Thank you all againfor your kind, kind words. And Mika, yoru English was wonderful.


Jack Robinson woke up on the morning of his fortieth birthday with Phryne between his thighs, small hands tracing shapes across them.

"Good morning, Miss Fisher."

She gave him a wickedly suggestive smile in response, and he leaned back against the pillows and sighed.

"Go ahead then," he groaned, feeling her hand slide from his thigh to his half-erect cock.

"How generous of you," she purred as she began to stroke him.

And while he loved her mouth for the quicksilver words, this was definitely a close second. The tiny dig of her fingernails against his hip when he came, pinpricks of pain that heightened the pleasure, was the only thing keeping him in the room. At least until she moved up his body and kissed him thoroughly, when he could still taste himself lingering on her tongue. He moaned again, then playfully flipped her onto her back and returned the favour.

Afterwards they lay wrapped in each other, not quite ready to move.

"So," she said coyly. "How did you imagine your big day going?"

"Not like that," he chuckled, running his fingers through her hair.

"You're so easily surprised."

"I don't like to presume," he chided.

"If you haven't learnt to presume by now, you're a hopeless case."

"I prefer chivalrous."

She propped herself up on an elbow, watching him carefully as if trying to decide.

"No," she finally proclaimed with utter solemnity. "Definitely hopeless."

And really, there was no possible response to that than to kiss her thoroughly. So he did. And when they parted, both of them panting lightly, she placed her palm against his chest and hummed.

"I'd still like an answer, you know."

"To what?"

"What you imagined this day would be like."

"I've learnt never to make assumptions when it comes to you."

"I meant…" she nibbled her bottom lip, looking almost contemplative. "I meant before. How did the young Jack Robinson imagine such a momentous occasion?"

He shrugged. The truth was he'd never given much thought to his age, but if she was asking than it was, for whatever reason, important to her.

"Let me think. Twenty year old Jack Robinson had just started stepping out with a lovely girl, and if he thought forty was at all possible, I imagine he'd have thought it would leave him significantly more decrepit and surrounded by children. The naivety of youth. Twenty five year old Jack Robinson didn't think he'd live to see it."

That had been during the war, a fact she silently acknowledged with nothing more than a gentle stroke of her fingers against his side.

"And what about thirty?" she asked quietly.

"Thirty year old Jack was looking down the barrel at a promotion and quarreling with his wife about whether or not to accept it."

"Did you?"

"I did. And while I'm grateful I did, it's always been tainted by the knowledge that my father-in-law was behind it. I've tried very hard to ensure that I lived up to that level of trust."

She tucked her hair behind her hair, watching him.

"Well, my darling, I think you can safely say you have. And while I will happily tease you about many things, I am utterly sincere on that matter."

He smiled ever-so-slightly at her declaration.

"And when I was thirty five," he offered. "I had no idea what force of nature was heading towards me mere months later."

"It wouldn't happen to have been a raven-haired beauty so charming and irresistible you lost all reason, would it?"

"Dear god no, Miss Fisher. It was you."

They headed downstairs an hour later, meeting Jack's mother in the kitchen. She had arrived Friday morning, explaining that she could help with Anthony if he was still there and have extra time visiting her son if he wasn't. None of them had anticipated the boy to still be there a week after taking him in, and Mairi had immovable plans that meant she was leaving the following day, but her help had been invaluable. She was bustling around the kitchen when they came in, moving around Mr. Butler like a choreographed dance—they had long given up on her allowing Mr. Butler to complete his job without assistance, and at least the two of them got along like a house on fire. Anthony was seated at the table, eating a bowl of porridge.

"Morn' you two," she brightly.

"Hello, Mairi," said Phryne. "What smells so delicious?"

"Tattie scones, amongst other things," Jack's mother replied. "Take yer plate."

Jack had not been certain how Phryne and his mother would get on before their first meeting; they had just enough in common to make sparks fly if they had begun antagonistically. He needn't have worried; his mum had been prickly as she tried to suss out Phryne's intentions towards her son, and Phryne's intentions had started with a good glass of scotch whisky and just enough backbone. Ten minutes later they were chatting as if they'd been friends for years; when his mother was gone, Phryne had turned to him.

"No wonder you weren't taken in by my charms," she had laughed. "Your mother is a treasure."

And that had been that.

After breakfast Jack spent some time in the garden—hurried outside by his mother, who was no doubt baking a cake, and accompanied by both Anthony, who entertained himself with a ball, and Phryne, who entertained herself by lounging in a chair and providing commentary over the top of her book—before coming in for a leisurely lunch.

