have to come with us," Jack said, following her gaze. "We can stop by the station on the way back, see if anybody has made progress on Helen Fox's family."

"Excellent idea, inspector. And may I suggest a shower before we go?"

"I do hope you aren't implying that you find me offensive?"

She leant in closer and took an exaggerated sniff; it was an earthy, masculine scent. A little more unrefined than the usual mixture of pomade and aftershave, but still unmistakably Jack.

"Not at all, darling," she purred, looking up at him with a deceptively innocent look in her eyes. "But I'm not entirely certain I could trust other women's restraint when you present such a tempting figure."

One of his arms snaked around her waist, and Phryne sighed in contentment; he was remarkably good at slow burning moments. But as he moved closer to kiss her, Phryne felt an insistent tug on her cardigan and looked down. Anthony had made his way over to them, and was holding up the stuffed dog—a furry tri-coloured houndy sort of thing—for her to examine.

"Oh, you've gotten Cleopatra all dirty," Phryne scolded absently, and Jack snorted.

"You named the dog Cleopatra?"

"Well, I had to get my entertainment somewhere!"

Jack just shook his head, as if he expected nothing less from her. Anthony was staring at his dog, much the worse for wear after a morning in the garden.

"Oh noooo," he said plaintively, trying to clean the dirt away. "Oh nono. Nonono."

Jack released Phryne and bent down to be eye-level with the boy.

"Why don't we go into the kitchen and get Cleopatra cleaned up?" he said, his voice the very picture of calmness. "And then we can have lunch. Do you like cake?"

Anthony nodded so quickly the unruly curls on his head appeared to actually spring, and he grasped Jack's hand and began to pull him towards the door. Jack stood up and followed him, flashing a small smile over his shoulder at Phryne in the process.

"If there's one thing I've learnt from you, Phryne, it's that you can win over just about anybody with food."

They settled on a small restaurant near the station for lunch—it was quiet and popular enough with families that Anthony would not stand out the way he would in the places Phryne preferred to dine. She drove the Hispano and Jack rode in the passenger seat, Anthony in his lap. The last thing they wanted was for the boy to vault out of the unenclosed back seat and end up in the road.

They were seated in a circular booth, and Jack and Phryne placed Anthony between them to prevent any attempts to flee. Remembering that his mother had worked at a restaurant, Phryne was not completely surprised to find that Anthony had impeccable manners; he sat quietly, used his silverware and napkin with only a little difficulty, and said please and thank you when served. She didn't expect it would last, but it made for a pleasant meal.

An older woman stopped by their table as she was leaving.

"I just wanted to say that you have a beautiful family. He is so well-behaved," she said, casting a reprimanding look at the table where a rambunctious girl of a similar age was singing.

Phryne found herself offended on behalf of the girl—she wasn't being irritating, just enthused, and Phryne had a low tolerance for irritation—and stiffened. Under other circumstances the girl could easily be Aggie Collins, and would almost have been herself as a child if they'd ever had the money to dine out when she was that age. Jack laid a hand on her thigh beneath the table and smiled at the woman.

"Thank you," he said. "I'm afraid we aren't to credit for his good manners. I can only hope that he is confident enough one day to share his interests with an audience."

The woman's eyes narrowed, as if she wasn't entirely sure whether she'd just been insulted. Deciding to forge on regardless, she smiled again.

"He's a very beautiful boy. Such curls!"

She reached out as if to touch them, and Anthony shied away and into Phryne's side.

"Ah," Jack said firmly, reaching out to intervene. "Please don't touch the child."

The woman drew her hand back in a huff. But there was no room for argument in Jack's tone, and Phryne smiled slightly as she watched the woman—clearly unused to being reprimanded for her child meddling, and by a man—struggle for a moment before her lips thinned into a tight line and she walked away.

"I'm very thankful you've never used your inspector voice on me," said Phryne with a small laugh once she was gone. "I might actually be compelled to comply."

"Somehow I doubt that very much," Jack replied. "But I'll keep it in mind."

The rest of the week did not go so easily; by the time Jack was back at the station on Wednesday, irritated that he had gotten nothing work related done on his days off and would therefore need to stay late or bring it home with him, Phryne was questioning why she'd ever volunteered to take Anthony in. Dot was home with a sick Theo and Mr. Butler had errands to run, which left her alone with a toddler for several hours. He continued to be quiet and compliant, but there were only so many times she could applaud a wooden block tower; when she made the mistake of bringing him into the library so she could go over her accounts, she looked to find him halfway up a bookshelf, Cleopatra's ear clenched firmly between his teeth. She hadn't heard a sound.

"Absolutely not, Anthony," she said firmly, plucking the boy from his perch.

"Oooh, nono," he wailed in response, dog dropping to the floor.

"You and I are going to have a little talk if I find you there again," she said firmly, placing him in front of the blocks she'd brought in with them. "I'm not above sending you to the orphanage if you ruin my books. Or my furniture. Or my wardrobe."

"Nono. No nono."

"Yes yes."

By the third time she'd retrieved him, her patience was at its limits. Her corrections that time were harsh, and the boy promptly burst into tears at the tone.

"Mummmmmmmmm!" he wailed. "Mummummum!"

And while part of her felt like an utter heel—of course being chastised would make him miss his mother, a problem they had somehow managed to avoid up to that point—the rest of her had no patience for caterwauling. She picked him up with one arm, his dog in the other, and marched both of them to the nursery as he continued to sob.

"Lie down," she said as she deposited him on the bed.

She left the room, shutting the door behind her, and closed her eyes as his shrieking ramped up and the subsided. When he was quiet, Phryne peeked into the room; he had fallen asleep on the bed, face buried in the sheets. He must have been exhausted. Phryne shut the door, then moved to the entrance to telephone Ed Prentice in the hopes a foster place had opened up.

"Not since you telephoned twelve hours ago," he replied.

Phryne sighed and thanked him, then stared at the telephone for several minutes. This was not sustainable, not even in the short term. Sighing again, Phryne picked up the telephone and placed another call.

"Hullo?" came a voice from the other end.

"Hello, Mairi? It's Phryne. Is there any chance you can come a little earlier than planned?"