Jane, Ivy, and the entire Collins clan stopped by for the meal, a spread of his favourite foods finished off with a chocolate and cherry cake. It was far more subdued than he had expected, given the attention Phryne had drawn to the date, but it was exactly what he would have chosen. As most of the guests left—Collins back to the station, Ivy and Jane back to their respective classes, Dot and the children returning home—Jack took Phryne's arm.

"Thank you. This was—"

"Oh, don't thank me yet, Jack. You and I are going out this evening," she said, flashing him a salacious smile. "In fact, I need to go pick up my dress."

And with that, she glided out the front door. Jack shook his head ruefully, certain that the evening's entertainments would be far less subdued but very much worth it, and joined his mother and Anthony in the garden yet again.

"He's a sweet lad," his mum said as they watched him chase the ball.

"He is," Jack said. "He's handled the situation remarkably well, all things considered."

They were silent for a moment. Finally, Mairi cocked her head.

"Time is ticking, Jack, if you two are to have any hope—"

"No," Jack said decisively. It was understandable that the thought had crossed her mind, but it was not a topic of conversation he wished to delve into. "Neither one of us has any interest in having children, mum."

"Nae even a wee bit?"

"Mum!"

"Ye were always the bairn with with stars in his eyes over every new babe on the street."

"That is a gross exaggeration," said Jack dryly. "In both accent and content. We both know that was more a deep desire to have a younger sibling I could order around the way Dan did me."

"Ye did want it though, you cannae deny?"

She had been privy to the first and the last times Rosie had fallen—the first because Rosie had been so optimistic, the last because it had come late enough they had believed themselves safe—and knew it had affected him.

"I did. And now I do not."

"You ken I love you. If you're content—"

"I am," he said firmly. "More than content."

"Then I'll say no more."

"Thank you."

On Wednesday, Ed Prentice stopped by Wardlow at lunch.

"Sit down," Phryne directed, indicating one of the empty dining chairs. Ed took it gratefully. "How can I help you today?"

"Still no progress on finding next of kin. I presume Jack's gotten no further with police resources?" he asked, selecting a sandwich from a tray provided by Mr. Butler.

There were days Phryne was certain that she fed half of Melbourne's civil servants.

She shook her head. "Turns out criminal investigations take precedence, even the dull ones."

Her own business had been slow. As a general rule, Jack did not seek out her help in cases—it should have been her first warning when he'd called her over the Helen Fox murder—nor she his unless a police presence was genuinely required, because it was too easy for them to make a habit of it. They did much better when they had the independence of their own investigations; the cases still overlapped with alarming frequency and they savoured the opportunity to work together, but they rarely sought it out.

"I imagine they would," Ed replied. "How is Anthony settling in?"

"Well enough, under the circumstances."

Anthony had eaten lunch earlier and was currently playing outside with Dot and her children. Aggie and Theo usually spent days with a grandmother when Dot was working, but under the circumstances Dot had thought it might be best for Anthony to have playmates of a similar age. It seemed to have worked; he had opened up quite a bit in the week and a half since they'd brought him into the house. He was smiling more, at least, and showing moments of willfulness; Phryne had never thought she'd find the latter a positive thing, but the day before he had refused to come inside as Dot was getting ready to head home and she was almost relieved. Phryne had ended up sitting in a chair outside with a cocktail and watching him run in circles until Jack had gotten home half an hour later. It had been a lovely day, and the entire experience was almost pleasant. Admittedly it would have been more pleasant without the scenery being disturbed by the whirling dervish, but he hadn't shrieked once, so it could have been worse.

"What will happen if you can't find next of kin?" Phryne asked.

"He'll stay in the system unless we find him an adoptive family. But he's a young, healthy, and male—he shouldn't have to wait too long, if we establish nobody has a claim. Ideally we'll find his kin, because it's a much easier process, but either way I cannot imagine it will be more than another week or two. Probably sooner than another foster place opens up, I'm afraid, but I am trying."

"I know, Ed," she said. "He's not been much bother, at least. I don't suppose Welfare has the budget to hire a private detective to track down the family?"

Why this obvious answer had not come to her sooner, she had no idea. Clearly the situation had scrambled her brains.

"Oddly enough, no," Ed said wryly; the lack of resources was a topic that was raised every time they spoke.

"I suppose I'll just have to do it without payment then," Phryne said. "Purely as a favour to you, of course."

"Of course. I'm sure I completely fabricated the twenty-three telephone calls where you checked the status of another placement opening."

"That could not possibly be sarcasm I heard, could it?"

"Never," Ed said dryly. "But it would be very helpful if you could."

"Of course. If you could have a copy of any documentation you have sent over, I'll look it over. What seems to be the problem?"

"Right now we can find nothing of use from Helen Fox's paternal side, and the last known address of her aunt on the maternal side is out of date. Neither should be a hindrance, but there are only so many hours in the day and another pair of eyes will make a difference."

It was the sort of thing that was a private detective's bread and butter, at least the ones that did it to make a living. Phryne generally avoided such cases because they were tedious, but it shouldn't be difficult. The recent lack of investigations—it had been slow enough that Jack would have called her in to consult with a murder if he'd had one, if only to stave off the inevitable boredom, but only minor crimes had crossed his desk—had left her without much to do, and other than a few social commitments she'd spent most of her time at home with Anthony. She was hideously bored, and it had been less than two weeks. No wonder Dot had been so eager to continue working after the children were born; Phryne was close to gnawing her own arm off.

"I'm more than happy to help," she smiled.

"I'll make sure they're ready for you tomorrow then."

The case files were a mess; they had Helen Fox's birth certificate but not Anthony's, though Jack assured her that the child had no father listed and it was therefore of no use for the matter at hand. When he got home on Thursday night he brought her up to date on what little the police had uncovered between other investigations; Connie Wilkes had continued her refusal to cooperate and the station had been inundated with a large number of minor cases, so there was very little to add to Welfare's file. Phryne and Jack sat side by side on the chaise in the parlour, the papers laid out on the table in front of them and an occasional playful brush of a foot or a hand the only indication that it was anything but two peers working an investigation.

Helen Fox had been the only child to survive until adulthood, and both her parents were deceased. Her mother had two sisters; Connie Wilkes, now in gaol for her murder, and Betty Dixon. The last known address for Betty was ten years out of date and the current occupants had no recollection of the woman. On the other side, Helen's father had immigrated to Australia from London many years before as a single man, and there was nothing to suggest that any of his family had followed him. Phryne made the appropriate first step inquiries Friday morning—checking with Births, Deaths and Marriages and the land registry offices for documentation, and speaking with her solicitor in England regarding tracing the relatives of Helen's father—then decided that the next step would be to speak again with the people who had known Helen herself.

Leaving Anthony under Dot's exceptional care—her friend had taken on most of the work with a smile, and Phryne decided to significantly up her wages as soon as possible without causing offense—she went first to Helen's place of employment, and then the block of flats where she had lived her life. The restaurant brought no new information forward, as Phryne had been on site for the initial interviews, but the neighbours were slightly more helpful. Admittedly most of that help was in ruling possibilities out rather than fresh leads, but it was all grunt work at this stage and every step counted.

One neighbour, a Mrs. Bowen, had been the one to watch Anthony while his mother worked. She was a jovial woman in her early forties; her own two girls were off to school during the day and watching Anthony had provided a much-needed second source of income.

"Helen didn't talk about her family," she said, offering Phryne a cup of tea. "Sweet girl, kept to herself. Only kin I recall her mentioning was the dead husband—and I'm not entirely certain he existed, if you catch my meaning—and that her father was English. Not much to go on, I'm afraid."

"You've been more than helpful, Mrs. Bowen," Phryne said with a smile. Then she opened her purse and extracted a card. "If I leave my details with you, could you contact me if anything else, no matter how small, comes to mind?"

"Of course. Would you care for a biscuit?"

Phryne selected a ginger nut from the plate and thanked her host.

"You never saw a more devoted mother," said Mrs. Bowen, shaking her head sadly. "Thought the sun rose and set on that boy, but did it right. Real respectful. What will happen to him?"

"If we can't find a relation to take him in, he'll go to Welfare. They seem to think he stands a decent chance of being adopted."

"I'd take him in myself if we weren't already crowded beyond capacity. Four people in a single bedroom is too many. Where is he now?"

"A temporary foster family."

The woman grimaced. "I've seen those foster families. Bad news, the lot."

Phryne thought of Mr. Butler's patience and Dot's gentle understanding and Jack showing him the flowers in the garden.

"This is a good family," she said, with a small smile. "He's being doted upon. Their other ward is off to university next year, even. They are very proud of her."

"Do you reckon they'll keep him?" the woman asked.

"I believe that they are hoping for him to find family, not just a foster situation," she said diplomatically. And soon, for everyone's sake.